Hey there,
Glad to have you here at last.
I know that the porch is a bit chilled,
But there's a blanket on the couch,
Wrap yourself up and stay a bit,
Enjoy the Tunes,
And perhaps we will come to know a bit more about one another.

Eddie Vedder is the guest star for us tonight,
Talking of our connection between us and nature,
Fitting I think,
For my company here tonight.

When I was young I found that the world quite ******,
Filled with greed, selfishness, and awful,
It flowed around me like the sludge of delta,
That was on the outskirts of an industrial city,
Spewing oil-like pollution,
Our long term survival be ******.

When I was 18,
Freshly crossing the threshold that separates boy from man,
I came to find out there's more than just muck and mire.
There are fountains in these infested waters,
That spew forth clean, drinkable water,
Shining like golden beacons in this bayou-like slop.

....

I go to light a cigarette,
but looking back at you I quickly pocket it,
I know it bothers you,
and your comfort matters more to me than a quick fix of burning cinders and glowing embers.
Where was I again?
Doesn't matter, the song has changed and with it changes the train of thought.

The White Buffalo begins his tune,
Playing with all the momentum of a bucking bronco,
Yelling out in his unique way that he belongs in a much earlier time,
And I think the same holds true for you and me too.

I can imagine you down in the holler of Kentucky,
Or tucked away in some rural tract of Montana,
working with your horses,
Turning freight trains into true steeds,
Kind yet sassy like your own.
I know I would certainly be down in the holler,
Maybe farming,
Probably running shine,
With a smile on my face being chased by some coppers,
White lightning sloshing in the back and some splashed upon my mind.

The song changes again,
Where is the time going?
Benjamin Tod emanates from my phone now,
His tone, tune, and voice mellows me out a bit,
And I imagine you as well,
The song subject?
Difficult.
It's beauty?
Immeasurable.
Much like your views of people and those in this world.

I wouldn't call you naïve,
for that isn't true by any stretch,
But you see the best in others,
It scares me senseless,
For I know it's burned you before,
And it will burn you again,
But I will do my best to help you stay in this place,
For it is rarer than finding a fist sized diamond in a Tennessee Mountain.

The song comes to an end,
and the world is silent once more.
The playlist is over,
And I know you need to be heading home.
I walk you to the door and bring you in for a truly great bear hug.

The first time you hugged me you caught me by surprise,
making me realized that it was something that I loved supremely,
That you could find comfort from a broken down gruff grunt like me,
and that doing so brought some great measure of warmth to my touch-starved heart,
Something that I hadn't felt since I walled off that bleeding *****,
Many years ago.

I close the front door,
asking you to please let me know you got home safely,
and I retreat to the porch once more.

The familiar click of the zippo and burning of ash,
I feel guilty,
Even after you're gone,
I want to be better,
and perhaps I can be.

I stub it out after a few puffs,
blaming the short smoke on the cold March temperature.
Coming back to the warm inside,
And wait for you to say you've safely returned.

You said the other day that you saw people as puzzles,
That each person was a whole is a picture comprised of pieces,
Each piece a picture all it's own.

You said that you liked the picture my puzzle showed,
Multifaceted and colorful,
Each bringing in new prospectives that you didn't see before.

But that little monster that resides in the corner of my mind wonders,
Will you always think the same?
What about the pieces that are waterlogged and warped,
The ones destroyed by rough handling,
Careless placement leaving them bent and even torn?

I know that you'll say that it doesn't matter,
And perhaps that may be true,
But I know there are some pieces that even I don't like,
They're ugly, repugnant, and even grotesque.

But I shall place my trust in you,
a fragile piece of my heart,
as you become a piece all you're own.

In time perhaps you'll become that final piece,
that makes my picture whole

The fire is crackling,
Head slightly spinning,
The world is quiet as I write,
Zevon keeps me company tonight,
Thinking thoughts of you.

It's hard to believe you've been gone for three months already,
Three months since your sister broke the news.

Perhaps I held off writing this,
Thinking that not doing so kept some part of you alive,
That my simple denials were all it took to keep you with us.

Perhaps it was after that the anger,
Rage at what you'd done,
Bitter at the precieved betrayal,
That if anyone were to kick off this mortal coil first it was gonna be me.

Maybe it was that I was holding out hope that if I didn't write this you would just appear one day, and as long as I didn't you would say.

It might have been I was just too tired.

I remember when we first met,
I thought you as nobody more than some silly kid from Staten Island,
With dreams and delusions bigger than your stomach,
But you won me over with corny jokes and high spirits,
Whether it be because of the ****** weather,
Or when my Grandmother died.

The tears come now,
On this chilly March morn,
As I think back, to 3 months ago.

I hadn't seen your family in years,
The ones who considered me like a second son and brother,
Fearing they would hate me,
For what I wasn't quite sure,
That I hadn't done more,
That we hadn't spoke to one another in so long?
I certainly hated myself,
Driving through those Pennsylvania Wilds.

I remember the last time we spoke,
Relaxing in your familial home,
You embraced me and told me to be careful,
Telling me you loved me in your own words,
And I told you in my own words too.
God I ******* miss you.

Zevon plays on,
The tears come faster still,
The screen is blurry as I type,
Warren's words echo what I imagine yours would be.

You were a poet,
A warrior,
A brother,
My friend.

Confidant,
Motivator,
Philosopher,
My friend.

When we took you to the cemetery,
I was right there at your side,
Carrying you to where you would forever rest,
Before they sealed you in I snuck my pin into your hands,
I was afraid you'd forget me.

I was the first to leave the building,
So I could sneak around a corner and shatter.
The brave face I held for your family impossible to maintain,
I suspect your family knew,
But it was the way I was raised.

After I left for home,
About halfway I broke down again,
This time on a cliffside vista,
The landscape mostly obscured by the driving snowstorm and evening gloom.

The rest of the way I played your favorite tunes, and sang along as badly as you use to.

I miss you Mike,
And I know I will never completely understand,
But you will always be with me,
Upon my arm and in my heart,
Watching my back through all my stupid ideas.

Warren's song has ended,
The fire died down to glowing embers,
Tears dried and eyes aching,
Tiredness dragging at my bones.

But I'll heed his words, Mike,
I'll keep you in my heart for a while,
Alongside all the others.

After all,
He never said how short "a while" had to be

Walls closing in, hard to breath,
Staccato rhythmic my chest.
Looking back over every word,
How did I **** up,
Had to,
How could I not,
Dark,
Dismal,
Sinister whispers.

Been a while since I felt this sensation,
Like an unwelcome person back into my life,
****** up,
Had to,
Rata-tat-tat goes the heart.

Forgive me for my **** up,
Twas not my intent,
Words slipping out without realizing,
Hours later,
Analyzing,
Reanalyzing,
Overanalyzing?
No, wouldn't feel this way otherwise.

Apologies not enough,
What if this is the straw that breaks the back,
What if this is the point where it all falls apart?

My fault,
Of course my fault,
How can it not be my fault.
Rata-tat-tat goes the heart in the chest.

Pressure release valve needed,
None to be found,
Reach for my laptop and pound on the keys,
Will words be enough?
Will the prose suffice?
Am I bound for a torturous night of no sleep?

But I deserve it,
How can I not,
Good ol' Rob ******* up yet again,
Can't do anything right,
Could never do anything right,
Deserves all that he gets.

Vision narrowed,
Tunnel of black,
Pinpricks of light that are all that can be seen.
Turning burning eyes into watery blurs,
Rata-tat-tat goes the engine as it screams.

Yellow lines blurring past
in rapid succession like a stream of tracers
wind tearing at hair and shaded eyes
a radiant warmth from the sun huggin' the back of the neck and shoulders
racing to catch up to this wanderer's position
cursing at this lowly traveler for getting the drop on it


You know... if you spoke "sun", I guess.
(Look I know the metaphor kind of got away from me on that one, my bad.)


Regardless, where were we?
(Lines....wind.... sun metaphor.... here we are)
This lone wanderer from the ancient east
where man and land alike were choked with smoke and rusted through
(Yeah, people love that shift from normal to proto-fantastical, hero's journey and all that jazz...)
Seeking outstanding territories
untouched, ******, and new
...
...

(Does proto-fantastical even sound right? I guess that works in the sense that it alludes to some kind of ancient civilization of peoples, taking place in some fantasy realm. That reminds me, I need to check that idea I jotted down when I was at the market so I wouldn't lose the idea if I forgot it. Which I did, so hooray for good habits! ........ Why are they staring at me? OH ****!)

Sorry about that!
Totally my bad, continuing on...

(Where the hell was I?)
...
And the Wanderer enjoyed these lands? The end!

(NAILED IT!!!)

......
......

(Why are they looking at me like that?)

Rapid striking of Copper and Nickel,
Tantalizing both the ear and the heart,
What is it that this hypnotic tune,
That has both the momentum of a freight train and a falling feather,
is trying to tell us?

Realization drops like an anvil upon the egg of a quail

This siren song is calling westward,
O' Hark!
Offering both salvation and  damnation,
The Spirit of the West Herself calls,
Rattling one's teeth with her percussive thunder,
Blinding with the flashes of her lightning,
Strobe-like in both aspects,
Prostrate thyself,
For with every booming step she draws closer,
and the music grows louder.

Is that her steps now?
Or the thundering of your heart in your chest?

She whispers upon the howling winds,
Promising nothing that is in your control to change,
Only that her domain is a hard and still wild place.

It is everything you feel the desire in this moment,
An escape from this quicksand you have found yourself in,
Toward the unknown yet the sought after.

What shall happen next,
That is the chapter that we'd have to write,
For good or ill,
A sign or an omen.

Drive Forward!
With a thundering of your own,
With the ground shaking momentum of a thousand charging horses, I say!
Drive forward with a fury of your own making,
Let your purpose be just and true!

DRIVE!!!

...

And like she was never there,
The Spirit of the West disappears,
Her spectral like visage disappearing into the wall,
The vision broken,
Leaving you once again in the quiet and dimly lit room.