I'm no writer.  I'm too logical

Sometimes I wish I could just lay my

head down on a piece of paper

and have my thoughts flow out onto it

like water

filling the emptiness

I               want to swim in my own head
I               want to remember things I knew
I               want to seep into my memories
I       want         to break my pattern of logic

I'm getting closer every day

I feel the box cracking

But then I fall back into line
But then I fear criticism
But then I'm apprehensive
But then I remember

I'm no writer.

I am a binary man
seeing the world simplified
Everything would be so much easier
if it was made of ones and zeros
If all choices were right or wrong
all answers yes and no.
In a binary world there would be no maybes
There would be no what if's


There would also be no love
no passion
no beauty
no creativity
It is the gray area that defines us
It is the unpredicatability that makes us
Its the uncertainty that drives us
giving us hope and pushing us to better ourselves
I don't want my binary world with only two paths
I want the third path
I choose life.

Don't blame your dreams
For life's sudden twists
Nor condemn them as silly
things you once wished

A dream's reason for being
it's purpose and aim
is to bring you fulfillment
not just money or fame

They gave you hope through depression
they gave you a path through the trees
they were there to remind you
of all you could be

How can you stare down your dreams
How can you stand there and say
that it's the fault of your dreams
that you've ended this way

Your dreams asked you for nothing
They stood by you, steadfast
when the wine overflowed
when you'd broken your glass

Your dreams didn't do this
they made no decisions
they only showed you potential
they showed you a vision

There are few things in this world
as depressing or meager
Than a man with no hope
Than a dream with no dreamer

What would I do for you?  There's lots of things, actually


I would spontaneously start speaking Hungarian for you...but it probably would sound like nonsense

and some Hungarian dude

   Would be all like "Haver, nem beszél magyarul"

        I would shrug, because
        
              I don't know Hungarian...

But I'd still do it for you, if you wanted me to.



I would fly us to ancient Mayan burial grounds, where we could

   Learn all about a lost culture

           We would run into a cursed
                
                   Mayan Chief, but he'd actually be pretty cool
          
              He would teach us how to do a rain dance,

         Every once in awhile he'd look at you and say "kíichpan"
  
   and I'd be like..."Dude, back off..."

                       He's like 2000 years old...
                                
                         ­    He's way too old for you.



I would carve you an Ice Sculpture in your likeness

        Taking care to make sure that every detail was perfect and reflected
          
            Your beauty
              
               In every possible way.

     I'm not too good at Ice Sculpting, though, so it might just end up looking
              
            Like an oddly-shaped block of ice.


      Sorry...

            I hope you would like it anyway



For you, I would count to infinity

     Which might not sound like a feat, at first

   But then I would count back to zero

  I'm pretty sure no one's done that before....

     I won't be able to do it all in one day

So it might take awhile...

                  Hope you don't mind waiting for me




    I would write poetry every day for you


            Because I know that I would never run out of things
  
       To write about







....Well, maybe every 'other' day.

Last week I sold a bunch of my memories

to help pay the rent.  It was either that or my car.

I gave them 146  rarely used memories, they gave me $40.88…

I thought it was a fair deal. I mean, I wasn’t using them…

A couple weeks later I was curious

to see how they were selling, so I walked to the second-hand shop

that had made the deal with me.  I saw an elderly woman looking

at my memories.  She picked one up, stared at it disapprovingly, then

tossed it casually back in the pile.  She did this a couple more times, then

walked away.  I waited until she had left, then walked up and picked

up the one she was looking at.  It was a memory of kissing and elbows.

Whispers and smiles.

I stood perplexed with the memory in my hands, wondering to myself what

brought about the look of disapproval.  To each their own, I suppose…

I hung around that day, trying to get into the heads of

those who were looking into mine…with little success.

There were laughs, tears, and the occasional snarky comment.  I watched a memory of driving

down an empty interstate with the windows down on an exquisite summer day sell

for 28 cents.  I saw a memory of climbing trees and rope swings leave with an old man

who wanted to remember youth.   A girl with dreadlocks in her twenties took a fuzzy memory

of less than legal implications.

I came by every day until they were all but gone, only a few stragglers here and there;  One of a hospital bed,

another of a meatloaf dinner in January.

I really don’t like meatloaf.