Small talk is much more of the former than the latter,
small, definitely,
but I've rarely, ever, talked.

My favourite?
"How Are You?"
As if the true gauge of such a complex question
can be summed up in a random stop and chat.

My response?
"not bad",
or something similar no doubt,
but sometimes,
I feel like being honest...

honestly...

i feel like boo radley in a town full of atticus,
feel like i deserve no more than the back of the bus,
feel like every single word that i say,
is another cliche, just another cliche,

feel completely silent, scream with no effect,
hope to find a true meaning, it still hasn't happened yet,
feel divided, from this joke we partake in,
where every single victory, is simply, a fake win,

why is nostalgia the only feeling that's appealing?
back when inadequacies weren't worth concealing,
that's all i cherish, that's all i want now,
and instead i'm standing here, and you're wondering how...
am i?

“...How Are You?!”

when fate's gentle whisper turns into a scream,
and crashing down come all of your dreams,
a roaring tide from what once was a stream,
tell me, is everything as lost as it seems?

"when one door closes, another one opens!",
that's nonsense,
i'm staring at a one-sided peephole, hoping,  
that the people that said they would help,
and forgot,
truly feel how the hell i've felt.

...that's how i am.

Twelve years ago on a cold November Georgia night
We drove to get my brother Josh a new Labrador puppy
He played with the dogs and carefully watched how they behaved
Dad whispered to mom, “Let’s get Joe a dog. Maybe it’ll teach him some responsibility”
“No Bill. We can’t do that.”
I remember playing with the litter of yellow labs
And you were the fattest of the bunch. Your loose skin bouncing as you galloped over
That night we left with two dogs instead of one I named you Boo Radley.
Though you were not shy, you became a monster of a dog.
Protective and mysterious
Often misunderstood by surrounding humans
But what do they know any way? It’s me and you Boo Man. That’s all that matters.
You were an enigmatic creature, always keeping me on my feet
I never knew if you were going to charge at the family across the street
Only to arrive wagging your tail and licking the scared little girls face
I left you Boo, only four months after I became yours I had to take care of myself, so I could be the best for you. I knew you understood.
You became mom’s best friend and companion
When it thundered outside she locked you in the bathroom to sweat it out alone
As any good mother would.
You were the only constant in her life that year. Always greeting her with a toothy grin.
You gladly shared your fur when her outfit for work needed some improvement
A year later we finally began what proved to be the most fulfilling relationship either of us could ask for.
Boo, I never heard a dog talk to me the way you did. Your vocal range was most impressive, and you were never scared to share.
I believe you were an evolutionary miracle A dog far more advanced than the rest.
You spoke to me every day about your wants and desires
Which mostly consisted of more food, more walks, and more swim time.
On nights it stormed I became the little spoon. You’d hold on tight, shake and cry.
The park was your kingdom, the water your domain
You’d let every intruder know that this was your turf and they were welcome as long as they knew.
You were a gold medal winner at the “Boo Stroke,” A slow barreling doggy paddle
It seemed like you took minutes before you arrived at that **** stick floating down the river
But without fail, the rolling water was no match for you B-Rad
You’d grasp the stick gently as to make sure to return it just as it was before it was thrown
Stick in mouth you’d proudly appear.
In your later years you gave up the prideful dominance.
You softened and became a tender lover, a licker, a constant tail wagger, a doggy trotter- not a doggy runner, an even slower swimmer, an early morning riser, a gentle giant, but you stayed my best friend.
You never wasted a good opportunity to stuff my socks or someone else's in your mouth. Or underwear for that matter. I will forever appreciate socks that don't match thanks to you.
You drove twenty-one hours in an over packed broken down jeep
Stuffed in the back next to bags of clothes and picture frames you followed me west
For the both of us it was our second chance, a second skin, to become what we both knew we could
We scaled mountains out of breath with ****** blisters and sore knees
We said, “Hell yeah! We love this.” Only to go home and sink into the couch for days.
Eventually, we learned to stick to the rivers and lakes that we were used to (Boo Man-Chu, sorry for the TLC reference I know that was not your preferred genre of music)
Boo Bear, you were my wing man and helped me convince a wonderful lady to join our family
You reluctantly learned to share the bed, although I am not sure you ever forgave me for that
You struggled at times to live up to the lofty energy level you set at a young age.
But you kept on. ******* as always.
You battled doggy anxiety, hips that failed you six years too early, and an owner who doesn’t know how to properly give a doggy haircut.
Sorry for making you look like a waffle fry last summer.
Yet, you were always there. You were consistent, dependable, and loving.
I could even count on you to show up in my lunch at work.
I’d smile, shrug my shoulders, think of you, and devour the hairy bite with pride.
Boo Radley, you were my rock and my soul. I only wish I could give you one last ear rub and hear that loving grunt one more time.
Best friend, this ended all too abruptly, all too soon. I miss you. I love you. I suppose the intensity in which you left my life is fitting for the intensity in which you came.
I hope to see you in my dreams scratching your back in the grass. I expect to play a game of fetch before you have to go.
I am sorry this happened to you, if I could have taken it all on myself I would. I love and miss you. Always and forever.
These words could not be more true. Here’s to you Boo!
“But in his heart he knows that sometimes a dog is as good as any man
Trying to do as we should
That doesn't always rhyme with doing what feels good”

maybe, just maybe, somebody
hollowed out the empty spaces in
the trees at crescent park
just as a secret message to me,
to remind me that it's okay
for beautiful things to feel empty.

An Old Soul, you said. What does that mean? My Soul's not old, it's gently used, like that song that was a hit a couple years ago, you heard it on the radio and you can't remember the title but you can hum the tune. That's me, a hummable tune with no title cruising the electric air for a million miles right to your ears.

An Old Soul, you said, like it was a compliment that my Soul has yet to succumb to the withering humbleness of that great equalizer, The End.

How do you know? You don't know my Soul. Souls have shapes, and shapes don't get old. Mine's shaped like a ******, kind of like an open flower, like that last hour before bedtime when you sneak that sliced orange even though your dad told you NO, but your mama gently scolds, "just one more" as she (soft as the comforter she tucks in around you all
singing that song that drips like molasses in the gathering dew), and she winks at Dad, who's pretending to be mad like the rain that's pouring and flooding the gutter.

It's a kid who stutters who has mastered Bach and has moved straight onto Brahms, while across town it's beer and people singing along.

No one these days to wants to sing to Brahms, but that's okay; she loses herself alone in its sparkling and prefers it that way.

My Soul (well not just mine, it's in heart of the hum, the mirror firmly reflecting our collective soap ****), is a kind of Boo Radley in his broke down joint and his sad soap dolls in the tree, in the knoll. Shut in an old house uncertain of who he was or where he belonged or what he might even one day become, he built a world for those kids the only way he knew how.

Drowning in a lonesome sea, where the only moments of freedom behind the pecan tree were a broken stopwatch full of frozen moments and some hand whittled soap and some gum. Boo Radley, no he was the shut-in son. Better than that inside-out drainage ditch who still walks the streets with the air of a rabid ***** who was shot at and missed by The One and Only One-Shot Finch. In the dusty 30s, in that vast, hot expanse, Poor Old Tom never even had a chance.

Now Scout, that kid is my kind of gal, all smart within and smart without. THOSE are the ones with the curious minds who stay young forever and laugh at time, who find gum in a tree and call it sublime, who worry about freedom and all it implies. Yeah, man. Jean Louise. And she'll never get old.

So don't you dare talk about what you don't know.

I've spent my short life knowing that god isn't the goal.

It's the dead dog in the street, and the man walking free, and a dying old lady who can't help but be mean. It's the girl with her ears and the kid with his orange and his mom singing softly as she closes the door.

It's the song that you heard, you don't know the words, but you sing in the car to the telephone poles.

There are so many roads to the idea of "whole." I have so far to travel, such long way to go, there isn't any certain number for the rest of my days. My Soul is eternity.

I'm still making my way.

Ugh, how can one person be so enjoyable?
When I’m with you my jaw legitimately hurts because of how frequently and how hard you make me laugh
You’re one of the funniest people I have had the pleasure of spending time with
You allow me to be myself and you let me make fun of you and you don’t think I’m a *****
If that’s not compatibility, then I don’t know what is
You understand self-deprecating humor and you understand the words I use and you laugh at the same things I laugh at
You know…I don’t like old movies
I hate black and white movies, I think they’re stupid and pointless and so boring and they lack color, what the **** is that ****?
But I want to watch them with you
I hated To **** a Mockingbird, hated it
It’s one of your favorite old pieces of literature and you can quote Boo Radley, and I may hate the novel but the fact that you respect such a highly acclaimed work of literature makes me respect you
I would watch that **** movie with you 100 times just to make you smile
You’re really something great

I’m so sorry I let us wither away

i never want you to know
how needy i am
                             (you will run away,
                                                   with your superfastsneakers)

But I wonder
                   if being needy
is the one thing that makes
me human. In that case,
I want you to know that I need you all the
time. And when I PUSH
you away, pull me right
back in. It's just a test.

There will be times when
I seem mad. I am.
Kiss my nose and my
cheeks. Don't let me
stay mad. Let me cry
into your button-up shirt
until it's stained
with my make-up.

I will always need you.

the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******* on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****,
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.

I don’t know if it’s just the bitter cold
or the failure of the liquor to warm my soul,
but there’s frostbite on my lungs and an emptiness deep inside me.
“The future is bright” oh what a lie,
spending every night with my only company; the sky,
the stars lose the fight and even fade when the sun rises high,
and it does so spitefully.

I’ve got unlimited time,
claiming invincibility as a crime.
I’ve got an endless list in rhyme,
but I have no conclusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke you were planning?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Gritted teeth and fists are banging.

I’ve got unlimited time,
but no energy left for the climb.
I’ve got never ending points to chime,
but it’s all an illusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke I’m not understanding?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Dodging punches and slurs they’ve all been slanging.

I evaluated the situation up and down, left and right,
and I still don’t think it’s accurate of that night,
‘cause the level was too hard when I meant to choose beginner.
I tried to hold your interest with all my might,
but I noticed your eyes drastically dim in light,
the screen flashed “game over” before we were even done dinner.

Mr. Miller was our neighbor,
And what a mean, grumpy old man!
At least that's what we kids thought.
Whenever we saw him, we all ran.
He seemed to have an uncanny sense
Of knowing when we were in his yard.
Some of the feisty neighborhood kids
Tried to catch the grump off guard.

At Halloween the Miller house
Was one I always tried to avoid
Until one night my friend said, "Let's visit
The Millers." I wasn't overjoyed.
Mr. Miller opened the door
And--wow!--he wasn't wearing a frown.
He and his wife were warm and friendly
And they had the BEST candy in town!

It's odd how suddenly a person can change
To a kind neighbor from a mean old ****.
But amazingly the transformation
Was not in him, it was in my heart.
Soon after that Halloween he died
From a heart attack; that left us in shock.
I'll never forget kind Mr. Miller--
The "Boo Radley" on our block.

How often we judge before we know!
How often we live in fears we create!
Once our eyes are opened, how glorious!
But when that happens, it's often too late.

- by Bob B

Dear Self, the Milky Way is hurtling through space constantly,
which means you’re always moving forward, even if you can’t feel it.

Dear Self, when you’re trying really hard and nothing’s changing,
remember that even with all the energy of the Sun, it takes light over 8 minutes to reach the Earth;some things just take time.

Dear Self, if you lived on the moon, everything would weigh just a sixth of what it does on Earth

So when the weight of carrying your shortcomings around makes you shake and hunch over

Remember the years you spent in high school forming a backbone that could withstand a hurricane

And realize what your mother meant when she told you how strong you are.


Georgia Radley, Letter to My Self.