Failure.

What is Failure?

Who decides if I win or lose?
Who decides if I go forward or back?
Who chooses my path?

Is is some being in the air above?
A creature in the ground below?

No.

I choose.

My path is my own and I will tread it until I find my destiny walking ahead of me,

And then when I catch that *******...

I'm gonna choke the life out of it.

Communication

Communication is the center of all things useful and all things true.
Without communication we would know nothing and not be able to inform our companions of what's new.

Communication.

The basis of all things that need to be done and all things that have been proven.

Communication.

If it's so important than why doesn't it exist everywhere for everyone?
Why am I the last to know about the crucial things and what needs to be done?

Communication.

How it would be nice if it were true.

I walked along the sandy beach with a crisp breeze gliding through my hair,
I gazed out into the crystal clear water and thought about life.

I thought about how my life was like that ocean...vast and open.
I thought about all the people that have swam in that ocean and in
turn, swam through my life.

The people who just stuck their tiny toes into my great unknown, but
found the water too warm or too chilled. The people that dove in
without understanding the full complexity of navigating the unmapped
depths of my humanity and in turn, quickly fled for shore.

Finally, the people that waded gently into that great wide open found
that, when done at a resonable pace, the water was just fine.

These were the swimmers that have been coming back to the beach for a
long time now, and these were the ones I liked having around.

The tips flow slow, just like the hot chocolate maker when its three quarters full,
you gotta hang on when you let go.

The TV's blare the news and weather and I know them all by heart.

Any minute now I'll hear the sound of paper feeding up,
and know a server girl is here, who needs me to fill her cups.

So I come off the counter and use my famous gun,
I pour the soda's and water quickly, but there's no need to run.
She's off chatting about the men at games looking but not touching,
So I go about my business and bide my time until at last my shift is done.

A man in the corner whistles a melody long forgotten, except by him

People walk by and continue their day without paying him any mind

Yet still he whistles

He whistles a tune that sounds so familiar that if I told you the name you would sigh relief

Ask him for the name next time you should meet

He'll be the one on the corner.

Whistling his solemn soliloquy

As I lay sedated upon my La-Z-Boy recliner,
cup of whiskey from my good friend John in my hand.
I slowly start to fade off........

and then I hear it.

A mothers six string crying in the distance.

I perk up my ears to make sure I'm not delusional or dreaming,
.....and again it wails.

Then as if touched by purple rain myself, the magic grows louder.
Suddenly a harp is being hummed and I swear I hear a saxophone singing the blues.
I look out my window and it's as if the top hats and tom-tom's are banging through the crowd.
Faintly, I hear that joyous cry.

Now it may just be me,
but there must be some kind of way outta here is parallel to having a dream.

I listen longer and I hear my sugar pie sing and my honey bunch smiles,
and for a minute I forget all about why this malted bevy was placed in my hand,
and I escape to a far away place.

To a place where Rapunzel lets down her hair for me and ******* and whiskey flow free,
but then as if struck by a sixteen ton truck,
I am snapped back into that place I was trying to forget.

And again I hang my head and cry,
because now,
it's just another day,
where I heard,
the music,
die.

Sitting. Patiently waiting for the phone to ring.
A cool relaxing breeze swirls around me like a hula hoops swirls on the waist of a spry 16 year old African American gymnast.

The silence is deafening.

The darkness of the night engulfs me and covers me like a newborn baby boys blanket, swaddling me comfortably in the cool dark night.

Time never moves as slow like when you're waiting for the phone to ring.

I can see the paint fading around me and I hear the grass growing outside as I wait. The sound of microscopic construction workers erecting the seemingly 50,000 foot high green skyscraper. Tiny vehicles carrying the appropriate components to get it up as fast as their little bodies can handle......

At Last!
A RING!!

.......wrong number......

Shame.

Guess I'll continue to wait.

Three sheets to the wind and pickled to boot

Lying listlessly on the cold linoleum floor
dreaming about the adventure that just ended and hoping for another to begin

A cool breeze wafts through the obsidian sky and flutters down past the curtains onto my rosy red face

It feels nice upon my tender skin

Slowly I slink off to sleep to rest up for another excursion that will be upon me soon

I sit here staring into the eyes of my soul.
He glares back at me through my reflection on the smoky glass.

He tells me without words my fate,
then I know what must be done.

I turn to leave but for some reason I can't.
I am drawn to look about the hazed room.

Empty faces leaking smoke laugh and cry around me.
I try to get up and run but I can't.

The death of the white clouded prison closes around me until I am engulfed by the fog.
Kicking and screaming will do me no good.

So I decide to succumb to this omnipotent force.
And finally the smoke clears and as I gasp for air,
I see my future,
burning like the small flame from a candle when it gets blown out from the wind.

Darkness covers me like a blanket of hate and death.
Tears flow freely from bagged eyes, then its over.

No more fear.

No more fright.

Leaving nothing, but the cool black night.

Sitting in the dining car of a 1996 Amtrak rail car clamoring for the next available outlet.  

Across from me is a bohemian mistress who looks like she just wandered into the car from the 70's.

Out of place in this time and type of train. She sits silently reading a a favorite work from one the the greater unknown Inspirational-ist's.

An occasional giggle fills the air from a joke only she knows and understands. Disregard for the rules and regulations around her. Oblivious to the others in the car snacking on sandwiches and slurping up their pops.

I notice though. I sit and can't help but look at her. There's a wonder and awe about her persona. A pull towards her careless aura. It's intoxicating.  

We hit Kalamazoo and like a hiccup she's gone.

Out to dance towards her next spot. Wherever that may be.

Still I sit. Waiting for my charging to be done

Lonely faces look out the rail cars windows longing for the city sky

The eyes wander around the Slums and Shanties, praising the heavens above that they're not getting off there

A mist starts to well up in those undulating optical's as the thoughts of honesty and faith leave them

A Calm.

A Blink.

A sigh of relief as we pull away towards a better civilization.

Go west young man and seek out the world.  

Go west young man and find yourself a girl.

Go west young man and live in your dreams.

Go west young man

                                     And be free.

I've been thinking of developing a pretty heavy ******* habit, but I feel like I'm a little late because it's no longer all the rage.

Today's youth are all about the fancy designer drugs,
It's a shame Ecstasy and Heroine aren't my thing.

If only this were 1985 and I had a guitar and a headband,
Then I'd know the time was right.

Oh well, I guess I'll just have to stick with the old Hashish,
As that never loses its style.

Here I sit

On a train filled with passersby and individuals heading off to the their 9-5's

Here I sit

Looking around this old rail car at the different faces and different moods

Here I sit

Thinking if some are happy, wondering who is sad. Who had a fight this morning and who got the lucky package before they left

Here I sit

Heading home after my long night

My long night of mending dreams and listening to worries

Here I sit

Thankful to be going home.

Smoke billowing up over the trees turning into clouds of their own.
A black and white yellow highlighted sky.

Too far off to see what happened.

Sirens go wailing by at the speed of light.
A blur of red and yellow and blue.
A regular Aurora Borealis of illumination.

No word yet on the cause.

People stopped all over to look in wonder at the towering smoke monster climbing the stairway to heaven to ask St. Peter for a light.

Young kids tug at their mothers beige pant leg to ask what that is, what's going on, and what it's all about.

A cross trans-illumination of cell phone out to capture the growing beast before he fades into obscurity; or takes over the whole sky.

Ah well......I gotta get a gallon of milk.

I'll check it out on the flip side.

Three million years in the future where will we be?  

Will we be exploring undiscovered heights high in the night sky?  
Flying in the celestial winds of a faraway place?
Or perhaps dancing on the moons of a to be determined land.  

I hope that we are floating along together in a wonderful new world where dreams come true, people smile together, and laugh at the stars passing by care free.  

Someday I hope that's where we'll be.

I once owned a book by legendary writer Robert Randolph.

I read this old dusty 8 pound hardcover from front to back on many an occasion.

I used this large table top as a weight when poor.

I used this behemoth centerpiece to stable my table on the kitchen floor.

But I will never forget the time I was cold and needed the heat,

I ripped out the index of my old steady book,

A match to the corner was all that it took.

10 burning seconds later I was as toasty as could be.

All I remember seeing was page 443 flutter out into the atmosphere.

And at this moment I bid my old trusty friend a fond farewell.

I sit here like I do every morning,
gazing out the window at the drivers and flyers passing by.

I wonder where they're going, where they've gone, and who they've met.

Did they meet a Queen or a King?
Was a famous actor in their mitts or just a good friend named Herbert?

Who can tell....

I hope that wherever they were that they enjoyed it and enveloped themselves in the sanctity of good times.

But most of all I hope that they are off to such a place a second or third or fifth time....

To live again.

I walk up the stairs hoping to see the light.
The light of a new life or new place; even a time or name would be fine.  
I sit down and think of the days that have passed me by.

Wondering

Wondering I am of what will be next and if it will be better than the last.
It has to be.        It should be.       It won't be.  

Sadness.

Like an overcoat of wool it drapes over me until I can no longer see the light

Darkness.

I'll wait until the next ride.

A discussion needs to be had. Maybe not by me, maybe not by you, but it needs to be had.

We need to stop what we're doing and talk. Right now. Stop. Talk to your neighbor. Talk to your kids, your spouse, your parents, your friends, JUST TALK TO SOMEONE!!

I don't think it's too much to ask.

Too much judgement. Too much hate.

No more discussions, debates, disagreements, civil disobedience, or peaceful banter. Only hate.

Only hate.

Those who have nothing to say but outdated ideas and old beliefs are speaking the loudest.

Get up and talk with someone. Take a minute and breath. Then listen.

Please.

Whether to stay or whether to go, that is the true question.

Is it nobler to suffer through this mindless everyday living or to dream of a new life, in a new land?

If I had fortune perhaps the suffering would be more lavish and as such, more tolerable.

Alas, I do not have a vast fortune, or a small one for that matter, only troubles, heartache, oppressors, and woe.

No matter, I shall lose no sleep so that I may dream. Dream of a new life, in a new place, with new friends and new outcomes.

Not to rub old acquaintances the wrong way, but sometimes a new outcome is exactly what we need.

So off I go, to a new land.

To make new sins.

People often ask me where to find inspiration......


...I tell them it's at the bottom of a sea.

Now is the time.
Everywhere is the place.
We are THE people.

This is the time for change, for growth, for advancement.

This is the time to learn a better understanding of each other –
Of our differences, our similarities, and our history.

Seeing an opposing point of view and actually trying to understand it.

To tolerate it.

To empathize with it.

To realize.

To realize that different views and different experiences shape different ideations and different aspirations.
To appreciate that various advantages or disadvantages are ever present, even if we don’t always see them or feel their deleterious effects on our daily lives.
To understand that opportunities and situations can be different.

And that’s OK.

The first step is acknowledging that difference.

Because once you take that first step…..

The Movement has begun.

Rally the rebels who are raring to ring in the resistance.

Envision those experientialists emancipating their enemies from existence.

Visionaries vehemently raise their voices to their assured victory.

Obliterating the obstinate opposition objectively and moving onward towards opportunity is their only ambition.

Listen as the laughter lights up the air like lanterns lurking over a lake before those luminaries leap into battle.

Unforbearing usurpers shall be unsettling the usually undisturbed and unaware.

Time tenaciously ticks towards the termination of the totalitarian troop that terrorizes the timid townspeople.

Immediate action is about to be initiated by the individuals who idealize the extraction of the ignorant and the implantation of the intelligent and the intrepid.

Oppression shall soon be obsolete and optimism will overtake the objected and the obliged.  

Now is the moment! Now is the time! Now!  VIVA LA REVOLUCION!

Such a strange time.

This dystopian, Freudian, Orwellian, Moore-Lloydian piece of history is like nothing that’s ever come before.
Well, nothing that’s ever come all at once before at least.
Sure there’s been revolutions, plagues, meteors, uprisings, and suppression in the past,
But not all at once.

Someone took all the strange sci-fi ****** mystery B movie thrillers and threw them into a faulty blender connected to a not up to code outlet, then set it on high, and laughed as the house burned down, taking the whole neighborhood with it.

Someone is reveling in the cinematic insanity that has overtaken the world while they’re speed dialing the 4 horseman and the locusts to come and finish the job.

Monuments are going down and tear gas stock is going up.
Some lives matter unless you think only your life matters in which case all lives matter….
Up is down, sickness is health, and for better is actually worse…..

It’s impossible to tell right from wrong unless Snopes is ringing the truth gong, but that’s fake news anyway so I might as well just eat my Chinese food and take solace that big brother is watching my back….

The good news is that GRR Martin hasn’t finished this book yet so there’s still hope for a happy ending…

You know.

The one where dragons come in and burn the city down to the earth….

At least afterwards we can all talk about how much better that ending would have been if we were in charge and that those guys are hacks! Fools! Crooks!

Oh well.

Whaddya do Blake........in these strange times.