Will it or won't it?
Statistically its the same.
It seems the odds don't change no matter how unlikely is the thing.
Will it to be or don't, but don't wait to hear an answer.
To be or not to be
Is not really that important.
Its not even the question.
If "to be" was how it's supposed to be, how come "not to be" is an option?
So how do I "not to be,"
if I think therefore I am, and do I believe that I am even if I think it?
And where am I when I don't believe in myself and my convictions?
Does it even matter what I think when I can't be sure if I exist? And if I might not be then what am I still doing here, when I could not be?
Should I stay or should I go?
But could I go and no one know?
And why bother leaving
when I know that if I go
it might be that no one would even miss me?
Might as well just stay here where my odds are 50/50.

It's a beautiful confusion
From one simple conclusion
I made up on the spot
My life has changed equivocally
And here I find myself
...
    :\
       a little
                           Lost.

•It's a beautiful confusion•

It's a mess up in this noodle bowl
Of wet spaghetti, out here trying
To just
           Figure it out dude,
Jesus Christ!
                Just stabin' with a fork for thoughts,
Trying to get em to wind
But they just keep slipping off
And falling back in line

-But also-

Like Spaghetti Junction at I-20 and 35 (that might be just me
Who calls it that, but it fits the mind
That locked it in. A six year old old boy, visiting his dad in Dallas for the first time)

A mass of twisting
tangled lanes merging
in chaotic looping interchanges,
where ideas collide and collude and rearrange like ******-off commuters
late for their day
Through exits and on-ramps,
flowing freely at times,
and then stopping
dead still
for an hour or two every day,
twice a day
...
and when it rains

... Or when it's too full of vehicles
to fit in the lanes;
'cuz you can only fit so much
in a physical space.
And a brain is thing
That really needs a case.

It's bounded and confined
by the number of lines
it can build in any direction,
so it gets backed up
from too much thought traffic
trying to merge too fast,
causing collisions and slow-downs,
and hitting brakes,
and and the slow-down echos back
through the increasing stack
of moving parts in red-light cascades
and honking squealing aggression
Like compression waves.


But like...
... At the same time!?!

Dear _,

There's something that I'd really Like to say,
though I don't know how to start,
or if I even should.
In Fact, if we're being honest,
objectively I probably shouldn't;
because I'm worried it might
come off the wrong way;
or worse yet, get misinterpreted,
as something much more than it is-
simply a sentiment to share,
offered unconditionally,
as bookend to prop up a story
that we've shelved.

I AM going to say it,
so please pardon my intrusion.
I know that you need respite
from entangled inclusion in my
desperate emotionally confused conclusion
that a lifetime of romantic love could be hiding
just beyond the horizon,
and it's so near I can nearly taste
it but it's just out of reach.

So if you can wait for a moment,
just a minute,
or two,
before you walk away;
(maybe a day at the most,
i just need time hope)

I could run by the far side of the nearest horizon to see if it is
... and I'll bring as much
as I can possibly carry
to prove that it's there
and there's plenty to share...
on my way back home, to you.

(not my home obviously,
I'm just an wandering fool
who keeps falling in love
with anyone who can prove
that they feel for me
what i feel for them too.
Alas! It is true
you never did say
that you felt this same way
but thats fine
in my mind
i feel confident you
will eventually see I've got enough love for two!

See, my cup runneth over;
the well spring is new.
It flows as if endless
and collects in a pool
at the corner of my eyes
right on cue
when i think about living my life next to you.
So drink deep from this well
from which i am willing to share,
perhaps unsustainable as it may be
in the end.)

But if you can't ...
(and I know that you can't,
I heard you and believed you
but I can't just let loose
without at least trying
to hold on a few
extra moments to gaze
and admire your effortless beauty and poise
and your strength,
before inevitably the reigns are let go
and the horse I rode in on is finally released)

... i understand
and I can easily see that;
and furthermore
you were nothing if not perfectly clear
every step of the way
that this day would appear.
you already knew
you could not commit,
and i was fine with it then,
so I have to admit
that since nothing has change
in the tiny little bit
of time intervening;
that there is no reason for me to expect
that the terms are now different
or less circumspect
So I want you to know
there're no hurt or hard feelings
On my side of the street.
it was delightful to meet you
and spend the wintery-est storm,
the budding early spring
Snuggled and warm in your bed
and your orbit
circling around such a Beautiful view.

I see that you need to recover and reset,
and respond to the still recent personal upheaval
beset upon you by your last lover'sleaving;
that you need time to recenter
and refocus your vision
on your family, and steady yourself
both for them, and for you.
But Forgive me for how
this might sound coming out
- I do not Intend for it to come off rude,
to inspire regret
or review
of the decision you made -
but before I place the ball squarely back in your court,
and walk away from the dreams
I've dreamed of you,
I'd like you to know:
if you do come around,
and ultimately decide
you might like to try me
(and us) again in the future;
I'm open to the opportunity
and just waiting for you.
Obviously I can't know
what is coming down the line,
but if I'm here and still free,
I'll still be hoping to see
you coming back to me.
It might sound suspicious from a man
who appears as I do,
but I swear to you,
I mean what I'm saying,
and I hope you'll believe.

I'm not typically a man
of great plans or delusions
who sees his own future
and wishes it to be.

I've rarely envisioned a life for myself
that is calm and quiet and settled well down. However, with you,
from the moment we met,
I've been prone to romantic fantasies
And daydream of a life
made simple and steady and profound
by the sure hand of a woman
and A family of my own
and a home, (Not alone!)
with the laughter and noise of children at play,
and the comfort of knowing it will be there,
to stay.

Before -
I only ever dreamed of myself,
adrift on the sea, crashing
head-long into oncoming waves,
pointed towards god know where.
Far from land and from people;
solitary,
silent and weathered;
cracked like tough leather
tanned by the sun,
the salt air, and the suffering;
near starving and dehydrated,
quietly desiccating
On the deck of a ship at the helm
sailing endlessly off into
sea foam and brine
splashing up into view
with every sine-oscillating
rise and fall and repeat;
glad to be free
from the people I left
to watch from their widows walk
for the return of a wayward man,
longing for their love, long lost to discovery, danger, distraction, and despondency.

Yet now, I've been given a beatific vision
of this life far-less-likely to be my destiny.
An adventure I never had fully considered;
at least, not with hope of it coming to be.
Perhaps once - in some barren, despairing moment - a half-hearted revery of a wife
and wedding and progeny befell me,
- in madness - to lift from me some
unnamed uncanny sadness;
but never without the caveat emptor
of failing spectacularly,
or the derision of knowing
it wasn't for me...

... and this time I'm reminded
by one who knows me well-better than me
- who has suffered my love and still lives to tell - of my tendencies toward boredom
and desperation,
and selfishness of pretending that I can be still, when I know that I can't

—never could—never will—

When I asked her if I should tell you all this;
in response, She simply stated
(in no uncertain terms)
I should never be careless and wonton
with another good heart
just because I've been lonely
enough to promise anything
–even the impossible–
/especially/ if it's impossible for me
to ready myself for the necessary drone
of a daily routine,
and of the imbecile's lust I constantly carry
for an easy end to ennui...

And all of a sudden
that tender pool breaks loose
and becomes a great river
and rushes right through
like a flash flood rising unexpectedly soon.
"Hell it just started raining.
It couldn't have been more than an hour or two.
How did this much destruction
come barreling through?
It was just ankle deep not ten minutes ago,
maybe fifteen, but ****,
how the hell did it already rise to the roof?"

{Once water gets into the attic
you call it a wash and try not to watch
as the house starts to move
with the current,
downstream
a piece or two at a time
'til it finally lets go of its roost
on that hastily laid foundation you built
and you KNEW
you half-assed it,
its what you do:
you cut corners, take shortcuts,
and skip steps just to prove
that your smarter than everyone else in room
or the world or the nuthouse
or whoever it is you are trying to impress
with your witty repartee
and you smart-*** worldview
while you **** up the task
that they asked you to do.
Now look what you've done,
you stupid old fool,
you weren't paying enough ******* attention
while you were working on something
you don't know how to do.
Well you better get started on trying to fix it,
you know it might not still have all the pieces;
or worse yet, you'll finish
putting it back together
with what now seems
like more than you started with.
****** man, your seriously ******* this pooch!}

[Sometimes you can manage to salvage some bits
you can put back together
with whatever sticky goo that you happen to use.
(I like duct tape and super glue
but epoxy will do
even good old white Elmer's can prove
priceless in a pinch,
when you need it to stick quick,
if you got nothing to lose.
it's called field expedient,
when you use what you have on hand nearby
and you don't waste any time
trying to find the perfect solution,
you just stitch a quick fix to get you through
until you have enough time
to go back and re-fix it
with the right parts and knowledge
and a proper set of tools.)

Sometimes you can shape
those scraps
into whatever gaps
or holes ultimately show through
when you do finally manage
to get something done,
and have something to show
for all your foibles.
Sometimes they'll stretch a bit further than usual,
sometimes you gotta reshape the whole profile
and shave a bit here and there to remove
the evidence you ****** it up
in the first place
to keep up the ruse
that you knew what you were doin
when you told em you knew,
despite not having any ******* clue what to do.]

•"Fake it til you make it"
only works if you make it;
otherwise your just faking
your whole way on through.•

And as you spiral around
outing fires you literally lit
and then wandered away from,
you often get lost and confused and forget
why you changed venue
and what you were going to do -  
so you're just vacantly searching
a burning house for clues
'til you get where you first had the thought
to "move"
for whatever unknown reason...
...and then you remember
-in flash- as you enter
the room and re-see the original trigger
that set you in motion,
yet summarily refused
to remain in your mind
more than a moment or two;
so just as soon as you wander through
any threshold or transition–

...It's gone...

–like a ghost that can only haunt one certain room.

As you relight the fuse
on the sparkler that you
stupidly chose to use
as a torch to light your way
around the maze-like encampment
you constantly have to maneuver through
because you seem to bring it with you
wherever you go
whether you intend to or not,
and there's not a whole heck of lot you can do.

So instead making
these conflicting things a matter to consider
when thinking of me,
I've composed this letter to you
and now I'll seal it and send it to oblivion,
free of the burden of bearing
my lovelorn palpitations uncertainly felt
but certainly in need of a longer gestation
in the pit of my stomach
to see if I can stomach
the simplicity,
and the shattering specter of losing it all
even if I did give my best efforts
and try to do the good life honestly.

So I bid you farewell,
and bon voyage to me.
I hope you remember me well
someday long from now and think
back on our time together
ever fondly.
I know it was short
but for me that means more
it makes everything stand out
more poignantly.

Kind regards and true love,
though I never confessed that
and revealed the true nature of my feelings
to you - fortunately.

Smiles, Best wishes,
And lotsa hugs and kisses,

Love,
Yours Truly, (for now)
(but not later, not anymore)
(Nevermind, never say never)
(Yours forever)
(And a day)


Ps. This message is set for combustion
as soon as I finish rambling aimlessly.

Envisioned: 3/21/25 10pm
Composed: 3/22/25 6-10am
Revised: 3/24/25 12-4am
Published: 3/24/25 4:03am
Edited: 3/25/25 2:30-4:30
Destroyed: pending...

Everything happens the way that it should

[sometimes you just have to wait a bit to see,
but even bad can be good
if you give it room to breathe.
There's nowhere to look but directly at it,
and to face what's come be.]

It could not have happened any other way, because it happened the way that it did.

{You are who you are - and you did what you did - and you're the only place you can be; this the only life you live. There is no other you to compare yourself too. They are a figment. They do not exist.}

So you are where you are until you change something, kid. It is what it is. You get what you get, and you get what you give. 

(You want it different? Do it differently; otherwise, take it all for what it is: and either change what you need to change, or quit your ******* and settle in. There's Nothing to do about what you did. The choices made are set in stone, forgive yourself and start to dig.)

God, for me,
is a selfish thing.
I only want him there to blame,
Or to ask him for that
Which I cannot seem
To produce for myself by other means.

And yet, for me,
To disbelieve is equally
A selfish thing.
To pretend that I have come this far
Without some kind
Of Divine intervention...

How could this be,
considering
The sheer stupidity of my decisions
The risks I took
with my own wellbeing;
the utter disregard

So it is and must be
that god, for me,
Is looking out regardless.
There must be some plan
regarding me
or else I'd have been disposed of.

Does this mean
I am a chosen one?
Not just dust-
but a favorite son?
I think it must...
There's no other logical conclusion.

In a liminal space surrounded by aether
I came to see the countenance
of a lover long lost to me,
martyred by addiction and impotence
and ignorance and arrogance,
A love taken for granted;
yet undeservedly so


In her eyes spun a spark
I had since never forgotten.
She proffered a smile
I have since longed to see
and greeted me tenderly
with warmth and a kiss.

We shared some time in a
soft sweet way
as if again lovers
no longer estranged

In a steam covered pool,
playing chicken alone,
I hugged her thighs hard
and looked up
as she brought her face close

I said,

"I know this isn't forever.
I know that it's just for right now;
But it feels like coming home."

"I've missed you"


She said "I've missed you"
Kissed me again from above
A goodbye

Then I woke from the dream
and refused to open my eyes.

And under my breath I begged
"Please... don't go..."

But she was already gone
And the day began
and the dream
drifted away
And I fell back to slumber
and dreamed anew
of another time
later
Lost and wandering
Muttering to myself
A poem of love and loss
And learning to let go,
Rhythmically
to the plodding pad
of my wet bare feet on concrete
As I made my way somewhere
that would never feel like home

I just realized
Children probably shouldn't be
Left alone to be so free
It's set a dangerous precedent
That's proven hard to forget

I gained my freedom far too young
And it became the only thing I cared to keep
I chose destruction wantonly
In defiance of propriety,
like retaliation for the expectations
Put upon me by, what I believed
was, everybody

And on my own I came to a dark nihilism about the whole existence thing. So I set into becoming the most authentic me I could imagine but it was always in opposition to some belief I didn't believe, because I thought it wasn't well considered or just it didn't make sense to me.
But in truth it was just insurrection aimed at anything anyone decreed.
A kind of Dogmatic
anti-dogmatism,
(better known as "hypocrisy")
And would you believe it?
that **** dog bit me.
Right in the ***,
Of all places too.
Lil' ******'s got some teeth...


I had an epiphany around
My substance usage (substance abuse).  It's a form of taking control, and sprung from a deep anxiety, About NOT knowing what was coming. 

         And it terrified me.

So as An outward expression of a deep uncertainty about me, And a morose streak of teenage depression and rebelión and ennui- I started smoking and I knew I knew better so I made up a quip of existential drivel and then internalized it and made it be a core component of my life long ethos and that's a stupid way to be... because I lacked foresight, because I was thirteen, and because my friends died and I became staunchly aware of my own mortality. No longer teenage invincible (but actually, yeah), I coped by shaking my fist at fate, and spitting and cursing.

I realized that I took all these risks and did this damaging behavior, because the outcome was predictable; in That it narrowed the realistic consequences. This relates back to an idea I had about cigarettes and alcohol being suicide on an installment plan.

"It's slow suicide. Yes I know.
Like Suicide on an installment plan,
For those to weak, or just to cheap
To pull the trigger on the whole thing all at once. So I'm just paying it down
a little at a time, minute by minute,
every day as I go."

Words of a fourteen year old boy...
Maybe not the best age to set your life path. I was an idiot, I didn't know Jack ****.
Probably not the best guy to let drive
The rig.

All this self-destructive hedonism is a commitment to that ethos from so long ago; But now I'm so far gone it seems inevitable and so quitting also seems bit silly to me- if it's to late to stave of the consequences,

Might as well lean in and get this show on the road




The Beauty of Surviving by T R Wingfield - Hello Poetry






polysubstance abuse is the clinical term.


4:30am 6/14/25

Ours was like fireworks
in the mid-summer sky
Radiant,
       Iridescent,
                   Incredulous,
                              Alive
but the finale came suddenly, unexpectedly soon,
& the band played on,
as if nothing had changed,
as if a fountain of sparkling embers and flame
had not just erupted mere inches away.
And now,
where explosions once seared summer's sky with crackling thunderous incandescent delight
Only whispers and wisps of smoke remain,
Scattered by the breeze,
Whithered, then, by rain.
And of the evening's reveries precious little can be found:
some soured beer in crumpled cans, discarded haphazardly
surrounding a threadbare picnic bedspread
rumpled beneath the branches of an ancient live oak tree.
Dew now wet where lovers once had lain,
staring up into the night
in wonder, ignorant of such banal things
like: masquerading lust in love's robes, declaring,
"I've never loved a love as deep as the love I have for you,"
and truly being unaware of the uncanny substitute;
Or the unbridled disenchantment unleashed by abandonment
and the inevitable transience of an insufferable pain.

We ****** on bar balcony balustrades, over looking city streets.
We ditched tampons into trees rather than wait to satisfy our needs.
We left your ******* in a planter
on a patio under an eve
On purpose, So that some poor, unassuming shop-keep
Would find them
(along with cigarette butts and an empty bag of ****)
and have no choice but think to themselves,
"Did someone **** here?"
and then immediately understand:
the answer is
"Yes. Exuberantly!"

We defiled. every. place. we went;
giggling with glee at all of our indiscretions.

Oh how many indiscretions could there possibly be?
We shall know;
All of them!

And so we did,

And we were free.



On new years eve I carried you piggyback in your peacock blue sequined gown through the streets of our ****-soaked-gutter-of-a-town.
You were barefoot, drunk, and refusing to be told what to do,
that you had to wear your shoes,
that the streets were far to ***** and dangerous for your tender little feet- you said "Just let me be, It's fine. It wont **** me..."
then, looking at the gutter, continued,
"probably.
And these shoes already are, so..." sticking out your tongue
But I couldn't put you down.
Not in that place, not at that time.
Nor did I even want to. I could have carried you all night
(which was fortunate, because for most of itI did.)
We were declared the city's cutest couple by a stranger on the sidewalk whom we passed while galloping down the street, you, giggling, alight upon my back, running at full speed. This declaration is reaffirmed by everyone we meet.

- A pixie, you know, will always trip you up
(they're natural pranksters you see).
Their magic is undeniable, but oh what trouble they can be. -

- My toothsome little faerie - You meant trouble for me;
but what a beautiful,
beguiling mess you turned out to be,

You snuck pixie dust into everywhere we went, and
Dispensed it with abandon-
Spread it like caution to the wind.
Sanctifying everything and everyone we met.
That poor city was baptized in our joy.
It's sins washed into glittering gutters,
where we lay sparkling, genuine and loved.


We broke the records that night,
all of them, known and not.

We loved harder than diamond,
than a trailer-hitch to the shin,
Deeper than the fathoms of the trenches at the bottom of the sea.

We made soulmates seem like strangers.
We spoke nonsense fluently.
We shared mind and body, food and drink,
and careless wanton play.

It was

The most
     *******
          Fun
   I've ever had
       in my life...

Probably the most that I ever will.


Every moment I was with you had
the sizzle and the tease
of a bottle-rocket, lit
and held between my teeth.

I knew that I'd get burned
If I held it to the end,
But I did it just to prove I could;
To prove to me
That I was brave enough
To be unashamed
  To be unafraid
   To be.

Oooh~ I Caught the tail end
of the tail trail
back from the parade,
coming from Canal zig-zagging
back the back way,
(maybe south, no north…)
to Bourbon St;
and the tail trail promenade
was full of talent on display,
and temptation,
and it was passing
right. in . front of me.
A veritable smorgasbord
of bad decisions one could make.
A circus Maximus of humanity,
in Grecian magnitude;
this bacchanal goes rolling
through the streets every year,
and this year it’s encircling me.

^Rocking This Sweet *** Suite^

Boppin’ around the outskirts of town,
With bottle o’rotgut, a limp, and a smile,
Wearing a thin coat of mornin’ sunrise
to cover the patina of Stale *****
and gutter dew,
in his Gutter-Suit
and a Pair o’ boots,

Is man of means
(if only “means well”)

On sabbatical from livin hard;

Taking it extra easy
this very evening,
and looking for something to do.

^In the Big Easy^

“Take it Eeeeasy,
Take it eeeeaeeasy”
he sings to himself softly,
and then - to no one in particular
in his purview -
“I been livin’ hard my whole ******* life,
trying to prove I ain’t got nuttin’ to prove,
and all I got for all it took
is a whole lotta ******* nothing-to-lose.
Man I gotta figure it out,” he muttered,
swaying slightly under the *****.
“This ol back’s only gotta a few seasons left,
dude. We gotta come up with something new.”
He reaches back with his right hand
and places his fist in his back,
knuckles to his right hip,
as he limps a shuffled cadence
favoring his unhealed broken ankle,
which lends his pace
a meandering sashay
of someone strutting,
and belays a a bit of class in its stance,
with his arm held out of view,
much akin to the prideful rigid reserve
of a French maitre’d,
but with a derelict sheik
uncommonly seen.

“Otherwise it’s broke street,
on the corner of no-go rd,
and you know what that means.
Yes you do…
You gotta big brain buddy,
why don’t you use it to maybe do something good for you?”

There is no response…

He looks weathered in a way
that only rough living can wear on a man -
leathered skin,
wrinkled brow,
creased crows’ feet at the corners
of his bright gray blue eyes
(eyes that seem unsettling, at first glance
• almost animal •
due in part to a golden yellow ring
around his pupils,
and a wild flitting movement
as if he’s constantly seeing someone unknown
entering into his view;
But this wild-eyed creature turns
uncannily human,
as soon as someone
willing to listen more than a minute or two
gets caught in his gaze
and locks eyes for the first time;
And let me tell you,
it does something to you.
That gaze is magnetic,
and his hard scrabble appearance
is softened and sweetens
when he’s looking into you.
It’s not something that’s common these days
(steady eye-contact, that is),
what with all the distractions
we’ve entrenched ourselves in
with our phones and computers
and near constant stuff to do.
But his eyes are soft,
and  welcoming and it’s hard to not believe
he means no harm.
So, despite his appearance,
most people don’t shun him,
as people are often wont to do
when confronted by poverty
and personal suffering-
but he doesn’t wear that as armor,
as many of the indigent community will;
he simply lived what he was given
and doesn’t complain,
“Cuz, what good would it do?”  
He’s profoundly joyful
in his demeanor,
and He’ll tell you why if you let him,
cuz he’s “playing with house money
everyday he wakes up”
and he’s “still gotta a lot o’ livin’ to do!”

As he shuffles along the the shaded city streets
Every now and then, he stops
And squats,
Puts his hands on his knees
And props himself up.
He looks
like he might be having a heart attack,
but his back just hurts
(like it always does),
and he just needs a second
to let it breathe.
Once it’s released,
he pops back up, and continues about his way, spry for a man his age
but still brittle and broken
and whistling the blues.

Well it seems that I'm up to my old tricks again
        But this time i know the consequence
Still I cheat lie and steal just the same, and then
        I wonder why no one still calls me a friend

somehow its always the same
why even bother to change
you never feel any shame,
If you never look back and you just walk away

Well I guess that I'm back on my *******
          But this time can we pretend its different
Then I won't have to lie about where I've been
      Or what I've been doing, or who I'm with.

But if the rules stay the same
then results will never change
And if you can"t win the game
why even bother to play,

when you can just walk away?

Heading out west when I get my money right, got some people wanna see me, need some rocky mountain high.

Spent the last year being busted up and broke down by bad ***** bailing at just the wrong time.

Never saw the trouble coming cause it came up on me slowly from behind, and from the front, and from the left, and from right.

Never knew I'd need no night rider to hold me tight. Always thought my self a loner, nobody on my side.

Got my dog and my old truck and about 300 bucks, got a tent, a tank of gas, and no strings to keep me tied

So I'm heading out west, as fast as I can drive, going 90 miles an hour towards the dying light.

Spent my days thinking and drinking all the time, making mountains outta Mole hills so I'd have something to climb

Now I'm leaving all that ******* on the Alabama line. Leave it blowing in the wind, leave it hanging out to dry.

So I'm heading out west, as fast as I can drive, going 90 miles an hour towards the dying light.

We agreed to call it quits when it wasn't fun anymore. And it wasn't fun anymore for a long, long while. We ignored the exit signs because an uneexpected love bloomed and so we redefined the terms of the termination because we missed the first by miles. And determination turned to depression bitterness and resentment, then misdirected rage. I didn't want to end on sadness pain and disillusionment, so I tried to patch and glue the last good bits back together But i kept ******* up and it wasn't possible to make another attempt.

All I wanted was a peaceful ending
A pleasant parting between longtime friends

We'd agreed that it wouldn't be a big thing,
A painful splitting, uneven without amends

But what I got was tragic, uncompromising static
Undeserved sadness
And the loss of my best friend

Im Sorry that I ****** up.
I thought I could do better than I did.

Breathe in
   The briny bonne odeur
   Of a damsel replete.
Remember the nape of her neck
   As she lay there beside you,
   Soundly asleep.
Relinquish your body,
  Your soul, to the rubble,
  Your heart, and your mind to the street
Wring your hands and curse the heavens
The fates, The Gods
On your knees

And what of these torments
   Of This regret
   What of these torments and regret
Lain aside

I’ve been writing an unending melody
About a woman whose countenance could set a thousand ships to sailing
Just to crash on the shore at her feet.

Porcelain skin and emerald eyes, silken hair like spun gold,  
The envy to Helen of troy could be mine were I but more bold

A goddess of perfection sublime, in her absence the world is but gray
Her beauty must Venus abide, yet abhor to this very day

So now I’ve been plotting and scheming
I’ve got a ship set to sail in the harbor; at dawn we are leaving
To steal her away from a king and his land
And she’ll be mine if she’ll take my hand

Ten thousand women could never change my mind
A harem fit for a king’
Tender, supple, and kind,
Could never draw my hand nor heart from her embrace
I’d give to her all of my days for a chance but to relish her gaze


And now I’ve been plotting and scheming
I’ve got to have her for mine; and no, I won’t settle for dreaming.
So like a thief in the night I’ve come to steal her away
And she’ll be mine by the break of day

You should believe me when I tell you,
     "I can only break your heart."
Don't believe you are the exception,
Immune to all my charms.
I'm masterful in my deception,
In that I give away my play,
In a manner that seems endearing,
Like I'm kidding when I say,
     "Don't fall in love with me."
It's not hubris, or vanity
That makes me say these things.
It's a pattern; it always happens;
Every time its the same.
Dont let me in, beneath your skin,
Don't trust me to refrain.
Foolish girls get fooled
Only to get thrown away;
Tossed aside once boredom sets in;
After depleting the thrill of the chase.

I thought of myself
As a phoenix
Set aflame

Now
I'm just
Ashes and Dust

Look at the mess that I've made.

(A Public Service anouncment)

Ahem...

We, the creatures of the night, are the rattlers of chains;
The seekers of magic; the bearers of the flame.

Howling shadows beckon and shimmer with laughter in refrain;
and the screeching darkness holds terror and wonder waiting to be claimed;
In back alley juke joints, shitholes, and diners, down sidestreets and highways, we search for the thing that sparks and ignites us, that dances and delights us, that reminds us that living is more than just work interrupted by sleep; there's excitement, adventure, pleasure, and pain.


The sun burns too bright to see the light which we contain;
yet, in the dark but a spark is as bright as any flame.

Deep beneath deepest reaches
of the furthest recess of my mind
I found a craven creature, singing,
madly clawing blind into the darkness
desperate to find a shaft of light
by which to see its tattered tethered binds 
unbound.

Screeching at its unknown captor.
Screaming to the sky.
Shrieking like a banshee being slaughtered but alive.

Bellowing, bruised, and blackened beast,
best buried deep below-
you'll never see the light of day,
Nor freedom shall you know.

Claw madly at your cavern walls;
Howl mournful;
Be untamed.
But do not expect a civil birth,
born free of shackled chains,
without first being bested
by him to whom you belong;
whose nights you terrify;
who wrote your sorrowful song

As the sun starts to go down, I stop and take a look around to try to find a place to lay my head. If I lay here on the ground and maybe shuffle these old bones around I might convince my back I've found a bed. Then, as the colors fade away, I try to think about the days when I knew peace and I could get some rest; but I never get no sleep 'cause these old ragged runnin' feet run me ragged all night in my dreams...

And in my dreams there always seems to be the same old demons chasing me; and right behind me breathing down my neck. When the get their claws in me they always brings me to my knees, rip me open, and leave me there for dead; and, as the colors fade to grey, I try to thing about the days when I knew peace, and love, and happiness. Then the faces that I see bring me back up to my knees; they get me up a going once again.

And I don't ever need no sleep 'cause these old ragged running feet can run me ragged all night if I need.
And I don't ever get no sleep 'cause these old ragged running feet, run me ragged all night in my dreams.

Gabby Bayou

Man this swamp is haunted
I swear to god
You can’t see the ******* but you hear em say **** through the trees
Warning you to “stay away”


You just gotta deal with all the **** there
So much ****


It’s insane


But I don’t mind a little muck and mire
I love to stomp around the swamp
Splashin’ up mud and Makin’ waves
Besides I got these hobbit feat
That don’t sink
Cuz
I’m creature of the place
And so I make my way down
To the woods that surround it
every now and then ,
And set up shop for few days

This forest is my home, you see
You cant take it away from me
I’m rooted here and moving on is
A tough play to make.
But it’s not too bad
I like it here
It’s soft and warm most days
And as long as you keep an eye on your corners
Cain’t nothing scary sneak up close
And you can usually escape

There’s dinosaurs out here, though
You hear ‘em roar some times
sneaking ‘round the thicket parts
Hunting their favorite prey


But this old lizard-skin-Leather-backed
swamp-stomping’ dragon’s
Got claws and teeth
and it don’t seem to me
much like he can be
killed no-how, anyway

So you know I ain’t afraid

Everything is a Psy-Op these days.
Who knows what to believe?
Certainly not the mainstream media
or its blatant complacency.
Are we actually the "Great Satan?"
It's getting hard to believe we're still free.

Do you feel free? (I certainly don't.)
- And If so, do you have money?

I bet you do;
But do you have time
for yourself,
and Your friends,
and your family?
And Not just
A little chunk,
carved out of nights and weekends,
like a free minutes for a cellphone back in 1993;
but real time,
time you can invest,
that you can commit to you;
not just free-time, but
Time free enough just to be.
And even more important -
Do you have energy?
For all this free time
they give you for a fee:
Or did you sell your youth,
your dreams,
and your soul,
just to avoid poverty?
For a promise of "one day,
some day
soon,
You can stop working
And rest your weary feet
But not right now...
                                  (while you could enjoy it)
Not yet...
                            {the machine still needs to feed}
you must invest.
                               [it needs strength and vigor]
You can't expect to eat for free
                         /and to it, you look ******* tasty\

it's not like sustenance is out here
Simply growing on trees; does water just rain from the heavens into your sink? No, We have to make our ***** nature clean.


But yes – back to rest – after a while... sure
That is, however, only after:
once you've served enough
purpose to the capital beast.



- And If you do not,
do you long for quiet and peace and solitude,
Or joy and comradery?
Or just a day off
to get some things done
and then another one
where you can just be?

There's no freedom left
in the land of the free,
at least not for you and me.
There's some for those
That are in control
of the wages and the prices
of the commodities.
But for those of us
they rent by the day
or the hour
or the lifetime,
For a modest fee;
there's just "**** it up" and ****-sandwiches to eat.
"Now, Come on boy! Aren't ya hungry?"

Unless we rally and rage
and riot and fight
with fury and fire,
pitchforks and torches
Muskets and mutlitudes
Clawing and gnashing teeth.
To bite the hand that beats us back
The fight is getting easier to see,
That's why they are building cop cities and training facilities and internment camps.
But beating them is getting harder and harder to do.
Because they've know what they were doing, and when we were told
we didn't believe

The thing is, either I'm reallly wrong, or I'm REALLY right.
And I think I'm really right.
Yeah but you dont ever REALLY believe you're really wrong, so you really always think you're really right.
But I am always right. Every time!
I mean not... you are often right.
Right?!?
I mean... yeah...
You're right.

(In the darkest corner of a small wooden landing at the top of the steps to the fenced back yard of a rented home currently occupied by a trio of underpaid shift workers whom, as a kindness,  have taken into their foster care a destitute stray, a man of roughly forty clearly hard worn years kneels doubled over and wailing mournfully to himself, his head tucked in and down toward his chest in an undeniably penitent posture similar to the pious prayer of those who heed the daily call, and face Mecca; Apropos of nothing, he just so happens to be faced to Mecca at this moment. This is, however, purely coincidental, as our pitiful subject here is not a man of clothe, nor one of great or even minor faith, much less a man of daily prayer or mindful meditation. Quite In contrast, He is a drinker and a drifter; drug-addicted, disaffected, dissatisfied, and dismayed. Yet he is also a dreamer, of the highest order, completely convinced of the attainability of a singular salvation of creative elucidation, a dream he has been chasing unrelentingly for more than 20  years; and which he has just this very evening seen how truly attainable it is. Merely moments ago, In a vision of clarity which came over him unwittingly, and uninitiated by anything within his purview, our vagrant interloper has seen a crystallization of artistic inspiration which envisioned all the interconnections within his disjointed philosophical treatises, which he has spent the better part of three decades composing, and in that moment he was overtaken by the sudden uninhibitable need to bleed the pressure welling-up inside his chest and his lungs began to squeeze. The noise they made directed itself toward the realm of sorrow. It is a wail of a desperation; not unlike one you might hear from a father who’s lost there cherished son, from lovers who’ve lost their lovers, and from children having a tantrum who need to eat and then to sleep, but refuse. He was at that moment all of these things in essence; a man rejected and alone, beset by turmoil of his own making, and both exhausted and famished; but this noise came joyfully, as it was the expression of something deep within him which he had recently freed; and so no effort was made to sequester or quiet the cries that he now seethes. It is simply the gasp and exhalation of soul which desperately needed to breathe.)

A soft wail arises quietly from silence to an open mouth, a single note, unbroken and controlled as much as one can control such a sound. From this beginning after a moment, almost a minute but something less, if you were to count; the wail completes with a sharp cutoff instead off dying back down. It ends, from an open mouth to clenched teeth and the tongue cutting off the sound. It makes a word but he did not consciously say it; it’s just the only word that could come…

Out.

GET OUT!
GET OUT OF ME!
Go the **** away!
I do not need you
I do not want you
I will not hold you
You have to leave
There is no place for you in here any more
Get. Out.
Get out.

GET THE **** OUT OF ME!

PLEASE!

(As he spits these curses and pleads, something moves deep with in him. he convulses and every muscle in him begins to squeeze and he feels as if he’s imploding but his eyes are about to explode out, and in this seizing state, he feels the expelled energy escape, physically, through the center of his mind and forehead, like a boiler valve exploding with steam in a movie. It goes out and up and away and silently it leaves. A calm settles over the whole scene as he stills his body, still convulsing, and then he sees swirling among the phosphors on the back of his eyelids, where it burns an impression when one stares at bright light too long, something coalesce: an impression of an Iris, pulsing and folding into itself but without edge, as if his minds eye were right in front of him. He stays there penitent and quiet and keeps his eyes closed, in order not to lose it, because whatever it is he needs to know it; what ever it is, he cannot deny he sees it. He stays perfectly still while it’s centered in his vision, as if it were a wild animal he intended not to scare away, and silently he studies it and stares and considers what has just opened in his vision and what, preceding that, had thusly broken away. Slowly realization comes, as it’s elemental name is spoken silently from behind,

         “I am the one who sees,
            I am that which drives
         I am you, and you are me
                 We are together,
                   A single being
                         but You
                  are part of me”

and upon the realization solidifying, without hesitation he addresses it, directly and in a docile tone…)

I see you
I see you there
staring back at me

I know who you are
I know you are me

It’s good to see you
I’ve missed you
Where have you been?

He lifts his head just a little, just so he’s holding it with his neck, it’s the first movement he has made beyond the minimum necessary to say the words he had to say and to expand and contract his lungs enough to breath. As he opens his eyes, the vision persists and he’s now staring at it outside of him, nestled into his unknowingly cupped and folded hands, like one would make to receive the sacrament of communion, which is ironic yet somehow perfect: for this experience is the only religious thing he’s ever felt or known or seen. Now, with eyes open, it looks to be an orb of energy without a glow, and he folds his hands closed around it as if to hold itc closing his eyes again, and he stands, with eyes closed; as yet unwilling to lose the vision and let it go. He turns slightly to the north, away from the darkness he had hidden in before and opens his eyes hopefully for the first time in ages.

He stares distantly into the foliage of a few scattered trees that occupy a greenway next to a drainage ditch called “flood street” to the people
that know, and in those last late autumn leaves still hanging on with incredulity, he sees the inner eye again, still staring back at him, and in that moment he already knows- it’s not going go, it is part of his mind, which, now that he has opened it, will be ever-present, even if unseen. He shifts his gaze over to the corner of a house not too far away and again he sees it shimmering, superimposed. It’s not external it is like a lens through which he sees, and he becomes joyful.

He lowers his eyes in peaceful pause and starts to take off his clothes, he sheds his jacket, shirt and socks, flinging them to and fro and descends the steps into the yard and squeezes the grass between his toes. He presses hard down through his feet, to let the ground know that he is there and he will not sink. His stance widens. He loosens his shoulders as he reaches down between his feet, and sets his palms flat in the grass, exhaling deeply as he folds. Then breathing deeply in and upward he raises up towards the sky stretching everything inside, reaching as high as he go, and there he sees the Cheshire smile and he greets the moonlight glow,

Hi how are you, I’m glad you’re here too

And then he begins to dance with it, in Meditative and intentional movement. He makes a show for the moonlight and the minds eye and he moves every muscle under his control, twisting and turning in soft ecstasy releasing decades of unwanted tension; finally letting all the build-up go. He lands down in the sweet smelling grass on his belly, arms folded, palms pressed to the sof, cool dirt, grass threaded between trembling fingers, and in his vision are two small flowers swaying slightly, but swaying alone, as no leaves rustle because no breeze blows. It seems to him that they danced in response to his repose, and he will remember this for the rest of his short and troubled life, though it should be a little easier now knowing what he knows.

He cried, “Out!”

(In the darkest corner of a small wooden landing at the top of the steps to the fenced back yard of a rented home currently occupied by a trio of underpaid shift workers whom, as a kindness and in response to the predicted overnight cold snap, have taken into their foster care a destitute stray. A man of roughly 40 clearly hard worn years kneels doubled over and wailing mournfully to himself, his head tucked in and down toward his chest in an undeniably penitent posture similar to the pious prayer of those who heed the daily call, and face Mecca. Apropos of nothing, he just so happens to be faced to Mecca at this moment. This is, however, purely coincidental, as our pitiful subject here is not a man of clothe, nor one of great or even minor faith, much less a man of daily prayer or mindful meditation. Quite In contrast, He is a drinker and a drifter; drug-addicted, disaffected, dissatisfied, and dismayed. Yet he is also a dreamer of the highest order, completely convinced of the attainability of a singular salvation of creative elucidation, a dream he has been chasing unrelentingly for more than 20  years; and which he has just this very evening seen how truly attainable it is. Merely moments ago, In a vision of clarity which came over him unwittingly, and uninitiated by anything within his purview, our vagrant interloper has seen a crystallization of artistic inspiration which envisioned all the interconnections within his disjointed philosophical treatises, which he has spent the better part of three decades  composing, and in that moment he was overtaken by the sudden uninhibitable need to bleed the pressure wellingup inside his chest and his lungs began to squeeze. The noise they made directed itself toward the realm of sorrow. It is a wail of a desperation; not unlike one you might hear from fathers who’s lost there cherished sons, from lovers who’ve lost their lovers, and from children having a tantrum who need to eat and then to sleep, but refuse. He was at that moment all of these things in essence; a man rejected and alone, beset by turmoil of his own making, and both exhausted and famished; but his noise came joyfully, as it was the expression of something deep within him which he had recently freed; and so no effort was made to sequester or quiet the cries that he now seethes. It is simply the gasp and exhalation of soul which desperately needed to breathe.)

A soft wail arises quietly from silence to an open mouth, a single note, unbroken and controlled as much as one can control such a sound. From this beginning after a moment, almost a minute but something less, if you were to count; the wail completes with a sharp cutoff instead off dying back down. It ends, from an open mouth to clenched teeth and the tongue cutting off the sound. It makes a word but he did not consciously say it; it’s just the only word that could come…

Out.

GET OUT!
GET OUT OF ME!
Go the **** away!
I do not need you
I do not want you
I will not hold you
You have to leave
There is no place for you in here any more
Get. Out.
Get out.

GET THE **** OUT OF ME!

PLEASE!

(As he spits these curses and pleads, something moves deep with in him. he convulses and every muscle in him begins to squeeze and he feels as if he’s imploding and but his eyes are about to explode out, and in this seizing state, he feels the expelled energy escape, physically, through the center of his mind and forehead, like a boiler valve exploding with steam in a movie. It goes out and up and away and silently it leaves. A calm settles over the whole scene as he stills his body, still convulsing, and then he sees swirling among the phosphors on the back of his eyelids, where it burns an impression when one stares at bright light too long, something coalesce: an impression of an Iris, pulsing and folding into itself but without edge, as if his minds eye were right in front of him. He stays there penitent and quiet and keeps his eyes closed, in order not to lose it, because whatever it is he needs to know it; what ever it is, he cannot deny he sees it. He stays perfectly still while it’s centered in his vision, as if it were a wild animal he intended not to scare away, and silently he studies it and stares and considers what has just opened in his vision and what, preceding that, had thusly broken away. Slowly realization comes, as it’s elemental name is spoken silently from behind.)

         “I am the one who sees,
            I am that which drives
         I am you, and you are me
                 We are together,
                   A single being
                         but You
                  are part of me”

and upon the realization solidifying, without hesitation he addresses it, directly and in a docile tone…

I see you
I see you there
staring back at me

I know who you are
I know you are me

It’s good to see you
I’ve missed you
Where did you go?

He lifts his head just a little, just so he’s holding it with his neck, it’s the first movement he has made beyond the minimum necessary to say the words he had to say and to expand and contract his lungs enough to breath. As he opens his eyes, the vision persists and he’s now staring at it outside of him, nestled into his unknowingly cupped and folded hands, like one would make to receive the sacrament of communion, which is ironic yet somehow perfect for this experience is the only religious thing he’s ever felt or known or seen. Now, with eyes open it looks to be an orb of energy without a glow, and he folds his hands closed around it as if to hold it, and he stands up with eyes closed; as yet unwilling to lose the vision and let it go. He turns slightly to the north, away from the darkness he had hidden in before and opens his eyes hopefully for the first time in ages.

He stares distantly into the foliage of a few scattered trees that occupy a greenway next to a drainage ditch called “flood street” to the people
that know, and in those last late autumn leaves still hanging on with incredulity, he sees the inner eye again, still staring back at him, and in that moment he already knows- it’s not going go, it is part of his mind, which now he’s opened it will be ever-present, even if unseen. He shifts his gaze over to the corner of a house not too far away and again he sees it shimmering, superimposed. It’s not external it is like a lens through which he sees now, and he becomes joyful.

He lowers his eyes in peaceful pause and starts to take off his clothes, he sheds his jacket, shirt and socks, flinging them to and fro and descends the steps into the yard and squeezes the grass between his toes. He presses hard down through his feet, to let the ground know that he is there and he will not sink. His stance widens. He loosens his shoulders as he reaches down between his feet, and sets his palms flat in the grass, exhaling deeply as he folds. Then breathing deeply in and upward he raises up towards the sky stretching everything inside, reaching as high as he go, and there he sees the Cheshire smile and he greets the moonlight glow

Hi how are you, I’m glad you’re here too

And then he begins to dance with it, in Meditative and intentional movement. He makes a show for the moonlight and the minds eye and he moves every muscle under his control, twisting and turning in soft ecstasy releasing decades of unwanted tension; finally letting all the build-up go. He lands down in the sweet smelling grass on his belly, arms folded and in his vision are two small flowers swaying slightly and only them, no leaves rustle because no breeze blows. It seems to him that they danced with him and he will remember this for the rest of his troubled life, though it should be a little easier now knowing what he knows.

I don't use words judiciously
I stutter and stammer and circle back while I stumble on through;
And
I'm prone to flights of fancy
Let's play pretend
Just me and you
What harm can come from painting up the piglet of what my life has become
What's the worst case scenario you can imagine. Ok now let's play it through.
Yeah! That stings a little. Ok next one. Whose turn is it: Me or You?

What was it that i was going to say. I forget thing so quickly its kind of insane. Too often, it seems, I'm put out to shame when forced to admit ive forgotten the name of someone I've met, maybe several times, to whom I have just introduced myself again, who probably hadn't yet finished their name before I forgot who they were once again. Usually "Im sorry. My bad... I drink a lot." is enough to diffuse any awkward exchange. Still i know better, just as they do as well,and politley we continue as if nothing had changed.

They say, "third times a charm!" and with names this is true. I read somewhere doing so somehow can train your mind to the get through to the part of our brain which stores long term memories, which are physically much more permanently made, by tricking the architecture of our neural array, which allocates resources based on the way electrical currents pass though the brain, stimulating cellular structures to make proteins and lipids which then activate other part of the xell which begin breaking things down and /or mixing them up, reconfigureing the shape of some loose RNA which is read by a protein design to replicate the mirror string of code which determines what the cell will make and altering as little as a single subatomic partical of weight can then fundamentally alter what the neucleic acids say, and change everything about the properties of the gene that it was trying to translate...

But anyway, repeating the new persons name several times in conversation, or right in a row, at the outset will help you retain new information to the brain, either way it still functions kind of the same. The energy thesh-hold required to make a shot term memory important enough to save is 3 activations of the neural relays, then the neurons begin fusing together, i think, and the information is less likely to dissipate.

now i remember it was something about 'how maddening it can be to be forgetful," or something like that, but worded much better.
****, I lost it. huh... What'd you say?

Mysterious Paradoxes

I just watched a man
take a token from the hand
of a life long friend,
again!
For the power of relief
from poison and pride.
A marker of 31 years
in recovery
from the hell
of addiction and drink.

Face Fear
face first
fearless and thorough from start to finish


“When I face fear, I’m given courage;
When I help my brother, I help myself.”


A third life is possible if the second try fails.
Even then it’s still the first:
3 in 1 like the ghost
and the father and the sun.
From our mother we are birthed
and led to find a guiding hand
and to help others who are lost
find the path and the light
and the love of a life
free from the powers
of persuasion by the devil
and his friends.

A simple solution -

Surrender to Win!

Amen… again
And again and again,
‘Til it ends.
It begins
In a place
Among friends;
One day at a time.
Everyday can be mine
If I find what I found
the first time I really tried.



Common solution
1005 old shell
11:19am
2-23-24

Why anyone,
who has seen the eyes of divinity
would ever think that they should leave
whatever space or place or mindset where
they found it, to deny intrepidly that,
without a doubt,
they sincerely believe
that they
saw nothing
out of the ordinary;
no mysterious magic miracle
meant to mean something
to the eyes of wonder
worn by children,
full of mystic revelry;
That there
in this world
with mind unmarred
nothing surreal occurred;
no mysterious light was seen
which no one else could see:
and (hold on)
dismiss that which is in his view of the world which he verily sees,
…and just … look away…
is strange to me.

Why would someone want to leave
the presence and the peace
of creation for some dream?

What motivation could there be to dismiss reality
…for some make believe world…  
that, in which, magic things - do not - exist?

I certainly cannot believe they’d look away intentionally…
Not me!

If you knew my mind
If only you could see
Man it's so rare in there it's a mess and it gets dark some spots and there is **** every where, hanging down and piled up, all around and beneath your feet.
Can't hardly take a step without stubbing a toe, cracking a shin, or scraping your knee.
Or rocking your dome
on the crown,
cuz your looking down
Taking care about where
You place your feet.

But it's pretty neat (not like tidy, but it's kinda cool) to see it all blink and beat.
It rains word in there. Sometimes great hurricanes, most times just spits and spurts, but it thunders something spectacular, when the lightning is all around, and it's torrents pouring in Great cascades, and a sudden deluge can flood the stage.
There's this core in there that I found one time, and I could tell it had shell made to keep stuff in. It appeared solid, albeit delicate, egg-shell thin, and I wondered what it contained within. So I cracked it open, consequence be ******, and I found a kind of aticky sweet viscous goo, not unlike melted chocolate, but it glows in pulsing rhythm and can really light up the room. I worry I break it too often, like I don't let it rest and recuperate, heal up its cracks all the way, and refill-up the goop.

I service of this I've noticed some things, Sometimes the fillings change.
Sometimes it is melted chocolate
Sometimes it's carob, and lies and it tastes like ****.
Sometimes it smells like **** too...
some times...
Some times it's doodoo.

Sometimes you can't tell until you really get in there and smell the stain you seemed to have left on the sheets.
I swear it's a Reese's peanut butter egg I brought to bed with me and then forgot to eat.
I must'a laid it down and rolled on top of it. I swear to god, scouts honor -
    I didn't **** the bed.

(He **** the bed;

at least [the very least] -

metaphorically.)




7:02 am 6/14/25

I've been meaning to say this to you,
but I've been biting my tongue for some time-
You don't have to be so afraid of me.
You don't have to hold your walls up so high.
I'm not here in siege, to tear down your defenses.
I didn't bring towers or ladders to climb.
I simply came knocking,
here at your gates,
hoping to be let in.
I caught just a glimpse of your garden,
and I would love to see it again.

I will not fear death
When death here comes for me
For death is the release
And Death is heavens key
A good death is ideal
Quiet and at peace
But any death will do...
At least for me.

Death is near even when death is far
Never more than a raven away
At any time waiting, night or day
Despite whether or not you feel safe
You are but one bad decision
Away from destruction
Not But a moment from oblivion
Which is always at hand
if you want it or need it to be

So do not fear death
for death fears not you
Await it with patience
Without anxiety
Forgive it's intrusion
And rest
Peacefully

It's my own reflection of which I'm most terrified
Because it shows me exactly who I appear to be
It may not look like who I think I am, but it's the only me the world can see

Now it's been years and years since the man in the mirror
Resembled the man I know I can be,
But it won't be long until that monster is gone,
And the world only sees who I know I can be

‘Cause you  never wrote any of the good parts down
You just lived ‘em
and let ‘em
s
 l
   i
     p
          
             a

                           w
                                               a                    y

You knew better
than to try to capture
the silliness in its hay day
because then you’d have
to face the facts of
the very choices
that you’d made;
and there would be no question -
whether it’s was worth it -
to waste the days by trading them
for nights of frivolity and frolicking -
Of frittering away.
What should have been,
and what is so,
and where it came from,
and who’s to blame
would all be there in Black and white,
instead of vanishing in the haze.

And in your own hand, no less;
your words,
a confession dictated day by day
of what, With your own eyes,
you did see
- All the magic and the wonderment of this tragic comedy -
through foggy lenses, bottle-thick and stained:
dreary ramblings in shadows made,
and heard and said
a many things
in drunken dangling reparteé.

Mission Statement

I’m just out here having a good time, man,
doin’ what I can to make it better.
An’ if I’m having a good time, dude
I want everyone else to have one too,
So I’m just trying to do what I can to ensure that,
Cause I don’t want anyone to have to have a bad time ever.
but I know some people do be having bad times that can’t nobody make better,
but if I can do something to turn a bad time good,
imma do what I gotta do,
cause everyone deserves to have a good time,
at least some of the time,
and I’m a good time dude,
so if you’re having a bad time, then so am I,
and I’m not trying to have a bad time, man,
like never ******* ever!
cause good times are what it’s all about, my guy,
and bad times can always get better,
and if you trying to have a bad time don’t come around me brother,
cause I’m gon’ make it go away,
we gonna have a good time, whether you like it or not,
but don’t worry you gonna like it,
good times are way better,
and im good at em, and I have em every single day.
I’m trying to have a good time all the time,
and we can hang out
and you can have some too,
I got jokes and **** to say,
and if you out here having a bad time on my watch, don’t worry,
we gon figure that **** out together.

So what’s your name? I know we met before but
I drink a lot and I forget. I remember faces though and I remember seeing yours. Yeah you say we definitely met before…

Right well my name’s Hatchet, welcome to show, glad you came to play. But before we get it start I got ask you about something, is that okay?

2. That Toothy Grinning Fiend

Can I be honest with you? Because it’s personal and it’s probably gonna be a hard thing for you to admit; and I heard you say it a couple times in a row and when I heard it made me think- I heard you talking about yourself dying and making jokes about why it’d be better than trying to stay, but it’s not something to go make light of because your talking about the ultimate decision, the last decision ever. Is that where your at man? You really done living? You ready to punch out on your last day? Or is something you just hopes happens to you and you don’t have to be responsible for anything? In my experience, that **** only seems funny to somebody that’s been thinking about it too long to know better, when the dark thoughts been winning too many debates and creeping up ever so steadily and they don’t turn back and they don’t retreat, and as it gets closer and that smile starts to look a lot less clever and those sinister eyes, ember red and glowing, and those gleaming yellow teeth you saw shining from the shadow don’t seem so friendly anymore; you think, “why’s he keep smiling like that?” And It’s getting closer and bigger and you see those dagger sharp incisors and he’s still coming faster now and he does not blink and his teeth start to separate and you can see the pink of his lying forked snakeskin tongue and he opens wide and starts to swallow you whole but you still see the teeth from inside and as his mouth begins to close you feel A last gasp of pride and you scream out for help, for someone to come by, but no one hears you and you’re suffocating but you haven’t yet died so you lash out with all your strength, and everything you’ve got to try to survive and the only thing that you can muster is weak half a breath and a joke about how no one would miss you, it’s like you’ve already left. And no one really laughs because it wasn’t funny, and no one says anything because you’re just that way, you’ve got a dark sense of humor and you always joke about awful things just to see what’ll happen to person’s face. And that ******* MONSTER is still right there, with that uncanny grinning and glistening smile and those awful red eyes and the pit viper stains like shadows below the eyes when you haven’t slept in days because dreams are so much scarier than the shadow’s monsters’ doing devil worship and burnt offerings of sacrificial snakes, because hallucinations are easily laughed off as nonsense, and this thing is nonsensical in its own kind of way, but it will not ******* leave and let you get back to your day. It’s madness, and it grips you and you cannot wiggle away, and Getting sleep can be terrifying, but it helps push back the fray.
And when you wake you’re still breathing, and He’s faraway again for now but it looks like it might be getting closer everyday and it’s still staring at you but it’s in a different kind of way, hungrier now that he’s had a taste. It’s even scarier now that you’ve seen it up close, because you know it won’t just ******* go.
You can not escape.
And the Jokes are so your friends can say “hey man… are you ok?” But no one checks up on you because they’re busy or whatever and even if they did you lie and say, “yeah man, you ain’t gotta worry about me, I’m doing fine. You know i got this, imma be ok.” But that was a lie and you stand there desperately as the concern on there face slips away, and just like it always is and so it’s always been, but it don’t have to be, Im standing right beside you and I’m Saying I’ve been there dude and  I’m hearing things I used to say, things you need to talk out loud so you can hear the sound of what your thinking really sounds like in an a three-dimensional space. It doesn’t echo or bounce off of the halls and mirrors and come back distant, distorted, disassembled and decayed, it’s the vampire of thoughts, it’s eternal, it’s insidious, it is evil and unwavering in its hunt For prey. It does not respect or adhere it to the laws and conventions of polite society and it abhors the light of day. it falls dead on it victims and ***** the life out of them, but no life is given, just life taken away. The movies and books make it look cool and romantic, but it ain’t clever, cool or cunning,  guaranteed. It sounds a lot like a dog **** onto a piece of parchment paper and you rolled it up and put a put a ribbon ‘round it and you set off on your merry way. It’s just a **** idea you thought might could fix your problems but it’s just a cop-out, a ******, and a huge mistake. But lemme tell you my man, it’ll Do the trick, if the trick your trying is making the world forget, what you meant to it and what you did with it and if you leave nothing behind you just disappear, and there’s no second act when you come back, and the audience just walks out and don’t even talk about whatever happens to the dude that’s missing, that trick was stupid, I don’t get it.

3. Your Life Your Way

So I’m hearing you and I’m thinking this guys suffering and he might be thinking that it’s his time Today. And if that’s what you wanna do, I can’t take that from you, it’s yours and only your decision to make, and as long as you don’t make it rashly it doesn’t have to be a scary thing, but I would ask a favor of you before you escape: if that is what you choose, then when you do, that you take a beat, you eat and you get some sleep, sober up and don’t medicate, and wake up rested the next morning before breakfast time; you wash body and wash your face, put on your favorite shirt and your most comfy shoes and have your favorite breakfast and then you spend the whole entire day doing ONLY things you LOVE the most. You don’t waste a second of your time, because it’s your last ******* day. why would you let it slip you by, When you could pack it in and fill its to brim with joy and grace. And if you do your day of many splendid things you love to do and go to bed for one more night, And wake earlier still the next morning and go somewhere and watch the sun rise one last time and say goodbye to god or to your life or to your love of anything. And then you pick your time, and you meditate. So that your day has come on your own terms, not driven by anxiety and desperation, and with your whole mind you spend your final hours remembering everything that made your life great,  and when your hour comes you say a last farewell to life, and then your done and dead and nothing hurts anymore and you can’t hear the cries of those left  behind to say goodbye and mourn your loss and your selfish ways. But don’t you miss that time by a minute, you tick down the seconds and don’t look away, and if you hesitate for even a second, that’s proof positive you need stay, because you need more time to be satiated. And that’s all I have to say. If all these things are quantified and capitulated, I will be there at your final resting place;
and I will not mourn you leaving
because it’s Your life Your way,
and I will eulogize and I’ll memorialize and we’ll mythologize you and tell all of the lies, and tell the truth about them so it can’t obfuscate the horrid truth that you did not love anyone, even yourself, and I will CELEBRATE that you have finally found the peace you need, and I will probably cry. But when they cover you, you are ******* dead to me and I will never speak your name again and I will no longer tell the tales and stories we shared because you take them from me too when you take your life from mine.

4. A Way Through

But if you don’t really want to die and be forgotten and waste your precious time. I’ve got some thoughts about how to make it easier to survive the darker days and keep the lighter ones from slipping away.

So It sounds like you’ve been going through it, dude, And that can be tough as **** sometimes. Especially when the nights are long and the hours are slow, and your waiting for dawn so it can be a brand new day, one you can use to be the the first day of the rest of your life and not just the beginning of the end again. I’ve got this tool i use that i think might could help you see it, and I’ll teach you how to use it, if you’ve got a lil bit inclination. Would you like to know just how I do it, man? Would you like to know  how I feel this way? I can walk you through it, and show you why it works, and how you can do it every day, all you gotta do is have little jewel of thought to use as a trade for happiness…

It’s called the Joy Fantastic and it’s so easy it’s on my list of things to do everyday. It’s just like brushing teeth, but for your mind cavities, it’s partly meditation, partly mental paste. It flies the cracks up from the inside that are leaking fluid and slowing the pace, but with movement and with certain stipulations, that will keep anyone in the right direction, and upright, and in place.

I truly believe that there is joy in this world every single second of every day, all the time. Everywhere! Anywhere you look it’s there, All you have to do is find it, and when you look really closely, you’ll rarely have to go to far out of your way to see I’m right. You just have to pick up your head and level your gaze and scan around you, up and down, in front of you and behind, and stop looking at what you’re trudging through for just a minute or two, there’s nothing to it, its hardly effort, and It’s so easy to identify. And if you don’t see it immediately, that just means it’s nearby, but you got to take a walk and readjust your eyes and choose a different angle from which to view. So you just look out all around you and you try to see something bright, or shiny, or just a well Lit place. something small and happy, a ray of sunshine, a glint of dew droplets, or really just anything nice, a couple holding hands and smiling, a squirrel bobbing somewhere unexpected, a stranger’s child’s laugh, it does not have to be something you see, it can be a thought you had, a happy memory, or a smell you come upon, like fresh baked bread, or a flower patch, and you give it credence and you look at with patience, hold it in reverence and accept it simply, that this is all I need for today.

And I take that peaceful moment I always find in this presence to unwind and slip off the pain. And the real beauty of it, the part that’s the actual tool, is the knowledge of that space, and to get there, dig this dude, it doesn’t even have to be your joy, it can be someone else’s, but it still plays. Like you can see someone else that’s happy and just think to yourself “see, everything’s gonna be just fine, and it doesn’t always have to be like this, and this will pass on if I give it time.” And You can borrow that indefinitely and they’ll never know you even have it unless you decide to tell them, and you SHOULD tell them if you ever see them again because a compliment is joy double-time, its something you can use when all the light is fading and it’s something unexpected and nice for the person who’s joy they didn’t know was out there helping people and saving lives, and if you name it, and then hold it, and keep it in your back pocket, because you can’t predict when you won’t be fine, but if you got it already and it’s tucked away safe, you can just access it anytime. So when you need it you can pull it out, and look back at it and say, “for today, this is mine!” And you’ve got that then and forever, whenever it’s convenient, And when it’s dark out and its scary and it seems like it’s never ending and that there’s just nothing that looks like joy you can find between you and the horizon line, You still have something that you can use to break the crushing burden of being Joy blind. Because if you can’t see Joy anywhere, are you really even looking, or is it just you’re not looking for it in the right way?
That means you need to remove The distraction lens and maybe shift perspective from side to side, and all you need is to catch a glimpse of it, you can’t expect to be satisfied ALL the time.

But you can be Joyful in any moment,  whether you’re never happy or never cry, and happiness is a choice you make, a decision to smile. It’s not a destination, It is internal and eternal, and in troubled times it’s a filter of a kind, to help declutter all the other noise, and get the signal through that you need to receive, that tremendous Joy is something you can feel even when you cannot smile. Because joy is not the reaction, joy is a lens through which we view the world and let all of our light shine.
And joy is easy and joy is free and we forget that all the time, and this perspective is like a muscle, you have to work it to build up memory, once you muscled up, and built a pattern it becomes the way you move. My whole perspective is Joy based thought And joy makes me not so ready to get it over with, you just decide to use it and then you start to choose it automatically and then you get to see what really happens, instead of guessing wrong and ******* dying.  So here it is my man, to better days to not forgetting to let the sunshine through. If your prone to mantra I’ve got that too, you wanna here it’s just five lines.

My ethos is Joy
My aesthetic is Joy
My religion is Joy
My motivation is Joy
My purpose is Joy

I love you man, I mean it honestly
I want you to stay alive
And since we just made friends not all that long ago, it’s not fair for me to have to cry. And I am truly blessed to get to be your friend, and I will always be as long as we are both alive, so if you ever think that no one cares at all, just remember me, there’s gotta be at least one, and I’m the ******* guy.
So dude,
Please Don’t leave,
at least not suddenly,
and definitely not forever,
that’s such a long time.

And all you gotta say to get me to shut the **** up is, “Dude I won’t **** myself. !’m gonna be ok.” And if you mean it, I will believe you and we can go back inside, and have another drink. Or we can go our separate ways.

5. a requiem…

And with tears in his eyes he said the magic words, and I believed him, and we walked another block and then we said see you later instead of goodbye. And when we did it was a ******* mistake.

Because he was gone
the very next day.

And now I have to mourn him because he didn’t take just one extra day to do something that he really truly loved, and he forgot why he needed to stay.

Man *******
I shouldn’t have to cry like this
You made me lie to you the other day
I said I’d never speak your name again, that you were dead to me and that I’d be okay, but I’m not okay and I need my ******* friend to help me deal with all this sorrow **** and you abandoned me to handle all this pain. It’s a ******* that does this to his friends, and your a ******* I wish was not just flushed Away

but sometimes people die
and sometimes people cry
and sometimes those things
both happen on the same day.

Sleep easy brother, no one can bother you now, and you can rest forever to make up for all the sleep you missed.

There’s some we love
who come to love us back
And then there’s some we love who get away,
but the ones we love
who never know how much
and never feel the warmth of our hearts’ embrace
are the ones we mourn
and miss the most
who become the ghosts
who haunt our quiet homes
but never show their face.

If they’d just rattle chains
and turn the cabinets out
we could know they care
and greet them with their names,
but they just disappear
only to fade away,
and then we forget their voice
and we forget their face,
and before too long they’re barely even a memory
and we forget that we even ever knew their name.
And they become nothing
and they disintegrate,
and then they’re really dead.
At that’s the final shame
They lay there silently,
forgotten
finally laid to rest
in their true grave

Sometimes they’ll visit us
in our deepest dreams
and if we’re lucky we might just get to say
how much we miss them now
And how we loved them so
And ask them why they never came back to say goodbye,
and what made such haste,
why all the rush to leave,
how could it seem like that was okay?

Much like Romeo,
with his yearning
and his poor-me soul,
my fickle heart
has led me astray
down a dark
and lonesome road.
Searching for
a certain door
beyond which I can find
the glint of cat-eye magic
I saw sparkle
that I've been chasing
this whole time.