Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog

Our little teenage babushka
Carina Marie
flaxen haired beauty
with caramel pink complexion
and starlight eyes

I watch as you paint the world
with a vivid imagination and
the rich, dayglo colors of your
palette

Although I do wonder why you
hang cans from the ceiling
and tape a fork to the fan
all with an avant-garde shrug of
your shoulders
and a blasé smile

I see the hidden potential
bursting forth like a sudden
downpour of sunshine

A bright door opens in
the golden mist

A bird in an aurulent billed mud-face,Living as a four foot two inch dragon in a San Franciscan cave,
Lifts off from a hot breathed murmur of Gideon.
Even in night the whole grandeur of movement
Soaking in red beeping heart-pangs
Fasten to the thrusts of his arms.
This post of vainglory was the opening of the year.
In July's open pores,
On a spatial plateau of Dodonian oak.
The Penguin
Unveils his weakened voice.
Flattening into a wide arrow
Draped from Carina he
Sails Westward. Barefooted through the Anavros
Molting under deep helplessness and melancholia.
With his inlaid eyes faced askance
The penguin broods
Among the day's songs
Cast into the poetry of the lyre,
Stretched upwards from Paradise Bay to Colchis,
Where his ebony wings
Soak into the palms of Peleus
Suffering only where the arrows have flung.
Downside up, with children in a pocket of blood,
Among supergigantic siren songs and muse poems
Sewing teeth into a spot of Earth
Races towards a column of toppling strakes.

I once held an angel in my hands. She was the most luminous, beautiful and fragile creature my eyes have beheld. I could not wrap my head around the fact that someone like her could exist in the same universe as someone like me. The whole time I held her she looked fine. She looked comfortable. Whenever when I'd adjust my hands or move my arms she'd hold on to me even tighter. She always had the brightest smile. And I swear her eyes held all the light there is in the universe. She seemed happy in my arms. But one day I notice her wings had burn signs and had started to fall apart. I asked her if she was fine and without hesitation she said she was fine. But I knew I was the one who caused those scars. One day she was holding tight and with her big smile, and without warning I opened my arms. I will never forget the look on her face when I let go. She looked betrayed, hurt and even a bit disappointed. I tried to explain that it was for her own good. That I had held her down for too long. That things like me should be near creatures like her, for there's always damage to be done. I never saw her since then, but I pray to every god there ever was, there is and there will ever be that one day she understands that I did it for her.

Deep below the surface
of a sea storm-tossed, frenetic
lies buried an ancient sailing ship
once bold but now pathetic.

Her rigging long since torn away,
her masts and canvas rotten,
naked bones alone remain
of sailors long forgotten.

She bore these brave adventurers
toward a brand new land.
She and they alike were cursed
never to reach a strand.

But if ye look more closely
at her shattered, mouldered deck,
ye'd find the priceless treasure here
hidden in every wreck.

sometimes
i dont know what to write down
sometimes
the papers too thin and
sometimes
it's the words
sometimes
i want to cry and theres
sometimes
when i can't.
sometimes
i can figure it out but
sometimes
when it comes to
sum time
it just doesn't add up
sometimes
when there is
sometime
before i'm gone
i take
some time
to remind myself how alright life is and
sometimes
it isnt but thats only
sometimes
and i really really want you to be okay
because these are some times
these lives, and youve had
some time
but not enough, not NEARLY enough.
sometimes
i don't know what to tell you.
sometimes,
you only listen for
some time,
and i don't know how to heal these wounds except with
some time.
but there are
some times when we're running OUT of time, but
sometimes,
there's too much, there are
sometimes
when the rain outweighs the
sun's time
and you're lost, but just give me
some time.
there will be some times
you'll be grateful you stuck around for
sometime
longer.
sometimes,
i won't be there but
sometimes,
maybe, you'll remember me
some, times
when you'll be happy, and those
some times
long ago, will be
some time
behind you.
sometimes,
you'll cry and
sometimes,
you won't because
sometimes
there isn't anything to cry over.

(sometimes
you won't know what to write down.
sometimes
the papers too thin and
sometimes,
it's the words.)

you smell like water boiling
with maybe a teaspoon of salt in it.
like safety, like a prelude to food,
like the reason everyone gathers in a kitchen during a party,
like home. which is cliche and sappy and ultimately true.
my least favorite poems tend to talk about how
cliche they are and how it's true anyway.
it's true I don't know another way to say this.
not yet. i think i'll learn.
there are constellations that you can only see from the other side of the world, that i've never seen.
the southern cross, phoenix, carina.
constellations I've seen over and over again.
orion, cygnus, the pleiades.
I've never seen them in your eyes. I'll never see them in your eyes.
There are still a whole universe of stars behind them.

His eyes are beautiful,
His eyes were watching you;

His eyes are open and round,
when you see them they'll turn your frown upside down;

His eyes are filled with beauty and pain,
With no hopes of dreadful gain;

His eyes were filled with happiness now that has all been concurred by misery and agony,
To think that all that was present before was a big phony;

Those eyes that once made you feel safe are now the eyes that make you feel incomplete and to what purpose do you owe this defeat,
Times like this you try to fix but it's as if the pain is a record and once a smile come the pain will come  back around as if it's stuck on repeat.

Carina j

I think we are afraid of the vastness
we fear the vastness
the wild untamed beauty of our true nature

The other day at twilight,
I was traveling with my niece, Carina
down St. John's Heritage Highway
the view was absolutely breathtaking
no houses, no development, no people
just vast stretches of old Florida

As we paused to look at the primeval vista
my niece said she found it unnerving - the vastness

I told her I loved it because it reminded me of meditation
losing awareness of our limited, ordinary self
we enter an inexplicable vastness, primordial void
people-less, formless, infinite

We feel eternal truth rushing through our veins
We are part of a larger picture
greater than anything we can imagine

In the starry arms of the blossoming Universe
we rest safe, secure and loved forever

I am yet fascinated by the way you smile,
I am fascinated with the tone and masculinity in your voice,
I am fascinated with how you're man enough to let me take control of the steering wheel for a while, while we get life under control,
I am yet fascinated with how generous you are to others even those who've turned their backs to you,

I am infatuated with your entire bean, you are my hero in many ways even if you can't see it, you've been fighting a battle of pain and agony yet you can still manage to smile and laugh, and when you do it sounds like two angels are singing to my inner spirit. You are my strength.

I Carina Britney am and forever will be fascinated, infatuated, sincerely and deeply in love with you Joseph Britney

they rattle and shake
and sometimes,
they break.
theyre smooth and theyre dull
and oh so heavy, they are hard to pull
along
in this temple of ours,
already so full.
emptiness felt
from the absence of these bones
when our body fell apart,
but these were the cards we were dealt.
who knew
that even they fail,
that even those that protected our feelings,
our whole organs,
who bit off more than they could chew,
could stare blankly for eternity at the ceilings?
love was carved into them,
the bones of our past,
and love was what kept our house tiny and warm,
and darling we thought it would last.
but who knew?
that theyd fall,
and slowly,
then all at once...
be buried with our promises and dreams together
and maybe...
maybe even a rose or two.

©️ 2017-2018 CARINA RODRIGUEZ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

From this hydrant, I begin to drink
The wealth of knowledge, the geyser that
Overwhelms with ambition linked
To an endless reservoir of defeat.
I already feel the bloat setting in,
My internal resistance signaling
Near capacitance, the visceral
Response to give up, to give in, to halt.
Fight or flight has never felt so raw,
The two diverging at the carina
Aspirating the decision into me
As they inundate my atria.
I can feel the icy hot burn searing
My chest and neck from the inside out,
The irony of alveolar collapse
Rejecting my futile attempt
To breathe
Just like the titans swimming far ahead
Effortlessly whilst I struggle to tread,
Clawing at suffocating airways
That have yet to surpass elastance
And evolve the surfactant that promises
Life
Beyond the sleepless nights
Beyond the next exams
Beyond the repeating cycles
Of maximal effort and minimal results.
I crave the day when the desperation
For air to fill my lungs, to inspire
And expire the atmosphere, is replaced
With an aqueous tidal volume
That dissolves the surmounting pain
And converts water into air.

From this hydrant, I begin to breathe.