I look back on the years spent.
Like cheap coupons.
Cutting out sections of my life.
Living between black and white lines.
Expectations paper thin.
Hoping the change I had.
Would cover the difference I needed.
The dark unknown hiding fees.
Banking on the fact.
That I never check my blind spot.
Blindsided by percentages.
Sideswiped by statistics.
Its a numbers game.
What are you willing to waste.
On trying to make a life worth living
Throwing away moments like singles at a *******.
But only the ones unneeded.
Needless to say..
One could go broke.
Arguing semantics.

Sitting 'neath an apple tree
In Edmond, Oklahoma
Thinking of the days gone by
And drinking my Corona

Body beat all black and blue
I've had less ups than I've downs
I guess that's just all that I get
As an old time rodeo clown

Should I say another season?
Is it worth what I will get?
Money, pain and broken bones
Those not broken yet

I've been gored by bulls in Texas
Stomped real hard in Abilene
But, I got my worst **** beating
By my ex, named Bobbie Jean

With a bull you see it coming
You just get out of the way
But Bobbie Jean sideswiped me
And I'll not forget that day

Put on some clown makeup
Some baggy pants, the game is on
But, I came home from one junket
And Bobbie Jean had up and gone

I wasn't set to find this
Fell in a bottle for a week
It wasn't bad she left me
It's that she took my hound dog, Zeke

That hurt more than any beating
I may have taken in the ring
I can take the biggest brahma
And the bruises it may bring

But, Bobbie Jean done hurt me
Blind sided me you'd say
I know I'll not forgive her
For taking my dog Zeke away

Now, I sit and ponder
One more empty by my side
Am I fit enough to stay here?
Can I stay for one last ride?

I know it's a sad story
Of a clown whose heart got broke
But beneath the colored face paint
I'm just an aging, sore cowpoke

So I sit beneath this fruit tree
In Edmond, Oklahoma
Pondering my future
As I drink one more Corona.

is it weird that i feel like i never have any ideas?
i mean, could the idea fairy just speak up a bit?
is that too much to ask of my own personal imaginary genius?
just turn up the volume a little bit. ok, now the other ****.
everybody ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
great, aannnnd i still can't hear a ****** thing he's saying.

they tell me that the whole world is speaking to me...
that there is an intimate meaning in everything that happens
and that it somehow pertains to my personal life:
the light turns red, but you drive thru anyway, and
BAM you get sideswiped and you're ******* dead.
they tell me there's meaning in that to learn from.
yea like maybe don't go out into the intersection
when you know **** well the light's red?

but that's not the kind of meaning they're talking about.
the kind they're talking about whispers like a willow tree,
like a real-life "colors of the wind" remake is just going on,
swirling around your head and through your *****
all the **** time... and it's actually telling you something.
see, there's a message in that ***** damage you just received.
(or did it pass right through like some Slimer type of creature?)
["a fireplace just kind of appears and he goes through it like this"]

yeah well pick up the t shirt gun, Egon, and launch a few into the stands
because there's a widespread panic down at the community park...
photographers lined up wall to wall just to catch the tiniest glimpse of
the yetti who's writing a hemmingway-esque classic from cover to cover!
tell me who tf ever wrote a book by sitting down at the computer,
looking at the blank screen, and just starting off in a clear direction like,
"well, this 400 page novel is going to be about this, that, and the other,
here's 15 events that will help us get to a coherent ending, now type!"
[i swear some dude reading this is gonna be like, "um.. i can do that."
yeah? well you can shut up for now friend, cuz nobody's listening.]

[sigh.]

that was the idea fairy, wasn't it?

Sit in a desk
draw the Straight Line
pick the Right Answer
write the Right Sign

Negative, Positive
Black or White
that's what we learn
Day and Night

Plan out your life
be the Straight Line
pick the Right Answer
flash the Right Sign

Negative Positive
Day or Night
that's what we learn
Black and White

but then some ******
gets you fired
'cause he's hired
his girlfriend's son
and you get sideswiped coming home
and you fall in love
with--no one,
what makes you happy is the Wrong Choice
the call alluring you -- the Wrong Voice
you want to color outside the line
and-- actually...
if you can be brave enough...that's totally fine

There are many paths to happiness
You only need to find one
but it might not be in the Straight Line
the Right Answer
the Right Sign
But if you can be brave enough
It's totally fine

the roof rack:

george:

I pulled the car in the driveway and my father s standing on the porch, he s wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt

"George, where s the roof rack, where s the roof rack to the car???

George, "what roof rack, dad?"



sam and george at seton hall university:

sam: "we were smoking *** and drinking beer, I don't know who brought it up but we decided to drive to Steubenville, ohio and run naked through the girls dorm, we made it to youngsville, Pennsylvania, we ran out of gas and didn't have any momey so we go into this store, tell the man we ran out of gas and don't have any money, he reaches into the cash register and hands me a twenty...  

stolen cars:

(we weren't stealing cars, we were joy riding...borrowing)

bobby came back with a car, I dove through the back window,  he crashed the car in Belmar, bobby was smart he walked down to  the beach, I went to main street and, the cops stopped me and I would of gotten away just denying it but my hand was bleeding and there was blood in the car...
the owner of the car claimed there was 2 hundred dollars in his wife s pocket book...there wasn't, I know, I went through it...

...I wasn't with sam but he sideswiped a row of cars on second avenue, it was front page news and I read about it...

jack:  they needed valets to park cars at the berkley carteret hotel, this guy pulls up in a mercedes and hands me a ten... I drove the mercedes to the nearest liquor store and bought a six pack. I picked up a ******* 2nd avenue, she really loved the car...
... I pulled the Mercedes into the entrance to the hotel just as the owner of the Mercedes was coming out. I jumped outta the car, handed him the keys, he gives me another ten...

miscellaneous zen moments:


it was the state fair at the horse farm and they were charging 25 dollars per person and jack was with his girlfriend, he didn't want to pay 50 so he climb into the trunk of  the car, unfortunately he put the trunk key in his pocket.

Marybeth pulls the car in front of jack's house.

Jack's dad, "where s jack?"

Marybeth says nothing, stares.

the voice from the trunk, "in here dad."

Dad shakes head.

wasps scratch at windows with

long poisonous splinters, blanked

backward by a clear barrier.

not often detracted.

sideswiped by illustrated

howls blown as gradients of

emptiness.

spitting sparse raindrops, &

wearing the fragrantly cocktailed

rub of a garment out of doors.

vivid to the sense of smell, as if

brought indoors.

I suppose I could be mad. You sideswiped my confidence, but I allowed you to gift it to me. You pickpocketed my vanity, but I did dress it up for you.

I could be mad.
But that’s an excuse,

So
I think I should be angry instead that I gave you an invitation, or maybe what I gave you was more like a ticket.

Because
I keep breaking off pieces of myself as if I had perforated lines, and I still don’t know what love feels like.

Also it’s kinda messed up that
Kindness from any man feels like sunburn. Like on long summer days when the sun feels so good on your soul, you forget you have skin. Until the sun says it’s getting late, and you’re alone. My soul doesn’t mind the third degree but will cling to happiness when it can. The burn becomes a settling sediment, warmth in my memories.

I have to be cold to you

Because
I once let a man gouge a whole in my chest, and I can’t keep jabbing other men’s fingers in the wound.

But
No excuses

I keep aiming to feel hopelessness like it’s love again. I mean to say I’m a collector of damage, and I call it collateral. But what I am trying to say is I use damage to hold up to my my self worth’s reflection. (Make believe it’s a mirror).

Because
It’s easier to write off my existence, like it’s easier for me to write off yours.

So
It’s true
I would rather be kind to you, but I don’t know how to, see I knew what you had in mind, and I still gave you that ticket.
But I still gave you that ticket.
So, when I look at you (for too long), my soul is reminded there is a piece missing, and you did not think it difficult to part with. You didn’t  tuck away that piece, like a stub in your wallet for a good memory, a smile while buying cigarettes. And now it’s just garbage. And I am reminded there are 10 men who have no idea where my souls been misplaced. 10 tickets dissolving in rancid orange juice and egg whites.

Speaking of empty shells.
A broken vessel.
You, a bright mind formed from the stars, have developed a tremor. And I like to imagine it’s because the galaxies you’re forged from could not be contained on this planet. And so smooth gold light seeps from your just being, and touches all the people close to you. Your starlight is a barrel fire on this cold forgotten planet. The starless soak in your light, and rekindle their own flames.

You would have been too bright for this world, in this lifetime.

So
The universe delivered you a hammerblow, and took back one of your stars. And you, still shuttering from the impact, don’t dare shed light on things with the potential to be temporary, which you have decided is everything.

That is not an excuse

You had to replace a part of yourself.

And, so
You made your own stars. That does not make you whole. Man made pieces of a soul are sure to be clunky and incongruous. But you did cover the hole in your chest. (And years later, still quacking from that blow, you still can’t stop yourself from pouring light through your fractures.)

I write this
Because  
People can’t be forgotten, only discarded, and memories recollected in spite of ourselves. That is to say you are indelible. That crack the universe left, not a fault line, but a story. A story about how you remain so relentlessly, unapologetically whole. I know you feel like shards of glass. But your just being reminded me there are stars worth finding.

With a lack of direction, you’ve made your way closer to your path than most ever get. You are resilient. I wish I could have reflected the light in your eyes to the crack in your vessel, so you would understand how my glass shards felt whole.

This guy Al ‘Bag’ Daddy drives up in his limousine. It’s the home of his friend who is poor as a rat.
Al ‘Bag’ Daddy parks his car against the garbage can and smashes it.
His friend on the porch looks up and says, Hey Al, new car?
No, says Al, this is my old one. Want it?
His friend says, you buy me a new garbage can.
Al ‘Bag’ Daddy curses and drives off, screaming, you’re gonna stay trash yourself.

Al ‘Bag’ Daddy comes around to visit his friend again, who is poor as dirt.
He drives up in a new sports car, dressed in a fur coat.
He screeches to a halt, but manages to tear up a rug hanging over the porch balcony.
Hey Al, got a new coat? No, this used to be my dad’s. Want it?
So I can use it as a rug?
Al ‘Bag’ Daddy curses and races off, screaming, my shoes wouldn’t want you as a doormat.

Al ‘Bag’ Daddy comes around to his friend again who is poor as a match stick.
He drives up in a Hummer with a green Stetson on his head. The vehicle screeches to a halt, knocking down a just planted young apple tree.
Hey Al, got a new hat?
No, it used to be my gardeners’. Want it?
Send along your gardener with a new apple tree.
Al ‘Bag’ Daddy curses and races off, screaming, tree? You sit there all day, just like one.
Hey Al, got a point.

The friend popped up at Al’s mansion on an antique bike. He sideswiped a marble statue of a cherub.
Al ‘Bag’ Daddy shouted, you’re gonna pay for the smallest scratch.
Friend said, want the bike? I got two, one too much.
Yeah, Al said, seeing a profit, gimme the bike. I love anything on wheels.
But how are you gonna get back home?
Is that limousine still on offer?

The What It Is Kid jumped into his sideswiped sedan. It felt good. (Hey, his girlfriend said, we could do better.) He planned to make a blast, like a rubber bonfire. First swerve, some screeching smell. Next curve, some pebble sparks. Last turn, a nice gully. Sure thing, his skin did fireworks. The better it gets, the sooner it stops, his girlfriend said.

The What It Is Kid slipped into the Bar None. It felt great. (Hey, his girlfriend said, we could do greater.) He planned to take a bath, like a diver in a sea of drink. First shot, ah, ground swell. Next shot, hot spring bubbles. Last shot, wow, what a spray. Sure thing, his socks took a wash in his puke. The better it gets, the sooner it stops, his girlfriend said.

The What It Is Kid stumbled into the Junk Food Joint. It felt super. (Hey, his girlfriend said, we could do hyper.) He planned a burial, like a Fair-O in a Pyramid of Fat. First bite, stabilizing staple. Next bite, reaching for the sky. Last bite, a highway to the stars. Sure thing, his heart did a bypass. The better it gets, the sooner it stops, his girlfriend said.

It's what it is, she said to the ambulance guy.