Ten tall trees
Surrounding the stony path.
Nine familiar faces
Onlooking the happenings.
Eight rough rocks
Lining the rugged road.
Seven small points of nature's creation,
Frogs and dogs and birds and logs.
Six strong scents
That nature breathes.
Five fingers
Fumbling to find safety.
Four stable wheels
Lying under the board.
Three friendly hands for confident comfort
Deceitful yet calm.
Two arms for balance
A lonely truth of real care.
One blue bruise
From the lies of onlookers and the deceit of a skateboard.

Every time I look into the mirror, I see someone different
I've been trying to find myself in other people for as long as I can remember
My body belongs to those who have shaped me
To the ones who have taken me by the hand and have taken me apart one by one, I present before you the one who was rebuilt by his surroundings and the ones who cared enough (or not so much) about their work

The forgetfulness in my bones stems from the girl I met in elementary school
She was so lackadaisical, you couldn't find a care in her world even if you tried your hardest
She taught me that it isn't always in your favor to care so much
That sometimes it isn't worth it to worry about everything or everyone else, especially if the situations or people are toxic to you

The boy I met in my 7th grade math class
He smoked cigarettes and liked to skateboard
I'd like to thank him for giving me the push I needed to stop caring so much about the way I looked and also for showing me that the words people say to me don't matter as much as I think they do
I don't talk to him much anymore, but I know he'd be disappointed by the fact that I've let such sadness and pessimism slip into my veins
Things were never simpler than when listening to loud punk music and skateboarding were the only things that mattered to me
I'd give anything to take myself back

I met a boy when I was 14 years old
He listened to cool music and played call of duty with me
He was my best friend
The more we grew up, the more we grew apart
His opinions started to differ from mine
His personality changed for the worse
He taught me that "depression is a sin" and I need to "find God" to rid myself of my sadness
He taught me that sometimes even the ones you love can slip away from you in the blink of an eye, but it isn't always a bad  thing

The girl I met my freshman year of highschool
She was short and full of steam that never seemed to come to an end
If rebellion had a face, it was definitely hers
She taught me that people can lie about anything as long as the ones listening to them care enough about them

But trust me, those were the least of my trust issues
The girl I met my junior year of highschool gave me such a different point of view about everything
She was older, so I thought she knew better
I thought things were different this time, better than they had ever been before her
Now my most vibrant memory of her is sitting in her driveway while she bawled her eyes out and cursed me for hours
Even though I wasn't in the wrong, I put myself in it and I stayed in it until I was forced out
She taught me that lust wears a costume
Sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's pretty
Sometimes it looks like love

I met a girl my senior year of highschool
The sunshine shimmered through her hair and the words she spoke were softer than a pillow after a long day of work
She had a lot of problems, but so did I
She taught me that it's not right for me to carry someone else's weight without being strong enough to lift my own
She taught me that love is a struggle and it can get extremely ugly if it isn't kept up with

I met a guy a few years ago
Through thick and thin, I know we have each other's back, no matter what
There are some people that you meet that you just know will be in your life for as long as you want them to be
They'll love you regardless of what you've been through, regardless of your opinions, and regardless of if you think badly about yourself
They will be here for you until the end, and he taught me to cherish real friendship; it isn't easy to come by

I met a girl when I was 15 years old
I didn't know it then, and I'm having a hard time contemplating it now, but I know she's something special
Through everything we have both been through, we always end up back together
It seems that we pop up in each other's lives when we need each other the most
She taught me that people who are meant to be in your life, will never leave it for good
They will always find a way back to you

As time went on and I thought things couldn't get any worse, I met my future
I met friends who cared about me
I met a newfound hope that I thought was extinguished years ago
I met happiness and I shook hands with it

From start to end, my life is a puzzle that I sometimes have a hard time finding the pieces to
I've found a few pieces so far, and others pieces haven't fit perfectly, but trial and error will get you through anything if you try hard enough

I've held up to this point, and I don't really see myself collapsing anytime soon

As much as life and I have a love-hate relationship, I don't think I'd change anything

I don't have an eating disorder
But
I eat one meal a day

I don't have an eating disorder
But
I cant eat more than 700 calories a day

I don't have an eating disorder
But
I have to skateboard at least 5 hours a day

I don't have an eating disorder
But
If I don't know how many calories is in something I can't eat it

i saw this kid today
he said his name was george
he was not driving or walking
instead he rode a skateboard
he had eyes just like venom
and a face just like a boar
he said his dad had just stopped drinking
but his mother's still a *****
he asked if i had a warm dry place
that he could call a floor
his shirt was violent and wild
i guess you'd call him poor
but i invited him up the steps
i hailed him through the door
and that's all that i can think of yet
so i cannot write anymore
some reason i am rhyming today
so i thought i'd rhyme one more

1.You were my first love, I will never forget that summer. With the boy who always wore a Rockstar SnapBack and taught me how to skateboard. I told you I wanted to see your best friend. That was first time feeling my heart break while bleeding regret. I cried to mayday parade every night after. A few years later you chatted me and asked if you could be my first kiss. I'm glad you weren't. We haven't talked since and you can't be my first everything.
2. You were a rebel. You asked me to run away with you; we planed our escape to the mountains. You wanted to kiss me after you walked me home in the snow. I remember how cold my feet were in my converse. I ran away before our lips met. I didn't want you to take stars from my eyes like I knew you would. Somehow years later, you are still stuck in the same town while I ran 2,000 miles away to the mountains.
3. There was distance between us. But you always drove to my house in your beloved red Mazda. I wanted to like you as much as you liked me. You were the only guy to ever buy me flowers; they died just like us. I told you I couldn't be with you anymore; I know I broke your heart.
4. I swear you were fate. My judgement was cloudy from all the drugs you always had to give. I wanted to mend your life, I wanted to be your glue. But I realized I was just as broken but in different ways. As much as we wanted, we couldn't piece the other one back together with our shattered hands. I'm just ****** you can say you took my virginity. I hope it hurts every time you hear my name.
5. I never saw this coming. You were a Junior and I was a freshmen. You stole my first kiss; somehow I never forgot how your lips tasted. You were out of my league but you fell for me. I convinced myself it was just a summer fling. While you were saying goodbye to summer, I was boarding a plane. At the terminal you whispered you loved me. Now, you are the only one I can see myself with.

every 1:27am
I come to my garage
and I sit with wine
and converse with
an out-of-place nightstand,
june bugs aimlessly run into
stacked boxes and
heartbroken drywall wink
at my knuckles,
only tangibility could express the
scattered personality of this garage
but somehow I feel at home,
unplugged freezers,
shop brooms drenched in sawdust,
broken hockey sticks,
half stained 2x4’s
clout my memories with
wanting to be young again,
shooting pucks with dad,
having laughs roll
off my tongue again,
sweeping grass off
the driveway, and watching
my sister fail at riding a bike,
now she’s going to university
and I’m sweeping up
cigarette butts in this garage,
I still see the skateboard
I broke my wrist on and I
have to work in the morning,
at 1:53 I’m rolling up news papers
and hitting curve balled
june bugs and I have
to cut this short cause
my girlfriend called and she needs
a ride home from the bar //


3:17

The soda can rumbles in the bowels,
tumbling into the gaping mouth
into which I enter a hand
to protrude my sugar rush.

sssni-kah, then the slurp of an obnoxiously pleasing sip.
I let the carbonation tickle my tongue,
reveling in the effervescent sensation.

The smell of old tires,
malodorous oil and gasoline,
and stale cigarettes fill the air.

My vexatious sips go unperturbing the dense atmosphere
that thickens outside the small air-conditioned office
and into the gas station,

where the mutters and sputters of drills,
kakadoo, kakadoo,
the squeaking and squawking of rotors and axles,
the interjections of swears and grunts
fill the air.

I peek through the ***** smudgy glass window in the door
to see grimy overalled ants meandering
under the body of our red mini-van
hiked up into the air like a figure skater,
suspended by the rusty clawed accompanist,
not a tremor of strain, unflinching,
letting the greasy men crawl underneath, hiking up her skirt
to examine her anatomy.

I walk outside and sit on a dusty tire stacked with others
on the side of the building--
some growing forlorn in tall grass
weaving in and out of the aperturous rim,
the fingers latching onto fissures and pulling it down
into the hungry earth.

Another slurp and I set the can down
to step onto my skateboard--
rolling across the gritty pavement,
snapping ollies and pop-shuv-its
to add my timbre to the cacophony
leaping out of the open garage doors.

I look over to the barbershop adjacent to the station--

The off-white single room squat allowing the cylindrical swirl
perpetually pirouetting atop the door-frame
to dazzle in a placid manner.

It is there I get my close trims
and pull a lollipop from the cavernous bowl
sitting atop the counter.

The barber, working silently behind his dull gray mustache
and dull gray eyes.

Outside the barbershop to the left,
Leicester Highway ambles onward,
diverging at a fork just ahead of the lot,
and the road adjacent that winds down my neighborhood,
Juno Drive.

I've never embarked down either divergent,
and I wonder which one is the less traveled.
(Frost, guide me.)

I go to the mailbox teetering on the edge of the highway
and hastily grab our mail,
the wind slapping at my *** as the cars whisk by
in their infinitesimal haste.

I feel like time slows once you step onto Juno Drive.

I turn around and saunter back to the station to see Billy,
my Working-Class Hero,
who I mostly see strolling up to the driver's side window
of our dull red mini-van
to loosely rest his arms crossed atop the window frame,
resting his sweaty forehead on his sticky hairy forearms.

Leaning in,

his blackened hands with his greasy smile
behind a scruffy scattered beard caked with dirt and grime,
atop a dark red leather face--
but eyes bright and merry.

His laugh, a phlegmy two-pack-a-day sputter
hacking and pummeling through the van,
all the way to me in the backseat peeking around mom's shoulders
to catch a look at this superhero anomaly.

And his southern drawl wrenching out of lungs
caked in tar and exhaust fumes,
that torpid slur that executes like the garbled hum
of an Oldsmobile engine chugging restlessly--

His laugh, an engine that won't turn over, sputtering to life
but falling right back down into the dirt,
lying on the oil-stained cold concrete floors ***** boots slipping over
and sticking too like wads of gum.

The charismatic mechanic who knew the answer to all things,
always ready to flash me that crooked greasy smile
stretching across his ruddy leather face.

I step back onto my skateboard, with soda in hand,
mail in the other,
and silently say goodbye to my Greasy Eden
before making my way down Juno Drive
towards the first house on the left,

following the road as it snakes past the trees,
alongside the creek, around the bend,
and out of sight.

Slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp
Yellow straws pierced paper cups
My best friend Darcie sat opposite me but I’m drifting into my own day dream
Sorry buddy, I was busy thinking about boys
                                   ……….
I love it when they are 24 with their hoods up riding on their skateboards
Cigarettes exhales, face in a smoky haze
Sips from their pints, long phone calls at night
Out in the town with their boys, gentle stubble cute glasses, cheeky winks whilst passing
I love a guy who is both cocky and sweet with the latest Vans on his feet
His sense of humour pours with hilarious sarcasm, he lives for “the bantz”
I love it when a guy makes us both a cup of tea when he didn’t even ask me
I love it when they are cheeky, moody, funny, cocky and silly
Lying in bed every Sunday holding me
Messy tousled hair everywhere, fingers through mine, a hoodie I live in, a chest I feel protected with
Then, suddenly, Darcie snaps her fingers, I’m bought back to reality, sorry, I was busy thinking about boys……..

                                          ……………….
Saturday night, glitter flies, house party chaos inside cigarettes smoking, everyone drinking, rain pouring-
I stand in the corner, me and the queens there’s some tens they’ve just seen
I drink my drink, words are getting slurred
No time to think
Some lads walk over to us but they aren’t the lads I like
My mind wonders…….
                                            …………
I like guys with tousled hair and a soulful stare
I love sculpted features they are such handsome creatures and unique smiles so secret, I couldn’t tell anyone else
I love a tall lad who can make me laugh and I don’t mean giggle a little I mean **** my pants hilarious
I like a guy who is controversial, someone who is not afraid to say what he wants, a sassy man who can match me
I adore talent, someone who is brave from all the demons he has faced
“Earth to Hannah! Babe, you want to drink?”
Kirsty is in front of me
Oh **** yeah mate sorry, I was busy thinking about boys
                                            …………
Sunday hungover, watching Buffy the vampire slayer, obviously eating pizza
Then, in walks Ella
“Hannah, honey, I need some advice from ya!”
Ok.
Her lips are moving but her words are lost in translation
I don’t notice her frustration
Because, of course, I was busy thinking about boys
                                          ………..
I would love a sarcastic, cocky, cheeky lad to read me books on love
Then stare into my soul and say he’s found his, I am enough
To claim his search is over and even love me when he is sober
Sunday is made for napping in his arms in our fort of no harm
Drinking tea together in our lazy state not only is he a lover but also a soul mate
I would feel so pretty every time he looks at me, he would never cheat
I would chop his ***** off if he did, he knows this
Nah seriously though,
I really ******* would
But he would say “I don’t need to look anywhere else”, he’s being honest, I can tell
“Hannah! **** sake, are you listening?”
Sorry mate, I was busy thinking about boys
                             …………..
Long day, a thousand coffees consumed, I’m finally home
I race to my room I want time on my own
Candle light dancing on these walls the flame burns to white
Incense lit, vinyl’s play, I close my eyes and disappear into the night
Not even answering phone calls because I’m so busy thinking about boys
                              ………
My dream tall happy, funny, cocky king of street style he rides on his skateboard for miles, out with his boys drinking pints
Giving out cheeky winks but when he lays his eyes on me it’s his heart I win
**** stubble brushing against my soft delicate skin constantly wearing his clothes I live in
Fingers intertwine all the time, his body entangled in mine
And, on the days he’s not fine I do what I can to bring him back to life
He will be the bravest man I know because those demons never got your soul
Messing each other’s hair, breathing in cold air, running through the streets like we don’t care. His soulful stare
I love him so much
Sunday church is only present in our bed where we worship each other, he is my best friend and my soulmate like no other
We read to each other drinking tea together in our den of safety where he feels like home to me
His sarcasm gets me through every awkward family gathering
I laugh so hard I need to ***, he is the one for me
I haven’t met him but I’m in love already
He’s a good man, he doesn’t lie or cheat and he’s seen me in all my defeats but he’s helped me stand up once again where he chased away the pain
He’s a talented soul but he doesn’t believe it so yet I tell him everyday
We saved each others lives in a way.
So, yes to answer the question I was thinking about boys but there’s one particular,
His name unknown, no one you know
Nether do I
But I'm sure he is the one who will stay and be forever mine locked away in a locket close to my beating heart
I will not apologize for thinking about him, the one true love I will find
                                   …………

Falling, like Autumn
and landing swiftly
on top of a pile of freshly baked dreams,
Crunch goes my heart
crumbling like leaves

Jumping into fantasies,
like fishing for rubber ducks
What's my point you ask,
I don't know where to start

I'm spinning around like a hurricane
Watch Out
I'm a runaway

... But it's okay

You see I've been walking around like the ground
is my skateboard
and I'm so chilled and satisfied with the life that I'm riding on'
so perhaps I don't need to hold on to anything or anyone anymore,
and maybe it's time to chuck the helmet away,
'cause I've already made it this far somehow

Heck, I don't need looking after
'cause I'm my safe haven now

Dear Papa,
Yesterday I saw something that I didn’t understand.
They were walking a little ahead of me.
But walking isn't the right word,
because there were two people
and only two feet.
It sounds like a math problem,
But nothing added up in my head.
It sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
But unlike the story you told me the other day,
there was no strong king or sly demon.
I saw, however, one ***** underfed boy of eight
dragging his crippled mother across the street.
Adhunik Shravan bal.
A Lilliputian on a Herculean task.
I couldn't decipher her age.
When you're that poor, does age matter?
Do they keep count of the days that pass by
when their aim is to survive just one?
Do they have a mirror to look into
and count the wrinkles on their face?
What does age matter to an eight year old boy
who, instead of attending school,
is hauling his handicapped mother across the road
on a seating board with wheels?
When I was that age, papa,
you bought me a skateboard
that was the exact leaf green
from my 50 colours oil pastels set.
I couldn't see the colour of their clothes.
There was the dark of the night,
yellow of the street lights
and everything was in sepia
like the picture you showed me
of your childhood.
You once told me you were raised in poverty too, papa.
Are there different kinds of poverty?
Did you get toys to play with
or were your clothes in sepia too?
I told you this sounds like a math problem, papa,
And here’s what doesn't add up.
Isn't a parent supposed to hold their child's hand
and show them how to cross the road?
I remember holding your hand,
looking left-right-left
and matching my steps
with your strides.
Fast, but never run.
Who taught him, papa?
Did he have his own papa to teach him?
How did he learn to walk fast enough
and pull hard enough
so that he and his mom made it across the road in time?
How did he find the strength if he was underfed?
He truly reminds me of Shravan bal,
because who else would carry his mother
across such distances.
I told you it sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
and now that I think about it, it really does.
Maybe this little boy is a young king.
Maybe he brings his vetal back home every day.
Maybe he hears her talk about her day.
And maybe, papa,
when he succeeds every night,
she saves him from an evil tantric.
An evil tantric called hunger.

The loudest sounds most kids hear on a school day
are lockers slamming, or maybe the late bell tone
I hear all of those, but the loudest sounds by far
are those created by the lacrosse team
when they beat the **** out of me
every day,
after 8th hour, at the intersection of nerd street and **** avenue

The attacks were formulaic, more complex than Pythagoras
but simpler than Newton’s Binomial Theorem;
Two would tackle me, one would pin me down,
and the rest would kick me around as if it were soccer tryouts
and I was nothing more than a ball
and regardless of whether you derived or integrated this equation
you always got the same solution
me ******, and them ****** happy

I would go home bawling; so would they
but instead of tears they dropped floaters
And I had a rep as the kid with a concussion before the season even began

I was born five pounds tops, with no biceps whatsoever
and as I grew my arms didn’t follow
making me as clear a target as a corpsman in World War 2
To my doc’s urging I drank milk religiously
but that didn’t do **** when I tangled with Darren Shields and his Air Jordans on 4th and eternity
Instead of my ankles however, he broke my ribs; 6 of em’
Told me he’d **** me if I ratted
So I told the mother I fell off my skateboard
Because I didn’t want a rematch with Muhammad Ollie

I considered hitting the off switch on my life
at least three times a week
but I didn’t know how to tie a noose,
didn’t know where my dad’s shotgun was
and I wasn’t ballsy enough to try a steak knife
Which is ironic because if I was brave enough for that
none of this may have happened
I’ll even admit I liked to daydream about building
and bringing a bomb to school by backpack
getting revenge by leaving a crater
where my class was at

And though the bible said suicide was cowardly
I was too cowardly for suicide
So I reasoned that if I got into college out of state
it would be worth a couple more years
of broken bones, ***** dousings, and concussions
So I did nothing


Fast forward eight years
I gained two feet in height
Armanis replace my Reeboks
a multinational corporation, my 4.0’s
I’ve made the covers of Fortune and GQ,
my speed-dial list comprises of more celebrities than actual friends
my annual salary consists of two significant numbers
followed by double-digit zeroes

When I’m not working overtime I spend my days
pulling beautiful women and enjoying the pleasures
that God gave us
Every time I yank my shirt off, each girl gives me the
same wide-eyed expression and unspoken question
regarding the cruel scars all over my body,
to the point where I resort to answering every time with,
“I played lacrosse in high school.”

And I have never forgotten about high school
But Darren Shields has, and fate has him working several floors down
He HAS forgotten
He has forgotten me, my face, my voice when I pleaded for mercy
But I have not forgotten him
Nor have I forgotten my hatred
Nor my fear

I could hurt him
I could fire him with contempt
or disgrace him publicly
or to the very least, remind him of the good old days
and make him feel like the **** he was
But I don’t; I won’t

He must wonder why I struggle
to look him in the eye
or shudder when he cheerfully claps me
on the shoulder every morning  
As I am still haunted by them old days

And despite how I now spend my life in a huge office
surrounded by wealth, women,
and mostly absolute silence
I can still hear the sounds of lockers slamming,
of late bell tones
But loudest of all, I hear the sound of my body breaking
Thanks to Darren Shields on 4th and eternity

her dog put to slumber.  thin as a puddle.  there at the end would whimper with any footfall on a gentleman’s coat.  

-

her pup a yip
in a backpack
when on occasion
she'd punch
a skateboard

You are not perfect.

You are going to fall in love with that boy, and you are going to let him destroy you in every sense of the word.

He is going to know everything about you. He is going to know what to say to make you smile, and how you take your coffee.
He is going to know when to hold you and when to leave you alone. He is going to know about that weird scar on your left knee from three summers ago when you tried to learn how to skateboard.

All of this is great until he tells you he just doesn't feel the same and your crying more than you ever knew possible but somehow you end up comforting him, because he's hurt too, after all,
Its not his fault that he stopped loving you.

Flash forward a couple months, he's telling you pretty things and your going to fall for it like you do every time, because you love him. Your going to let yourself fall back into your old ways, your going to apologize for not being good enough, as if he is some otherworldly being , but he is just a boy.He is going to tell you he ****** that girl and i promise you will never feel more broken.You are going to come back too many times to count, you are going to let him hold you and touch you and kiss you, and its always going to end with you on your floor crying to your friends, swearing to god that this is the last time.

For months the thought of someone else touching you makes you sick , after all you've only been with him, but when you finally let somebody else hold you, and i promise, that time will come, you are going to realize that he is not the only boy in the world. You are going to move on.

What nobody tells you about moving on is that sometimes you will be kissing your new lover and for a second he is going to cross your mind.

daffodils sprinkle their magic
fairy dust along tufts of whispering bluegrass.
her laugh skips across the rocky driveway,
as she watches her best friend balance on a skateboard.
panting spotted dogs lap cool water from their
brightly colored bowls as they lounge on the wrap-around porch.
next-door-neighbors splash into their pools, the scent of
grilled hotdogs and charred hamburgers wafting across the
aquamarine sky. children with floaties splash at their
parents, tiny mouths bursting into sun-soaked smiles.
sunscreen-toting mothers drag beach towels embroidered with
superheroes and princesses to dry off their young ones.
warm-bodied babies cry on bouncing knees as storm clouds
gather across the stainless steel skies. little girls squeal and
parents scoop their plates filled with food into the house, as
lightning sings in the afternoon.

Your room still is the same
No ones been in it since you left
The posters are still on the wall
Your bed is still a mess
Your clothes are still in the closest
The skateboard you loved
Is still in the garage
With all your old toys
And baby clothes
I could never get rid of them
There is still a place for you at dinner
I put it there expecting you to walk through the door
But I know that you never will again
Because you are beyond this world now

you can be the horizon, and i'll be the sunset.
you can be the ocean, and i'll be the sailboat.
you can be the trophy, and i'll be the first place winner.
you can be the road, and i'll be the skateboard.
you can be the earth, and i'll be the humanity.
you can be the cause, and i'll be the demonstration.
you can be the sunlight, and i'll be the flowers.
you can be the amazon, and i'll be the explorer.
you can be the faith, and i'll be the believer.
you can be the sleep, and i'll be the dreams.
because wherever you go, i'll always be
sitting next to you, you'll always see me.

The weather was unusually bright and intoxicating for a late March day in Seattle.  A beautifully lit sun was shining majestically upon the city, revealing shadowed sidewalks and snow capped mountains - a reminder of what season we had most recently endured. The Space Needle stood as brilliant and bold as a postcard photo, while tourists shuffled with dogged determination in hopes of capturing that most perfect moment of their soon-to-be memory.  Despite the sun's brilliance, there was still a windy chill in the Emerald City which required more than a mere sweater.

As I waited patiently for my bus, I noticed a woman occupying the covered bus stop across the street.  At first glance she seemed like every other "normal" woman in wait - she was bundled up in an early spring overcoat, her thickly braided hair was piled atop her head and embellished with an exotic scarf, and she had the most gorgeous red colored lipstick covering her full lips.  She wore black slacks and a long ankle length black sweater. At closer glance,  I saw she was accompanied by a child's stroller full of bulky items.  The entire thing was wrapped tightly with black plastic garbage bags to keep it covered and dry.  I then noticed the bottom hem of her slacks were filthy and terribly frayed, and her sock filled sandals were near mutilated and worn thin.  She began speaking loudly and aggressively, flailing her arms about.  She seemed to be having an emphatic conversation on what appeared to be a broken cell phone - the back of which was completely exposed - showing a missing battery.

I wondered how she got to where she was in life?  What had happened to make her lose her mind, herself?  I was engulfed with both empathy and fear, knowing that I could be just a few bad life choices or circumstances away from where she stood.  My thoughts then pictured her as a tiny, newborn baby - innocent, pure, and full of new life and possibilities.  She was once someone's pride and joy, or perhaps someone's honest mistake.  As my mind flirted with such images she suddenly became more restless, walking back and forth while expressively talking to "someone" on that non-working cellphone.  I then wondered what her dreams were as a child, her strengths and her creative gifts?  I grew angry pondering who or what made her go from an angelic child of the universe to a blabbering idiot whose only belongings were a broken cell phone, a baby carriage, and a pretty ******-off alternate reality.

At that very moment a heard a noise that sounded a lot like a skateboard.  As I turned to my left, I saw an incredibly handsome and well-dressed young man pushing himself in a wheelchair.  As we both caught each other's eyes, there was an innocent moment of mutual attraction. 

He was gorgeous, like John F. Kennedy Jr. gorgeous.  

We smiled at one another, but his smile had an air of apology and shame coloring its edges - as if he was newly destined to his life in that chair, but was trying his best to boldly accept it.  I wondered if my smile was also colored, unconsciously, with ignorant sympathy and sorrow for his lot in life.  

However, it saddened me to think of how harsh life can be for someone in his predicament.  How his good looks, skills, and charms could possibly be overshadowed by his disability  - and society's quick judgements to those who are surviving them. 

As he wheeled past me with the strength and determination of an Ivy League rowing champ, my heart opened wider while my eyes welled up with tears.  Here were two true survivors thriving as best they could in their current circumstances. Such interactions seem like enormous lessons in universal acceptance. Each of these individuals has the option, as we all do, to put a gun in their mouths or lay upon the train tracks and end the ****** card life has dealt them.  Instead, they are choosing to shamelessly BE at this moment in time, regardless of the unfair advantage life has given them in it's little game. 

Who knew you could learn so much about gratitude, humility, and acceptance from a chance encounter at a bus stop with a handsome, well-dressed man in a wheelchair, and a proud homeless woman with the loveliest shade of crimson upon her lips....

i feel adventure in my bones
trying to crush me from the inside out
turn me to dust,
for what an adventure that would be

i could bathe in spring water
somewhere hidden deep in Fiji
maybe i would skateboard
on cobblestone sidewalks
in Spain or Italy
i’d like to run away to New York City
or to San Francisco
and wander the streets at night
with a new pack of cigarettes
and nowhere to be
some day i might like to go
to the white house
and Lincoln Memorial
or just a failing silver diner
it doesn’t matter

i just want to go somewhere
there is no explanation
i just want to go anywhere

I’ll sing you a lullaby,
From all my toys,
They’d come to life
And me make noise,
They’d make me sing at night,
Sing songs well spoken,
But now it’s turned to fright,
As they’ve been broken.

The color from the paint is gone,
The windows are now smashed,
What was blue and white
Has now turned grey,
And faultless plastic has held its might,
As I still sit here and play.

A skipping string with rope unknotted,
A trampoline with springs unthread,
A skateboard that misses it’s wheels,
All sit alone in this old shed.

The doll house empty,
and rooms abandoned,
The dolls are naked,
that clothes can’t find,
A broken swing,
that has been stranded,
A teddy bear that’s lost its mind.

A plastic keyboard, that makes no sound,
A cooker oven with stickers ripped,
A crying dog that has been mound,
A broken stool that can’t be fixed.

Although they're damaged and battered through,
They sing me lullabies, I sing to you.

They ******* alive,
So I make noise,
So I can sleep at night,
With these few toys.

It’s a “travel week” here in Georgia. I’m writing this on June 1st at the Atlanta airport. This morning Sunny’s flying in from Nebraska, Sophy from California, Lisa from New York and Anna from Oregon - all around noon. Charles put a hard-shell luggage carrier on the roof of the Navigator because he didn’t trust it to hold the luggage 4 girls could bring.

My parents left last Saturday for Warsaw to join “Doctors Without Borders.” Charles, Leong and I drove them to the airport and then we took Leong to “The Mad Italian” for the best steak & cheese sandwiches on this side of andromeda.

Sunday was a typical lake day. We tied off in our favorite cove and were quickly joined by everyone who could get on a boat. Imagine that Dunkirk movie - except this was a get together - with motorboats, sailboats, skiffs, pontoon boats and canoes all crowding the little bay.

Leong’s an avril lavigne - who knew? On Monday, I surprised her with something green - a trip to “Fun Galaxy” roller-skating rink. I made reservations for a “birthday party” and a group of 15 of us had the rink to ourselves all morning (and cake). I thought I was a skater but Leong’s legit. She says that in Macau you either skate on the street (rough terrain and dangerously between cars) or at one of several huge multisport pavilions where the rinks are cement and resemble our skateboard courses.

She’d never seen an air-conditioned, basketball-court-smooth-hardwood, disco-lit, rock concert sounding, American roller rink. It was love at first sight. She spins, does double lutzes, skates faster backwards than I can forwards, and the manager threatened to pull her off the floor for doing backflips (“There are liability issues,” he insisted.) She was also amazed because there was a built-in diner. At home, she said, you have to bring your own water and sometimes your own toilet paper (toilets are completely different in Asia - don’t get me started on THAT).

Yesterday, Leong, Kim and I were waiting for a Facetime call, to coordinate today’s arrivals.
Before that though, at my behest, Kim helped me ferret-out - Holmes & Watson like - the dire skinny on something, and we, as long time besties and co-conspirators, had a plan.
“Did you know Rob Chen was class valedictorian this year?” Kim asked the room.
“No!, congratulations Rob,” I said.
“Yea, Rob,” Leong echoed nonchalantly.
“We’re so proud of Rob.” Kim continues.
“But, you know,” I said seriously, “there are Rob haters out there. I understand it - he’s hateable,” I expand.
“ek,” Kim blurted, like a little bird, at Leong’s reaction as Leong gasps, “What.. Why?”
“Because he dresses ugly!” I explained.
Kim, unable to curb her excitement, squeaks out loud.
Leong looked at Kim, shocked, Kim was looking down and rocking with the effort of silence.
“That’s not enough REASON,” Leong blurts, “to hate someone!
Again, Leong looked to Kim for agreement and got none.
“I don’t hate YOU,” Leong says, turning on me.

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“WOW.. wow,” I say, as Kim nervously snickered with glee.
“First of all,” I begin, between my own chuckles, a defense:
“I’m wearing a very **** black ensemble but not exactly dressed to go OUT, (Kim laugh-coughed) and SECOND,” I pause for drama-queen effect.
“YOU,” I say, turning my head significantly and accusingly, towards Leong, slightly askew for a better view, “seem to have quite a few hickies on your neck this morning.”
Kim can't stand it any more and squeals, full out, with delight.
“You, need,” Leong said, pausing just before she lunges at me playfully, to put her hand over my mouth, “to cut off THAT line,”
“I knew it.. I KNEW it!” I say, bobbing and turning my head away as Leong pins me with her body while still trying to mug me and we’re all howling with laughter now.
“Those are Rob Chen hickies! - I. KNEW. IT.”

The facetime ring interrupts us and Leong reluctantly lets me go to answer it.
We all sober as she moves to press “Accept.”
“Let me just loop-back to say,” I looked at Kim with elementary-dear-Watson satisfaction, and said to Leong, “you didn’t deny it,”
Leong blushes crimson as the call begins.

briano alliano plays at jupiter moon



hi dudes and welcome you all to jupiter moon and my first song is wild thing

here it goes


you see i am a wild thing, ah ah ah ah ah ah

you make my heart sing, oh yeah let’s party

you make my heart leap right out of my body

making it wanna bleed, you wild thing

wild thing, i wanna love you, but i wanna no for sure

i wanna love you baby, better than before

wild thing yeah i am cool man

i make your heart sing, really radical dude

the party is on for young and old, oh yeah we wanna party on yeah

wild thing, i wanna have *** with you, oh yeah i do, yeah

i wanna have *** with you and make you wanna scream for more, oh baby

wild thing, come on little dude, let’s ****** party, yeah

you see i will party and knock your hearing aids out, wild thing

wild thing, wa wa wa wa wa wa

you make your heart sing and making your heart leap right out of your body, like a

bouncing ping pong ball, you wild thing

hi dudes that was a great song and now here is 15 miles

15 miles to get to the end

without some people driving you round the bend

you see i gotta find a way to get there in time

before we ****** reach the state line

you see i do my work and i do it so well

and enjoy the treats ya know ya just don’t tell

ya parents dude, what you just ate

because if you do, you will be too sick to eat off your dinner plate

and i write my stories oh yeah i am fine

you see i write stories like the **** kids gaol and captured in the psych ward and more

people say shut up woosey to me, cause when i was young i was a tad shy for them

15 miles to get to the end

without some people driving you round the bend

i have to find a way to get there in time

before we ****** reach the state line

money comes and money goes

then we go out side to play in the snow

you see i chuck a snowball onto my dad

and he tells me of the fun we had

you see in this world i have so much fun

actually it makes me want to eat a cream bun, and enjoy it

don’t tell your mum

yeah we jump up and scream to the world

all the problems you have with it

15 miles to get to the end

without some people driving you round the bend

i have to find a way to get there in time

before we ****** reach the state line

you see right wing governments don’t give a ****

yeah they don’t care one little bit

julia gave the poor money, yeah that is rad

but abbott doesn’t care, it drives me totally mad

15 miles to get to the end

without some people driving you round the bend

i have to find a way to boot abbott out in time

before we are the poorest nation this side of the line

this side of the ****** line

hi dudes, that was a great song wasn’t it, and now here is oxy ***** give me a smoke

if i smoke a ****** drag, and if i enjoy it very much

do you honestly think i will give it to you, neh

keep your greedy mits off it

you see there are some things in life a poor ****** like me needs more than anything else

and that is a smoke, NOT

i don’t smoke, i don’t want to

i don’t smoke, who needs to

people don’t believe me when i say i gave up cigarettes, i tell them no, and say *******

well, what a bunch of crap, he is just a pain in the ***

i don’t smoke, who wants to, it will **** me if i try who needs to

only yobbos smoke, because my friend it’s bad for my health

i don’t smoke, i never wanted to smoke, so please don’t presume i do, by starting to fight me on the street

and i never wanted to smoke, i smoked to be cool

but man oh man i quit, because it ain’t a good ****** look, hurts my reputation

hi dudes, that was a great song, i hope you enjoyed it and now i sing duncan

i would love to chuck a methane smoothie on duncan

i would love to chunck methane on dunc

ya see it will improve the quality of his life on earth

and it’s better than beer that gets you hopelessly drunk

i chuck it on top of his head dude and then down his pants, that is great

i would love to chuck methane on duncan cause he is my mate

i would love to chuck methane on bas boy

yeah i would love to chuck methane on baz

to get rid of the stress he shows when his kids are in trouble

yeah i can tell you baz,, i am doing fine

i still want to chuck it on my bas boy, which will make jupiter’s atmosphere so great

i would love to chuck methane on baz boy, cause he is our mate

i would love to chuck methane on scott mcdonald

yeah that’ll be fun to chuck methane on him

you see he became lucky and muscles to tease us all

yeah it felt like we were getting attacked by a jungle ape

i pour the keg on top of scott yeah, making the atmosphere so great

i would tip methane all over scott cause he is a great mate

hi dudes and here is a christmas song for christmas in july

jingle bells bat man smells robin laid an egg

the bat mobile lost it’s wheel, the joker got away

dashing through the park on a skateboard as he does

was santa kid ya see, listening to was not was

the song was the hit, named walk the dinosaur

and then scott mcdonald came up to me

and showed me lucky’s pour

jingle bells bat man smells robin laid an egg

the bat mobile lost it’s wheel, the joker got away

jingle bells batman smells robin laid an egg

the bat mobile lost it’s wheel, the joker got

the joker got, the ****** joker got away

hi dudes, and now i will chuck this methane smoothie on top of bas boy, ya know

my dad, because i want him to have a great life as betty campbell and forget

about me, so here we go, tipping it all over dad

bye dudes

Wind in my face, skateboard wheels careening toward my destination with a fervent pace, so many groceries on my mind. My music blaring within my ears, filling the world with some gift wrapped three minute long purpose for being. No one else is in my world as I roll along the concrete sides, just enjoy the beauty of the moment. Then tragedy strikes like a viper in the dark, the spot in my mind that I manifested with wood and wheels and speed, all set to a musical soundtrack is shattered with a single blow. Not a pebble or unseen ledge but you. You come into vision, my thief of heart and soul, my dreamtime tormentor, my love that won't or can't subside. Trailing behind you of course is whatever you've replaced me with, some superior person in appearance or attitude. As I roll ever nearer, all can do is imagine our perfect conversation, you know the one... That one makes you fall in love with me again. but as our bodies close in on each other, almost until I could grab you and kiss you with the supreme passion I still feel, my imagination melts back into the part of the brain that keeps me sad and all I do is make a fake smile in your direction give a half hearted waive and continue passed, trying not look back at you and the person beside.

The store I find, has an excellent selection of wine and spirits. I pick one, douse myself in it's forgetful qualities and sleep without dreams. For once leaving you out of where you should no longer reside.

A crushed, half smoked pack of cigarettes
Three to four empty coffee cups converted to ash trays,
My grandmother's Bible, seams torn by the Great Depression and the backs of children's hands,
And maybe thirty dollars, some change,
All I have to my name,
I am 15 and I am setting fires, busting out the windows in abandoned houses with my skateboard, spray painting anarchy signs everywhere I think will send a message, growing my hair out, reading Ginsberg and Karl Marx in detention every afternoon, I am angry and I have fights to pick and a system to overthrow,
I am 16 and I am driving fast late nights down backroads with the headlights off, I believe I do not fear death, I believe I welcome oblivion, I believe every word in every song I howl the words to, I believe I will die a martyr and they will hold parades in my honor, I believe we are fighting a holy war, I believe that we can and we will overcome, I believe that I believe in nothing but my leather jacket and the switchblade in my pocket and whatever punk song is on the radio,
I am 17 and I am speeding out of my mind off razor blade lines on end tables, my bones ache to destroy, my veins pump gasoline to a nicotine heart, I shoot guns all night pretending each bottle is a cop and each round hits a politician right between the eyes, pretending that if I can do enough damage I can free us all from our chains,
I am 18 and I am voting as far to the left as I can and I am still bitter because it is nowhere near close enough, I am singing dying songs for friends and pouring my heart out to strangers, dancing around fires, making blood oaths to never surrender, telling fortunes for beer and dreaming of open warfare,
I am 19 and I am getting ****** in parking lots, tattoing my heroes visions into my arms, trying to save my city by shouting at it until it wakes up and takes to the streets, burning my home to the ground in hopes of a glorious revival, passing out before I can convince anybody of my beliefs, cursing my enemies from the porch and seeing how many puffs of smoke I can get out of a night before I become just as greedy as the rest of the *******,
I am 20 and I am drinking alone
I am tired and I have lost my voice,
The prophet of my folk punk day dreams slipped away, into the night with no explanation and no destination
Erik, I will honor your memory the best I can,
I will carry you into battle everyday until I can no longer clench a fist,
I will scream your words until there are holes in my throat,
I will build you a funeral pyre of my love and rage,
And from the ashes, I will rise again, and so will you

I'm lonesome for the country
and I need to get out of town.
with this city if you're in for a penny
you're in for a pound.

I need to get back to my roots,
I want to fill my boots
with some hallowed country sound.

A skateboard flies by,
clack-clack on every sidewalk crack,
the same rhythm, same rhyme
as that lonesome long snake
rolling down the line.
Moving up the steel to a muddy sky,
moving up the steel to a muddy sky.

A pedal steel wails as a cop goes by,
Chev Malibou sails through a red light.
On every corner you have to look left
and you have to look right.
You can't go looking up the steel to a muddy sky.
looking up the steel to a muddy sky.

This city she has her shades of blue,
a man stands on the corner with a national.
two hands pounding out a delta groove,
his head tilts back,sings, you got to move, you got to move.

Moving up the steel to a muddy sky,
moving up the steel to a muddy sky

I know it's better this way but that doesn't mean I won't miss...

Your breakfasts in bed
You teaching me how to skateboard (by the way I ****** a lot but I wasn't as bad as I made myself seem. I just liked you holding my hand)
Singing with you (when you thought I actually sounded good)
Our long talks deep into the night when the sun was coming up.
Being your big spoon and cuddling you like I was the guy.
The way your eyelashes looked ridiculously long when wet.
That little wink before walking out of a room.
Your super comfy clothes.
Watching movies... On the floor.
The way you screamed like Hank Hill when you saw a spider.
Tickling you, even though it made you hate me.
The way you're so passionate about the things you love.
The fact that your eyes match the sky.
Waking up beside you.
The way you never knew I knew you always turned around to make sure I got on the bus but I always saw you.

I know it's better this way, but never experiencing any of these things ever again doesn't feel better.