If you really knew me you would know that I can name all the bath and body works lotions by smell up to the sensual amber line.
You'd know that I played varsity footbal.... but not really
You would also know that I feel like I did a lot of growing up from the sideline this year
If you really knew me you would know that the candle blew out long before the legend ever did.
If you really knew me you would know that Elton John and Winston Churchill are my hereos but it has more to do with people I loved who loved them.
If you really knew me you would know I'm obsessed with finding the sound of his piano.
You would know that the first time I ever read a poem for anyone it felt like a sucess and I considered myself a natural until I went to write my second poem
If you really knew me you would know I over think everything and that I blame a lot of things on myself.
If you really knew me you would know that when the going gets tough the tough get going
If you really knew me...
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
When the going gets tough the tough get going.
Life is a game of beautiful heartbreaks...
It's a grindstone... whether it breaks you down or polishes you up depends on what you're made of.
You've got a broken family HERE, an unemployed dad over THERE and WAY over THERE... thats where your baby brother never made it home from the hospital.
How it happens doesn't matter, because when something is broken its broken and the same rules apply to a heart.
So whether it breaks when your name is at the bottom of the depth chart or it breaks when she explains it wasn't you it was her
It doesn't really matter.
When something is broken its broken and you're given a choice
Because when the going gets tough the tough will get going
I will ALWAYS love my grandpa for taking the time to teach a young 9 year old boy that life isn't always fair.
You see the story of who he became, began with a boyhood of bombed neighborhoods. My Grandpa grew up in times where the windows were blacked out before it was safe to begin prayers from the torpedo tested shelters.
Prayers in hopes that the detonations would happen in the fields of farms, instead of over the houses that harbored families of four.
With tears in his eyes Grandpa would look to me and say son... You haven't been asked to give up your ration for the day... and you haven't been asked to chart a torpedo tangled trail....
but you have been asked... and the things you have been asked to do are stepping steps you're expected to maneuver .
They're going to tell YOU a lot about who you will become.
They will give you just about all you can handle and when your heels hang from the cliff, with one subtle push these stones will take you over the edge.
And while you STILL probably won't understand what it's like to pray from a blacked out bomb shelter. Everything that you will need to become YOU... will be somewhere in the fall between the edge and the bottom.
But this is where it gets tricky.
There is where life gets tough...
Because it's a lot easier to remain broken at the bottom than it is to figure what you need to do to get up.
It's a lot easier....
But then I can see grandpa looking at me and saying, "David when you hit the bottom"
DON'T EVER FORGET
WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH THE TOUGH GET GOING
So this is MY thesis,
it doesn't take a final phone call to decide your fait... but it might.
and it doesn't take a broken home to teach you what matters in life... but it might.
The maze we're all running through, it's different for everyone.
But I can promise you this...
YOUR maze is going to take you to the edge and when your heels began to hang off... with a subtle push you will find yourself at the bottom.
So whether it really was her and not you.
Or whether it's the final moments with a loved one before life support is pulled.
YOUR MAZE.... YOUR LIFE will end up being a game of beautiful heart breaks
But the only way you will ever understand what you need to be
is by hitting the bottom and realizing
that when the going gets tough... the tough get going.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Somewhere between the slurpee and the skinned knee...
You're probably reading this and hoping for something real right? Well... I have been sitting here for a half an hour now and this blank screen still hasn't fed my finger tips anything that I think would be worth reading. I'm caught in a heated debate... Half of me wants to say that I should wait until I have something worth while and half of me wants to take a blind first step and see where this adventure takes me.
I've been looking for the sound of his piano. I don't mean to be blunt but I'm sick of trying to put together ways to start this post and it hasn't gotten me any closer to what I used to feel when the speakers used to shake our windows. As crazy as it sounds... I feel like the sheet music is somewhere close enough to see but far enough not to hear.
Every once and awhile I can almost hear the treble cleff break through the double paned plexi glass. But it's never enough to motivate me for more than a week... Let alone shake the frames it passes through.
I know the sharps and flats are all there. I can even see them coordinate themselves acording to majors and minors.
So my questions to you are these
How do I hear his music again?
Would I even recognize it if I heard it?
and
Why don't the speakers play the same anymore?
I've been looking for the sound of his piano. I don't mean to be blunt but I'm sick of trying to put together ways to start this post and it hasn't gotten me any closer to what I used to feel when the speakers used to shake our windows. As crazy as it sounds... I feel like the sheet music is somewhere close enough to see but far enough not to hear.
Every once and awhile I can almost hear the treble cleff break through the double paned plexi glass. But it's never enough to motivate me for more than a week... Let alone shake the frames it passes through.
I know the sharps and flats are all there. I can even see them coordinate themselves acording to majors and minors.
So my questions to you are these
How do I hear his music again?
Would I even recognize it if I heard it?
and
Why don't the speakers play the same anymore?
Favorite child?
you just can't do it.
Unless one of your kids is fat you should love all of them the same.
Picking a favorite movie is like deciding which Jonas Brother would make the best snowcone.... It just depends on your mood and there is not a lot more to it than that....
So uhhh pass the popcorn
Unless one of your kids is fat you should love all of them the same.
Picking a favorite movie is like deciding which Jonas Brother would make the best snowcone.... It just depends on your mood and there is not a lot more to it than that....
So uhhh pass the popcorn
Sunday, April 29, 2012
The Piano Man
I'm sick of phone calls followed by tears.
I know you don't know what it's like not to go to the aquarium but I know someone who does.
This poem was meant for the ash filled lungs, the lives lived within a reach of a prescription and any other addiction you can creatively gift wrap in a metaphor.
I know you don't see it right now... But take it from a 9 year old boy that saw that social drink 20 years down the road.
So if you want something real...
I'm gonna tell you about a fourth grader full of dreams that learned to stomach the reality of an empty seat at every major milestone his life has to offer.
No wait... Let me tell you about me.
The ice inside my veins right now is literally heating the back of my neck.
Its telling me that addiction has a funny way of ripping the pictrues from the walls and the drawers from the dressers.
Its telling me that without addictions clamp those pictures would have hung up right there. They never would have shattered across the room and on the floor.
Its telling me there is ALWAYS another way out.
The fire beneat the cracked seal and tucked in under the cottom swab...
That Pain Relieving Pop
It burns holes in family walls and scourges the realtionships that stand between you and your next withdrawl.
People weren't meant to live a life of shakes and headaches.
That 9 year O... I mean I remember.
I remember ever note your keyboard was capable of conjuring .
I remember sitting on the couch watching the windows shake as your music filled the neighborhood.
But then.... then I remember sitting at your funeral.
For the first time realizing that Billy Joel wrote the song but that somehow you always were and always will the THE PIANO MAN.
I remember the way your video camera never stopped rolling... But then on August 1st it did.
The hardest part for me... Is remembering the butaneer I left on the casket.
That pin that held it to my suit coat had to be pryed from my heart before I was ready to leave it.
I still don't feel like I was ready to leave it...
I remember watching the casket lower 6 feet from the tears in my eyes.
His addiction is the reason he NEVER saw a football game and the same reason that he will NEVER dance at his daughters wedding.
As he sat at his piano I think he was convinced it would never be him...
But it was.
So ask yourself.... Is it worth it?
I know you don't know what it's like not to go to the aquarium but I know someone who does.
This poem was meant for the ash filled lungs, the lives lived within a reach of a prescription and any other addiction you can creatively gift wrap in a metaphor.
I know you don't see it right now... But take it from a 9 year old boy that saw that social drink 20 years down the road.
So if you want something real...
I'm gonna tell you about a fourth grader full of dreams that learned to stomach the reality of an empty seat at every major milestone his life has to offer.
No wait... Let me tell you about me.
The ice inside my veins right now is literally heating the back of my neck.
Its telling me that addiction has a funny way of ripping the pictrues from the walls and the drawers from the dressers.
Its telling me that without addictions clamp those pictures would have hung up right there. They never would have shattered across the room and on the floor.
Its telling me there is ALWAYS another way out.
The fire beneat the cracked seal and tucked in under the cottom swab...
That Pain Relieving Pop
It burns holes in family walls and scourges the realtionships that stand between you and your next withdrawl.
People weren't meant to live a life of shakes and headaches.
That 9 year O... I mean I remember.
I remember ever note your keyboard was capable of conjuring .
I remember sitting on the couch watching the windows shake as your music filled the neighborhood.
But then.... then I remember sitting at your funeral.
For the first time realizing that Billy Joel wrote the song but that somehow you always were and always will the THE PIANO MAN.
I remember the way your video camera never stopped rolling... But then on August 1st it did.
The hardest part for me... Is remembering the butaneer I left on the casket.
That pin that held it to my suit coat had to be pryed from my heart before I was ready to leave it.
I still don't feel like I was ready to leave it...
I remember watching the casket lower 6 feet from the tears in my eyes.
His addiction is the reason he NEVER saw a football game and the same reason that he will NEVER dance at his daughters wedding.
As he sat at his piano I think he was convinced it would never be him...
But it was.
So ask yourself.... Is it worth it?
FLAVA FLAVE
What is my perfect crime?
Flava Flaves bachelor pad at midnight.
Do I go for the easy women? No, I go straight for the clock. The one around his neck? No that would be way to easy.
I'm in this for the glory.
7 steps up I hear, "YEAH BOIIIIII" from the dining room. Then I know its game time....
I came to play.
A subtle sneak through the cracked door reveals her. Flavas most prized freak-a-leak. Its to bad shes easy. I was in for a thrill. But then I found out shes not.... It doesn't matter she wants me anyways and wants me bad.
ME and Gloria spend the evening in the company of Mr. Rodgers and his fearless red blazer. The heavy cotton inspires me to try something I never have before.
It's been a lovely evening but its not over. Me and Gloria head to the hot tub where we play a heated game of footsies while making Santa Claus bears out of the bubbles.
This is where it gets interesting.
I head out with the grandfather clock and the girl but leave the girl.
You might ask why I took the grandfather clock instead of the one he sports with swag around his neck. But I'm going to let you in on the secret I took both.
I just needed to cross the border before I could tell you.
Flava Flaves bachelor pad at midnight.
Do I go for the easy women? No, I go straight for the clock. The one around his neck? No that would be way to easy.
I'm in this for the glory.
7 steps up I hear, "YEAH BOIIIIII" from the dining room. Then I know its game time....
I came to play.
A subtle sneak through the cracked door reveals her. Flavas most prized freak-a-leak. Its to bad shes easy. I was in for a thrill. But then I found out shes not.... It doesn't matter she wants me anyways and wants me bad.
ME and Gloria spend the evening in the company of Mr. Rodgers and his fearless red blazer. The heavy cotton inspires me to try something I never have before.
It's been a lovely evening but its not over. Me and Gloria head to the hot tub where we play a heated game of footsies while making Santa Claus bears out of the bubbles.
This is where it gets interesting.
I head out with the grandfather clock and the girl but leave the girl.
You might ask why I took the grandfather clock instead of the one he sports with swag around his neck. But I'm going to let you in on the secret I took both.
I just needed to cross the border before I could tell you.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Hakunamatata
Paradise is somewhere between your third and 4th plate of chicken nuggets where the water reaches your feet but not your seat.... ya dig?
Listen... Do you hear it?
Thats the sound of a furocious warrior dolphin amidst the heat of an epic maiting season.
Listen again...
Thats a bahama papa bound for a bahama mama if you know what I'm saying.
That dolphins swag has testosterOWNED written all over it.
from the shade of my tiki hut to the sweet sensual kiss of the sun offers to everywhere my swimsuit isn't.
I just don't see anything wise about life on a rock.
Somewhere bewteen the second and third gulp of Alberts pina colada potion made me wonder if God was told to stay in the lines when he painted the earth.
Personally. there is NO WAY...
This is about all the thinking I can handle for one day though. I don't know what life is like up on the rock but if it doesn't involve bikinis or palm trees dancing through my mind I don't want any part of it.
Something about the way the sand sits between your toes when the water reaches your feet but not your seat makes it possible to put the world away for a minute and pretend you dont live in it.
Listen... Do you hear it?
Thats the sound of a furocious warrior dolphin amidst the heat of an epic maiting season.
Listen again...
Thats a bahama papa bound for a bahama mama if you know what I'm saying.
That dolphins swag has testosterOWNED written all over it.
from the shade of my tiki hut to the sweet sensual kiss of the sun offers to everywhere my swimsuit isn't.
I just don't see anything wise about life on a rock.
Somewhere bewteen the second and third gulp of Alberts pina colada potion made me wonder if God was told to stay in the lines when he painted the earth.
Personally. there is NO WAY...
This is about all the thinking I can handle for one day though. I don't know what life is like up on the rock but if it doesn't involve bikinis or palm trees dancing through my mind I don't want any part of it.
Something about the way the sand sits between your toes when the water reaches your feet but not your seat makes it possible to put the world away for a minute and pretend you dont live in it.
The Gravity of Soggy Paper Towels
Rescue from a remote desert
These days her workouts mostly involve chasing after Noah
Just last night she had to go
But all that came to an abrupt halt on the afternoon of Dec. 13 2006
She plummeted 60 feet down the side of a cliff to the bottom of the canyon
Monday, March 26, 2012
Why I write.
I write because there is an empty stencil of sentence structure sitting right there...
If I could just find the right shade word choice I could turn it into a tapestry that Zues himself would hang on the fridge.
I write because the first hole in the wall felt good. But as the dry wall gave way to the second and third it didn't give me with the same satisfaction.
I write because there is a four letter word on my mind.
No.... not that one... and it's definetely not that one either.
I write because love is the only four letter word that can never be used out of context.... period.
I write because it feels good to watch my pen bleed out
It feels good to know I have a place to face my problems. The kind of problems that would cause you "stalwort folk" to point your all knowing finger of judgment in my direction.
I write because when the pen is finished it becomes something beyond therapuetic. Something that makes it capable for me to go back to the normal functions of my day.
I write because when I'm alone, I wonder if time really will produce another drip of the faucet.
I write because I didn't find a double barline at the end of the measure you left me...
And somehow I feel like thats going to make all the difference to a family halfway around the world.
I write because August 1st was the end of your intro and the begining of of your melody.
I write because if my bones don't tell the story yours won't ever know it.
If I could just find the right shade word choice I could turn it into a tapestry that Zues himself would hang on the fridge.
I write because the first hole in the wall felt good. But as the dry wall gave way to the second and third it didn't give me with the same satisfaction.
I write because there is a four letter word on my mind.
No.... not that one... and it's definetely not that one either.
I write because love is the only four letter word that can never be used out of context.... period.
I write because it feels good to watch my pen bleed out
It feels good to know I have a place to face my problems. The kind of problems that would cause you "stalwort folk" to point your all knowing finger of judgment in my direction.
I write because when the pen is finished it becomes something beyond therapuetic. Something that makes it capable for me to go back to the normal functions of my day.
I write because when I'm alone, I wonder if time really will produce another drip of the faucet.
I write because I didn't find a double barline at the end of the measure you left me...
And somehow I feel like thats going to make all the difference to a family halfway around the world.
I write because August 1st was the end of your intro and the begining of of your melody.
I write because if my bones don't tell the story yours won't ever know it.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Human?
I know I'm human.
Take a stab at me and I will prove it.
I bleed, and your words carry enough weight to make it happen.
I know I'm human because I put my heart and soul into the trail of ink my pen leaves behind and still loose my train of thought midsentence.
How do I take a step forward when my heart is headed in a direction that my attention span refuses to pursue?
I'm only human.
But does it really make me human if my life is revolved around more than a den and a blackberry bush?
No wait, I know I'm human.
I know I'm human because my fingertips clench to greed while my palms open to give.
But they both find a home on the same hand? You tell me how that works.
It doesn't
Your actions carry enough to make me feel. I mean really feel. You tell me if a robot lays in bed, accompanied by our conversation. Picking apart details until I find the word that pushed me over your line.
Being human is what made my throat swell shut when you explained that it wasn't me it was you. Try and explain to me how a robot could associate a ticket stub with a broken heart.
So if I'm a robot someone needs to show me where the off switch is. I wish you could just see that a couple things on my mind means that I'm running out of places to hide the hurt.
But I know I'm human.
I'm human because my knees have been brought down at my bedside and I've felt something more than mortal.
But when my fingernails latched onto the idea a little voice reminded me to open up my palms and give.
So what do I do when my fingernails won't give up?
Now the question I have for you is... Does all of this make me more human than you?
Take a stab at me and I will prove it.
I bleed, and your words carry enough weight to make it happen.
I know I'm human because I put my heart and soul into the trail of ink my pen leaves behind and still loose my train of thought midsentence.
How do I take a step forward when my heart is headed in a direction that my attention span refuses to pursue?
I'm only human.
But does it really make me human if my life is revolved around more than a den and a blackberry bush?
No wait, I know I'm human.
I know I'm human because my fingertips clench to greed while my palms open to give.
But they both find a home on the same hand? You tell me how that works.
It doesn't
Your actions carry enough to make me feel. I mean really feel. You tell me if a robot lays in bed, accompanied by our conversation. Picking apart details until I find the word that pushed me over your line.
Being human is what made my throat swell shut when you explained that it wasn't me it was you. Try and explain to me how a robot could associate a ticket stub with a broken heart.
So if I'm a robot someone needs to show me where the off switch is. I wish you could just see that a couple things on my mind means that I'm running out of places to hide the hurt.
But I know I'm human.
I'm human because my knees have been brought down at my bedside and I've felt something more than mortal.
But when my fingernails latched onto the idea a little voice reminded me to open up my palms and give.
So what do I do when my fingernails won't give up?
Now the question I have for you is... Does all of this make me more human than you?
sleep
When do I sleep? I dont...
If you want to be successfull sleep needs to take one for the team.
Hold up, I know what youre thinking.
"But Simba, the calcium pumps would never regenerate. You're a blithering idiot, the Reticualr Activation system is such a fundemental part of the Medulla Oblongata. How will the hippocampus ever rejuvenate??"( all said in an educated british accent)
and heres what I'm thinking
I understand the pottential of the potassium ions to repolarize the synapse but when it comes down to it.
I don't care.
Life doesn't mean anything unless you're willing to drop the textbook and pick up a crayon.
I gurantee you could understand every chemical change in the cerebrum. But until you realize that the 26th at the bottom corner of the page finishes your sail boat you life will remain as black and white as the algorithmic theories you have based it on.
So you can keep your theoretical philosiphies of algebraic content. Cuz I just found a youtube video that made me think with my heart. No nuerotransmitters just a flow of blood leaving my ventricle through the aaorta. No amount of your medical school can turn that cloud into an idea and no amount of research will produce a father son relationship
Did chapter 13 say anthing about life outside of the Dura-Mater? Because I promise thats where everything is really going on.
Drop your textbook and pick up a freakin crayon. Because that line right above the ducks beak it doesn't mean anything until you learn to break its barrier.
If you want to be successfull sleep needs to take one for the team.
Hold up, I know what youre thinking.
"But Simba, the calcium pumps would never regenerate. You're a blithering idiot, the Reticualr Activation system is such a fundemental part of the Medulla Oblongata. How will the hippocampus ever rejuvenate??"( all said in an educated british accent)
and heres what I'm thinking
I understand the pottential of the potassium ions to repolarize the synapse but when it comes down to it.
I don't care.
Life doesn't mean anything unless you're willing to drop the textbook and pick up a crayon.
I gurantee you could understand every chemical change in the cerebrum. But until you realize that the 26th at the bottom corner of the page finishes your sail boat you life will remain as black and white as the algorithmic theories you have based it on.
So you can keep your theoretical philosiphies of algebraic content. Cuz I just found a youtube video that made me think with my heart. No nuerotransmitters just a flow of blood leaving my ventricle through the aaorta. No amount of your medical school can turn that cloud into an idea and no amount of research will produce a father son relationship
Did chapter 13 say anthing about life outside of the Dura-Mater? Because I promise thats where everything is really going on.
Drop your textbook and pick up a freakin crayon. Because that line right above the ducks beak it doesn't mean anything until you learn to break its barrier.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Some swag from famous people
Abraham Lincoln
you cannot build charecter and courage by taking away a mans initiative and independence.
Winston Churchill
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak, it is also what it takes to sit down and listen.
Nelson Mandella
I learned that courage was not absence of fear, but triumph over it.
Ghandi
Courage doesn't always roar, somtimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day that says "I will try again tomorrow"
you cannot build charecter and courage by taking away a mans initiative and independence.
Winston Churchill
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak, it is also what it takes to sit down and listen.
Nelson Mandella
I learned that courage was not absence of fear, but triumph over it.
Ghandi
Courage doesn't always roar, somtimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day that says "I will try again tomorrow"
Courage-The quality of mind that enables a person to face difficulty, danger and pain.
You ask me what my bones have to say...
Well I'm only 17 and haven't quite figured out life yet but I'm getting close. There is a lot going on but I was able to catch a few Luekocytes on their way out through the periosteum and I think you might wanna hear what they have to say...
But listen, I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you. Give me a chance.
My world depends on their decision to leave the security of my compact bone.
"Luekocyte" is the medical term for a white blood cell. White blood cells are incharge of fighting infection. You tell me that doesn't sound like courage...
Someone or something leaving the safety of their home to take care of a dilemma in a foreign place or land. What do you think about when you see a soilder at the airport?
My bodies ability to fight through the daily dose of chaos and devestation my world spoon feeds me is what liberates me to love, live and feel. This idea begins at the very foundation of who I am, and because my bones have discovered Gods universal secret the rest of my body has structured itself around their ways.
At my most fundamental level I am surviving on courage.
My ability to step on top of my setbacks has given me a new view, a view where life doesn't come at the exspense of my families broken hearts. A view contradicting the idea of drug use to setback the pain.
I can now see that somewhere in the distance after the casket closes and the headstone is laid. My path continues...
But don't ask me what the path is like because I'm not their yet. Right now I'm just hoping it's the same asphalt, and that the yellow lines didn't give up where I felt my knees hit the ground.
It would be nice to know that someone could make the journey with me. Becuase I don't know if the holes in my shoes could handle much more of this climb.
Well I'm only 17 and haven't quite figured out life yet but I'm getting close. There is a lot going on but I was able to catch a few Luekocytes on their way out through the periosteum and I think you might wanna hear what they have to say...
But listen, I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you. Give me a chance.
My world depends on their decision to leave the security of my compact bone.
"Luekocyte" is the medical term for a white blood cell. White blood cells are incharge of fighting infection. You tell me that doesn't sound like courage...
Someone or something leaving the safety of their home to take care of a dilemma in a foreign place or land. What do you think about when you see a soilder at the airport?
My bodies ability to fight through the daily dose of chaos and devestation my world spoon feeds me is what liberates me to love, live and feel. This idea begins at the very foundation of who I am, and because my bones have discovered Gods universal secret the rest of my body has structured itself around their ways.
At my most fundamental level I am surviving on courage.
My ability to step on top of my setbacks has given me a new view, a view where life doesn't come at the exspense of my families broken hearts. A view contradicting the idea of drug use to setback the pain.
I can now see that somewhere in the distance after the casket closes and the headstone is laid. My path continues...
But don't ask me what the path is like because I'm not their yet. Right now I'm just hoping it's the same asphalt, and that the yellow lines didn't give up where I felt my knees hit the ground.
It would be nice to know that someone could make the journey with me. Becuase I don't know if the holes in my shoes could handle much more of this climb.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The Rainy Day
The Circle of Life
I'm sick of phone calls followed by tears.
I never wanted to go to the aquarium anyways.
Let me guess... You've been waiting in line and all you have to say is keep your head up everything will be okay? Well you know, it probably will be but the 8 people in front of you all collaborated and decided to use that same line and it's getting old.
Don't talk to me. Your Dad is saving seats for you and your family in the chapel. But its still all gonna be okay right? Next week this will have all blown over for you. You aren't gonna be here when the house gets quiet.
My future hosts an empty seat at every milestone my life has to offer, from my graduation to the birth of my first child. Who is going to fill that empty gap?
You Just don't get it.
Now tell me its all gonna work out. Are you gonna be here to pat me on the back when everyone won't stop staring? I didn't think so... Or when the the hat collection needs to be moved from the closet to the white garbage bags in the garage?
Keep my head up right?
You don't understand that those songs will never sound the same, that the cape has been permanently hung up and that I'm down a coach for next basketball season. Their is no way for you to understand that the closest I have been to living with him in the past 8 years was finding half a piece of gum in his old suit coat.
Everyone at school knows what happened and the worst part is that the center of attention has a funny way of finding me every time I feel like letting my head hang. Actions speak louder than words
I get it...
Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game. I've seen how your society works and their is no room for self pity.
So if the only way to get you out of my face is take your advice. I will keep my head up. And if my tears get to heavy I will grab a handful of dirt.
Right now I don't need you talking to me. All I need an old Elton John CD on repeat. Preferably one of the ones about the candle that blew out or the train that doesn't stop here anymore or maybe even the one about where do I fit into the big picture. Yeah, anything but your fake condolences.
Because NOTHING "is gonna be okay" until my headphones sink far enough into my ears that I forget about the 10 minutes of life I just wasted on our conversation.
So leave me alone.
I need to figure out how Elton John figured that if he sang about a candle I would come to the realization that even if we don't believe in God, he believes in us and that he is waiting at every turn and every decision. But that we won't ever realize it until we ask him.
So there is my take on death. Or at least that's how I learned what life is.... But its different for everyone. So take from it what you will.
Its just a circle of life.
I never wanted to go to the aquarium anyways.
Let me guess... You've been waiting in line and all you have to say is keep your head up everything will be okay? Well you know, it probably will be but the 8 people in front of you all collaborated and decided to use that same line and it's getting old.
Don't talk to me. Your Dad is saving seats for you and your family in the chapel. But its still all gonna be okay right? Next week this will have all blown over for you. You aren't gonna be here when the house gets quiet.
My future hosts an empty seat at every milestone my life has to offer, from my graduation to the birth of my first child. Who is going to fill that empty gap?
You Just don't get it.
Now tell me its all gonna work out. Are you gonna be here to pat me on the back when everyone won't stop staring? I didn't think so... Or when the the hat collection needs to be moved from the closet to the white garbage bags in the garage?
Keep my head up right?
You don't understand that those songs will never sound the same, that the cape has been permanently hung up and that I'm down a coach for next basketball season. Their is no way for you to understand that the closest I have been to living with him in the past 8 years was finding half a piece of gum in his old suit coat.
Everyone at school knows what happened and the worst part is that the center of attention has a funny way of finding me every time I feel like letting my head hang. Actions speak louder than words
I get it...
Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game. I've seen how your society works and their is no room for self pity.
So if the only way to get you out of my face is take your advice. I will keep my head up. And if my tears get to heavy I will grab a handful of dirt.
Right now I don't need you talking to me. All I need an old Elton John CD on repeat. Preferably one of the ones about the candle that blew out or the train that doesn't stop here anymore or maybe even the one about where do I fit into the big picture. Yeah, anything but your fake condolences.
Because NOTHING "is gonna be okay" until my headphones sink far enough into my ears that I forget about the 10 minutes of life I just wasted on our conversation.
So leave me alone.
I need to figure out how Elton John figured that if he sang about a candle I would come to the realization that even if we don't believe in God, he believes in us and that he is waiting at every turn and every decision. But that we won't ever realize it until we ask him.
So there is my take on death. Or at least that's how I learned what life is.... But its different for everyone. So take from it what you will.
Its just a circle of life.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Love is a Cloud?
My whole life has been spent pursuing a route up and away from my troubles. I look out the double paned to my left and realize I am only two thin slices of plexi glass away from being free... I can almost hear the engines saying goodbye to the ground that was so restrictive. It's a bold and simplistic statement, but it gives me enough to assert my own.
The planes constant climb puts just enough strain on my stomach to exhale all of my fears. My fears are much more hesistant to leave then they were to enter. I close my eyes and relax... I feel my fingers straighten and my palms expose themselves. Its not until my regrets slip through my fingers that I realize I'm finally finding security with nothing under my feet.
I feel every loose end I have ever frayed being tied up. My steps up and out of my seat and towards the door become my boldest decision.With the weight of my inadequacies loitoring somewhere at the back of the plane, I find the stability to pull my back foot from the safety of the plane.
And It's not until now that I realize that the same fingertips that were once crippled with a clench on my miseries. Are now liberated and adept to holding the same clouds that possess my dreams.
Love has taught me that a step out of the plane will give me my best shot at achieving my dreams.
-My attempt at explaining love...
The planes constant climb puts just enough strain on my stomach to exhale all of my fears. My fears are much more hesistant to leave then they were to enter. I close my eyes and relax... I feel my fingers straighten and my palms expose themselves. Its not until my regrets slip through my fingers that I realize I'm finally finding security with nothing under my feet.
I feel every loose end I have ever frayed being tied up. My steps up and out of my seat and towards the door become my boldest decision.With the weight of my inadequacies loitoring somewhere at the back of the plane, I find the stability to pull my back foot from the safety of the plane.
And It's not until now that I realize that the same fingertips that were once crippled with a clench on my miseries. Are now liberated and adept to holding the same clouds that possess my dreams.
Love has taught me that a step out of the plane will give me my best shot at achieving my dreams.
-My attempt at explaining love...
Friday, February 24, 2012
Im AFRAID of being forgotten and replaced.
I'm AFRAID of phone calls followed by tears.
I'm AFRAID that the postgraduate program of my dreams at the school of my dreams only admitted one student last year. and it SCARES me that I'm looking so far ahead that I don't have time to be SCARED of the Sour patch kid anymore.
I'm AFRAID of developing feelings for people or things that won't develop feelings for me.
I'm AFRAID of foreign roads with "one more door to knock"
I'm AFRAID that my name-tag will become an identity that means more than the holes in the bottom of my shoes.
I'm SCARED of that sidewalk that will separate me from home with a promise to bring home closer to me.
I'm SCARED because I believe in things I don't understand.
I'm SCARED of having the workbook and failing the job.
I'm AFRAID of a forgotten return. Where the only thing that fits are the memories that I was holding onto while I was gone.
I'm SCARED that life is a game of triage and I will be a green when I feel like a red.
I'm AFRAID that the postgraduate program of my dreams at the school of my dreams only admitted one student last year. and it SCARES me that I'm looking so far ahead that I don't have time to be SCARED of the Sour patch kid anymore.
I'm AFRAID of developing feelings for people or things that won't develop feelings for me.
I'm AFRAID of foreign roads with "one more door to knock"
I'm AFRAID that my name-tag will become an identity that means more than the holes in the bottom of my shoes.
I'm SCARED of that sidewalk that will separate me from home with a promise to bring home closer to me.
I'm SCARED because I believe in things I don't understand.
I'm SCARED of having the workbook and failing the job.
I'm AFRAID of a forgotten return. Where the only thing that fits are the memories that I was holding onto while I was gone.
I'm SCARED that life is a game of triage and I will be a green when I feel like a red.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"The wisodm is in the tree not the glass window" - Jack Johnson
When did we learn to bar ourselves into a world so busy with taxes and algorithms that we forgot what life was like outside of the cubicle we've maintained for 15 years? Where did we learn to except mediocrity, I just want to know who the guy was that convinced everyone that "becoming an adult takes creativity out of the picture". What happend to the times when your playground was an alien planet who's only hope for survival was for you to cross the monkeys bars and hit the slide before it self destructed?
I'm not saying a cubicle job is bad, just about every wothwhile invention you can think of 9 times out of 10 began in a cubicle. I've never worked in a cubicle (and never plan to) so I could be wrong. But I see people who do and I see people who don't. From what I can tell there is something about a cubicle that takes the playground from being an alien planet then transforms it into a babysitter for your kids while you take this buisness call.
I love the way Jack Johnson lays it out. You can learn all you want from the safety of your kitchen window. But wisdom is gonna come when you explore the branches of the tree and the different routes between them. You could understand every chemical compound involved in the photosynthetic transfer of energy to that tree. But in my eyes, if you don't understand what its like to climb that tree even though your hands bleed from the spots where your previous blisters were, then you don't understand that tree... There is a time and place for the photons to activate the ATP process. But why is that more important than the branch to your right that saved you from the pirates. Or the branch up and to the left that kept you safe from those hungry lions.
Creativity is needed in all aspects of our future. It's not just something for the musicians and poets to hog for themselves. Creativity will be needed when the politicians are asked to write a bill that helps boost a struggling population while keeping the rest of the country in balance. Creativity will even be needed in the cubicle to write up the framework of the iphone 37 that will cure world hunger. PLEASE don't let 15 years in your cubicle keep you from the blisters that tree in your backyard has to offer.
I'm not saying a cubicle job is bad, just about every wothwhile invention you can think of 9 times out of 10 began in a cubicle. I've never worked in a cubicle (and never plan to) so I could be wrong. But I see people who do and I see people who don't. From what I can tell there is something about a cubicle that takes the playground from being an alien planet then transforms it into a babysitter for your kids while you take this buisness call.
I love the way Jack Johnson lays it out. You can learn all you want from the safety of your kitchen window. But wisdom is gonna come when you explore the branches of the tree and the different routes between them. You could understand every chemical compound involved in the photosynthetic transfer of energy to that tree. But in my eyes, if you don't understand what its like to climb that tree even though your hands bleed from the spots where your previous blisters were, then you don't understand that tree... There is a time and place for the photons to activate the ATP process. But why is that more important than the branch to your right that saved you from the pirates. Or the branch up and to the left that kept you safe from those hungry lions.
Creativity is needed in all aspects of our future. It's not just something for the musicians and poets to hog for themselves. Creativity will be needed when the politicians are asked to write a bill that helps boost a struggling population while keeping the rest of the country in balance. Creativity will even be needed in the cubicle to write up the framework of the iphone 37 that will cure world hunger. PLEASE don't let 15 years in your cubicle keep you from the blisters that tree in your backyard has to offer.
Thinking about you....
I'm thinkin about you like a crayon thinks about an empty piece of paper. I'm thinking about you like paper thinks abut that pen in the top drawer. I'm thinking about you like a true smile thinks about a happy childhood memories. Like a 2nd grader thinks about making it to the end of the monkey bars. I'm thinking about you like a 6th grader that has just been asked to dance with a girl for the first time. Im still thinking about you like an 8th grader that has danced with girls before but is still can't avoid butterflies when the dancing happens with you.
I'm thinking about you like salt thinks about savor, like christians think about a manager and that manger thinks about its savior. I'm thinkin about you like a favorite song on repeat. I'm thinking about you like a poet thinks about his favorite line. I'm thinking about you like a bored student thinks about the time. I'm thinking about you like that colored piece of paper thinks about its favorite crayon.
I'm thinking about you like salt thinks about savor, like christians think about a manager and that manger thinks about its savior. I'm thinkin about you like a favorite song on repeat. I'm thinking about you like a poet thinks about his favorite line. I'm thinking about you like a bored student thinks about the time. I'm thinking about you like that colored piece of paper thinks about its favorite crayon.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Second chance?
Orignally I thought I would be clever and have my intro be just a picture. Somehow I thought that would be both creative and effective. Looking back I just feel like the tool with his head phones blaring to that one song on the radio about "Being sexy knowing it AND working out"(a lethal combination when all 3 are found in the same mix) but ya... NO ONE wants to be around that kid. Everyone deserves second chances though right?
Lion King was produced around the same time I was. Which is incredibly uncomfortable to think about. Lion King was always a first choice from the movie drawer. I'm not sure if it was the laid back life of Hakunamata or choriography of I just cant wait to be king. How can you not be impressed with an entire animal kingdom hitting all their steps and staying in time? The older I have gotten the more similarities I have found between Simbas life and mine. I hope that I can learn to write creatively enough to express some of those similarities with all of you. I hope that by the end of the year I will have found away to take the clicks of my keyboard and leave something on the screen that will connect with whoever is reading my blog from the cover of their pen name. But until then its looking like we're just gonna have to tough it out.
Lion King was produced around the same time I was. Which is incredibly uncomfortable to think about. Lion King was always a first choice from the movie drawer. I'm not sure if it was the laid back life of Hakunamata or choriography of I just cant wait to be king. How can you not be impressed with an entire animal kingdom hitting all their steps and staying in time? The older I have gotten the more similarities I have found between Simbas life and mine. I hope that I can learn to write creatively enough to express some of those similarities with all of you. I hope that by the end of the year I will have found away to take the clicks of my keyboard and leave something on the screen that will connect with whoever is reading my blog from the cover of their pen name. But until then its looking like we're just gonna have to tough it out.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Love is...
Love is accepting that all you have to offer is blood sweat and tears. Love is the pursuit of victory at all costs. Without victory there is no love. Love is capable of being defined but never explained. Love is the way that brick sits in your stomach after bad news. Love is a blind sacrifice with no time to look back and see if it was worth it. Love is what I was. Love is where my heart tells me go to when my body says no. Love is not a destination it's the experience during the pursuit of its journey.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
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