wilted rose

someone found her broken body
beneath an open window
her mother wailed, who’s to blame
her father turned away, alone
no one really understood
why her life had ended this way
she was just sixteen, a month ago
unable to keep the demons at bay
life just is not the same
in the eyes of a teenage girl
what adults see as trivial
for her are all to real
when she came home from school today
her image captured in the mirror
summer waiting just around the corner
her face had grown no clearer
than she tried her new bikini
one pound to many she cried
she threw herself on her bed
her only answer suicide
one quick note to her parents
I love you but my life is over
then she flew into eternity
screaming over and over

who’s to blame
peer groups or the TV screen
filled with 90 pound beauties
and muscle men
where death is a fantasy
life is a sin
to innocent to understand
that death is a one-way trip
no chance for second thoughts
when you take that fatal sip
no more sunsets
no senior proms
no more lovers
wrapped in the summer sun
left with a six-foot hole
covered by a marble slab
with a name, two dates
and reasons no one understands

sixteen years
already gone
surrendered a life
forever alone
no chance left for goodbye
to many mourners with nothing to say
shaking their heads, turning away
leaving behind, a wilted rose
resting on her grave
in memory of
life’s wasted yesterdays

nonsense

green trees fall
to much wind
no one call
before the movie ends
the other guy
gave it all
for the monkey
before the fall
nobody else
knew the story
of uncle harry
and sister cherry
who forgot the day
closed their eyes
but forgot to say
the magic words
before they heard
the visions song
when someone said
you were wrong
when you sent
for more jackets
they took to long
now winters gone
summers here
to late for tears
dry your eyes
say hello
to the man
with nowhere to go
he was lost
you were found
where were you
when he hit the ground
he asked for sex
you cast a hex
no magic allowed
now you’re banished
to another place
because they said
you forgot his face
while rabbits ate
a storm abates
the little mouse smiles
for he was the winner
all the while

Tree of Confusion

A tree outside of my window seems to have fallen victim to a failure in natural law. Time has slowed to a point where the laws of physics no longer apply.

Today is February 26, however the tree seems to believe it is October 26. While the other trees in the neighborhood are bare or just beginning to show buds, this one is still dressed in its fall splendor.

A mixture of gold, red and orange leaves adorn its many branches. As if some gremlins appeared in the dark of night gluing and stapling leaves to the tree. I am tempted to climb its trunk and remove them myself.

If they don’t fall soon last year’s leaves will be fighting for space with their 2005 brothers and sisters.

Flashback Friday - Naked Reality

Naked Reality first appeared in July of 2004.

The hologram must be failing because he was beginning to see that what he believed to be reality was something else.

He did not bother trying to explain. People would assume he was crazy and lock him away someplace. The masses choose to see the emperor's new clothes though reality was running naked through the time/space continuum.

Not unlike an adult who can no longer suspend their belief while riding the Small World attraction at Disneyland. He can see the strings. The fantasy is lost. The record is stuck and repeating small, small, small over and over again.

The mundane moments pass the way of a summer breeze that ruffles the leaves of the maple in the front yard. Like the maple savors the spices of the wind, he tastes the moment but the cage remains empty and the watch remains unwound.

Time has no meaning. Clocks and calendars are useful for categorizing and filing away memories in a dusty attic where they are neglected and filled with cobwebs and dust mites saved for a rainy day that never comes.

He accepts the changes that his new reality has brought to his perception. He accepts the changes without fear and without prejudice.

Hot weather only reminds him that soon he will be cold.

Hunger is only a reminder that soon he will be fed.

Pain is accepted as a precursor to well being.

Tears are but a sign of the laughter that will soon follow.

The mini dramas of life are but rehearsals for the souls eventual evolving.

Death is but another door that must be opened or another road that must be traversed.

He sat watching the sunset on a deserted beach or was he watching the beginning of a sunrise that someone unknown to him was watching in Japan. Whatever the reality was did not change the beauty of the moment.

He took a handful of sand still warm to the touch from the suns passing and watched as the individual grains returned to their own reality.

Was he insane? He could not answer a question that was unanswerable. If he was that was the reality of this moment and he would ride the currents where they took him.

If he was not than maybe his perception had become just a bit sharper, his senses just a bit purer and his mind just a bit more aware of the knowledge that had always been there for the taking.

Truthfully, it did not matter if the emperor had new clothes or not. What mattered was what the lesson if any the emperor had learned.

Yesterday

yesterday
we said goodbye
to that beat up, old Chevrolet
she had carried us for so long
from New York to California
and back again
she still runs though the miles
have begun to take their toll on her
her once shiny paint no longer glistened
her front end sagged and
her back had begun to smoke a bit
her brakes squealed and
odd bulges rose like fault lines from her tires
her windshield was dimpled by highway debris
the doors groaned and rattled when we drove
her blue leather upholstery reflected the wisdom
of her age
defined by the wrinkles running through her seats
the dashboard was cracked
the steering wheel stained by the hands that drove her
her floorboards had rusted through in places
providing a birds eye view of the passing miles
and the headliner was nothing but pitted, unfinished metal
no she was no longer show room perfect
she was really nothing much to look at
but she was the first car we ever owned
and letting go was so hard

yesterday
we said goodbye
to that beat up, old Chevrolet
but we kept the memories
of the life we had built
and the miles we had driven
of the nights spent parked
at Puddingstone Lake
of the days we cruised
down old route 66
of the night
we brought our firstborn home
of Christmas trees
and New Years eve
of all the pieces
that placed side by side
make up the puzzle
of one couples life

Sandman

another restless night spent
tossing and turning
on a mattress, designed
for the marques de sade
needles of pain dance along
the spine, mindless
commuters on a
biological superhighway
carrying messages of
desertion
from the sandman and
his motley crew
leaving behind
a family of sheep
chewing holes in the carpet
waiting for the countdown
holding for three weeks
to begin again
when sleep returns
to the valley
of bloodshot eyes
REM being the only key
allowed to open
a dreamland for
a weary soul
before breakdowns begin
minds abandoned
in a world of
swirling black & white
where the sleepless gather
caffeine junkies
on a Starbuck’s binge
unable to embrace
the cold comfort
of the hour before dawn
when the ghosts
of moments unlived
haunt the static filled
airwaves

of the AM dial

The Dance

It was 1930 something when they met. One Saturday night found her along with her best friend out on the road to the coast for a night of dancing to the latest sounds from one of the era’s big bands. A few miles down the road from the ballroom their automobile broke down and they were stuck, with little chance of making it to the dance.

At the same time he was driving the same road along with his best friend heading for the same dance. As they pulled aside of her car they pulled over without hesitation to offer assistance.

When he got out of the car and she was able to take a good look at him she felt like she had been kicked in the gut. Butterflies began flying at unheard of speeds through her stomach and she was sure that everyone would notice that her hands had begun to shake.
On the outside she managed to maintain her composure while on the inside she was struck with a sudden life changing insight: this was the man she was going to marry and spend the rest of her life with. She knew it with a certainty that she had never felt about anything before.

He took charge immediately and opened the hood to her car. He handed his jacket to his friend and began tinkering with the various components that made up the engine. He did not say much, a few grunts and groans, before he stuck his head out and told her to start the car. With a few clicks of the key the engine fired right up.

They sat outside the car for a few minutes to ensure that everything would be fine. During the course of the conversation they discovered that the four of them were headed for the same destination.

Without the subject ever being broached they paired off with their two best friends in one car and the two of them in the other. Which unbeknownst to them was how it would remain for the next half-century or so.

Arriving, they parked the cars and were immediately carried away by the swinging sound of the band that was playing. They danced until the cows came home as the saying went.

Dawn found them back on the highway paired off as before. Fate driving them down the road into the awaiting future.

Directionless

Once upon a time I had a friend who was born with no innate sense of direction whatsoever. He was one of those individuals who could get lost in the bathroom while moving from the sink to the shower.

On one occasion we drove to Magic Mountain on a Friday night just for the hell of it. For those outside of LA MM is about thirty miles north of downtown. To our dismay when we arrived we found that they were not open and we had made the drive for nothing.

Not wanting to waste the night we decided to drive fifty miles south of MM to Knots Berry Farm. Easy run straight down the 5 Freeway. No turns, no interchanges, a piece of cake for anyone but him.

I have never been a good passenger so I tend to take naps to calm my nerves. I closed my eyes and when I opened them we were circling the parking lot of Dodger stadium. Since the boys in blue were on the road the place was deserted and first my bleary eyes were unable to process what I was seeing.

Looking around and gathering my bearings I turned to him and asked what we were doing at Chavez Ravine. He gave me a dumbfounded look and slowly shook his head. Bottom line was he had no idea how he ended up there. He swore he was on the 5 freeway and than in the parking lot. No transition. Which is of course impossible.

We made it back to the freeway and needless to say I did not close my eyes for the rest of the drive.

Another occasion that stand out in my mind just happens to involve another trip to Magic Mountain. This time we were double dating and our dates lived in North Hollywood, which is even closer to MM than downtown LA.

After a long, tiring day spent at the park we were driving back to NH. It was 1:30 in the morning and we were all bleary eyed. He was driving again and had a Big Gulp by his side to keep him awake.

Everyone else dozed on and off while he was driving. I was awake enough to direct him to the correct freeways and I must have dozed off no more than ten minutes from our date’s neighborhood. When I next opened my eyes we were fifteen minutes past their exit driving through the darkness of Griffith Park.

Again when questioned he had no idea how we got to Griffith Park. I kept my eyes open for the rest of the drive as I directed him back to their house.

Oz

Like the wizard from Oz he had spent years creating illusions to prevent anyone from seeing who was really behind the curtain. Pulling on levers, twisting knobs, pushing pedals all actions that led to the deflection of close attention.

Walls were easily breached, regardless of the material they were built with. Illusion and sleight of hand along with a soft shoe or two were the tool he used to keep people guessing reducing the risk of him having to put it all on the line.

Early on in life he had given his heart to easily. He made assumptions about love that could not be validated by real life experience.

He had assumed each time he presented his heart to one he loved that they would cherish the fragility and uniqueness of what he was sharing. To his dismay his beliefs were without merit.

Others did not seem to recognize nor acknowledge the tenderness with which he treated his own heart but those that had been offered to him. When the time came to return a heart to someone he had always made sure to return it in similar if not better condition than it was in when he received it.

His heart though had always been returned to him in all manners of disarray. The outside was worn, tattered, with fingerprints and scuffmarks all over it. At times he was unable to even positively identify the heart has is.

So over time he had begun to weave illusions about himself. Flashing lights, a bit of smoke, special effects used to there full potential. He managed to keep the audience looking at his left hand while his right kept his heart hidden beneath his magician’s hat.

Recently though he had begun to notice disturbances in his illusions, as if someone was peeling back the protective layers to see what was really going on behind the scenes.

He was not sure how to respond. He had been protecting himself for so long that trust was no longer a big word in his vocabulary.

He was facing a dilemma. Develop newer illusions that would prevent even the brightest of minds from slipping behind the scenes. Or continue with the current illusion allowing for the possibility that maybe if someone took the time to see what lie behind the curtain they were someone worth knowing.

Only time would tell.

Flashback Friday - A Dog Named George

A Dog Named George first appeared February 26, 2004.

He never wanted another dog in the family. After Muffett died and Muffett II was stolen he felt enough was enough. He never counted on George wondering into their backyard and never leaving.

George was a mutt. The vet only shook his head unable to determine what breeds had contributed to his creation. What little hair he had was short, stiff and brown. He was not a large dog, weighing about 25 pounds soaking wet. He would have never won a beauty contest or best of show but he was a warm and loving friend.

He wanted to find a home for George but the children would not have it and their mother agreed. So against his better judgment George became a permanent member of the family. No one ever saw him pet the dog, or call the dog, or even acknowledge the dog's existence. Though to his credit he never chased George away.

The two youngest children were especially fond of George. They wrestled with him, chased him and his nights were spent at the foot of one of their beds. It was as if he felt on obligation to protect them from things that go bump in the night.

As the children grew George followed them everywhere. It was as if he sensed that someday the children would leave and he had vowed not to miss a single moment.

One summer’s night the children were jogging with George by their side. As siblings often do they had an argument and were finishing their run on opposite sides of the street. George was not one to take sides so he ran back and forth between the kids. Until George made the mistake of running left instead of right and a car hit him.

George was rushed to the vet who in his professional opinion felt there was little hope. He advised the family that putting George to sleep was probably the best choice. The children would have none of that and their mother agreed. So finally, against his better judgment he told the vet to do his best. Several operations later George was allowed to come home.

For the first month George hardly and rarely moved about the house. The children tried everything but George seemed to have lost the will to live.

He never really asked about George and seemed to be indifferent to his condition. However, one night he returned late from work and believed himself to be the only one awake. Silently, he opened a doggy bag and removed a large piece of prime rib. He methodically sliced the meat into small dog-sized pieces. He got down on the floor and began to hand feed the meat to George one bite at a time.

Following, that evening George began to improve. Before long he was out and about catching up on the latest happenings in the neighborhood. He was never as spry as his younger self still though he lived life to the fullest.

I never mentioned to my step dad that I had seen him feeding George. What I had witnessed though changed our relationship in a subtle way. I had always thought of my step dad as being cold and distant, someone without emotions. Following that night I realized that he had a warm and loving heart, he was just not comfortable sharing that heart with the rest of the world.

counterfeit tears

she lay there on the bed
pretty eyes filled with tears
begging him to stay with her
claiming a mind filled with fear

he is only going out for the evening
spending time with some friends
he is growing tired of her mind games
her manipulation has got to end

he says, stop crying
those counterfeit tears
they have worn me down
these past five years
leaving me weak
tangled in fear
please, please stop
those counterfeit tears

he watches as she lies there crying
as he has a thousand times before
against his will he asks again
before walking out her door

he let her play with his mind
hating her, but not letting go
he cries put an end to these silly games
cancel your psychiatric show

no more games
no more tears
no more lies
no more tears
no more manipulation
no more tears
no more
no more counterfeit tears

egos & echoes

another pointless discussion where
we danced around intention
using words like sabers cutting
deep beneath the skin
leaving scars unseen
by human eyes like
a cancer seeping through
cellular matter spreading
roots through out until
buried deep with in the heart

a seed is planted
poisonous, deadly a
flesh bomb programmed to
detonate time release
set not for today
but somewhere in
a future not predestined nor
preordained innocent bystanders
caught in the crossfire of
egos and echoes whose
only mistake was to enter
the theater in the middle
of act II

A Child's Tears

A burned out house, is gone forever
A broken doll, is thrown away
A child’ tears, Will forever fall

Answers never came to her
She was too young to understand
Why daddy had really gone
Why he would not be back again
She never knew what drinking was
Just something mommy said daddy did
When he came home falling down
His world spinning round
Every night mommy screamed
Daddy would scream right back
Soon he would slam the door
On his way to drink some more
Every night mommy cried
How she longed to make it right
There was nothing she could do
But share her tears with her

She thinks she might understand
What led her father to the bar
He was a hopeless dreamer
Who found the bottom of his dreams
He did not possess the courage
To build a new foundation, and dream again
So he slipped and fell into a bottle
Where he found he couldn’t swim
Her mother was escaping
From a life she never wanted
Impetuously she rode his wagon
She was there when he fell off
She picked him up
Dusted him off and sent him on his way
She did not know how to love him
But was too young to be his caretaker

So in some sad way
Neither won, they both lost
Never realizing the cost
Or its effect on their girl
Lost in their own misery
They never noticed
Their child’s tears

Daddy & the Bathroom Dragon

My daddy is the bravest father on the planet.

Every morning he is the first one in the shower. Mommy says it is because he has to leave for work before I go to school. I know she is doing her best to protect me but I know the truth, daddy told me.

He takes his shower first so he can subdue the bathroom dragon.

Each morning when daddy enters the bathroom arena he wears his battle robe, which is draped upon his shoulders. The robe is purple with his initials in gold written on one of the pockets. Only a great warrior like my daddy would be given the honor of wearing such a garment.

Daddy never displays fear, he walks by my room, throws me a salute, whistles the “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”, he says it is the honorable way to approach battle. Never sneak up on a dragon, face him eye to eye, man to beast.

When I hear the bathroom door close, I leap from my bed, sock monkey in tow and place my ear against the wall that my room shares with the bathroom. My tummy feels like worms are crawling through it; daddy’s battles always make me nervous.

All is quiet at first. I strain to hear my daddy or the dragon. Nothing. For what seems like forever there is no sound. Than all of the sudden there is a great whooshing and I know the dragon has realized my daddy is ready for the morning duel.

Soon the air is filled with rattles, groans and the clanking of the super, secret armor used to tame bathroom dragons.

My daddy’s voice bravely rises above the symphony of sound, “Today is the day I shall defeat you foul beast”.

Followed by a horrible hissing that can only be the dragons fear filled response.

The battle continues with groans and roars, hisses and splashes. Soon steam from the dragons flames flows like mist from beneath the bathroom door.

My little mind begins to worry.

Will daddy survive?

Can he defeat the dragon once again, forcing him to retreat into his watery cave?

Or will this be the day that daddy defeats him once for all returning from battle with a chain of dragon claws about his neck.

My little body trembles in fear. What will happen? What will be the final outcome?
One last burst of mist from beneath the bathroom door and the sounds of battle begin to fade. A few more clanks, a scattered group of roars, and a final great hiss tell me that the outcome has been decided.

I scramble from my place against the wall diving into the hall in anticipation of my daddy’s triumphant return.

The bathroom door slowly opens, followed by a great cloud of mist. From with in the mist daddy appears as if by magic. His hair is damp, his robe of bravery seems to hang a bit looser and there are several spots of blood on his cheeks. His is smiling however, which can only mean one thing. The bathroom dragon has been defeated once again.

As he passes by, daddy tousles my hair and throws me one last salute along with a wink of his battle weary eye.

The champion was successful, the beast defeated and I will be able to brush my teeth in peace for another day.

kane & able

dark, infinite, empty
lights flicker
fireflies
confined in mason jars
starlight
accompanying matter
across the cosmos
souls of light
inhabit the 3rd dimension
what of dark souls
without evil
created
from dark matter
lights opposite
roaming the vast emptiness
between galaxies
living on dark planets
warmed by dark suns
worshipping
their dark god
searching for meaning
in the absence
in the loss
of brightness
once remembered
mythology
legends from long ago
united
until brother gods
kane and able
evolved differences
embraced change
following separate paths
in search of
unification

currents

missing pieces
of hearts once shattered
drowning in
pools of emotion
clinging too
remnants of loves past
fighting tides
for control, direction
hope fades
without summers warmth

Flasback Friday: Santa Monica

Santa Monica originally appeared one year ago 2-11-04.

Santa Monica

waves
roll over
coral reefs
skeletons appear
remnants
of ancient armadas
cannons
without powder
no longer shout
at the sky
hermit crabs
scurry through seaweed
rusted sabers
pointing toward
an empty chest
shadow creatures
from centuries past
pirates and cutthroats
ruled the sea
mermaids moaned and
mourned the season
the sun
shared a dance
with the harvest moon
lost souls
were enraptured
by the sirens song
come to us
they cry
love us
they lie
for the moonlight
exposed them
for what they were
bleached out
sea hags
mourning the loss
of the last
bottle
of peroxide

Hydra

One moment dreamt, another lived
One moment asleep, another awake
When I was skiing, was I awake or dreaming
When I was in her arms, was it reality or imagination

How can we accept yesterday, today and tomorrow
How do we separate consciousness
From the tranquility of sleep
Because someone as said it is so
Should we believe them
Reality is nothing
If not a reflection of our imagination
Of our own perceptions
If a man claims is neighbors house is white
And the neighbor swears the house is black
Who is right, who is wrong

How can we sit in judgment
While observing the differences separating
One mans dream from another mans reality
Can mystical importance be found in the cloning of perceptions
Is not our uniqueness what makes life worth living
If we choose to become one people
We will succeed only in creating a living hell
Where walking down the street
Would become no more than a fruitless exercise in narcissism
While nothing would remove the monotony from a single day

Missing

Ten years faded from memory before he realized how much she had loved him and how much he had lost by letting her go.

They had met in passing. She was moving out of her parent’s home to share an apartment with the woman he had been seeing. The boyfriend’s had done the actual moving while the girls set up shop. Late in the evening they shared a pizza, sipping beer, laughing at the usual couple stories.

When the box held only crumbs and the bottles were empty the trash was gathered and goodbye’s were exchanged a moment passed where he made eye contact with her, nothing more, nothing less. Somehow, someway in that moment it was understood that maybe not today, nor tomorrow but someday they would be together.

He was cynical, recently divorced. Owner of a heart damaged and scarred by recent events in his life, he was keeping it together with masking tape and super glue.

She was headstrong and knew what she wanted from life. Knew what she wanted in a man.

Despite their respective ongoing interaction with their main squeezes they began developing a friendship. Working in the same office building helped. Often times they found themselves sharing a laugh over quickie lunches at the local fast food joint. Rumors be damned they never crossed the line as both of them prized loyalty amongst the traits they looked for in others.

Their current relationships were as someone once said merely ships passing in the night. Nothing permanent, nothing sacred and before long they ran aground her boyfriend left for the navy his girlfriend simply grew apart from him.

Despite the opportunity they did not jump into a relationship. They hung out. Saw movies. Walked the beaches of Orange County. Grew comfortable together.

The first kiss was not planned nor expected. They were hanging out in his apartment. A pillow fight, led to a tickle fight, which somehow in the midst of the laughter became a serious moment, that first kiss was soft, warm, gentle but filled with passion.

Suddenly warmth blossomed into passion. Friends grew into lovers. Day to day opened up into a kaleidoscope of possible futures.

This tale however is not the story of their love but of how he lost her.

Cynicism reared its ugly head despite how happy he was. He began to question his feelings, to doubt her feeling, to wallow in the pain of his past rather than embrace the opportunity that was the here and now.

They broke up because of his inability to commit to a future beyond today. She was not moving on, just stepping aside to allow him a chance to breathe.

He dated. She waited.

When the inevitable happened and the next girl down the line kicked him in the teeth she was there to pick up the pieces, stitch up his heart and dry his drunken tears. She never questioned, never complained. She was first and foremost his friend regardless of her personal feelings.

After the second or third time though she began to feel a bit like yesterdays news, still important but not necessarily worthy of the front page.

She began dating again and he barely noticed. He was in lust with someone else. Someone who led him down many a rocky road and left his soul gasping for air. Each time he needed a friendly shoulder he called her she was still there for him. Not expecting anything just being the friend she had always been.

In order to pry himself away from the medusa who had turned him to stone he moved further away from the job and from her.

He managed to break away from the tragedy his life had become but he still failed to see the tree through the forest. She was there sweeping the pieces of his life into a dust pan and he was perusing the horizon for the next opportunity. Never noticing the tear in her eye or the catch in her throat.

Despite all he did and all he failed to do she still cared, she still loved him. He was finding living alone to be a difficult prospect. Insomnia set in and he began to suffer horrible nightmares. Without his asking she began making the hour drive after work each day. She would sit with him. Watch television take his mind off what awaited him behind his eyes. When he was ready for bed she would hold him until sleep finally found him. No matter the hour, no matter how long it took. When she was sure he was in a deep sleep she would let herself out and make the long drive home, alone.

Finally, she realized that rather through lack of maturity or from the early onset of a cynical heart he was never going to appreciate the love she nurtured for him. She chose to lock away that piece of her heart that was forever his and move on rather than suffer the pain of his proximity.

They were still friends, they still talked but a wall was being built brick by brick. She met someone and though he did not spark her in the same way he was steady, he was mature and he loved her unconditionally.

She told him on a Sunday as they sat watching an early fall sunset. I am getting married six months from today I need to move on with my life. She half expected, half hoped he would stop her, proclaim his love and carry off into the twilight. It never happened though. He listened with that maddening stoic way of his. Wished her a happy life and let her go forever. Never realizing that he was missing the opportunity to embrace the one true honest love he had ever known or would ever know.

As she drove off he sat in the in the sand wistfully writing lyrics in the sand that the tide would soon wash away forever.

Fear Takes A Holiday

Doom was rapidly approaching. Avoiding disaster was impossible. Escape was reserved for those whose free will had long since been compromised.

What hidden horror lay just beyond the horizon?

Was civilization, as the world knew it about to end?

Were extraterrestrials preparing to annihilate the planet?

Had global warming led to a climatic catastrophe?

John would have gladly faced any combination of the above scenarios than the horror that was mere days away. With sweaty palms and a stomach that could only be settled by popping Rolaids like candy, he contemplated his options.

He could join the priesthood, but his somewhat firm flirtation with Atheism would probably hold him back.

He could enlist, however fainting at the first site of blood, especially his own, would definitely be a hindrance.

Working his way around the world on a series of cargo ships might be the answer that is if he had not suffered from horrible bouts of seasickness.

Buddhism and a Tibetan monastery offered a brief glimmer of hope until he accepted the fact that vows of silence and hours of meditation would not work with his lifestyle.

No in the end escape was not practical, possible or doable. One and only one option remained. He must stand firm, face his fears and move forward with his life.

Damn these Hallmark holidays. Damn St. Valentine. Damn the cost of being in love.

deathwatch

they stand in rows
those empty rooms
sterile hallways
midday gloom
shuffling images
stumble by
another day
in fading light
a lonely place
cold metal chairs
drifting people
to numb to care
no will, no way
medicine minus mind
eating away
extending time
patients weaken
embrace the dark
creeping shadows
bring the reapers mark
a growing circle
family, friends
hug a rabbi
who comforts them
swapping lies
with gentle touch
united by
the deathwatch

Could Be

Flash
A dying star
Brilliant light
A moment lost
Floating by
Someone laughs
Without thought
No one hears
In empty space
Echoed silence
Is briefly bright
In the morning glare
No one's there
But someone laughed
Unthinking, uncaring
They quickly left
Not knowing
You were alone

Flashback Friday

Flashback Friday will be a chance for me to revisit some of my postings from the last year. Why Flashback Friday because it sounds a whole lot better than saying Friday will be nothing but reruns.

Scream

He roamed the outer fringes of sanity. Protecting his soul from the silent darkness. His weapons were few. Aluminum foil, duct tape and a Barry Manilow cd.

He remembered warm, humid nights at the Copacabana, a blue-eyed beauty on his arm with whom he had once shared a dance. Or was it matching straight jackets they had shared in the waiting room at Las Encinas. He could not recall for his memory had been scrubbed clean with electric sandpaper in a room benignly labeled "Utility Closet" by a suit with a misguided sense of irony.

Despite the terminal wattage voices continued calling out "Marco Polo" as he blindly grappled with the emptiness in search of a moment's peace. Beyond the horizon of what once was his reality little green gremlins chased the sandman away. Leaving him contemplating four white walls and a door less closet, where his sanity had been pressed and hung. Useless armor against sharpened needles; promising a new tomorrow wielded by doctors claiming to offer only sustenance.

He knew better. Bitter experience prepared him for the unvarnished truth. Behind the surgical masks renaissance clowns were laughing manically.

And he screamed.

John Doe 171

Once I was a man
Today, I am just a number
I came to LA filled with dreams
When, I cannot remember
May have been August
Could have been December
So many years have come and gone
The date no longer matters
My search for work brought me here
After the factory burnt to the ground
I roamed the streets, read the want ads
There were no jobs to be found
Those first nights were so lonely
My thoughts returned to home
I missed my wife, missed my kids
But this I had to do alone

Now days, became weeks, turned into years
In every way I have been a failure
I cannot return and face them now
Fate denies me that pleasure
So I have been reduced to begging on the corner
Though no one seems to notice
Unless I find myself in jail
When the force must fill their quotas
I spend my nights escaping
Crawling into a bottle of the cheapest wine
My stomach is usually empty
I only eat what I steal or find
Friends are few and far between
A few men who share my plight
We sit around small trash fires
We must make a sorry sight
Life continues to grow harder
I seem to have lost the will to live
No one seems to understand
I once had so much to give

I died alone last night
An old and broken man
I just lay upon the ground
I never rose again
No one even noticed
No one seemed to care
Pedestrians stepped around me
I wasn’t even worth a stare
Until I began to rejoin the earth
And pollute their precious air
Than finally someone called a mortician
Who took me away from here
They laid me out on a metal slab
They gave me an empty number
The tag reads John Doe 171
I’m a man no one will remember

Emotional Robots

mountain paths
people laugh
another smoggy day
he turns to her
stroke and purr
another game we play
touch and smile
stay awhile
emotions not allowed
sex and sun
summer fun
he never kept his vow
so much fear
reflected here
afraid of what we’ve seen
flesh and skin
the difference is thin
in our botox society
touch without feeling
mirror on the ceiling
sex: our modern god
a model in tight jeans
reality unclean
love sold, happiness bought
empty nights
no love in sight
loaded pistol in trembling hand
a pregnant girl
from a one night whirl
pull the trigger we understand
tomorrow is just another day
new actors in this passion play
caught in a web of one night stands

Lover's Anonymous

“Hi my name is Mike and I have a problem.”

Various Hi Mikes, what’s up Mikes and other greetings ran the gamut around the meeting room in the basement of the First Church of God.

“I am an addict.”

Mike was interrupted once again this time by an eruption of “aren’t we all brother”.

Before he became to flustered a voice from the back shouted, “Shut up and let the man speak”. Gradually the room grew quiet once again.

“I am an addict and I am addicted to Michelle. I have been seeing her off and on for five years now and I just cannot seem to make a clean break no matter how damaging the relationship has become.

We met at my place of work. I was her supervisor. I knew it would be unethical to date her but I was like a bug attracted to a bug zapper I had to investigate the source of the light even if it killed me.

I was seeing a very sweet girl at the time and even the thought of her being hurt did not stop me from flirting with Michelle. I would find excuses through out the day to wander by her workstation for a quick hello. Who am I kidding I went by her desk to check her out, smell her perfume and bathe in her aura for a few minutes.

The flirting remained innocent for several weeks, until one day we were wrapped up in a debate. I swore I was right, she was sure that she was. We ended up betting dinner on the outcome. Five years later it really is not important who won, what matters is that I broke a date with my girlfriend to see Michelle.

We ended up down at the beach. We had a quick dinner and spent some time talking and walking barefoot through the wet sand. When we returned to the parking lot, Michelle quite unexpectedly threw her arms around me and we shared a most spectacular kiss. When she finally came up for air I gave her a somewhat questioning look. Not because I was displeased but because I was not used to a woman being quite so aggressive.

She looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes and said simply, I waited too long for you to ask me out and I was not about to wait for you to get around to kissing me so I took matters into my own hands.

I put off the inevitable for a few days but I finally got around to breaking up with my girlfriend to devote my time to Michelle.

When we began dating everything was perfect. I felt like an angel spending all of my time on cloud nine. Our relationship progressed both physically and emotionally and it was not long before I was nothing more than a fly trapped in the spider’s web.
We talked about love, we briefly discussed marriage but for the most part she spent time with me and I became addicted to her.

I had never been the clingy type; space was always something I claimed for myself but suddenly, without warning the shoe was on the other foot. Michelle still said all of the right words but her behavior became a reflection of someone I had yet to meet.

I knew that she liked to party, Michelob was her favorite beer. Personally I thought it tasted nasty but guess what I began drinking just to keep her happy.

Like a Baptist church on Sunday the audience erupted with a loud Michelob in place of the amen’s.

That’s right Michelob became my beer of choice. Where ever we went from Vegas to the beach a cooler of Michelob could be found in the trunk of my car.

Before long she began making plans on Friday or Saturday that were not for us, plans that were just for her. Spending time with the girls she would say. I being the sap that I had become never questioned, never inquired just said yes dear and spent the weekend waiting by the phone in the vane hope that she would call.

When I was included I was in for the shock of my somewhat sheltered life. Michelle had begun experimenting with drugs. Not just pot, but cocaine and she was even beginning to freebase. I tried to dissuade her from this path but she refused to listen. She as she put it was a big girl and if I did not like the direction she was driving I could just get out of the car.

At that point I came to realize two important facts about our relationship and who we were as individuals. Michelle was a drug addict, she could not, would not walk away from the thrill she got from being high. And I, I was addicted to Michelle and I could not, would not walk away from the thrill I got from being with her.

Time passed. Her drug habit grew worse and our time together was reduced over the intervening months. She still claimed to love me even though it was apparent to everyone but me that her love for nose candy was far greater. I on the other hand could not bear to be without her. I would call and leave her countless messages. I could not sleep. My work suffered. I was a wreck.

Several times I attempted to break things off but she would tear up and beg me to say. Claiming I was the only rock she could depend on. She would promise to change. Of course like all addicts including myself, promises to change are nothing but piecrust promises. Easily made and easily broken.

Our life together began to follow a rather sad, pitiful routine. During the week she would fight the good fight and stay away from her party partners. We would spend some quality time together and everything would seem to be on the road of improvement. Than the weekend arrived. She would disappear and I would find myself waiting by the phone praying that she was alright. Hoping the phone would ring and dreading it all the same.

By Sunday night she would be so strung out that I would check her into a motel room to sleep it off. Not wanting her parents or my roommates to see her in her current Monday morning condition.

Finally, this past week the dam broke and I could not take anymore. Saturday at three in the morning I looked in the mirror. I was unshaven, had bloodshot eyes, an acidy stomach, what had become obvious to everyone else had finally become painfully apparent to me. I was a wreck. I needed help.

I found the ad for Lover’s Anonymous in the yellow pages and here I am. My name is Mike and I am an addict.