Advice for a Better Life

Go to bed at a decent hour.
Get a full nights rest.
Wake up decently early.
Leave with plenty of time
for work every day.
Eat more fruits and vegetables.
Drink less or just cut it out.
Exercise more.
Tell your loved ones
that you love them.
Read more.
Write more.
Continue the inward path.
Go to the beach more.
Make more music.
Make more art.
Keep constantly learning.
Face your fears.
Remember that the only
thing truly ours is
our own actions.
Be grateful.
Be kind.
Be kind.
Be kind.
Be kind.
Be kind.

Unconditional Kindness

There have always been
            will always be
those who prey
on kindness
as a sign of weakness
How sick
does one have to be
to see the full measure
of open heartedness
as weakness

True-

weakness does exist
in us but only as
brutish strength
that believes
itself entitled
to everything

You'll be happier when 
you're not so sad.

Hardwired for Kindness

All that I have I will give you

All that I have I have given you

Kindness and forgiveness both 
originate in the same place: the self.

Barbaric Kindness

Random Post

The Sky will speak through me
in gulps of breath

                            while Water
soaks my flesh and feeds my life.

__________

My kindness has been cruel to me.

__________

Kindness and Happiness

Sell your kindness 
for a penny and never collect.

Is this happiness of choice 
or convenience?

Small Acts

Her voice was an accusatory howl
of the inconveniences
her friends would have to suffer
by making a phone call
to speak to myself.

The night carried on in this fashion
until it gave way
to departure,
to the moment my key turned
in the ignition,
til sparks gave birth to motion,
to approach a destination of relief.

Jesse saw me pull up
in the beaten shell of my car.
When my bruised body
made it to the bar
my drink of choice sat there
as if it had spent the entirety
of its life waiting for me.

A couple approaching middle-age
sat to my right,
a young couple sat to my left.
I felt so alone
to be without my loved one,
the source of my peace,
the one who calms
the tides in my life.

I emptied my pockets of
wallet, phone, notebook,
because of their bulk,
the way they always make
my pants feel
when bulging
with content,
with notes of action
and worry.

I asked the young man on my left
for a cigarette. It would go well
with my whiskey and beer.
It always does.
His girlfriend was drunk.
She slurred and stumbled
like a 19 year old
visiting their friend
for the first time at the state
university. Drinking their fill,
drinking the fill
for three.

Her boyfriend and I spoke
about music, about
the value of connecting
with those
of our inclination. She
jammed her way
between us.
Her breasts pressed against
my left arm,
they pressed harder
so I could feel the weight
of her body, the smell
of liquid relief
from her breath;
she pulled out her phone
and fumbled,
fumbled
like only the drunken
klutzes of the world can.

The couple on my right watched,
the blond girlfriend
took a long drag
from the cigarette she had bummed
from the drunken girl.
I drew a long pull
of alcohol down my throat,
to numb the recent hours,
to let go of the pain
of a loved ones absence.

Me and the young man exchanged
contact information,
made a promise to
be in touch,
to listen to the art we created.

Jesse placed my second round
in front of me.
The whiskey was already sweating
in its tumbler.

The young was closing out his tab
when I went to pay
for my second round
of beer and whiskey.
There had been
a twenty dollar bill
in there. It had slipped away
like so many voices gone mute.
I asked aloud,
"Did I put a twenty on the counter?"
Jesse said he hadn't seen it.
I emptied my pockets
in a futile search
that turned up
only a napkin
with snot crusted into it.

The girl was gone.
The young man offered to buy
me that round sitting in front of me.

I told him it was ok.
That twenty had to be there.

I said we'd be in touch
as he walked out.

The stools on my left
were now empty.

The couple on my right had been
talking amongst themselves.

The woman leaned in.
I saw her rummaging through 
your wallet. I didn't want 
to say anything
after the day I had at work.
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry
I didn't say anything.
I wanted to 
but it had been such a rough day.

I told her to not worry.
I had suspected as much
when I opened my empty wallet
and saw my license
moved to the opposite
space it normally
didn't occupy.

She told me she was sorry.
She saw her
going through my wallet.

I said it was ok.
I understood.
It had been a rough
night for me as well.
I was missing
my girlfriend.
Wanting her there.
If I could
have been in her arms
I would have
but the intoxicating
glow of liquid
spirits would have to do.

She asked if she could
buy me a drink.

I said it was ok.
She didn't have to,
that in the grand scheme
of things
it didn't matter.

She insisted.
Jesse poured
us shots of the good shit
that I normally couldn't afford.

We drank them down,
a small fire burning,
a reminder of vitality,
a reminder of the perpetual present
of our brief lives.

Her boyfriend was in the bag.
He had reached his limit.
She leaned over
to tell me
that she hoped
he would fuck
her brains out when they
got home. I told her
I hoped it would work out.

She said
she wished she had said something
when she it happening.
I told her
to not worry.
That I would rather be
with my girlfriend.
That twenty-dollars
was an acceptable loss
compared to the horror
and agony of those
in less fortunate positions than I.

I asked her to do me a small favor,
to look after my now empty wallet
sitting on the counter while
I took a piss. She agreed.

When I was done
I sat back down
and we began to talk about our days,
how glad we were to have them
behind us.
I grabbed my wallet
to tell her that I was glad
that the young girl
hadn't taken the check
I had in there.
When I open the worn
leather bill fold
there was a twenty-dollar bill
resting in front of the check
once more.

I looked down
and then up at her.
She smiled at me
and reached for my hand.
We touched for a moment
and she said,
don't worry about it.

small

Where would we be 

without small 

acts of kindness?

Newtech

I left my car with my mechanic
because the brakes are shot
and the check engine light
has been on for at least
the last ten-thousand or so
miles. My front tires
have balded like so many
middle-aged men in denial.

He was opening shop
when I got there at seven-thirty
in the morning. I started going
to him because of my father.
He said I could always trust
him, so I have. He's let me pick
up the car without any payment,
just the promise to do so
when I have the money.
That kindness has saved me
many times, has left me
wondering what I did to earn it.

I will still be broke when
the car is ready, and more so
when I begin to pay him back.
Soon, the phone will ring
and he will tell me how much
and what other problems
there may be. I'll just say
"No problem, Mike. Whatever
you need to do,"

Kindness is an unending mandate.

dis jointe d

I shudder at the world
when it speaks unintelligibly
and acts through unkind action.

Is my kindness a desire
to spite the world
or a reflection of my inner self?

This is not the way to salvation

I don't want to feel this way forever

Act in kindness with no expectations.

Kindness

Chief sits silently next to me as he pours his light beer

into a tumbler filled with ice. I haven't heard him say

a word all night. He usually doesn't. Old Jenny sits 

next to him, talking enough for both of them. Her lips

curve  inward as each word escapes slightly mushed 
of sound or meaning. Chief motions to Stephanie 

at the other end of the bar. She brings over another

bottle and sets it in front of Jenny. "Thanks, Chief,"

she says. Her belly hangs in front of her large breasts

and rests against the bar. She keeps on talking. Chief

may or may not be listening. He sits there quietly, 

politely. The thinning gray hairs cling carefully to his

scalp like the survivors of a drawn out war. I try to 

make out what Jenny is saying. Only fragments of 

speech make it to my ears. The rest is drowned out

by the jukebox overhead, the sound of other voices

being honest for the first time all day. Chief looks 

down at his glass and then straight up, looking past

the entrance on the opposite side of the bar. I can see

Jenny's lips still moving. Her lips make me think of 

the mouth of a fish gasping in the air after  having 

been caught. She still breathes. She still talks. She 

has survived her bout out of the water. Chief slowly

comes down from the flattened cushion of the bar 

stool. "Goodbye, Chief! You take care. You be 

safe out there! You drive safe, ok?"she says. Her

eyes follow him as he makes his way towards the

door. Chief raises his right hand in a backward

wave that we see as he passes invisibly to everyone

else. Old Jenny moves into Chief's empty stool 

and looks at me. "What's your name, honey?"

I tell her my name and take a long pull from the 

bottle in front of me. She continues the story she

must have been telling all night. She's been divorced,

cheated on, heard people condemning her sister

for marrying a black man. I look at her cropped hair

closely, her eyes sitting in her head like they are too

tired to stay open. The lines in her face tell her story

better than her words. I feel her hand touch my 

shoulder, its weight resting there, a space crossed

only by the closest of relations. I look in her eyes

and nod my head. The juke box goes quiet

and I excuse myself to use the restroom. "Ok,

honey." She grabs her nearly empty drink and
finishes it. She brings the one Chief bought for 
her closer. I stagger into the restroom and brace 
myself against the wall. I dry my hands and look 
into the mirror. It's late, it's a weeknight. I can see

the lines etching themselves slowly into my 

skin. More people call me 'Sir' than before.
The jukebox is back on when I walk out into the bar. 
Some reggae tune from a few years ago is playing 

overhead. I don't see Jenny. When I get to my 

stool her last empty has been cleared. The beer

Chief got for her sits on a coaster next to mine. 
It's still full.