Adulthood

I always thought being an adult was going to 

be different. Not sure how different but I did 

expect it to be different. I feel most aware of 

time and it's passage than I have ever been. In 

childhood and school days it always felt like 

time was this never ending vastness that was

stretching far into the future. As the years have 

passed I see time as a thing that is hurrying to 

rush past me before I can even comprehend 

what has occurred. Milestone moments of my 

life feel like blips on my life and they begin to 

recede into the cavern of memory. I imagined 

that by this age I might be a husband and father 

but that has yet to be the case. I live in an age 

of infinite information yet I feel true wisdom to 

be in available in precipitously small amounts.

I am not alone in how I live but I know many 

who live vastly different lives. There is no right 

or wrong in this but rather in what we grow to 

value and love. I ask myself what I want and 

oftentimes it falls into a few humble things: 

to be able to provide for myself, to be left

alone to my own devices, indulge my mind 

and writing, to travel and explore at my leisure, 

to enjoy the company of family and friends, to live 

a life not dictated by financial and societal pressures 

that seem to grind so many into husks. I have a job, 

a car, bills and obligations of my own choosing, 

and I am largely happy. I do feel unease at what has 

been done or left undone. I think about the coming 

years and wonder how they will be. They will be as 

they must. Of that I am as certain. I think of my father 

and how he is the most adult person I have ever known. 

His work ethic, his sense of duty to his wife and children, 

I have known no one more exemplary of the qualities I 

feel make a good adult. I know he is human and fallible. 

He has made his mistakes. I feel as thought I am lost and 

wandering. Am I waiting to be found? If so, by who or 

what? Perhaps I have merely been in search of myself. 

There are times I cannot help but feel foolish. How dare 

I consider myself an artist when there are so many others 

far more talented and deserving of such a title. I create 

in my own ways for myself because I must. If I were to 

not do this I would die a slow death of the soul. 

I am reaching out. I am looking for ecstasy, peace, 
and transcendence. I wish to be more than what I am. 
I wish for everything and nothing. That is all I could 
ever ask for. I hope my journey has many more years 
in it. There are disappointments and heartache but I 
would be foolish to think of myself as having been 
the only person to feel such ache. My pain and suffering 
is but a drop in the vastness of time. Perhaps not even that. 
In time this may change or it may not. I am here and I am 
thinking about this life, this self. I continue on and I hope 
I am making the best of it. Perhaps some day I will be at 
home in a small house of my own deep in the land of my 
father and grandfathers, listening to the birds and wind, 

wondering about nothing and everything. 

Mantra from the Track

Unify in words, 
thoughts, 
and actions.
Make the change.
Make the change.
Make the change. 

Bossa Nova in the morning
to move the heart
and wake the soul.
Bossa Nova to lift the spirit
from night and into day.

I'm Talking to You

When will you be honest with yourself?
You can lie to yourself
You can believe the lie
But the truth will always be seeded within.
Strip away the ordinary thoughts
That cloud your mind-
Your fears and insecurities
Needn't always be drowning your heart.
Your bad habits are only keeping you
From a higher sense of self.
Take up the mantle of work
And labor for what you desire.
Sweat under the sun,
Put your feet to the track and run.
Do not be complacent with your
Words and actions.
Become angered and willing
To create that which you wish to see.
The days are falling behind you
And you cannot see how many
Remain ahead.
Be honest.
I can hear myself.
I can hear that voice
Ringing clear
Like a church bell on
Sunday morning.

clearing

paths emerge from the clearing
standing still in contemplation
to walk into the shaded unknown
boldness of heart and will 
acceptance of chance 
able to adapt 
the unknown always
presents itself

Present tensions
Past life memories
Future tense relief

She Is Dead

Do you know of who I speak?
If you do not
It is not necessary for you to know.
All this requires is the facts
that someone once lived.
She was once an infant
and then she became a child.
That child became a teenager
and that teenager budded
into a writer whose words
still haunt. Why am I writing
about her? Why can I not simply
tell you her name. I could
but I won't. I can see her name
resting on a pile of books
sitting on my desk.
She is someone you would
not expect to be a hunter
but she was and remains.
I can see her face from
her youth and know she
still exists even if solely
through her words.

Communication

Can you tell me when I can breathe again
I have been doubting my instincts
I feel as a lamb gone astray
Where is my shepherd
Am I the only one
That can guide me across
The fields beneathe Heaven
What dark grip holds me hostage
With no ransom
I am not chiseled from granite
Though even in time
Granite would erode
And be smoothed to nothing
Sleep may be the solace I seek
Though I remain awake
And unable to convey
The way words and thought
Twist and convulse
Unable to find their way
From thought to hands
To find their way to you
To find another soul
That can hear

Lack / ing

Tangents of thought
compressed or
built upon 
like foundations 
for 
     architectural achievement

Consonants / Consonance

Syllables / Syllabic

Expression broken into



                 essential components



Meaning found / inferred

Language_____________


             so pitiful


             so lacking


in expression

or

an expression

of my 

         lack of 

imagination 

The voice will emerge if the mind is opened.

Turn Off The Lights and Go Home

After the performance

After the crowds have gone home

After you have returned to your room

        That is when you fill yourself again

        That is when possibilities are birthed

This life spent half dreaming

The other half spent in search

       of shadows hiding in the dark

We are the agents of change in our own lives.

On Running

I will run until I'm happy

I will run until I forget

   what I need to remember

The gesture is the weight.

If you are in my thoughts 
you are never really far at all.

Not Trying

This sentence 

will convince

no one about 

anything.

When Sunday is Friday

The week ends
with a few beers
and shots of well-whiskey
poured down
my throat.

It's a small effort
to drown
the sounds of the rambling
stream of my consciousness.

I hear my own voice
echoing back
at me.

I don't know what
to do but

search for silence.

The Painting Beyond The Frame

Before I died
I wasn't thinking about
the government, taxes, work,
or any of the things that I used
to get caught up in.
I thought about God,
or more accurately, whether
there was anything afterwards.
I was never much of a believer
in life. I'm still not sure
where I am or what is going on
but I can tell you this much,
it's much nicer being able
to see the scenery beyond
the frame of the painting.

recycled into nothing

I have nothing to say.

Recycle the same bits 

of language and hope 

to find a new path. 

No wonder men

go insane in 

perfections pursuit. 

transitions

perpetual

eventual

inevitable

what is

was

wasn't

to be

you are

I am

ticking

tocking

dripping

slowly 

rushing out

all at once

behind us

history writ

forgot

every word

ready

to be taken

peddle expectation

defy demand

await crucifixion 

storm over 

the ocean

more drops

of water

she hardly

notices.