I was set free because my greatest fear had been realized and I was still alive.

Mornings

My mornings begin with beautiful scenery and serenity.

The landscape rises and falls and the way the ink wraps around her small shoulder can hold my gaze like a child holds his brand new puppy.

I look at her closed eyes, eyes rejecting the external, cut it off.

Because inside feels like an afternoon nap on the sunny part of the carpet at the house I grew up in.

How’d he forget?
The things that make him feel
Mosquito bites don’t hurt a pulled muscle
The sun can’t burn a broken heart
He moved
From art studio to art studio
He left the artist behind
Behind a window, the artist is safe
Safety killed the artist
Complacency killed the lover
All life begins diving out into the unknown covered in blood
It’s time to bleed
But be careful you don’t bleed out

We are not vague because we have to be but because it pays to be.

Most people would rather be quiet than mean.

Maybe it’s the saturation of attention some people get that makes it so hard to appreciate one person’s full attention.

But really it’s a lack of courage. We almost always know the right path. But sometimes the right path punishes you and the wrong path rewards you, just make sure you’re on the right one before you’re walking all alone.

A Dirty Poem

You call it filth, well I can happily thrive in it
Show me the dumpster, I’ll full out dive in it
You’ll watch and feel disgusted while I smile in it
I pick an old dirty shoe, walk a mile in it
You plug your nose from the stench, but I’m flyin in it
You think it looks dumb,  I see some style in it
There isn’t error just because some trials in it
Who wrote this poem? it stinks, smells like kyle in it

words words words

words words words
how fantastically absurd
explode from your lips 
make me feel like a cheese curd
cuz my insides are melting
soon I’ll be gooey on the outside
yet how sweet are the juices
land softly like smooches
I feel truly clueless
and it feels so good
those words words words
they can do so much
and I don’t stand a chance
when they’re followed by touch
and so I must
I need this much
I need to clutch
don’t call my bluff, raise me

and don’t forget the cuffs

choco mocha latte enema

I once read that coffee enemas can help cure some cancers. Well we as a society need some specificity, because the choco mocha latte enema isn’t curing ours.

Ravers complaining about oppression from police, but they were wearing hand cuffs of bright green beads long before they’re busted for smuggling homemade chemicals into hippie festivals.

We play electronic fishing games after buying and consuming a fish filet from mcdonalds, all while wearing moccasins with soles as rubber as our own, like compression-mesh-silk-under-armour with images of loincloths printed on.

Tribal skin markings reserved for special occasions are permanently etched into the skin of drunk uninspired zombies hoping to buy creativity for a hundred and fifty dollars.

Our peace pipes turn to exhaust pipes as we choke on the meaning that our lives lack, but used to run rampant in the lives of our ancestors.

And we mock hipsters and rednecks and anyone else who is naturally attracted towards self-sufficiency and a total disregard for what the silent (unless-behind-the-keyboard-of-anonymity) majority thinks.

We’ve always believed we’d behave differently in their shoes, we can talk and talk and talk, but we’ll never have to tie those laces.

And every time you look at your phone, the reflection stares back from behind the glass barrier until you’re behind the screen and it’s your reflection that wakes up in the morning, talks to your friends, and acts out your life.

We have hundred fold the amount of flash and shine of our enlightened ancestors with a hundredth of the meaning.

Voltaire

I’ve only read “Candide” by Voltaire, and through the book he’s making equally profound realizations. I read the whole book in less than 24 hours and spent a good hour or two ranting and raving to my dad, brother, and self about the ending.

Save some time for howlin at the moon

Half the businesses are art galleries and the other half are psychics.
Half your view is red rock and the other half bright blue sky.

And if you can manage between the coyote howls and the cactus needles, you can find something very special. Something of great value. A treasure.

The treasure isn’t out in the desert, but that’s where you’ll find it. Hiding under the sand and behind the dunes of your ego.

The desert just serves as the sand paper, scraping away the build up of gunk and cleaning up the cracks you’ve accumulated through living uncritically.

Just like a beautiful piece of juniper wood covered by years of old paint, if you are diligent enough, you can get back to the blooming beautiful basics. The gorgeous natural grain that lies beneath all the outer layers and stains.

The paint fades fast, and it’s not long before you need to apply another coat. People continually take the easy way out, applying coat after coat of that useless fake exterior.

Abandon the fake shiny appearance.
Gorgeous natural grain.

2 seconds

I watched this video of the explosions at the Boston Marathon, but I could only get 10 seconds into it. Then I couldn’t help but replay those first 10 seconds.
replay.
replay.
replay.
Only the first 10 seconds every time.
replay.

As the video begins, you see a couple runners finishing up. You see the sidelines, lined with differing people and flags, all tucked and squished behind the fences that line this year’s running of the world’s oldest annual marathon. You hear cheering and clapping and an announcer over a loudspeaker saying something in a calm, informative manner. It’s a happy scene.

The bomb explodes six seconds into the video.

The following 2 seconds were intense, emotional, and anxiety stricken. I was in complete disbelief. 2 seconds. Disturbingly fascinating.

I could not fathom any reason anyone would ever do this. Flipping on the individual that your significant other is cheating on you with is one thing. That, and plenty of other crimes, are understandable to me. I see them as mistakes, or flaws in judgement, but none the less, made by human beings. People beat up and raped by life often return return the favor to weak targets. Crimes like those are deplorable acts, and people responsible lack self control, empathy, respect and many other things integral to a positive human experience. Yet I still understand that they will happen.

Robbing a store?

Drinking and driving?

Deplorable, yet understandable.

The motives that lead to that explosion in Boston, I’ll never understand.

But those 2 seconds.

The reason I kept replaying the video was to try and put myself in that position. Empathizing.

Immediately after the explosion, there’s 2 seconds. 2 seconds of silence. The announcer stops talking. People aren’t cheering, but people aren’t screaming either.

I couldn’t stop thinking about all the thoughts surging, crashing, flying, diving, and hiding in everyone’s brains as they scramble to grasp what was going on. For 2 seconds, the people understandably froze.

Pause the video just right around 6 seconds, you’ll see the flames from the explosion, but no ones reacted. They’re just hearing the noise. First impression. It’s sickening to stare at and think about, but I can’t help it.

It’s the ultimate image of innocence lost. A still view of victory, courage, and hard work, right before it’s dropped completely into utter chaos and fear by a selfish, disgusting act.

I’ll sit for hours thinking about those 2 seconds. The silent frantic clawing of thoughts searching for explanation and solution.

1) What the fuck
2) Where the fuck do I go
3) Why the fuck
4) Who the fuck

It’s a nauseating thought sequence.

It’s a horrible tragedy. How anyone sings praises for mass deaths of innocent humans is beyond anything I’m capable of understanding. No incentive is worth causing so much pain. The despicable cause of this event is not worthy of being treated human. Tragedies like this don’t fit into my moral equations. The rules don’t apply. Every human’s got a right to trial, but let the beasts burn.