Written with love & care by Drew HenryChapter 1: ‘Elusive Nirvana’
Elusive Nirvana
1
All I really wanted & craved simply was the hit of nicotine smoke somewhere nice & grunge minded & minimalist, as the rain on the balcony outside laps softly, brushing against my skin… puttering
— music so kindly pouring in with tonalities that verged on feeling like pure euphoria, atmospherically sending electricity waves throughout the entire body — head to toe, surging through the wrist, fingers pressed tightly in the clutch of a cigarette… coming to caressing, polite lips, taking in slightly shy incandescent drags, passing along to someone a little rough along the edges who wanted to bum one…
meditatively escaping the current numbed state most drifted away in melancholically, rather up & into an evasively fresh realm of thought, mind state & mentality… as well as to scopes of galaxies within & without; people unknowingly, to many besides you, capably holding entire universes within, their deepest fear not their inadequacy… but the power they held within themselves that was powerful beyond measure.
Enlightened beings forge perfect little optimistic trails through seemingly uncrossable stone to new worlds, galaxies & universes designed with architecture premised on brand new thoughts & coping mechanisms, revolving around meditatively decompressing & releasing
— slowly absorbing fully & letting go of —
all thoughts, pretenses & pressure points on this natural earth we inherited, so we may instead float up to a Heavenly Third Eye Kingdom
— soft swift plunge & light ascent away —
into a domain lying at the heart of the depth of our connectedness to focus… how we focus & gather consciousness, of which we must pivot adrift & channel underlying wave frequencies adept at transferring knowledge, only attainable to the one who is gifted in the art of being a purely & energetically welcoming light, shining & emitting a signal from currents electrically raging through the galaxy, communicating with nature’s wisdom thug & infinite universal dealer, simply finding the connect between wall & cord.
So too, we are meant to shine as lights late at night, to help guide others. But first, we must know ourselves deeply, as well as intimately enough, to know just where our inner circuits & wires beam, radiating endless energies throughout, flowing within our vibrational bodily shells inwards & outwards into, metaphorically, the gratefully accepting outlet, plugging our needs in knowledge & wisdom, communicated via the outlets
— Earth, Mother Nature, the Universe & Galaxies —
to us lowly Earthly Creatures, as we distance ourselves from low level stillness… instead beaming as one with everything. In this span, one could’ve simply, casually, oh so meditatively & nonchalantly been focusing on their breath, inhaling & exhaling amidst any background setting — chaotically tinged or amidst semblances of peace — as one lets go of vague worry, embracing & accepting the great Tao of everything in the eminent line of sight, touch or feel…
…taking in any & all occasions, sometimes excusing oneself as a matter of politeness to quickly & most deliberately sip some Japanese Tea or steaming hot drip coffee or something iced while pairing this reflective sipping with the quirks & gestures of raising & flicking wrists, repetitively bringing to mind & from mind, inhaling & exhaling,
as one smokes what seems, to a young bodhisattva like myself, rather reminiscent of how one may very well envision afterlife ecstasy feeling… more distinctly, ecstasy within the afterlife;
as in death, we find life & so it goes…
…infinitely onward, as the living must simply keep living to the best of their energy state capacities & levels so that — one day, in all due time — we all may find what we so seek: the ever Elusive Nirvana & the opportunity to experience sublime pleasures of ecstasy in forever’s afterlife.
2
I’m lost in cathartic noise, buzzing, falling beside me on my sleeve… the fuzzy, warm thoughts — warmest feelings, brightest synergy. First of all, practice mindfulness…
after coffee — take a break, a refrain & repose from the hustle & bustle. Our culture speeds by too rampantly for us to process.
To really engage, you must be idle.
Once idle — dwelling on the spontaneity & the impulsivity of everything from a slump — you come out of the cave & brush the leaves out of the way & a subtle clearance so that you may wake… awakening to light & a brand new day.
For me, there’s nothing left to do, except write… to each his own. If I was a music artist, I’d make music. But I’m a writer… so I write.
I used to make music a few years ago, though, too — I play guitar & used to produce & make my own beats (who knows… maybe I’ll start making music again). At the end of the day, I’m an artist… so I make art. Whoever you are is what you almost always find yourself doing.
I’ll always want to write, produce, draw & who knows… maybe make some indie skate film with an old camcorder — things along those lines. Do whatever you’re good at often enough & you’ll find a way to profit off of the venture.
Engage in — releasing output & absorbing input — what you love the most. I read something — this or that, here & there — then I write to the noise of any kind of often melodic, bass-drenched, beat-heavy & lush-sounding tune on infinite rotation in my headphones… everything from low key & demo acoustic, to a little more hype & rave energy, to shoe gaze & grunge to punk & indie, to hip hop & country ones.
The music is all there — background noise & something to drain out all of the static… sure, I smoke from time to time, drags off of a cigarette about once every hour… yeah, the coffee remains ever flowing (going to get a cup probably here in a bit — always on my way to brew up something… brewing up some more poetry here now).
Vices act as a crutch to fuel the writing: the little mechanisms, hand quirks, slow sips, ways to catch thought, breath & being. In a reflective way — contemplating this all — I look around, sigh deeply & write… I look around, sigh deeply, & sip… I look around, sigh deeply & smoke.
I stay consistently writing, contemplating & deeply — always deeply & reflectively — meditating on words & inhales & exhales, over & over again & again, always seeing where the pages linger, always trailing steam rising above my mug, always following the smoke lingering.
The nature settles in sunlight behind the fog. I settle as the writer who doesn’t care. I mean, I do care… I’m just relatively bored.
So I try to make sense of & clarify thoughts by placing words on paper, going out for a smoke, throwing on some mix of songs by an artist I’m into, setting aside time to read fiction & poetry & whatever strikes a chord & making another pot of coffee & sipping some tea — the decompression, awareness of thoughts & adjustment of chemical balance.
Clarity comes & stays & drifts & flows. These ebbs & flows make us human. The world around us shifts in nature.
The universe sees how we put out efforts — to gain mindfulness, awareness & clarity — so, surely enough, the universe bestows upon us a blessing. Curses turn into lessons & then remedies. Remedies turn into skill sets & then bliss.
Bliss turns into conscious expansiveness.
Consciousness, once tapped into, becomes gently soothed so that we may say hello kindly to the unfolding day, not hide away & avoid.
Instead, we put out our arms, tip our cap & bow to the worldly presence as the worldly presence bows to us. We see the purely divine in each other.
As we accept our own faults & scars, we can also see what enlivens the light within our soul — the light itself a cure.
The scars fade & disappear… healed. Faults are forgivable, but first we must forgive ourselves… our unique liberation allows us to move ever so freely & creatively.
As we show our most genuine truth — acting according to self realization peaks — we begin to know ourselves & thus humbly exist. We don’t seek some approval or kindness… Simply, we love with & move in kindness because we walk within core dispositions.
At the end of the day… when in light, we are kind, hesitant to boast… sincere; we speak little, but step with a cool hop — the energy, not from external attitudes.
The lightness & glow & ease of shine stems from something way more internal. We throw on a nice outfit… comfortable. We look good so we feel good & vice versa. We come up on a new pack & iced coffee to face the day.
Sometimes we are apprehensive. Sometimes feelings arrive & dissipate. Sometimes all we feel is jarring burden. We feel weighed down & so too, feel that our weight bothers others. Whether we know it or not, we rarely have any ability to predict weighted days & we can’t predict the light ones.
Sometimes we make people’s days, but do not remotely even mean to. Sometimes we ruin people’s days, but do not remotely even mean to.
All you have to remember, is to seek light… kind of how nicotine can only be felt when it is brought to light — stoked in a way, or vaporized, so that chemicals release.
So too, we must burn the fuse properly within our own energetic compartments by doing what we love, with a clear mind & head on our shoulders, so to speak — with nothing but love & gentleness at the forefront of our mind, peacefully pursuing both needs & creative hobbies with equal interest, intent & curiosity.
Conscientiously engaged & absorbed, our minds find the match, stimulating our minds & loosely positively surging in radiant waves & pulses throughout. We light the natural chemical to find release. We light up, feel & engage with the feelings, letting go, coming back to, connecting to ourselves & the ground beneath & the stars above.
We find a tapped into universal wave state. If we’re able to feel universal wavelengths & then decompress — allowing us to settle — we can achieve what some only achieve by sipping tea & coffee, or smoking… the fiend’s essence, however, is tied down. But if we can spark this natural energy & light the dark spots — often creative portals — we can harness all that is tangibly bright & then even intangible matter will find a unique way to liven up in body & soul.
All of our being will see the inevitable day as something to be so truly grateful for… because our minds & soul will be clear. Our body will be one with energetic bliss. We will be both cozy & ready to engage.
The world poses something & we solve. Nobody abandons us… even though they often go away, the universe is always right there as a willing listener & a genius light source, giving us what we need, momentarily. We find within ourselves an inherent gem.
Self care & self love flows externally as we let ourselves glow within… shining. Others see us, channeling our frequency & our light meets them at first glance. Rather than make an impression, unfairly, they can’t help but return their light. The universe may actually be more fair, in the most impartial way, than we thought.
We just have to unleash the light within. We just have to find a metaphorical match to light a natural fuse within our beings — our essence the stimulant… properly lit.
As we find what fuels energies within us, we can always find release.
We smoke so much & drink so much, but maybe we just had to spark & replenish potential potencies in more pure ways. Here’s a match, go find & unleash the soothing inner warmth & natural chills & worldly highs & insightful lows.
We only need to bask in self love… aware. As we kindly regard ourselves, we glow.
The match I gave you is truly solely yours alone to refuel maximum capacity to kindly approach everything — from yourself to others to daily tasks. All of the meditative aspects just give way to a way of freely focusing with clarity on all that is around us & within us.
Sometimes there’s a comfort in energy. We face the day & our mood brightens.
Nothing can stop us because, in the end, we hold galaxies within us — flowing with the currency of the current… like the rivers — intricately connected with wavelengths as they come & go in the universe: one mindful & clearly focused mind state.
3
Eternally bathed in gray, tattered, frayed;
sedated, splat, forever strayed, half jaded;
sedated daze, infinite day, low light shade;
blissful tea haze, steeped seep, it steams;
coffee, wet water, press, drip drop, dream;
pockets packed with snug packs stashed;
smoke plume, ever lit hues, stark contrast;
nightly lilac craves endless ethereal racks;
spliff tinted backwoods, zips, cash stacks;
tape deck, neck tat, sex & checks cashed;
dejectedly flitting & grasping hair strands;
gentle care, aware, stupidly there, so rare;
ambient effervescence, slate mist castles;
sunk, fluttered states, moonlit reefer owls;
arched punk gates, zone bliss stone fields;
astonished, quick withdrawal out of sight;
aura highlights flight over skeptic heights;
nearby drags on the low & thrasher lowlife;
solitude draped, partly twilight’s white flag;
subtly high off girls, the vans a soft brag;
such an endless drag, sad lag, slouch sag;
still dressed in the best, yet so depressed;
witch craft, spells cast whip up a sick hex;
still high off girls wearing vans, the checks;
up to our necks, nothing left, nothing less…
4
So bones pick against the glacier adrift. My sheath won’t break through the stone. Grinding, gears shift on sleet plywood. Where were we… this elemental warehouse?
Fundamental matter grasps cotton thread. Caressing essence of the plain white tee picks at filter denim thrown about knees, scuffed to the touch — a feel of currency.
Soaked water off of foundations seeps into cracks… How does ice melt to seep… settling deep within the internal Earthly seams?
Closing, ice dissipates then freezes again. From dust we are born & to ash we return.
Maybe Hell & Heaven is in coexistence: Frozen Heat, Warm Ice, Beautiful Balance.
I light the smoke, envisioning my death, lit up & smoked by kings on thrones — one last smoke before the harvest… my bones crumpled down to nothingness & only bits of a Whitman hinted grassy knoll
— leaves of grass & our skin the same, each new skin layer a blade of grass:
the sheet, the paper, the tree, the breath; the skin, the salt, the earth, the plant… So too, surely we reincarnate to another, in a world of overtly natural disintegration, to bone rot & decay to full crush
— ash of our bones rising misty eyed above & our skin, laundry returning to the Earth & our soul released by God to angelic overtones (maybe one day to be smoked potently…) as we smoke the smoke that smoked. We feel like a cigarette in full drag, released by & from our being: the essential existence as ghostly form… maybe we exist in meta galaxies as a plant amidst a larger realm & outer universe.
Surely then, someone could roll up the plant we exist equally as, smoking us wholly up. We are nothing but littered plant shells. Who knows if our being turns to plant… maybe we are already a peaceful plant in the whole scope of universal theory — plant matter, not ash & dust… reality is only reality, all at once, all at the same fateful time. We live to die, but death just awakens us.
5
we only live .000000000001% of this whole thing, much much less than that, in the span of the timeline of all universal existence. the other 99.999999999999% of the time, we live within the pure euphoria of Afterlife.
our body may rot, the disintegration of shell, in & out our graveyard coffins, or we may cremate into ash, but our soul will dissipate in a brand new form in a whole another similar realm.
we never really die — feeling destroyed… crumpled like that extra soft worn paper.
on Earth, we are secretly dead & in hell. we’re already dead. when you die, you awake. no longer in Hell, you realize you’ve been dead a long time.
maybe it’s been Hell anyways, God’s way or the highway… which way? that way.
please shine a light on the whole thing & police shine a light through the tinted windows of these petty thief reefer thugs. but then it’s just the security guard at the bar…
what happened to getting by & being one of the cooler guys around?
guess this world broke me, the women & jobs, the waiting room of it all… i’m dependent upon my family and this organization or that paycheck or disability from the government & the cigarettes flowing in, the income only leading to the day figured out; jot it out in your checking book, nothing working out.
tired, the gloom of not walking out like a high class citizen on the street with all of the strolling freedoms in the world — to move & smoke & sip this and that to the music of it all… it’s all we ever needed.
dear Lord,
save me from dying under a white hot sun… you know, i need the bright side & the bad side as well. always just enough dark to see.
6
Let the flow state slow to a likely zone. Hold the frequency & freeze at middle end, end around & see how things turn out… Round & round, hovering at center — point within a point… the absolute core.
The fire pulls against leaves upstream as if it rips plant to blaze on to cusp all within filter paper, pre rolled class A… ash stumbling into custom ash tray, minds circling, drifting, returning — constant fall to peak to fall to peak… like autumn leaves swaying in wind.
They go back and forth, detaching… no longer feeling connected to tree & only feeling at rest once they touch down.
First, however, they float to the ground. They don’t slam down, they first float.
7
Merciless, scathing contentment… we surely must be happy enough just to be here… sounds flood in. I feel like I’m in an amphitheater.
Then the song just ends in a blur… onto a little more harmonious syncing. It all seems to be space within space. Cigarettes bestow time within time. As you smoke them, you beg a few hours to be docked later off life at some point so that you can dose yourself a bit with a few head high inducing puffs at the current moment… lagging & sedated, deeply breathing in intoxicating nicotine & breathing out short lived relief.
It’s the ADHD in most of us that turns the experience into a mellow euphoria.
8
Sometimes you reach Nirvana. Sometimes you don’t know where to even contemplate beginning. Sometimes I guess you passed it, not fully aware you went too far.
But always, always, you can pivot, shift direction & realign once again with the elusive, fleeing & freely engaging state referred to as
Nirvana…
sublime oneness & a type of ecstasy, in relation to overall being, relative to all that matters in this universe — everyone & everything: one mutual, together, wholeness… a way to attain zen bliss realities.
Chapter 2: ‘Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid’
1
There’s this kid I heavily vibe with these days as I sit on a porch somewhere remote & quiet with love in my eyes.
This kid is one of those real down-to-earth Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kids, finding ways to love on girls without telling them he loves them:
little compliments about their hair, noticing their cute lace up platform boots & grabbing at a bracelet some girl’s wearing ever so nonchalantly, telling her it’s cool.
‘Everything’s cool, so long as girls exist’, thinks the Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid, cutting his hair a little shorter these days than when he used to grow it out… not because it shows a different side of him or anything, but just because, with the sides short, he gains a sort of punk edge which always played well with the hobo chic grunge styles of girls in his town.
He likes however girls wear their hair. He doesn’t care about feminine attention. He couldn’t care less if the girl he was crushing on that week even mentioned his name, let alone talked with him directly — not possessive anymore in the slightest… he so often used to be obsessive.
This little Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid understandably thought talk is cheap — Chet Faker sang something about that. In his eyes, most things just stole the immediate intrigue away, probably why he fell back into a pattern of unrequited love.
He wanted the girls he really loved to know everything about his little life, but felt the natural spark would unflinchingly carry on whether small talk was had or not… little words need not be spoken to contemplate & channel good energy back & forth between loved ones within the universe.
Still, he didn’t shy away from a little mellow flirting or playful smile with an almost devilish grin aimed straight at girls he thought were cute as all hell. He would dance like nobody’s business. He made the most of his hard yet tolerably graceful life… but his parents didn’t have much, or at least couldn’t give him much.
He dabbled in every recreational drug, as a means of self discovery, but mainly just stuck to his routine pack of cigarettes & too many pots of coffee & tea each day.
Girls liked to get him hooked on things, noticing his addictive traits & personality. One girl got him hooked on energy drinks… to the point where he drank 3 Monsters a day after initially holding onto the belief that Monsters tasted like pure cow’s piss.
This other girl got him hooked on ballet… to the point where girls complimented him on his ass, which he trained in ballet class. Another girl got him hooked on shoe gaze & dream pop… to the point where he impulsively bought two vintage electric fender guitars & a classic drum set.
Another girl got him hooked on astral projection… to the point where he’d dissociate almost every single day, projecting himself into other dimensions. Another girl got him hooked on tarot cards & zen meditation… to the point where he nearly became a monk at a monastery.
The thing was… every girl wanted to mold him into her little pet art project, uniquely customizing the design of what this perfect little feminine skater boy could or should be. The funnier thing was he never even minded, always submitting ever so graciously to their whimsical demands.
He liked girls who tasted like pink bubblegum when he kissed them — the ones that would bum a cigarette off of him after blowing a huge bubble at the park right in front of him… so he guessed, it was just for aesthetic, not their breath.
But to him, having a combo of cigarettes & gum on your breath was never really even such a bad thing. He liked eskimo kisses & snow angels on cold winter mornings when snow kissed & frost bitten noses gently touched while you lounged in deep powder. He liked girls in beanies who smoked spliffs & probably had hookah rigs.
They’d tease him playfully & treat him as if he was a guest at the playboy mansion… pleasing him because he only wanted to please them so instinctively & longingly. Well, he was far from Hugh Hefner, but he loved girls in Playboy Magazines too.
So too, he adored girls who hid their bodies, due to sadly toxic & traumatic abusive past circumstances in each of their lives — which he always indirectly attempted to help them cope with & work through by means of unwavering gentle kindness & politely sincere remarks & little cute gestures… the Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid never minded or even really cared to notice too big of a difference between a girl having double Ds or a flat chest… but always thought a nice ass was probably the most preferable of the two.
He was additionally always inevitably acknowledging how girls actually looked so cute after dressing in his baggy shirts & baggy Lucky Jeans — “lucky you” inscribed on the pull-down zip underneath the minute waistband… not to go to waste — they practically ripped off of his waste… not to have sex with him, but to tighten it with a belt around their skinny girly frame, roll the pant legs up & rock the baggy dad jeans for themselves, laughing as they stole his beanie away too… always failing in attempts at hiding his vulnerably messy post-beanie skater boy hair.
He had gotten tattoos given to him by girls who never even gave anyone else a tattoo before in their life… either needle or stick & poke & would easily pay a girl in multiple currencies & favors to simply draw art for him… even doodling little sketches on plain white hoodies in sharpie.
Girls, in his view, knew more about the little nuances of life & had attained more wisdom in all things considered & played the muse to the world’s artistic endeavors.
He went home almost everyday after morning errands & work & studies & immediately listened to The Cure without fail, absolutely loving the goth romantic era, playing their debut album “Three Imaginary Boys”, as well as their albums “Wish”, “Disintegration”, & “Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me” on repeat, dwelling on every girl who crossed his mind in life. He always smoked perfectly rolled & mild Marlboro 27 cigarettes… ash littering the cement pavement below his feet.
The Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid always wore black & white & grey attire, as well as some vintage denim skater jeans… yet otherwise sought out the pink undertones & soft vibes in the feminine world that surrounded him, whether in music, energies, or material goods… basically anything bright & soft… lush & shimmering & bright & soft — the same way pink is lush & shimmering & bright & soft, the same way The Cure — even in all goth attire — plays music lush & shimmering & bright & soft, the same way this Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid is lush & shimmering & bright & soft.
With a lush soul & shimmering aura & bright eyes & a soft mind — sensitive to ways of femininity & self-aware of inner workings in his deepest innermost psyche — the boy reminisces about girls who got away in the past… a nicely soft pink mood; he ashes out his cigarette & lights up another one… a subtly casual gray mood: the lightly moody rotating nostalgic routine of smoking & reminiscing about girls lost, ash from cigarettes flicking away from his wrists, contemplating relationships & what they’re worth with each & every meditative inhale, exhale, wrist flick & sedative ash.
2
The Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid looked around, in the years of his prime. There was snow falling soft on the ground & drugs being passed about in the village. He tossed those things aside, unfazed, focused on other inherently valuable highs, such as quality time, style & culture.
The dusty melodrama & ulterior motives of citizens slid off of his shoulders. He walked forward on his curious path — the road less traveled… Frost imagined.
He was as sober as the eggs frying in his traditional rusted pan that morning, 7:11 a.m. in his humble abode, steeping tea steamed in his foreign tea pot with floral patterned tapestry & plush carpets making his place feel like home.
The Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid dressed as if he was the perfect mix between a Japanese bum & 90s grunge rockstar & Winter X Games junkie.
He was always scrabbling little words together wherever he could possible… writing his number on napkins to give to lovely waitresses as tips & gratitude.
He wasn’t necessarily a narcissist, but always had enough healthy & proper ego to understand the waitress would be the one missing out not calling him… not vice versa.
He gambled on bits & pieces of everything from time to time… impulsively & caught a few professional sports games on television… every now & then. He was a green tea connoisseur & loved his coffee & cigarettes in the morning — reading Vonnegut’s novels.
Breakfast of Champions sat on his desk, littered with notes, Polaroids & two dozen additional books of poetry & fiction & an ash tray & drawings from friends he promised he’d one day get marked indelibly as tattoos, etc.
All of his doodles & spontaneous prose & stream of consciousness writings were either tossed aside in a waste bin he never planned on throwing away or logged & documented on his typewriter & phone. The Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid frequented bars, only to order a coffee… anticlimactically. He had plenty of one night stands, no stranger to unrequited love from afar… so he simply always kept people — mostly girls of his dreams — at a tolerable distance… cutting ties before the bond became too unwaveringly solid to eventually crush him.
But he had tons of loyal fans & friends. They followed him as he followed them. He went to work with a Walkman in his baggy jean pocket & library book in hand & bass amplifying headphones on his ears & Charles Bukowski’s poetic words on his mind… thinking about how he & Bukowski are gonna ‘nail her ass’ for real this time.
He’d work some vigorous eight hours — figuring out all of the loose ends & toiling away at his shift, relentlessly — then remove himself with a chip on his shoulder after his laborious efforts were finished & retire to the music lounge at his loft, uncorking a freshly minted wine bottle & pulling out a record from a slightly used & worn out & warm pocketed sleeve.
He’d dust off the record jacket & clean the vintage vinyl — any dirt & cotton off the needle — lightly dropping the needle on the edge of the vinyl, minutely sliding & then settling into contentment & place on the first & much awaited sound of the album’s intro — the beginning to a long overdue finished work week & weekend full of art, mostly just writing & reading & making & listening to music in his cute little dwelling pad… a bachelor’s pad to say the least, where’d he’d sip slowly… smoking fervently.
Not a player, but he did like playing the field… ‘fuck it,’ he’d say, as he would ash out a cigarette & pull another from the pack, turning two more over opposite end around for good luck & good fuck… having a better relationship with chain smoking then with playful girls of his era. So he’d bang a few woman & smoke too many Marlboros & Montego 100s & that was the way the little life of this Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid went — early 30s — looking around… watching snow falling on the ground & this & that passing him by
— going to & from work, in an old railroad town —
scrabbling notes to waitresses on napkins… meditative & high.
Chapter 3: ‘This Girl’
1
I saw the slit in her dress & the ones covering her small, fragile arm & wrist. She’s dainty, but maybe I shouldn’t call her fragile
— just irrevocably numb to all of the pain she’s been through, yet still always finding ways to compose simple, kind words to others & gesture an unswerving smile with the sweetest, cutest dimples you might have ever seen…
…tracing patterns in the sky, patterns in your hand, auras around your being & determining the answers to all of your questions through a simple tarot reading & small talk around a lightly burning & roasting fireplace… gazing underneath infinite starlight gleaming in her eyes.
Both warm & cold, she is the light bright & cold stone at every angle of your subtle & gentle being.
2
I see a girl… I lean over to tie my shoes. I scruff my hair up & down & pull up my pants. I’m trying to pull myself together a tiny bit.
I don’t want to look empty handed when a girl that cute walks by… a glance — I pull out a smoke… if only a bit of gum (anything to distract myself in it all). I notice her & she notices me… yeah, she smiles inwardly, combing her hair gently down, hands brushing up. I efficiently move from here to there.
She asks for a lighter, noting the exchange — how quickly I can flip it in her direction. Maybe she wants to know if I’m cool… like cool enough to pimp out the little things.
If I can do that, I can keep up with her: the magnitude of her soft weight on me, the idea of her head nuzzled into mine, the thought of my hand around her… She’s wearing a sweater — maybe cashmere… she’s wearing a bracelet & doc martens.
Thank God I wore my beanie & those high top vans… always classic — good to be classic & endearingly edgy. She’s cute in a way where she could easily pass as both a local girl & a city girl. I can’t really impress her, I guess… she can see right through the flex of it all. But it’s always nice to try, so I stealthily reach into my pocket & pull out & hand her the lighter — noticeably baby blue.
She grabs it, softly brushing against me. Damn, she lights a cigarette in a way that’s more attractive than one may think — right to the point: the flick of her thin wrist, the smooth drag & pull & crisp smoke trail — a thin cloud that only girls can really blow. She hands me back the lighter. Both of our hands linger on one another for a brief moment.
She thanks me & kisses me so softly & sweetly on the cheek… before she fades out into the evening. I never even ever think to get this girl’s number in the quick & cute little string of events.
I guess she must have liked the way I was cool with the little spark of the lighter & initial spark with her, too. She also probably liked the way my hair fell that day & the high tops & beanie & whatever else.
The kiss was so unexpectedly nice. Sometimes it’s best not to see where the whole thing goes.
That would be such a drag, right? I bet… I take two mightily steady smoke pulls before I ash out my last cigarette.
It was a good night so I head on home, remembering that girl in the all white cashmere sweater with the doc martens & the bracelet.
It was a good night so I head on home.
3
She walks, heavy boots clad on her heels, treading on asphalt pavement.
She takes a breather from her casual morning stroll & sits on steps outside of a cathedral… her toes pointed inwards, her hoodie hiding her cloudy & misty eyes & goosebumps forming on her skin as a result of catharsis from the music she’d been listening to. She leans into her praying hands & cries deep, melancholic tears
— pondering past romantic flings & whether she should hit up a priest at this point & confess her little faults —
…barely even considered sins to degenerates in a nearby alley.
These faults weighed on her so heavily. Even though she was far from a sinner, she was far from a saint too, cheating & falling into old vices & harder drugs & lustful & risky behavior.
Her life was relatively uneventful, though, at the end of the day — writing sonnets in her loft she thought Shakespeare would be proud of… tossing every single one of them aside & sipping on something & switching her attention to her old stack of CDs & her little vintage stereo.
She found peace in Joy Division — a band that always cured her torment, alleviating & relieving a constantly lingering headache… not knowing what to do with her current mixed state — both manic & depressed… even half delusional & only finding happiness within the sadness.
She wanted to feel acceptance, even if that meant a smile from a cute local barista boy. So she made efforts at getting an iced coffee at the local café to feel kind of like a semi-decent citizen.
She made her way over to the local café. Upon getting up from the cathedral steps (she really was thinking of talking to a priest…) — wiping away the downtrodden tears off of her cheeks — she meanders over to the coffee shop.
Predictably, an attractive barista smiles her way & hands her the iced coffee she paid for. She felt she deserved half as much. She bought a book of old poetry at the local bookstore & headed back to the cathedral again.
She stepped into the confessional with the priest — purposely missing both of her appointments at the gynecologist’s & her therapist’s. She felt cleansing her sins would do her better, overall… at least her soul.
Everything else was fine… she just felt an overwhelming guilt or shame or whatever nagged incessantly at her, no matter how many times she went to checkups & therapy. She looked at the crucifix on the wall… Jesus dying on the cross — she thinks about how The Heavenly Father died & contentedly sits in the Heavenly Kingdom, yet still makes time to listen & forgive her & offer her a sense of closure to past slip-ups.
‘I guess life’s not that bad,’ she thought, saying 10 Hail Marys & 3 Our Fathers — pretty much a Rosary’s worth of prayer as her penance — after the act of contrition on her way out of the stainless-glass-adorned cathedral.
Now sitting cozily in her loft, she read the old poetry book she bought… crying tears of joy this time, thanking the Lord for forgiving her sins & blessing another day of her existence. ‘We all get 365 days each year… to make the most of it all’, she thought.
Far from a sinner, far from a saint, but still uniquely angelic…
‘I guess life’s not that bad’, she thought & smiled.
4
Metaphorically, cement was her worldly natural element of choice, visually at least
— charred, slowly corroding yet unwavering & once malleable & soft texture… as well as the instinctual airy breeze — the pure & cold & permanent paired with the invisible: a juxtaposing contrast between the two.
Her cigarettes & coffee & tea were her substances of choice — tobacco & caffeine: her usual barely contemplated daily tendencies… surely addictive & inescapable habits.
Any kind of cheap, leveling stimulant awakened mindfulness in her senses via vice-infused routines pushing along the cultivation of outer-worldly thought & meditative acceptance of the people in her life & place she’s at & everything spinning madly on around her.
She sips & smokes & slows down. She blankly moves about, forlorn, removing her little kettle from heat in her tiny kitchen, preparing to steep the green tea she had originally bought that same winter while visiting Japan, hoping to feel less apathetic & casually despondent in drastic perpetual lag… as she so often had for days at a time.
She makes it a point to read something anytime she sips her steeped tea — poetry deep within her core thoughts… a poetic rhythm to the way she moved.
She was refreshingly sober & grounded in reality
— one with the cement & breeze & unshifting asphalt pavement, set in stone & unchanging despite being elementally struck by the breeze & tread of rubber tires & beat-up converse & vans & all of that. She loved how pavement always stayed the same. She loved the band, Pavement, too.
She spoke & read bilingually & could read & use sign language, too. She had all sorts of superfluous skills. Either heroic or villainous, she possessed both qualities, rolling up & rolling through any type of way
— floating by, striking a match & striking up a conversation, just passing through, coexisting & doing pretty much anything to confirm her existence, which had a way of being about both comfort & dismay.
She never knew how to feel about this little life, looking down at the street below her old heavy & worn out boots… kisses in the wind a feathery feel stimulating her otherwise overly desensitized skin, star shopping & shoe gazing, hurt & recovered all at once, empty & whole all at once, fleeting & permanent all at once, flawed & perfect all at once.
She duly notes American soils receding — the real estate just the cement pavement for Fords & Harleys & buses & subways & this whip & that Beamer & this taxi & that cop car & this Benz & that Jeep & this skater boy & that girl strolling by — so they can cruise through in every direction on hard asphalt.
Every now & then, she escapes the city a few times each year to explore nature & dwell on the existentialist truths of the cosmic universe in some remote & expansive solitude.
Yet she always returns to city streets & her humble abode & to her garden & to the friendly tiny kitten consistently purring at her dusty & bellowing doorstep.
She knits on her front porch, hazily focused — like a preoccupied mother — on the kitty making her way back to the steps… yet she felt alone, even on crowded streets.
Sadly, maybe all she wanted — at least subconsciously — was the bliss of a timely peaceful death… we all moved towards its fate anyways — waiting for the inevitable an overbearing burden… her only occasional suicidal thought, however, was dying like Chet Baker
— falling out of a window —
or like Elliot Smith — jumping off of the roof of a building… simple and quick — the sudden crash, falling swiftly within breezy air onto the cement ground below.
But the fleeting thoughts always found ways of passing. She was, without a doubt, an abstinent-minded creature
— devout in doing little & talking minimally & devoted to simply being aware & alive & not worrying too much about guys & all of that on a moment to moment basis.
She dreamt of the day she would be embraced by the afterlife she craved, but never feverishly indulged too hastily finding out & dying, if only unexpectedly, still semi-content & grateful existing…
…yet daydreaming frequently of the day when her bodily being transcends eventually into a ghostly form
— life like the shifting dissipation of cement into rubble into nothing but scraps in thin air… to feel one with sobering cement:
the way the breeze must feel as it collides against its cement counterpart, balancing opposites
— a yin yang alchemist of the windy elements & bare trodden ground… to some, obviously a crush eternal at one with the great nothingness. She was a ghost on Earth already… at least in her eyes, conceptually, barely reflecting on her looks in the mirror
— the heroine spoken of so vividly in feminist literature, appearing like an eclipse — only visible for mere moments… her thin figure & dress barely brushing against mid thigh with soft fabric flowing; hair strewn about in whatever way it fell that morning.
Quite naturally, she exuded an innately gentle disposition & the softest & shyest of temperaments.
All she was in this small town was a ghost
— at least in her conceived imagination —
avoiding the lustful glances of the men passing her… moving humbly from place to place, keeping on her mind little phrases to get her through tasks & chores & sojourning within an imaginary world somewhere out of this world, far from the one she actually occupied, hesitantly accepting her present world.
She was recognized in amity by many. Some locals — even some tourists — knew of her since forever ago. She remained constantly disillusioned, focused on highs only meditatively accessible to those who sought after them.
A yogi of sorts, attractive as any & all, yet still she loathed her Earthly form… a beautiful exterior overshadowing what lies on the interior… if only someone could really notice her true & genuinely angelic soul & tend to the damaged aspects of her heartbreaking cuts & wounds.
She longingly wished for more.
Still, she always appreciated what came her way, unavoidably craving the day she passed on, keeping to her blissful dream state
— consumed with escapist pleasures, smoking her cigarettes & drinking her coffee & sipping tea & partaking in any activity that enhanced clarity & kept her at peace with the bare & raw concept of living, constantly adjusting to the fickle whims of everything seemingly so annoyingly needy & insufferably intolerable in some ways.
She didn’t mind existence too much at the end of the day, though, because she simply meditated singularly on the connection between all beings & a much more expansive mentality
— a brighter fundamental wave length, destined for far more than just human fallibility & corruption, which she absolutely avoids… striving to maintain a ghostly aura & chill & airy presence… Because to her, ghosts were perfect —
so long as they refrained from haunting — residing in the Heavens, out of Purgatory, free of pretense & attachment & bodily earthly confines & useless nuisance of society — each one a type of captivity just tarnishing the original unblemished state of everything in this realm.
She idealized little ritualistic behaviors
— the idea of doing nothing by doing something… a sip & smoke & drawing & notes on paper & tarot readings & attention to detail & a book about anything.
She dwelt in solitude, disengaged from social gatherings & ignoring the game — both of dating & popularity — on a daily basis (everyone superficially only seemingly caring appearances & first & last impressions).
She knew other girls envied her good looks & guys coveted her & people always talked about everyone & everything.
News traveled fast in a small town… she ignored the gossip.
She could care less about the guys hitting on her & the girls hating on her.
She skirted off out of view in her mini skirt up her steps to throw on a show, cozily snuggled into her squish-mallow in her hoodie under a knit blanket.
She always found ways of escaping the grind of daily existence… wanting to feel like a ghost — her soul waiting to free itself from its mediocre cage.
One day she’d be free, an inhabitant of a majestic realm, where she has already envisioned herself.
She could manifest anything… she would manifest a new kind of reality.
5
We all need some divine feminine energy… so too, comfort within our own solitude.
I sit here: a vibe to be in my own space — cozy, wearing a hoodie & denim jeans… peaceful essence in a comfortable spot, lost in thought with a good book in hand.
I’ll look up from my frequent readings, sitting in relatively sedated bliss, not too worried about time passing.
I’ll pull out a cigarette, appreciative of the back & forth motion…. this waltz, this dance. More often than not, it’s sweet enough.
Slow dance somewhere… together so long, the old man & woman still looked as if they were on their first date — endlessly in love, still cutely enticed.
Together so long, they mesh; little tension quickly dissipates. Original first date feelings set up their whole, little rhythm — the small chit chat, the little nuances, the jokes, habits, ways to loosen up, the dinner parties & breakfast mimosas, his friends & her friends.
We’re used to it… they’re used to it. He moves in his own way
— nonchalant, yet caring in nature. She moves in her own way — soft in touch & warm in heart.
I’m just waiting now to find the right girl
— to vibe with, slow dance with… our favorite song on the speakers, her head on my shoulder, a flutter of infinite nature… she pulls me closely in
— light step, this way and that… here & there, in tune, cute little smirk, a heartfelt little sway; soft kiss on my cheek, soft kiss on her neck… we all just want the one person who makes us feel so at ease deep within; so cute:
her little energy, ways she goes about things… she tells me to take her hand:
‘just vibe to it all’, she reminds me…
…the little rhythms of all of this — someone I could ride with… so, in a way so cute, I had hesitantly asked her if she wants to dance:
a shy glance between us two, a flit of movement, tussled hair, nervous hands, a glow about her eyes…
…feelings, looking away — a bit shyly — then her eyes link up.
I meet hers… look away a single moment (hopeful she feels it too… she really does, too).
She closely moves into the hoodie I wear. Saying anything at all felt unnecessary.
The song played… nothing left to do, but just so sweetly sway to the music with our arms around one another.
She soothed my being — delicate dispositions felt. We liked the song a lot.
She was so cute… I looked alright enough. She had a warmth to her & so often, my heart had felt cold… but now she was right there — soothing sweet relief slow dance.
The song played on… we never drifted apart — at least too much.
A few hours passed… I sat outside on the steps & lit up a smoke.
She came outside… sat right up against me, perched up on the step, as well.
She asked me for a smoke…
“I didn’t know you smoke…”
“I didn’t know you did either…”
“Seems like I have to…”
“Yeah, me too…”
“So glad you’re here, though…”
“Yeah, it’s really cool we met…”
“Damn, yeah, it really is…”
We smoked in silence… stars rested glowing high above, as we rested alongside of each other.
It was the perfect night, the beginning of something incredibly cute
— thanks to a slow dance, a smoke sesh… someone to smoke with… someone to ride with… someone to vibe with —
‘finally’, I thought, finally… but here, I sit, in a hoodie & denim jeans
— on my own in a cozy little spot… any place that felt like home —
writing this, about to get some coffee & smoke a cigarette. I guess we’ll have to see if I’ll ever find this girl to vibe with
— our favorite song on the speakers.
Here I am. There she is.
It’s all alright… one of these days, in time.
6
Slut cut gut, flirting that hurts with a girl in a mini skirt, white girl tatted in the matte black car with the pale body & painted black nail polish all to my demolish…
…she worked at & pulled down at her dress that kept rising at the thigh, got a guy high then carved a wound deep inside & dragged his heart low against the pavement, her dancing to hip hop & punk in her old worn & torn beat up converse platforms & her dope ride she picked you up in, her fishnets & little piercings & rings on her hand…
…wildly playfully teasing you, making you feel like a real cool guy again, then weak in the knees, then completely vulnerable to every type of attraction to her… devil & angel on the shoulder, little bumps & hip stirs & fluttered core & playful wrists…
…everything on the low, grinding out on the dance floor, keeping the whole thing low key, truth seeming fiction, fiction seeming true, possessions of soul & body… maybe she practiced some devilish magic or witchcraft…
… the fact that she loved everyone, the nice guys who were naive & sweet, as well as the ones who treated her in all sorts of other ways, sometimes kind of badly…
…like she had a genuinely cute & sensitive & empathetic way of being; she just wanted to make sure you were okay & liked all of the attention & affectionate glances she received, but love never seemed like it was enough…
…she wanted a deep level of emotional & personal & vulnerable intimacy from all of the types she found comfort in or felt longing for… she wanted to know what little desires & secrets & wisdom others held deep within.
No matter who you were, she found a way to tap into your own internal cravings… she broke my heart every time she walked up & down the block.
That’s just the way she was.
She was a heartbreaker.
7
Wearing black boots & a little white dress
— with a cardigan draped over —
this girl Adrianna hits a line in the bathroom stall & heads back to the bar stool, asking the cute bartender she had known for years & years for a cool bottle of bud light & a whiskey on ice
(‘for my boyfriend,’ Adrianna said, laughing at her mini stupid joke & draining the three-shots-worth-of-whiskey glass in one go at it & taking a steady pull from the chilled bottle of bud light as chaser).
She could drink with the best of them & had just broken up with the boy she had been dating for a few months.
He couldn’t handle the side of her that was always up in his business & verging on a little excessively obsessed with him… the less they cared, the harder she started to fall in love.
Sometimes Adrianna seemed fake on the surface… only because she was going along with everything, not really trying to be her genuine authentic self with people who were always just spewing nonsense bullshit & didn’t really care about her.
So Adrianna hung with her close friends mostly, but oftentimes found herself in larger crowds of people, not necessarily a social butterfly in the slightest
— although the ones who didn’t know her true introverted nature would beg to differ —
but she’d still engage in conversation with other locals & jokingly laugh with guys who were funny & play along with bitchy girls as if she could wholeheartedly relate with what they were going through & who they were hooking up with & their little chatter about what’s going on in town & could shoot darts & shoot pool like nobody’s business.
She’d drink iced coffee with her friends in the morning, sleepily so dazed & nonchalantly & mindlessly scroll through her phone & listen to music on car rides with the volume all the way up on her way back home, throwing on something cozy or dressing her best to go to work on the weekdays.
She still attended a cute little Christian church every Sunday
— missing her dad so much, who passed away when she was about 21.
Adrianna’s dad always made sure she went to church with him.
Adrianna utterly despised going to church at the time, whenever she had to get ready for it, but seeing all of the people all dressed up & feeling pretty cute all dressed up herself & listening to little words of wisdom & gracefully accepting God into her life & spending quality time with her dad doing any type of thing just to be around him & grabbing a coffee & something from the bakery on those mornings on their way home from Church… all always ended up making the day more pleasant & to this day all of the memories & time she spent with her dad still carry a vast amount of nostalgia & meaningful place in her heart.
Her dad was everything to her. Adrianna lived her life in a way she thought would honor him, devoting her life to listening to that angelic voice in the back of her head & forefront of her heart that always led her in the right direction.
She felt like her little angelically insightful gut feelings were little friendly reminders from her dad in Heaven… still always guiding her towards the light in the universe
— even though she had equal amounts of a wildly devilish side (hitting lines in bathroom stalls & shooting whiskey like she shot pool) & still also a subtly enlightened angelic side.
Adrianna’s dad was always there to hold her hand on the first day she had kindergarten & gave her a hug & kiss on the forehead as he always did
— kind of a little embarrassing at the time, but so incredibly gentle & sweet now — when she graduated from high school.
Adrianna’s dad bought her the first phone she ever owned back when they first came out with the BlackBerry in the earlier 2000s & he surprised Adrianna with her first car — a cute vintage Volvo — on her sweet 16th that her friends always were stoked to be passengers in.
Adrianna never let anyone drive it, not even one of her cooler boyfriends… definitely not her boyfriends… she couldn’t trust them to begin with
— the way they always sped through town & revved up on freeways with an almost kind of loosely reckless abandon.
How could she expect her boy to take care of the car her dad had so thoughtfully gifted her?
So she’d switch off back & forth days they’d pick her up in their car & days she’d pick them up in hers.
The only time she ever would relent to letting one of the girls she was friends with drive
— the ones she knew on a deeper level & trusted with her life —
occurred when something was out of her hands… for instance, when it was high school prom & she got a little too drunk
— drunk enough to blow at least a .08… plus she was only 18 at the time —
so Adrianna ended up asking this friend of hers named Sophie, who she had known since she joined the public school system in 6th grade, if she could drive her home really quick just around the block & down the street a few miles.
Sophie said she didn’t mind at all, but that they’d have to take her Subaru & leave the old Volvo at the party… after all, if she took her home in the Volvo, Sophie would regrettably have to drive herself back to the party & the car would still be gone in the morning & she’d much rather take her car as she definitely wasn’t going to drop her off & then make the long trek to walk all of the way back to the party. Adrianna didn’t care at all… so long as she made it safely & cozily up to her room & hopefully not throw up in the car.
She badly wanted to take a quick shower & change into her comfiest clothing & just get away from the crowd… as she had a good feeling the party would get rolled.
She promised herself she would do her best to just ignore the fact that this one cute guy at her high school was asking her why she was leaving so early & to arrive home before it was eventually curfew… I mean, both her parents extended curfew & allowed for a little leniency, especially considering it was prom night, but it was already 12:30 & her parents told her to make sure to get home by 1:00 A.M.
They told her she definitely couldn’t spend the night at the nice crib of the girl who was throwing the party, as they didn’t want her messing around with one of the boys & hooking up & all of that.
They told her she could drink, but after all, as someone who always attended church every Sunday without fail, her dad was highly against her fooling around at such a young age.
He wasn’t necessarily against the idea of premarital sex, but just preferred to not test the combo of her & some high school boy… hoping with all of his heart she would wait until college.
Adrianna sometimes had an attitude like she didn’t care & liked to get involved with a specific kind of scene & party at a younger age.
But one thing she never did was disrespect her father — she never wanted to let him down & held him in really high regard & listened to all of his advice & insight over the years & really loved him.
Adrianna missed him incredibly & now she had her mom to deal with.
Her mom wasn’t too much of any typical kind of inconvenience, she was just kind of out of the picture, a little stuck in her ways & kind of always never cared that much about even having a relationship with Adrianna, seemingly missing her husband who was gone too soon more than she missed her own daughter who was still right there a phone call a way… but the two of them didn’t have much to talk about anyways as her mom barely ever even listened to anything she told her, more focused on making it to the bottle of vodka then paying any attention to Adrianna.
I guess the post traumatized part of Adrianna got the drinking & coke hitting, wildly devilish & often dismissive side from her mom & the authentic & genuinely kind & angelically warm church going, pool shooting & dart playing side from her dad.
Sometimes she wish she never left her mom’s womb & that she didn’t have to ever see the day she would attend her dad’s funeral as they lay him in the casket with her still placing flowers on his tombstone… asking God why she had to take the best man & friend she ever knew away from her.
So Adrianna lived without any kind of fear of dying, often fucking around & sadly getting involved with another guy who didn’t care about her the same way her dad did…
…doing drugs & chasing whiskey with beer & not really giving a casual fuck about much of anything, besides making it to church on Sundays, making it through another day without her dad & somehow finding a little spark & light in all of the darkness in this often cold world, finding ways to vibe & socialize & cool off & somehow create new memories filled with everything from tearful moments & dejectedly crushing heartbreak to times that felt like ecstasy & pure relief to the melodramatic socializing & overcast beach days to calmly boring coffee shop trips & faded bar nights & house parties to tarot readings around a coffee table…
…then without fail, always back to her cute & quaint little church on Sunday, less for salvation & more to spend time with her dad…
…who she hoped to see one day in the next life or afterlife or Heaven or wherever she ended up at the end of this whole thing.
Forever up to something, always trying to vibe with the funny sad of it all, whipping up plans to go to the bar & entertain the bad girl side that wants to party or sleepily craving a mellow day, just content lounging all day listening to music & checking socials & watching some show on TV… reading books & sipping mimosas & drawing little cute pieces of art in her mini sketchbooks.
Nothing she did could take away the void she felt
— at times feeling so absent of feeling anything —
after losing her dad, but she lived her life to the fullest & was always his favorite little angelic girl no matter what she did… Adrianna never wanted to let him down, but she could never let him down
— he would be there always… always protecting her from now until infinity —
forever & always… in this lifetime & the next… whether Heaven or the Afterlife or wherever.
She’d always be his girl.
8
Her vibe was too essential & perfect. I’d see her & feel struck down in the best way possible.
I would mention something to her & smile loosely, just kind of hoping to leave some kind of impression
— anything at all… anything she did felt spot on.
I felt like I could only grasp at her ultimate raw delicate touch & dynamic, intrinsic & intriguing fundamental beauty.
I felt like there was one last ticket I needed to attain… maybe a taxi I had to catch. It almost felt as if the universe was whispering, “better hang on tight kid.”
She was light glistening on snowy peaks, soft wind gently drifting down my spine. Her presence loosened up my own & woah, quickly lightened my stride.
But there existed, so too, a minute hesitant urgency towards the ways in which I approached her at times.
The feeling felt pressing. Of course, it wasn’t. I just wanted to enjoy little moments happening.
A part of me wished she could always pass me by. There was a relaxing & also rapid, yet fluttering movement & loosely kinetic tension in all of it.
I’d pass her way. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been opposed to an occasional devious stare thrown in my direction.
She may have been thinking the same. All I can say is that there was an addictive quality to the glance. I looked over at her as she walked ahead.
She was a little busy with some task. She often happened to be playing with her hair.
Of course, I was always impulsively chain smoking out on the deck. I guess all that mattered was that she was never too far away.
Well… yeah, 80% of cigarettes picked me up when she was busy & inexplicably — too inevitably — went away… she’d disappear to attend to more pressing, urgent matters & demands & wasn’t — well… really, couldn’t be — around.
But she was always around, no matter what ‘at least… if only’ in spirit & so was my nicotine, addictive to the senses.
The other 20% either felt like a romantic type of ecstasy or underwhelming bitter substance. Her vibe brightened my day.
I yearned to be amidst her company & aura… that specific peak synergistic vibrance I felt, her ultimate strength, sparkle & glow.
I was usually cozy in a hoodie & beanie. She had a similar outfit taste early in cold, sharp morning air & late at night.
You could always tell when she was still kind of sluggish, just waking up. She’d be so sleepy & not really at all in the mood.
Maybe she’d be in her bag or feelings, just like all of us… some days. She looked the same as she always did though.
Too incredibly cute. Too incredible & cute.
She could be really hot… if she felt so inclined. She was absolutely one of the most pleasing sights my eyes had ever seen.
I’d see her & feel mellow, at ease… a sedative wave coming over, yet slight edginess.
The universe really was right — “better hang on tight kid.” That’s all I could do.
Although I didn’t necessarily need to hold her, I wanted to… badly.
Like cigarettes, girls come & go.
These little moments — the fading spark & connection — was inevitably fleeting… at least for all I knew.
I’d always, forever feel some type of way about her.
Please don’t worry universe, I’ll always hang on tight.
‘Dear Mother Nature…’
9
Damn, she was the finest girl around.
The masochism in me wanted her to slap me & slam the door in my face, as I watch her out the window walking back out on the street looking as hot as ever in a hoodie… watching her ass beneath the mini skirt.
Nobody said a girl couldn’t wear a hoodie over a mini skirt. Girls always made me feel like gold & dirt: gold rush & dirt pit… back to this bitch, back in this bitch — back in my bag about a bitch.
Let me tell you one thing: life is stupid… so don’t waste it on women.
Just use it for knowledge & the music of the whole tragic thing.
Romanticize the funny tragic parts…
10
You had me with your playful smile — the way I thought you actually hated me.
You talked to me quickly for hours on end. I couldn’t stand it… I loved it all endlessly
— every minute in your presence pure all out adrenaline coursing, flowing in my veins… addictive to hang amongst one another.
You said you had nothing to take care of & that you could put a few things off to spend a whole day running around as little jokers.
We basically were the ones scoffed at… but we didn’t care, so long as we held each other tight, as warm as a night light, basically intertwined with one another
— star struck… you couldn’t have one without the other… incredibly dynamic.
But then one day you didn’t show up. Nobody ever said what happened to you.
It killed me, not knowing about it all — how something came up so you left town. You were my little soft eyed angelic girl.
Now you were 1,400 miles away… too far. Nothing felt the same or shined as bright.
Sure, this whole poem is a piece of fiction. But I always just assume my better half lives 1,400 miles away, all too caught up, not knowing I exist… the two of us unaware of the potentially innate gravitational pull.
Somewhere my other half resides… yeah, one day our paths will suddenly collide.
Maybe I’ll run into her as I lazily turn… having just bought iced coffee at a café.
She’ll look me in the eyes & I’ll know… I’ll just know it’s her with every ounce of my perceptive being and bright eyed soul.
Chapter 4: ‘Slow Drift’
1
Quick saunter… steady stroll… I’m rolling in peace. I need a heater — a smoke — in winter because, right now, I can’t take summer heat.
Love you mom, love you dad, love you brother, love you sis… sorry I’m always lost in my head, sometimes up to nothing good
— nothing much at all — a little of that & a little of this… the day passes surely enough & nothing’s all that rough
— a sip, a puff of smoke… a pacifist who was never that tough — no fan of the hustle & bustle, the rush & hot fuzz… the fuss;
little sesh in the cut lighting up another camel crush, kind of wondering if the rest of the world gives two fucks… out of luck
— got to bum a smoke because I smoked all of mine to the butt & got to make a trip to the liquor store for a fresh pack & honestly could go for a bottle of Jack… got to hit the road, so I head down past the train tracks, listening to some new track by someone I used to listen to a lot… bringing it back, always on my way back… maybe I never left
— still right here —
laced up & the cigarette is lit… what I got ain’t nothing much — not much left; a left then right then a left & another left… one lucky night for the homies.
The morning was alright… someone was mourning on some sad Saturday.
I was just kind of bored… it was all boring, but I went along with it, trying to vibe with shit, get in & get it — just get it over with… down along the way, making it finally to the liquor store after a quick 10 minutes.
A cute girl is standing nearby looking at her phone. She glances in my direction & smiles. I smile back, then slyly duck on into the liquor store after the little saunter & stroll & hope for the best when buying the pack of cigarettes because I still haven’t gotten a new license… I lost mine.
I mean, I’m over 30, but you never know — so I play it all nonchalantly, not knowing whether I look like I’m 18 or 27… who knows, you could never tell what’s really going through the cashier’s head (they probably just had a long day working the 9-5 & could care less about how old you are, but some have to keep a tight system as they may have got busted for selling to someone the cops sent in as some type of decoy for selling to underage kids).
He grabs the Camel Black Series Gold pack off of the shelf — as I had asked for — placing it on the counter, quickly scanning the pack & entering in something into the system on his keyboard… ‘Date of Birth?’ He asks…
oh, thank God, I think… he’s not asking for ID — I always love when they ask for date of birth… I was born in ‘94 — pretty believable especially since I’m always wearing grungier clothing & you can pretty much always spot a 90s baby… who knows, at least I notice them a mile a way.
The cashier smiles, asking, ‘Receipt?’
I kindly reply, ‘No Sir, thanks…’ & he throws the receipt away, offering a polite ‘thank you.
‘Come again. Have a nice day’.
I head out of the liquor store — mission for smokes successful.
2
What the fuck ever… I’m going to get along — music banging lately & got a new pair of shoes to impress her.
I told her that I loved her… without actually saying as much. I got a bag on me… just a bag of tea — chamomile, black & green… so too the pack… a nicotine fiend.
What good is life when you’re numb & when you’re over the whole thing? I want the dopest clothes, sitting in a minimalist white space open room listening to dope music, dressed to the nines, vaping a bit, stepping out for a cigarette & sipping on the finest liquors, beers, coffees, cold brews, sodas, etc.
I just like that basic stimulant substance. I want a skinny bitch. Hopefully she doesn’t bitch at me too much. Is it too much to expect some type of love?
Fuck it, I’m not dating… just going to pimp out the big nothing. She says I romanticize drugs a bit.
I romanticize escape from this bullshit living thing we do each & every day. The whole thing’s tired — so tired of itself. It’s all so very played out.
Bruh, really all i need to do is go camping, listen to music out in solitude, maybe light up a campfire & get high on life away from it all
— just get high off a few cigarettes & coffee out by the rolling streaming river & the fall of rain & snow, chunks of crystal, stone, rocks, gems & leaves tossed & rolled about all over on the ground, littered with pure unadulterated absolute pristine beautiful original natural elements, the substance of this universe…
I’d smoke & listen to music next to the fire & think damn, there’s nobody to fuck this up… like Walden by Thoreau.
3
Some of this I will send in a manuscript. Some of it’s half assed though.
If only I could do more, I think. but I can’t ever do too much. We can never really do much…
I’m not a poet, just a guy trying to ignore the world, writing about what I see. Whatever people think about me — whoever they think I am — I probably am.
Most of reality is so commonplace… like a bum drinking some liquor, or probably a 40 oz of malt liquor, out of a brown paper bag. I don’t have the answer to your problem’s m’am, as I sit one leg crossed over the other like a therapist & she tells me all of her hopes & dreams & failures… m’am, I studied psychology at the university, but I don’t really know what to tell you… I’m not a therapist… the weight you are handing off is quite burdensome & heavy on my shoulders.
I need to sip tea & meditate then drink coffee with baileys as I go about therapeutically coping… then have one shot of whiskey & one shot of vodka, then smoke & smoke some more. That’s what I have to at all costs do.
If you can guess the amount of people who felt the need to confide in me their own internal feelings & baggage today… well, at this point, I should probably get paid for this. But I guess we all got to listen & console others.
But maybe I should go ahead & become a counselor. Maybe i’ll just write. I want to observe from afar.
I love people, but I’m sorry m’am, I dislike small talk & couldn’t really care less about the little chit chat that you care to invest yourself in. I’m not your confidant… pleasure meeting you, but I’d rather be alone on my own.
Bye, bye baby… bye, bye.
4
Skyscrapers & city lights beaming: on the streets, out of most windows in buildings… I want to walk the streets, lost in the crowd, some faces filled with glee, others somber.
I notice 3 huddled near a magazine stand, drinking coffee, one reading a playboy, the other 2 reading sections of the Sunday paper… the news & the girls wild & loose.
5
How’d all of the cement — all of the pavement — get laid on the ground? How’d they have all of that time?
All of the roads & parking lots & side streets & sidewalks that used to be dirt… skaters skate the streets… spinning wheels. Cars shift into gear… spinning rim Escalade.
So… Teslas drive themselves now — first time riding in one the other day. It knows every road, stoplight & stop sign.
Teslas feel like they get up to 100 mph with no engine sound. Locals in Tahoe hate Teslas… they symbolize out-of-town bay area folks. But Teslas aren’t too bad. X is cool…
Musk is for sure on some next level shit. Fuck social media, though… it’s bullshit.
All of this current day hyperactivity prominently preoccupies & distracts & gives us ADHD. People can barely read these days.
Reading’s important. I realize this first hand… got a low attention span. Back to self driving cars… is that the innovation we really needed?
Maybe. You could hop in your car too drunk after the bar closes & make it safely to your house without even touching the steering wheel, brakes, or gas. Speed up. Slow down. It does it all. Does this mean less crashes? Only time will tell…
6
went out. i had a ball. but no 8 ball. it was a fun time. i saw a dime. had about 8 or 9. she was cute. really cute. she spoke about this & that. what she had been through. we all had been through a lot. these people were cool. cooler than me.
where was i? some kind of place. i won’t get into details. could’ve been at the club or a bar or class or detention, for all i knew. as it was concerned. there was a lot to talk about. it felt pressing.
the stupid cravings, needs for the non necessities. i wanted a bump. i walked down the street to the liquor store. just a gas station really. i’m off liquor though.
but i needed a pack of smokes badly. badly. i needed to chain smoke a whole pack. i was getting a little loopy, a little ditsy, a little antsy & spun out.
i crossed the street three or four times & crossed over the bridge. the bumps came. in time, in time. but not a line of any sort.
i crossed a double line. bumps from a car passing by. they were bumping MUSIC. i needed that. because my headphones broke.
i was having trouble getting my lighter to flare up, spark up, keep a slow steady burn. my hands were shaky.
it was cold & i hate noticing cars passing by me on the road, them thinking ‘damn why’s he shaking’ all because i feel like i look like a god damn idiot because i can’t get my lighter to work. ‘what’s he tripping out about’ they probably think. ‘maybe he did some dope, he’s sketch, he’s burnt’. ‘i swear, i’m all good, just need my headphones, i need music bumping, i need some sort of energy, my headphones broke, just got my lighter, but i’m anxious as fuck.
forgot my hydroxozine. social anxiety. seeing a girl soon. my lighter won’t fucking spark.’ i’m trying to telepathically communicate. some car notices i pull out my next cigarette nicer, cooler, smoother. they pull up. the window winds down. they got Latina trap music playing. something about some sort of party happening. Somewhere. It’s dope.
my lighter works right away, out of the shoot, off the bat, out of the jump. i smoke. i had just crossed the bridge — a bridge with a low rail & high fall onto the freeway so it’s kind of a wild time, lots of noise from cars flying by below & beside you.
the car bumping music was at the stop light. i bang my head & throw some sort of ‘rock on’ faux gang sign up as i cross the street. i got two gatorade zeros at the gas station.
i got camel black series at discount. on sale for people with membership. the guy had told me who worked there. a kind of cranky hard working & overly quick employee — probably the boss of the god damn gas station.
he was cool enough. he just always seemed like he had something better to do, somewhere better to be. i felt that. so i had asked him, got montegos?
no. got anything cheap like that. he said the new non-methol camel crushes — the black series. why were they discounting camels? maybe because they were the new variety. well i just had to enter my number & that would make me a member. i typed in the number. the camels were $6… maybe?
damn. good deal. good branding. good business: big tobacco. asked for a bag. bag? they said… not that kind. for the gatorade zeros & the two canned cold brews. i drank the cold brews out of the can fast. i made my way back. lots of cars. lighter still finicky & janky. i got back home. across the bridge. crossed two or three or four streets. smoked about 4 cigarettes.
hid my stash. nicotine on me. then nothing. that’s how cigarettes go. needed to chain smoke about a girl. about girls. i read a line out of my book. a girl picked me up. had got her #. it felt like a date. then she dropped the bomb. her boyfriend would be meeting up with us. ‘let me introduce you to my friend, Jay.
is jay a girl, i thought… nah, it was some guy. does she think i’m gay… maybe. but then some others arrived. mostly guys, but a few really hot girls arrived, too… in time, in time. i’ll make my rounds, get a few rounds, sober martini mixer, i’ll talk to the girls… in a few, in a few. in time, in time… this other guy, not jay, started talking to me (who ended up actually being hilariously witty, this guy as well as jay & the girls & everyone that arrived) about drinking & 8 balls getting flown & getting it right off of the plane & all that. pure cocaine.
can’t find this girl. he couldn’t find her: crystal? molly? Mary Jane? so he hit the bottle. i could use a drink. there’s coffee in the kitchen. unless that caffeine whore drank it all. whatever. oh good, there’s still some left.
i nearly drained the pot into my recyclable little paper cup. pure black diesel. better than heroin. practically the same thing. caffeine never let me down. coffee. good. cigarettes. stoked. girls. dope… so sick, so rad, i need my dad to read me a bedtime story.
i need my mom too. really i need to cry on a bad bitch’s shoulder & cry to her about my daddy issues — he didn’t have to do that. i miss her. so i smoke.
i’ll smoke 100,000 more cigarettes simply because i miss her. i miss you, the angel from my nightmare, the shadow in the background of the morgue.
i miss you. 100,000 times xx 100,000 fold. you always knew the right words to say, just what to do. stay together for the kids. life is a tom petty & blink 182 & nirvana & sonic youth & mickey avalon song. i need to have a sense of humor.
or just 2 cents… about my anorexia in the past. being abused & strangled. the drugs. so much childhood neglect. long overbearing trauma. solitary. dusted pcp angel dust weed. did i survive? barely. overdose attempt(s). burning my wrist. ash my cigarette on my hand. head banging.
quiet the pain. quiet the pain. i need relief. at least the girls were cute tonight, tonight — i’m definitely straight… if they’re pumpkins, i’m smashing pumpkins all Halloween weekend long. like where i met your mother?
southwest. where do you get off. i need a stiff drink, good smoke & even better book on my lap where every word sears & brims & burns with overwhelming undeniable truth & unarguable & irrevocable total relevance.
good night, i’ll dream well… tonight, tonight.
7
Where do we go from here? Well, we stay above the low-life drama.
Thugs & pimps don’t complain about anything besides getting to the currency. They cut to the chase & snatch up the bag.
You can call life a bitch. But if life’s a bitch, damn I never minded her too much. The bitch of life is the cute & cool part, we just got to roll with the waves & not feel abandoned by this bitch called life, but find a unique stoke & excitement from how we go about perceiving & responding to the little intricacies & dilemmas & eager anticipations & peaks & occasional let downs of the whole thing.
Each day, we are presented with a new bag to find. The best chasers will do anything to attain & secure the rarefied limited edition & collectible new thing to come up on & hold tightly onto.
Each day we must determine the currency we are seeking to extract & come up on… then it is imperative that we by any & all means possible find a way to unlock the hidden secrets of wisdom within the current bag we came to collect.
Day after day, we begin again with a bright eyed & fresh perspective & enter into the universal bank of life to make withdrawal.
We’ll find out what we need to & keep moving on up & out, up & at ’em, until we’re all the way up.
8
Yeah, girls come & go forever & ever. The tides drift inwards & outwards. I should probably read more paperbacks… not see what I get out of the act of scrolling through page after page, simply finding intellectual gains — the only gains truly worth mentioning… at least around here, just bumming around.
Let’s be real, come ups occur with frequent jots — more quipped bouts of writing… scrabbling. Girls come & go infinitely into forever… as I drift along metaphorical sea change.
Surely I read, but I undoubtedly must write.
9
Why do some people take drugs? Why do some people choose not to?
There’s pros and cons to both… one risks never seeing what it’s like. The other risks never quitting at all.
Or maybe, some had already quit life. Or maybe life had quit them years ago. There’s a Kurt Cobain strain of angst.
Sometimes the only way out seems to ingest something in, then navigate — like teen drama TV or gossip magazines.
But we all really just ever needed oxygen, water, food, fresh air, small talk… the little things really are enough.
If you want to do something in the time in between… a way to take the edge off & get away from melodramatic riffs… well, then get into something creative.
Yeah, you could hit a drag, sip on coffee. But all of that is really just low level stimulus, unneeded by most of the world, but surely a must have to a select few, such as a nicotine fiend like myself… to simply pass the despondent lags in the time from wakefulness to sleepiness — whether we smoke or sip, read or write, draw or get another tattoo, or dial up a friend of a friend of a friend… anything like getting your hair done, applying makeup, buying new clothes… any sort of retail therapy or business venture & any kind of errand or coffee run or online chat… some game, some date; others attend live concerts weekly.
Some may say, we are escaping reality… similar to drugs. It’s all addictive in a way; we all crave something — anything — even if it’s simply a little jazz & light readings at dawn.
We all crave something, anything to chill on, vibe with, decompress in & pass the time. Everyone, surely, has a drug of choice — their own metaphorical cigarette… even though it may not be addictive or a substance.
Some may just want to cozy up alongside their kitten & boyfriend at day’s end. Some just want to rant about their day. Others want to climb into bed for 20 hours. We all crave and want something… release.
So it is very important, both for people addicted to anything & coping in ways to tune into their self awareness, harness, absorb & release all of that tense angst, work out their mojo & feelings & bodies… at the end of some movement all along the way in the span of the day. We must take time to reflect minutely, even if for a few moments… as we move on.
At least, we should decompress for a bit, eventually escaping meditative hold, finding our gravitational center and self, coming to a state of reflective solitude & then entering the world again, friendly in communication… like water in movement — easily adaptable to varying outcomes.
Rotating on the world’s axis, mood migrates… capacity maximum, tape spinning… onto the next. She undresses like the best.
It’s always something, isn’t it? This, that & the third — I flinched as she kissed my hand. I wasn’t aware she was so gentle.
The velvet softness felt angelic. All she wanted was to let me know that she liked my subtly cool disposition, vaguely overshadowed in a way.
Why does the world corrupt us? Innocence flees from the mind. She saw something in me — a trait she noticed in her youth.
Those boys had a glint & glow… flint deep down, lighter stowed, dwelling serenely amidst starlit eyes… guess she craved that age old magic — wisdom in the forest & the leaf’s essence.
So too, snow falls & we bundle up. We absorb the radically innate — inner workings of embracing warmth… rooted in truly being down to Earth.
11
Yeah, I heard about that down the way — didn’t know fog would settle in today… I liked the way you cared so deeply.
Sometimes tears are the only thing left. As we cry little rivers, the flow pours & then there’s nothing left at the end.
We sink, but then find contentment… even slumped in the bottom of it all. One guy chain smokes & the other guy drinks — constant alcoholic sipping to abandon.
Yeah I chain smoke… hold the tequila. Where’s the stash at… essential life matter… does life matter?
Sure, don’t overthink it. We constantly get all tangled in messes. Keep that pure vitality raging in your veins.
The difference between life & death:
death is acceptance, hopefully at least…
life:
seems like it is pretty sick at times — in both ways — but life is suffering.
Death is the release of all mortal chains. One day, we will all float — soul in flight — not to the clouds… but to a headspace of clarity that resembles how you would expect falling in a flowing cloud feels.
We are not caught by the cloud itself, but our internal state reflects our outer.
So by dwelling within metaphorical clouds, our mind is then blank & nothing drags us down. The little draining needs fade away & we slump in the bottom of it all, so utterly at ease with the world’s ways.
Life is impermanent… but death is permanently & mercifully blissful solitude.
12
I want a cute enough girl by my side… so it goes, ride or die. She cozies up… french inhale
— another night, some other guy… so I’m all by my lonely… misted iris, solitude & scuff marks on my shins.
Guess I fell down… lost in the drift.
Chapter 5: ‘Unknown Agenda’
1
my uncle — well kinda more my dad’s sister’s husband… oh, so yeah, my uncle, Uncle Tom — noticed i was having some anxiety, about being new in town, not having a lot of friends yet, not having much to my name, no kind of thing going for me, and all that.
he saw me in the backyard smoking too many cigarettes, at some level kind of losing touch with my reality or too in touch with it, a little faded emotional wreck not entirely self aware at the moment.
i hadn’t taken up the hobby of writing yet. i didn’t have a girl around my arm. i had no way to process this fickle little life… feebly not knowing what to do… cold cold cold world & i’d already lost so much. i ran away from my step dad’s vicinity into the arms of my dad in Nebraska.
but his girlfriend kicked me out. she told him i couldn’t even tie my shoes… some excuse because i always could, but i was kind of a dipshit in those days, a good for nothing low life. i’m still a low life. i just engage a little more than i used to. i like to write.
therefore i engage with the world without engaging, i observe & romanticize all the little things that go on throughout the day. maybe that’s all writers are — jaded intellectual romantics.
we love people, we hate the world. we love shooting the shit, but we hate small talk. maybe it’s all small talk… weather’s alright. well Uncle Tom sat down with me as i pulled out another cigarette from the box.
he sat down on a lawn chair. i had been on one smoking for hours. we were in some slightly gangster Lincoln suburban hood community.
i’d walk all over town & buy smokes at gas stations & go to vape shops & coffee shops. i’d ask for employment opportunities, but got no job offers. i had no money.
but i still went around & walked from place to place with little to no money. the cops & locals knew I was a California kid.
they were on my trail, sneering at me for going into shops & not buying anything, just looking around & asking for a job looking like a bum.
i was living at my Uncle Tom’s place, but my homeless appearance & chain smoking reality, hobby, appearance & activity was frowned upon & i was viewed as an outsider who arose suspicion in people.
Uncle Tom had a wife — Alice. she was a sweet lady, but she was a huge gal & slightly off her rocker & she was a hoarder.
but she was super sweet & he loved her. he would never leave her. she was his one & only no matter how lazy or despondent or unseemly she got. he loved her more than anything.
i need that kind of love — the ride or die kind. angels. demons. curb side little ditties, little talks together. i crave the bond, the intimacy cherished.
she could be in any state — ‘oh that’s just Alice being Alice… don’t mind her’ — he would love her undoubtedly till the day both of them died, side by side, in each other’s fated arms. he had his wits more about him, though.
she was always just plastered to the couch, eating what seemed to be fast food or in the same vein, watching TV & buying things online.
he was always handling business, but still pretty much retired from any enterprise.
he used to be a cop or something, she drove a soccer mom car, he drove one of those old taxi smelling patrol type cars, coupe de ville, carella d’evil type ‘suicidal thoughts in the back of the cadillac’ kind of whips.
he’d pick me up from God knows where — I got lost, a lot… Nebraska was an unknown territory & foreign state to me then, I’d be out & about wandering & slumming adrift & aloof, drifting on skid row gang occupied streets.
he’d be out driving. he’d spot me on one of his frequent drives — his favorite past time, just mobbing through the locally friendly Lincoln neighborhoods & cross streets & high ways. he knew his way around, Uncle Tom was a mentor — guardian angel — to me… he knew where i’d be, right where i’d be, stranded on this block or the other.
he’d cruise & pinpoint where i was. ‘hop in!’ he’d say & we’d chill & bump music, pimping out in the old beamer, all the way back to the crib — home sweet home.
except it wasn’t home, i lived in the basement, but it was still comfortable. live somewhere long enough — 2 months tops — and any place could feel very well like home. my dad still felt bad. he’d check in on me. he’d try to get me signed up for general aid, unemployment and all of that.
Tom and my dad were like brothers. He’d visit & they sit close by, but give me my space as I sat in the familiar chair in the middle of the lawn, those two on the backyard steps or somewhere of that nature.
they’d talk about how out of it Alice was, how not all there she was, about how out of it I was, how not all there I was. they’d talk & shoot the shit.
my dad & me could always bullshit our way through the ordinary spontaneities & trivialities & street talk & chatter & banter in town, this local spot or that beach or this street or alley or another. we had wit & goofed off with a sense of humor.
but i was losing my way a bit to drugs and really to the tragic comedy that is life.
my dad confided to Tom that he thought i may be some sort of faggot… i mean he still knew i was straight, even though i never brought girls home, but i think he was more making a passing comment that i was basically a tiny afterthought by most of society, a dud, a burn out, a broken head case lost in the mud of a mess i entirely made in this nonsensical smoke pit of midwestern ass crack.
i’d laugh as i watched my hopes & dreams get burnt & flushed drowning down the drain before my very eyes, a piercing american wasteland filled with raw bare freeze dried obscenities.
the land of opportunity. yeah, right? right!
nah there’s nothing really to live for, after all, but if you can find a piece of zen fueled bits & sparked lights of Nirvana in this flash pan existence — the little wins & come ups & ground scores & good fucks & bright spots & hook ups & fast lane moments & mini prized possessions & substance pleasure (all that good good leisurely sort of activity… the things like retail therapy which help us cope)… all that jazz… seinfeld — jerry on that commercial: ‘do you like jazz?’
really, if you can just catch your breadth for a moment a midst a 10 minute smoke break on your 9-5, life’s not all that bad. we need more Nirvana. more Sonic Youth.
more dirty grunge boots. more joy in the rotten underground. if we can look around and laugh at all of this shit, get stoked at how uncivilized things really are behind the mask society puts on, then we can grasp the sublime trivial silver linings.
life is pain. life is suffering. bob marley once said, ‘everybody is going to hurt us, we just have to find the ones worth suffering for’ (or something like that). so anyways, i’m just sitting at my spot in the middle of the lawn one day.
Alice is watching too much TV again. i’m sipping on coffee i’d make cheap pots of daily, offering some to Uncle Tom & Aunt Alice as a poor man’s way to contribute & count towards my contribution for rent.
it was more for myself, but it was a nice thought. Tom grabbed a coffee too (maybe?) and he sat next to me. I offered him a smoke.
‘quit years ago, when i was around your age, around aged 30 or near that’ he continued, ‘son, i get what you’re going through…’
i jumped in, a little too quickly, going through it, interjecting, trying to cope in my own way, rushing to smoke my 7th cigarette in a row…
‘tom, i just don’t get this life shit. i get all paranoid & everything gets to me. i listen to music all day, but can’t dull the sharpness of life. it’s all too real & i have no money except to blow through my credit on cigarettes. i don’t drink. i don’t do drugs. which also means i can’t numb the pain. and i have no girl whatsoever by my side so i have no one to talk to except for you and Alice. sadly it never seems like enough’
i was unloading now. ‘and i can barely even talk to my dad, his girlfriend doesn’t seem to like me, at least yet, she hasn’t warmed to me and i talked to the other half of the family — mom, step dad & sis — a blue moon ago. bad blood right now.’ he could tell i was worked up… riled.
‘son,’ he’d say in a soothing, warm settled understanding & friendly masculine way, ‘just remember this: ground yourself in reality. don’t stress out too much. tune out every now and then. think of the senses: what do you see? what do you feel? what do you hear? be one with reality & all of its bitter sweetness & be in touch with the way things actually are in this life. if you can focus on & observe your surroundings, you’ll be better able to deal with everything it throws your way. you’ll be able to see it coming.’
i owe Uncle Tom a lot. for finally telling me things my family never woke me up to. i’m always working on little grounding techniques & just being accountable & trying to focus on the little sad funny thing of it all.
in fact, that’s why i write. that’s the only way i’m able to write at all. i see some shit. i put it down on paper. i recognize it. i work through it. and then it’s not so bad. its not so bad.
so to the universe: namaste — the divine in me sees the divine in you.
you’ll be alright, son.
i flew back home to my mom & made amends with my family, for the most part, as i always do. it’ll be alright, take care, things are starting to work out.
in time, in time. it’s all getting better. love you Uncle Tom.
you taught me the greatest skill in fluid Siddhartha-by-the-river stream of consciousness:
‘what do you see? what do you hear? what do you feel?’
2
i see how the style should be, the steez in this present day and age: the baggy white hoodie with the black ink tarot card print and the baggy black overalls over a longsleeve emo tee, emo on grunge on goth with the hip hop extra large sweet flowy hobo-chic drab kind of whiskey pimp drug lord looking shit.
you little piece of shit. i love you. just rock better attire. i swear you’re only as dope as the latest drip you’re stepping out in the world fucking with the whole damn thing in.
you’ll walk out on asphalt feeling as dope as the heights of Everest & Alaskan glacial peaks, bus down from the floor up to the iced out wrist & studded belt hoodie head. it is on demand, most essential to head bang to the dopest shit like an indie grunge punk slut west coast cyber emo bitch degenerate.
what i’d refer to as “being minimalist and pimping out nothingness” could pretty much be called the meaning of life.
i only do four things, really, in this life: drink caffeine, smoke nicotine, listen to music & write. i do all 4 things heavily. i’m a broken record. it doesn’t cost too much to do this.
writing is only as much as the typewriter & paper costs. i pay a monthly subscription for SoundCloud.
i get the cheap pack of smokes for $7-11 & coffee and tea i get in boxes or containers. it doesn’t take off too much pocket weight.
it doesn’t burn a hole in the wallet. today, i went to Cigarette City and got a pack of silver somethings — some brand i never heard of, off brand but still class A — for $5. when i found out that was the price, i also got the homie a pack too, this nice fellow who was pretty legit back in the day, pretty cool.
he’s still a rad sort of person, aged like fine wine. he used to ride dirt bikes & do all that X-games type shit: a real pro who knew how to throw down. we were both down to next to nothing. he had 4. i had 10.
i threw the whole 10 down for 2 packs. 39 cent card tax. i had 10.45… perfect, smoking never made me regret money spent.
i was never worried about blowing a bag, so to speak, on smokes, caffeine & music & all that. the best thing is listening to music and writing doesn’t cost a thing.
then i got a 20 pack of some chamomile tea for cheap, too, and coffee for just over a dollar at SnS, a dope little nook market, some cool all organics store with enough kombucha and tea and coffee and produce and butcher meats to carry you steadily & happily into the next year.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference…
also please give me enough free time to dwell on life, writing, listening to tunes, smoking nicotine & sipping tea & coffee in a subtle punk zone, contemplative & subdued & zen in thought.
3: Dead Batteries, Suicide Boys & The Baddest Girls
Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls are on my mind.
Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls just seemed like a pressing topic I’d at some point need to address, either today or tomorrow or a year from now… or never.
Over here, I’m chain smoking whatever I could get, whenever at all possible — I’ll always find a way to stay chain smoking, whether I’m homeless or housed.
I’m reading a novel called Women by Bukowski. We both aren’t the best looking, but each of us has our ways & certain wisdom as pertaining to the opposite sex, the more divine one.
Damn, Bukowski always makes me laugh. Women & all of the girls in general always seem to put a smile on my face. They literally make the world go around.
Because, frankly, men are lazy & pathetic… even more so when they don’t have women around. But damn, men aren’t all bad.
Guess most of us are just simple minded. Hell, women sure do often complicate things… the whole process.
We try to impress each other, while acting like we’re not all that interested. It all seems like such a lousy way to live life… like we’re above it all?
Sometimes you got to be. Well, most of us have moved on from all of that crying-over-someone-you-love & fake-empathetic-sympathizing-and-nice bullshit. It’s played out.
Be cooler than that. I regret admitting it, but I’ve kind of turned into a so-called ‘playa’.
So my main three rules to the game are: playas gonna play; don’t hate the player, hate the game; and never get hung up on one girl (I used to do that… trust me, a miss only leads to a better next swing & there’s way more than just that girl down the block… there’s thousands, if not millions more, and girls like playing the game as much as the guys do, so it doesn’t hurt to play as much as you want, no matter how many losses you’ve racked up).
In the meantime, let’s be honest, I pretty much am up to nothing or jerking off as a matter of pure boredom or again up to nothing & could really care less about anything worth a damn besides maybe my writing & task of smoking 40 cigarettes & listening to the same songs everyday.
Really, my agenda 24/7 is: to smoke too many cigarettes, drink lots of coffee, read from time to time, write when the timing feels right, sometimes watch Narcos on Netflix or the saga about Wu Tang on Hulu & exclusively listen to Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep.
It’s a pretty good life. A lot could be said, though, about the fact that my last two book purchases were Naked Lunch (…by Burroughs about narcotics, filled with dark humor, witty banter & satire) & Bukowski’s Women.
Some fiend for dope & drugs in the slums & cities; some of the same people & others also fiend for women & sex.
Fuck love, really, but lots of us — on some base, animalistic & lustful level — crave sex… on an almost similar level, we crave women around us. Drugs go hand in hand, or sometimes offer a replacement to sex & women.
Lastly, really I’m chain smoking & simply binge listening to cloud rap lately simply due to (straight to the nitty gritty): my lack of success with both life in general & really attracting the perfect kind of girl.
Life & girls (which one is more important?) seem more & more hopeless as the years go by… the two ways I found of coping with inevitable lifelong heartbreak & becoming a deadbeat kind of guy — just like my dad (due to constant obstacles) — is through the relieving pick me up & sedation of nicotine in the form of a cigarette (I prefer natural tobacco over vapes… something about the high hits differently, almost rawer with cigarettes) as well as the equally relieving pick me up & sedation of music, more specifically cloud rap — even more specifically, Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep, who all feature better beats & flows than most artists these days.
I’ve heard just about enough Country & Indie & Jazz & Electronic, to be honest. All of that sappy shit grinds at & hurts my ears… even when it’s not sappy, rather almost endearing or heart aching, it still somehow seems so inauthentic & lacking in ingenuity.
I’d argue & say, instead, branching away from most mainstream music in today’s age, that the three artists I’m heavily rotating lately — Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep — are hands down the best hip hop artists & maybe artists in any genre.
This whole emo trap cloud rap trend started back in 2015, as three of them began trends, a whole new .wav & started coming up in their own way: Bones (rapper for TeamSesh: a collective of sorts that started up with producers like Cat Soup & Drew The Architect) & $uicideboy$ (two cousins who decided to either make it as artists in the music industry or kill themselves if all failed… a little pact Scrim & Ruby had) & Lil Peep (lead artist in Goth Boi Clique who was one of the dopest new emo kids in the game at the time & started a certain trend to the ‘crybaby’ & ‘sadboiszn’ type shit early on, singing about drugs & girls without caring whether it was cool or not to focus so much on the two like his life itself depended on both the drugs & girls… and it really did because it was found out that he had passed away in 2017 in November after 2 girls gave him Xanax laced in fentanyl before he went back on the tour bus)… They got the ball rolling.
The initial three artists in their respective groups came up, made a scene & switched up the game.
Although it seems almost cult-like or morose to listen to these kinds of artists — like Bones or $B or Lil Peep, who waver towards ideas of death & some darker themes — listening to them still brings on so much high energy in the intake of their potent sounds that conceivably anyone could become a captivated listener.
Every album of each of theirs carries heavy weight, with a remarkable amount of blunt truth found in all of their lyrics & well mixed soothing instrumentation that balances grimy & lush elements, incorporating everything from Memphis Drill, Long Beach Emo, New Orleans Trap & Detroit Boom-Bap influences to incredibly intricate mixtures of powerful 808s & aesthetic synthesizer melodies.
They also include splashes of humorous or candid or revealing little clips & skits & ad-libs thrown in at the intro or outro of some songs, or as stand-alone tracks.
No song by Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep is the same (as these artists switch things up here & there), but one can grow accustomed to a similar vibe on each of the artists’ tracks: music to smoke to that helps make sense of the idea of death & cope with the fact that most things in life are detrimental (we only really need, or should gravitate towards, a few more beneficial things).
4
We drove fast out west & he was going hard as all hell, a little too rough around the edges of a chap if you can even begin to ask me about the wildly questionable… being criminally rough to the sweetly gentle & innocently angelic.
Sure, of course, she liked the feeling of being taken to base levels of societally perceived inferiority as an intangible part of the solely shy & so cutely sympathetic psychologically zen disposition & temperament.
So yeah, I take your rough & rowdy ways as strangely inconceivable in the little new world dynamic inherent in this God-damned God-forsaken country both the real down-to-earth sad boys, boys themselves & real-world cowboys actually genuinely feel proud to call the land of the free.
No one ever called it the land of the abused & disregard, you animalistic monkey-behaving so obviously cruel & sick twisted shit.
You call me a little bitch. Sounds like you’re the one bitching.
I don’t care what a bitch did to you or how you used to slang whatever dope was available… probably some bullshit downer or depressant.
You aren’t a druggie — like a real genuine drug kid — if you ever purposely set out or intend to drag any kind of girl insensitively into blatant submission.
I don’t care what you have been through or if — at some core & so heartlessly insincere & inhumane level — want to make bitches pay for what they did… as if you go through more than them.
Yeah, you’ve been through a lot. Well quite bluntly, smoking too many cigarettes at the moment while writing this because more than any kind of stimulant I could ever attain, I really just want to die so slowly each & every single day & love girls, the cool women — every woman in the world — with every traumatic fiber in my soul & wounded aching feeling left in this heartbroken shell of a heart I have.
Trust me, I love so abundantly. I may at heart be kind of feminine or labeled a pussy, but I will love girls of the world to the day I die & will ride like an actual bronco
— the tragedy to be a horse myself —
as I save the artistic, cowgirl, wise & intelligent princess from someone who claims to be one of the boys, to be her cowboy set to ride into the sunset with or without her, when in reality you may as well be a god-damned football player still in the high school locker room without ever finding your own means to strut like a real feminine kind of a dope boy who rocks his shit out like a chill punker slut & ex-head-banged-skull-cracking-solitary-confinement-eternally-used-drugged-out-lifelong-mental-patient.
Don’t talk to me about the day you had because it really isn’t all too pressing or important. The important thing is that she is okay.
We all fucking care so fucking much. There’s not one guy on earth who has been through what a girl must go through every single day.
If you really do feel some sort of way badly or truly awfully sorry, it’s okay, it really is okay, but no, fucking bruh, I will never sit on the side as a tolerating witness of the deep level of bullshit you acted upon trying to actually cause some fashion of a sleepily beaten up & concerning, altogether so genuinely frightening, demise growing in your own size in thought of her potentially drained next day or hurt sluggish fate.
You will not solve your own issues & past neglect & abuse historically by damaging & destroying another kind & casually shy & punk-grunge-subtle-minded-gentle-vibe-soothing creature in this intricate & stunning gem of a universe.
She is the reason we breathe air. She will forever be the cutest being to ever exist.
All girls will be, especially her & they will live forever as angels on the moon in the galaxy’s safe & sage fairy garden kingdom of truly kind wisdom & enlightenment & blissful ease, no matter what happens to them today or tomorrow or the next day & all types of beautifully aligned lifetimes after that. She is my angel & I am her angel.
But she flies over high, from this place we currently exist in to all of the places we could ever one day imagine finding kindly innate new visions of next.
We step, one day or another, with serenely light hearted & pleasing flowing footprints from this universe to all of the dope new places that exist within the span of truly everlasting, youthful & expansive consciousness within all possible types of universes that lie beyond this one.
I don’t write stories for Disney… I don’t really find a sense of like-mindedness with stories like Beauty & the Beast.
All girls deserve more than that kind of life. They deserve more than many may ever begin to fully acknowledge.
They will be destined inheritors blessed to flows of universal currency in the scope of the afterlife.
Karma works miracles & she finds a way to love all of the people that walk up & down these streets, no matter what they may have preconceived in their heads about her & for that, karma will repay her in true intimate loving unfolding of abundance in days & lifetimes within the universe that fall before us.
Trust me, I ride & die by my lonesome every day for my angels & for her I will always bitch about missing her & be forever in debt to her.
No matter how much I’d do for her, it’d never be enough. I’ll ride & die for a baby like me every day even if I’m lonely & can’t bare the slit wrist cut-gut-soul-wrenching pain of wanting really just to see her walk the way she found it most casual & cozy to her to move around on the vibe-minded grass & cigarette ash pavement & find attractive qualities to all of the good things in which her soul gravitated to without a hesitant instance in whole-hearted & elementally cosmic & ever peacefully vulnerable ecstasy relief necessity.
I miss you, one of the realest girls & homies to ever make it in this day, era & age as an undoubted legend, always & forever more an unequivocal angel.
I’ll be the Romeo to her Juliet, I’ll be the skater-emo boy to her goth-grunge-godly-punk star-cool girl. If anyone ever takes her away or lays unwanted victimizing hands on her, I’ll stand in & take her place any way I can.
Please, you can literally end it for me. I can’t save any girl, but I don’t mind going out with her. Or we can actually just go on a cute date.
That would be way so much better, like you know. We could skate around & smoke cigarettes & talk all shy & cool about any type of little thing.
Please let my baby stay. I really just want to make our date. Instead of harsh flits with infliction towards angels like her, just let a sad skater boy hood punk like me make it out in my stupid little way on a date with her.
She’s the best & it hurts too much missing her being right around the corner to meet up & chat a little… that she’s really okay.
I really do love a girl. Nobody could ever put baby in a corner.
I guess I just wanted to make sure she was securely someplace safe, cozy & comfy.
I guess I just had to see about a girl. To all of the girls & her… most especially her: I miss you… truly so much.
Angel from my nightmare, we’ll have Halloween on Christmas & in the night, we’ll wish this never ends… we’ll wish this never ends, feeling this, roses on your door, little things make you know she cares, do you like my stupid hair, is it lame if I think it’s cool to dance to some Fall For You type Secondhand Serenade & Thriving Ivory vibing Angels on the Moon, dancing atop calm white rock.
5
black ashen gray cotton sweater covered frozen hands making their way under graffiti painted underbellies of bridges & scenic route waterfalls & aqueducts.
the river flows tidily right on by, the stream bumping and bruising along a beaten stone cripple creek ferry wilderness, the path of slashing splash.
we smoked a cigarette under the bridge, aching, finding warmth in the shade under the dungaree & weeping wilting willow tree, all withered to the core, robbed bare of its stark leaves. autumn golden brush & amber rose gold turned to bitter brown & snow white, the black tar on asphalt mud, making way for shaved ice spring sunsets, rainbows giving enough wiggle room for the sweat of fine working men & women in bikinis at the car wash
— utter white hot pale moonlit rosy tinted white shirt wet bleach stained sun-kissed youth. the seasons pass to and fro… just enough dark to see, the cold retreats just in time when it seemed 7 below for too long.
finally, the sun bathes the window in rays of long overdue glowing warmth & just as the heat wears on for far too long, the taste of fall and the dew of the first rain and pumpkin fairs bring about the engaging sound stilling cold weather snowy plumes of feathers on birds falling as they migrate in early Winter.
dawn to dusk, the farmers wait for the harvest. dawn to dusk, they’re are people fucking & dying & rocking and rolling & shaking and baking.
the heat closes in near a place to camp out: the inner backstreets of the wayward bound.
find a way to find solace in the Bob Dylan mantra, “the times, they are a-changing…”
it’s all so different now, it’s all so the same. and the weather is the most bipolar creature. but at least it’s cyclical and sticks to a routine schedule.
some of it’s boring and some of it’s monotonous. but right when you feel like you’ve had enough, things change up.
the pot always gets stirred up. the potion is all tossed and mixed up. one piece of advice: just don’t dive into deep into the sauce. at some point, the degeneracy smothers the worst of them & self righteousness sends even the best in combat to the grave.
the weather causes some to act up on a full moon, dancing in the rain, making angels in the snow, forming witch circles in the dead of the night, right before sunrise around 3 or 4 a.m.
the seasonal element makes me dismissive. if i ignore you today, it’s not you. the sun just beats down too heavily & i’ll feel kind of like i’m slumming it up in glum unless i escape to my own personal quarters to find reprieve.
i’ll recharge the old battery in the howling moonlit interludes in the middle of propane infused nowhere and find a little hole in the wall: a place to catch a breeze & a little time away from time.
cool air against the skin makes me feel alive again, blooming in winter. summer, for me, is more meditative. in a summer cocoon, i’m a winter butterfly.
ps: i never got the ‘it’s a dog eat dog world’ phrase… in my mind, it’s a boy-meets-girl world. if you’re a bird, i’m a bird. but we’re all just dogs trying to find a mate at the little neighborhood meet-and-greet doghouse.
she was pretty cute… damn, what should i say. i’ll say what’s up. i never was too good at small talk, though. i’m more of a quick cute little endearing kick it & dip type.
hey just wanted to let you know you’re pretty cute. you got good energy. what’s your sign? maybe we could grab coffee sometime? i don’t know could be fun.
anyways, hi, i forgot to introduce myself, i’m drew, let me buy you a drink, then i got to head off on my way. maybe i’ll see you around though, here’s my number. anyways, let’s get margaritas.
yeah, you’re cute though. catch you around one of these days… and it goes on and on, the tiny charming niceties work sometimes.
other times they don’t, but Wayne Gretzky was right, “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take…” and seven shots later, deep in a pit of ash & smoke & first dates & ties & promises & fall outs, i’m fucked up… to infinity & beyond.
6
settling in, the whole thing’s a done deal. that guy Walter, and Muska too, really cruise at high speed — a Usain Bolt sprint — right on by.
all of these girls at the market, smoke shop, local neighborhood low key culture camp site street joints, whipping up in the kitchen, and all turnt up with the music on full blast — Mac Demarco: ‘turn the volume all the way up… baby — and this coffee shop and that bar are all so hot, raising the vibrational frequency and wavelength all of the bum yard rat militia and mob moms and street dads are existing within. the galactic abode in this milky way cosmic universe spins.
it spins and spins and spins like a top shot spun then flipped quarter, heads or tails? both please, just from the road dome.
it’s all been written in a Nas or Outkast or Felly album. but don’t tip small change, it’s rude, ludicrous even. Chip 3 $1s on the bottle of bud light, leave a dime in the extra change collection side bin thing
— the little tray —
at gas stations, put a 5 down on a mixed drink at Tackle Box, leave a 10 on a diner lunch for two, a 20 on dinner with nostalgia ultra fairy garden gem stone palace princess bae, and spend the 100 on 6 pitchers, leaving all excess cash for the cutest or most handsome (to the dash-in-a-splash-slay-these-boys up girls) or to simply the entire crew of the dopest & most efficient bartenders.
they’ll probably split the extra 60$ 3 or 4 ways. it’s high manners & courteously pleasant to handle your affairs respectably in bars, where you’ll probably be making rounds to over and over and time and time again on routine trips back to, if only to take the edge off.
remember, you shouldn’t really tip change: maybe a dime, but you’ll need that, i promise you, things get tight and there’s a bizarre little tax on everything. at times you’ll need 10.39 or .49 extra and you’ll just have a 10 and luckily now, some change.
you could be 30 cents shawty short on the fun size skittles bag and they won’t even let you walk out with the good good. the 5 finger discount is highly frowned upon in almost all Utopias.
it just isn’t really straight up so pocket all loose change. money may be the root of all evil, but lucky pennies, dimes & 25c are not. it’s nice, the jingle.
so, this is where my money is going and then i climb on stones down to the sandy scenic crystalized patch of limestone creek to catch a quick breadth of cold cigarette infused air while drinking out coffee, scoping out the spot and smoking as i ponder how the next year in rehab is going to go, the dilapidated bike, me and the boys, all lost and rejected and dejected, CD ejected to make room for another blazing like doja in my ears, the rhythmic drum beats and cool flows and cadences and style with which they swing to the bass, rocking in the underground bridge street locale, tiny BMX bikes dilapidated and all, all sorts of skate tools and mechanical little nifty pieces posted up and laying around scattered about.
here we are, then i meet up with the ceramic camel crush minded bruh bruh to go grab one more pack of cigarettes — i had already bought a carton, but still… just in case — and a lighter before we made our way with wind-blown-high-soaring-flitted-hair-beeline-Britney-is-back-bitch kind of spirits down to the organic foods store in which the cutest most down to Earth Aquemini girls work to buy 2 subs — BLT and what he got in his depressed yet still altogether uniquely compassionate and chipper and gently soft spoken way — as well oh well as 2 ‘high quality Evolution’ Orange Juice drinks, a ‘Mela’ ultra refreshing electrolyte water beverage and a quaint Sweet Vanilla prebiotic desert-for-breakfast smoothie. the day felt everlasting, like Tuck meets Winona meets a Lily in Neverland. off to rehab, it’s already been all planned out.
i’ll smoke and drink coffee and work and get down to business with all of my writing.
here’s a pack for her, tell her to save a piece of her heart and safe space to regroup when i get out, and here’s a pack for each of you two boys.
thanks for hooking it up and always being there in the nick of time. in a way thanks for the farewell letter and send off down by the icy sprinkled dip and dots water reservoir picnic shack. the architecture on that one really brought it all together. signing out, see you all on the outskirts. i open my arms to Nirvana. say hi sometime…
7
damn energy… built up to nothing in the whole lot of the middle of frozen tundra eclipse vibe totalities of utter still cool edge of the nether world, some combat boots Swiss army knife alright kind of underdog underground.
we got the energy… the citizen listening chill posse of shits vile, u.s.a. but it’s too mandated, well more the chilling out of the God-fearing God-loving chaos of pure freedom, yet still keeping some semblance of joyous ecstasy in a theoretical sense, like feeling bliss.
i don’t hit on girls too much anymore, none of the white girls like me much… well sometimes, we all get along at times, someday, somewhere…
nothing, nowhere? hopefully they’re still making hits, not necessarily starting dark magic or dark arts cults for real. there’s light on here.
that has to be enough: a light house in the sea of deserted mis fit youth — warmth of some kind & angelic youthful exuberance, the light of ably doing what you want… but we can’t, we really can’t. sorry nah, i’m alright man. best be on my way. maybe rehab in a few. really?
don’t go through that torture, they say. nah it’s okay, really, torture would be some kind of lack of ability to just be finding zen highs in a land of opportunity, chambers of reflection, some catholic schoolyard Nun saying i’m damned forever. rehabs going to be alright.
been clean for long enough… well then, don’t go. nah i get it, but that’s the point: the only way to stay clean currently is to keep the light on for as long as possible.
the streets would eat me up alive. shelters and all of that are all the same: wolves prey on the dogs just making it out the gutter.
i can’t save a girl, any one guy, i can’t. all i can do is rest easy, rest easy.
please dear sir & behavioral health specialist & high priest & this guy & his bitch & lonely girl & sad boy, just let me enjoy another cigarette, another sip of actual caffeinated coffee, and sip on some nice chamomile or green tea… one more day in paradise, again and again to the moon and back, infinity xxx, and here we are.
wherever you go, there you are. it’s nice to see old friends, i just don’t want the party to end, for any of us.
for that reason, i see what you got, but that just comes naturally. it’s more fun to get high off not playing that game… that kind of game killed Adam or was it Kane.
Allen Ginsberg’s mom wrote to him on her deathbed, her final days: (something like) ‘the key is in the light at the edge of the window.
stay away from hard drugs or any kind of thing that will take away the key of light… not the key dipped in the bag’ i’m only exaggerating a bit, but God gave us two legal substances — coffee and cigarettes (and a little glass of wine or bottle of bud light never hurt anyone).
but i promise you, you, and you, adieu, adieu, adieu, good bye farewell, so long to the hard shit… hello to the pure highs of life from pimping out the light side, the bright side of sesh sad boy crybaby sad girl season forever ghetto O.C. emo black and white diamond squad gem level trash low key actually dope baby bone paradise in the little thickets of nowhere…
8
honey you’re finally alone… just a nicotine fiend with a dope dream.
i get why writers sit at the typewriter all day. it feels like i’m onto something. let’s get to the bottom of it all — drown your sorrows down the bottle… all falls down.
it’s never been about publishing. the writing, i mean — i’d write for the sake of writing in & of itself: a little way to process.
i sit, contemplative in solitude… nothing new, nothing new. so i write underneath cloudy skies & rain drops. we exist.. send me anything — s.o.s. where’d the time go?
…been dead a long time & back to it. i need a way out… it’s music & ink on paper. i’ll die to a cure song. i’ll die with the cure in my head — a cigarette in my hands, a girl on my mind… the good side of ecstasy & the brightest side of light. melancholy sits in with age… i’m 31 now.
i already feel like i’ve been here too long. sonic youth is a forever mood. your moms are my heroes. my mom is my hero… my sis is my hero — ultimate angels.
i am sad to be alive. but there’s beauty in the struggle. listen. love. learn… coping. writing. coping. writing — numb & dead inside.
the only thing i like is poetic words, fiction & music, as well as dressing in cool clothes — wearing cozy, cool & classic shoes: the vans… the converse. i like lots of things.
i dislike a lot of things. the drugs… i could take them or leave them, except for coffee & nicotine & tobacco & what not from vapes & cigarettes. i need both of those. fuck… fuck cocaine. fuck crystal. i need to be back at Delta Venus… it was this coffee shop in my little college town in Davis on B Street — the main Ski or Snowboard Club house & my own apartment with my beautiful ex… they were all on that street.
i could smoke on any of the front porches at any of those places & sip at coffee, beer & just chill. i want a place to call my own… i’m a homebody without a permanent home. call me a turtle without a shell — tired, idle hands & thoughts. i need to cope with these stupidly passing feelings. relapse is eminent… so is rehab.
i want to chain smoke & drink coffee. this place i’m at restricts my freedom… can you even imagine how rehab would feel?
i’m in a crisis shelter, right now… thank God for my typewriter — at least I can write about the feelings, chipping away at my brain… the brain cells depleting… lost friends, past lives: 9 lives, but I’ve burnt through
most of them… i got over my own story. i’m tired of this little biz…
what the fuck are people even doing anyways? what are they on about? i don’t want to write… the same damn old tired thing. i want to write… with an edge & slant — euphoric wisdom beckoning the unknown out of the dust. we are born from ash… to ash we’ll return.
life is pretty much a goth boy clique music video. i’m just a crybaby… sad boy season forever — maybe the beginning of Nirvana is the realization we are nothing, dwelling in the miracle of life… within & without.
it’s not magnificent, but it’s also not meaningless. we are tiny specks… this society is not a microcosm; it stresses the importance of minute details… but the little things aren’t important & the big things aren’t important: we as creatures & enlightened beings are a microcosm, on the other hand, of this galaxy as a whole… put me down like a dog, so i can say hi to the afterlife — maybe i’ll live forever at this rate.
life feels like a toss up between Heaven & Hell… permanent purgatory?
i don’t view that as a tragedy… i view that as the biggest blessing. don’t view things as the end of the world… this too shall pass. remember: it’s okay to be sad. i read this somewhere: “i’m not anti-social, i just dislike socializing.”
i need a drink like Bukowski. i need a woman like Bukowski. i need someone to knock the living daylight out of me — like Bukowski, like Bukowski… Aren’t we all… instead of a drunk, i chase the high — the dope, the nicotine. i’m down & out. i’m high on the low.
i tweeted a while back: “when i’m low, i’m high… when i’m high, i’m low.” it’s all the same… it’s a lose-lose situation — either lose with dignity… or lose without it. but, hey at least you’ll go out in a blaze of beaming light with the stoke of the midnight ember… high on the essence of substance infused magic, crystalized diesel daydreams… the slut fetches the coke… 8 ball sunk, final shot of the night… the lonely old man slinks off to the cabin… i trade a pack of smokes for God-only-knows.
Dear Lord, I wish I was strong… you’re stronger than you think, son… Jesus Christ spoke to me only once in my life… a few weeks ago: “you got lucky,” he said. i sure as hell did. he must have a sense of facetious humor, as well, because my whole life has been a sequence of the best & worst luck ever.
FML, thank God I’m still alive. Why the fuck do I exist? This is the best feeling ever… paradoxical shifts — ride or die highs & lows, feeling extremes of polar opposites… the Lord was right, though: I escaped utter hell back in 2014. in a way, i’m lucky i’m manic-depressive… i could have nothing & feel like the dopest person in town.
i could feel better than the old man down the street — him & all of his wealth… i could be stuck on the street, but so long as i have a pack of cigarettes, i’m stoked.
bipolar is a superpower… Yé said it himself & i haven’t been locked up, in spite of drugs & fuck-ups…. drugs got me fucked up & sluts got me drugged up… over & over & over again — the sound of music & just an old man at his typewriter; this world threatens to steal your soul so preserve it at all costs.
the devil always had a certain misfit kind of vibe — something alluring… just stay true to your vision, sway with the rhythm… don’t read too much into it. got caught up in the fuss… hot fuss, dirty slut, knuckle puck, a fuck you, sonic youth, dirty boots, middle finger, 100%, punk tat… we really all know nothing… a nobody dwelling somewhere, grim reaper blues, weeping willow, melancholic truth… chilled bottle of bud light, ice breaker potion, going through the motions… an ode to my first love & ode to my last cigarette & ode to nothing left… man who sold the world
— where’d he hide out? an old railroad town, sedated on the tracks, gasoline fracked… under the bridge… old money, new cash, stacks on stacks, paper trail, online currency… it’s all there. Kurt Cobain wrote about Nirvana.
The lyrics poetic & self-evident: ‘would you like to hear my voice sprinkled with emotion…’ & something like… ‘don’t have to think, just have to do it… the results are always perfect.’ you’re so stupid, she says… i know i am. that’s why i love you… you’re pretty dumb too… oh, i’m the dumbest… that’s why i want you so bad: we’re just two dumb fucks… so fuck us up world because we got nothing to lose.
now a fire scathes, ravaging & burning LA… maybe God had a bone to pick… at least with Hollywood. maybe the Vatican’s next. if Satan has a bone to pick. God Damn. So it goes, so he wrote — reading Breakfast of Champions or any one of Vonnegut’s works of fiction:
‘The public health authorities never mention the main reason many Americans have for smoking heavily, which is that smoking is a fairly sure, fairly honorable form of suicide.’
So it goes Kurt… rest easy, rest easy up in Heaven… you were always a friend in some kind of way on still, humbling, peacefully sedated gray foggy mornings & vitally pink sky lit early & late afternoons & on lazy incense infused subtly slow & smooth Saturday evenings, the light, the glow… always a person i found i could sit with & chill with & just go through the little waves of earlier days.
Days all blend together. i miss you all… i miss you.
9
what i’d refer to as “being minimalist and pimping out nothingness” could pretty much be called the meaning of life.
i only do four things, really, in this life: drink caffeine, smoke nicotine, listen to music & write. i do all 4 things heavily. i’m a broken record. it doesn’t cost too much to do this.
writing is only as much as the typewriter & paper costs. i pay a monthly subscription for SoundCloud.
i get the cheap pack of smokes for $7-11 & coffee and tea i get in boxes or containers. it doesn’t take off too much pocket weight.
it doesn’t burn a hole in the wallet. today, i went to Cigarette City and got a pack of silver somethings — some brand i never heard of, off brand but still class A — for $5.
when i found out that was the price, i also got the homie a pack too, this nice fellow who was pretty legit back in the day, pretty cool. he’s still a rad sort of person, aged like fine wine.
he used to ride dirt bikes & do all that X-games type shit: a real pro who knew how to throw down. we were both down to next to nothing. he had 4. i had 10.
i threw the whole 10 down for 2 packs. 39 cent card tax. i had 10.45… perfect, smoking never made me regret money spent.
i was never worried about blowing a bag, so to speak, on smokes, caffeine & music & all that. the best thing is listening to music and writing doesn’t cost a thing.
then i got a 20 pack of some chamomile tea for cheap, too, and coffee for just over a dollar at SnS, a dope little nook market, some cool all organics store with enough kombucha and tea and coffee and produce and butcher meats to carry you steadily & happily into the next year.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference…
also please give me enough free time to dwell on life, writing, listening to tunes, smoking nicotine & sipping tea & coffee in a subtle punk zone, contemplative & subdued & zen in thought.
10
smoke shows, snow moke, dime piece,
dime bag, dope smoke, tote rope, joke nope,
coke eyo yayo, slope cope, flow brotha,
slow bruh duh, joe mornings, grief mournings,
slut drawers, smoke stash, cash stack,
three little lines…
little stories to pass the time.
what more? no more sick liquor,
rad skater scene, friendly fiend,
another lucid dream, troy boy m.d.m.a.,
dreaming Demarco, cigarette daydreams,
hazy vision, little friction, pulp fiction…
worth the mention. pulp casket,
blown gasket, gas kit, total package,
smack absolute… that’s aight;
could be phenomenal… what’s it all cost?
22 & a quarter. call that a night;
pay the tab, dip out — souped up Subaru:
burn outs, drifting in snowy paradise…
two smoke shows at home —
dope smoke, coke nose,
dime piece & a dime bag…
but it’s just me, home alone.
i only got this lonely pack —
10 smokes, no smoke show.
maybe i’ll see some cute girls on a walk later…
bitches? nah. sight for sore eyes?
yea. tomorrow, tomorrow.
Good morning Vietnam…
11
listening to the old wind chimes. time is so damned. we all are damned.
the weather is alright today. the small talk. the banter. i lit my cigarette & thought of where i’ll be at in twenty years.
i’ll be lighting up a cigarette. i’ll still be bored. i’ll howl at the midnight moon. i’ll look dejectedly around a little room. who knows?
maybe i’ll have published a book. or one or two, a few… i kind of crave boredom. morning time. the cigarette. the coffee.
i’ll look around my room, pretty much vacant. i’ll vape a bit. i’ll still have SoundCloud. life is pretty much like a stick in the mud.
it doesn’t amount to much. i can’t change much. i’m homeless right now, though. hopefully by then i’ll be on social security disability & have a place of my own, but not much will change.
i can write well & got a B.A. in psychology at University of California, Davis, but I sadly have Bipolar I Schizoaffective Disorder so I definitely qualify for disability.
Substance use has also always been an issue. I got a drug problem — an addictive personality. i’ve been sober about a month now: God knows. i’m a minimalist.
i like writing just to write. i like music. it’s all about my writing & music. as long as i can do those things, i’m stoked.
i got to dress in high fashion. i’m gonna be skinny. i’m only eating a meal a day from now on: got to shrink my stomach to nil, nil, nil.
if you look good & your music’s dope & on point & you can process it all through writing, you’ll most definitely feel as good as all hell. there’s a time & place for everything. that’s what this guy, Howard, from Chico Rescue Mission — a place I may go to Rehab at — told me. There is a time & place for everything.
that’s true… more often than not though, it’s all just pointless. i like to skip about 98% of life. more than anything, i just want to smoke. Kurt Vonnegut said smoking cigarettes is the most honorable form of suicide.
you could vape, but that’s like smoking a usb drive. it’s too electronic. i like the routine of stepping out for a smoke. lighting it up & all that. it hits more direct… more potent & satisfying.
Vapes are instantaneous relief at all times, but after vaping a while, it’s impossible to just sit at a bar & not vape at the booth. it seems like you need to hit it all the time or it won’t do the trick.
on the other hand, cigs tide you over for at least an hour. if i had one piece of advice: smoke cigarettes & drink coffee. avoid other drugs, vapes & alcohol.
Chapter 6: ‘Key In Nothing’
1
Music enables one to accept the often conflicting perspectives & aspects of pleasure & pain. You can’t have pleasure without pain. You can’t have the beneficial without the detrimental.
And lastly, you can’t have life without death.
I love women, but I’ve accepted the fact that I really am better off on my own — besides an occasional hook up from time to time — so I smoke a couple of cigarettes from my pack while listening to the two aforementioned artists (or reading Bukowski or Burroughs or watching a show) just to pass the time & keep my mind from spinning off into the sunset like a balloon sailing away in the cloud (with my ADHD, little routines help to focus & relax & relieve my mind).
The cigarettes (as well as the copious cups of coffee) & other leisurely activities really help me realize a little ideal I live in awareness of: every day really is a day… a lot happens, but at the same time, it really is just a day & in the scheme of things, nothing really happens… so don’t worry about girls too much, or this or that; just focus on taking care of the self & anything possible to take care of at any given moment.
Give yourself time to relax, rest & be grateful & do what you love, not because it pleases the rest of the world, but because it keeps you content. Doing things for ourselves keeps us motivated & interested.
Each day, converse with someone, read a little something, do something or say something somewhat nice at least to one person sometime in the day & share a smoke & coffee with someone.
These are rules I try to follow, or keep in my mind. You can invent them as you go… the rules of each person’s life aren’t meant to be complicated. So be kind to yourself in every aspect. All I know is this at the end of the day: there is a distinct balance of opposites & paradoxes (i.e. just because general consensus says cigarettes are unhealthy doesn’t mean they are unhealthy for everyone… sure they aren’t healthy for us over time in the distant future, but in some cases — like my own
— the impulsively satisfying positive effects of nicotine actually outweigh any eventual negatives… from stress relief on a dime… to a way to chat with fellow smokers & make some new acquaintances… to a way to process thoughts & dampen over-excitement… to something that goes well with coffee & tea that you can look forward to wake up & go to bed to… to something to have as a little crutch, vice & counterpart making us feel at home & not totally alone even though circumstances may have broken our hearts or the shattered home we maybe once knew.
For me, after all of the trauma I have been through & a feeling like I somehow didn’t belong, cigarettes have always been there for me & picked me up when I felt like I had nowhere to go & nothing left on this earth.
Yes, they are unhealthy, but cigarettes (along with coffee… together ‘the breakfast of champions’) are purely remedying quick-fixes & practical cures to those who have become jaded & cynical & need a little assistance in, not just passing the time, but actually vibing with the bitter elements in life.
Basically, the relieving dopamine release & serotonin & other effects from the substances of coffee & nicotine transform a previously jaded & cynical outlook into an attitude of simplicity & contentment towards the little beauties of the nature & routine of life.
It’s not a bitter truth at the end of the road. It’s an almost revelatory zen truth that each day begins anew, in constant death & rebirth, to the point that life is almost one never-ending yet redeemable day in which we always just have to live in the only moment that goes on forever: this moment now. In these moments, we must have a way of balancing the mutual coexistence of opposites, the ebb & flow, the Wu-Wei.
2
This really is the only business to attend to. I absorb waves to escape savage nothing — either one in pure light or one in pure dark… so I sit at the edge of this hollow dwelling, trying not to let myself cave into dull shell.
These degraded sentient beings overslept. I litter ash & butts, and loiter ever awake.
I see a bird land on the roof & sit alongside a perch all of our own making, so it seems… to hover around dumb founded nonsense?
The voice of intrusive passers ridiculed me as I laugh at their lifeless inadequate slurs.
They really overestimated gravity of speech. Their annoyance is entirely theirs to hold.
3
Leaf lit, show up, flicked bic, nicotine lit… wounded — lighter heat touches wrist… maybe a kind of sympathy, empathetic to girls with slit wrists; 2… two tattoos on my slick slim wrists leaflet, warm literature, blush, the fit… break down, at least so many nights.
So I break down tobacco by my side —black lunged soul matter essence & a black heart— black lung gives into death, then death breathes life into me… again & again & again.
4
So the least I could do is stick to intuition… essential to feel alright at slower paces; rush unnecessary to achieve daily tasks
— path to proper vibrational frequency via awareness, self care, creating light, coexistence, channeling pure energy flow, sound wavelengths & universal currents.
5
There’s always more we could know, drugs we could take & money we could earn.
But there’s really not much that comes from knowledge, drugs & money… in reality, you and all of us are probably better off never knowing anything… let alone finding out what’s really going on.
It’s all bad. I’ve come to realize lately that sometimes happiness is all in the facade you set up & how you go about cultivating that facade. This is said without any negative connotation.
We all must put up & live under a slightly constructed facade so that we may see things in an optimistic, unfazed light.
Lacking a facade begets basic abandon, throwing yourself to the wolves & exposing yourself to a truly cold reality.
Life is harsh, brutal & honest.
So if you ever get a chance to avoid, ignore, or escape it… by all means, go ahead. Keep to the dream.
6
I’d smoke a cigarette, drink a coffee, then get up to something… more like a whole lot of nothing. The time between a coffee & cigarette was just time spent wanting a coffee & cigarette.
I’d listen to an album or two & read a novel I was currently invested in at the time & watch a show I had been binging.
And, then, right on time, I’d be back to sipping my coffee & smoking my cigarette.
Writing seemed like a better way to pass the time. Maybe if I wrote extensively enough, I would completely forget all about coffee & cigarettes. Sure, I may have nothing going for me, but at least I’m a writer, right?
Maybe I’m not a writer, I just happen to make sense of words written on paper. That reminds me, where’s my coffee, sir?
Hold on a second, lemme fetch a little cigarette out of my pack. There’s really no point to life, is there? Thus, we sip & smoke.
Some wonder at the meaning of life… others just smoke another cigarette.
I think the meaning of life is to make us appreciate afterlife more; to enable us to have a perspective on just how awful & tragic things can get, if only for a couple of decades, so that we may see how beautiful eternity is.
For now, I’m going to pour another cup of coffee & smoke another cigarette. Life is bitter. Death will be rather sweet.
7
Just want to be dazed on a rainy day, feelings eviscerated, smoking a cigarette.
Smoke would die out — just the soothing rain… everything else so mundane
8
A thousand days of nothingness, lost in the poetic minimalism of life in dedication to art, starving for the pursuit of making something out of nothing.
I dream of a cool room, bare with exception of white walls on all four corners
— a stereo system, an album collection, a typewriter & an ash tray, a little desk on which it sits & the comfiest of all chairs: my preferred simplistic workspace. All I do is listen and type —
music the engine revving the writings & the gasoline helping my creative outlet, channeling all artistic energy into every word I ever write.
9
you alluded to the fact i must be okay with the big nothing; seek nirvana idealism by minimal means… the great Tao appears subtly.
in essence, to find what i seek, i must rid myself of the vain need to be perfect at all times & just explore tangled aspects cluttering egotistical areas of my mind, flowing with a wavy disposition. the way was great yesterday… so it’s great again today.
maybe it’s not all that depressing.
everything’s just blatantly boring… might as well barely use my phone.
just open up & read a book instead, slow my mind down to idle stillness… when you know it all, you know nothing.
the answer to the meaning of life lies somewhere within nothingness.
so there you have it… nobody really knows anything, everybody caught up in bullshit.
you really think i’ll stay down forever?
nah i’ll stay low, then come up quick… not much left to even remotely worry about
— moment to moment & day to day… say it ain’t so, it’s all the same, such an endless drag.
Chapter 7: ‘Little Perks — Blind Spots to Bright Spots’
1
Heart blank, wrist numb, brain adjusting, veins a little too alert… yet there’s nothing
Soul weary
— soles & a willow fiend, a bayonet in backwoods snow… caught up in nonsense, so left to flow… underrated ash & longing wind blow. So it goes, the way of this little love note — love note & note to self: slow down. What’s the low down? Down low, I’m locked in… so what’s the deal? Down low, secrets amongst best friends, paving a path on the come down
Down low, secrets amongst best friends, paving a path on the come down
2
Find your person, but first, be your person.
Find your kind of people. Attract that specific energy.
But first, be your kind of people. Radiate that specific energy
3
I listen to music with a vibe like something Sylvia Plath would smoke spliffs to… melancholic & despondent in a rain forest; skies cloudy, dimly lit.
Overall though, there’s a tinge of ethereal undertones to the atmosphere… sounds grunge as a single rain drop falls on your cheek: ethereal forest
4
Soft gray air clouds high above as the light touch brushed their face… they knew not yet where the path led.
They just knew they were on the way.
She looked at you so sweet, her glance made your heart hurt in the worst & best way possible.
All of the universe fell beside.
5
Gravity rides everything.
Just know things end up just fine… it’s all alright — endless melancholy — as it perpetually sits along little treasured, two sided ecstasies… practices, meditations, remedies, a cure & mediation — medicine for our often times sore-spotted consciousness.
All our minds ask for is light & the glow of loved ones around us, simply affirming our existence.
6
You ever just wake up & feel so grateful that the earth is green & blue, the sky is black, glowing under the moon with trillions of infinitesimal glowing stars… as white as airy plumes of snow dropping in little droplets.
Clear, almost blue rain hits in patters against your ever awakened skin, reminding you… yes, it’s okay to be soft & yes, it’s okay to notice & observe the little things
— minute details that we almost can’t discuss in casual conversation so I write down what I see & feel… all of these blissful sounds sink in
forever… always.
Chapter 8: ‘Subtle Queues’
1
Sometimes it’s best to do nothing, say nothing… roll with the punches
— the only sympathizer & listener the music you receptively embrace as it hits your ears —
pure zen euphoria, even if slightly antisocial. Just wear the usual average fit & don’t worry too much about appearance.
Namaste to each approachably… kind.
Attract high energy.
Covet all best possible outcomes, whether in preferred exchanges or preferred places to reside & lastly, return energy in the same way you receive it.
Channel wavelengths.
2
Sometimes I hate the sun, beating down relentlessly on our withered frames… cigarettes tasting like pure pollution to my corrupt lungs.
Other times, the sun, like the rain, illuminates and glows a soft, dazzling & refreshing essence — kind of like the splashing of water, the substance of light drizzling when it’s not raining too hard.
At those little colder, subtler moments, I take a polite drag of my cigarette and inhale, with my music tapping in my ears, & the dopamine rush & head high feels not at all unlike something similar to the way you would imagine ecstasy feeling on the skin.
3
Iced coffee, along with a light pairing of music softly playing in the ears and soothing poetry, is transcendental.
Slowly, softly, words written, beats produced, lingering like a butterfly touching down on your shoulder, mere moments seeming like centuries of good faith and good luck surrounding you, then passing by.
Abrupt is nature, quick is its devastation, yet the fluidity of natural flow goes with the river, all in divine time for the art of the world.
Chapter 9: ‘Little Fabric Thread’
1
Why do we pass away? Maybe death is life after life, peaceful eternal bliss.
Maybe death is the intoxicating hit of nirvana occurring as a result of smoking the first cigarette of your pack on a gently rainy day, when you rip a drag of metaphorical afterlife on a perfectly foggy cold weather afternoon, clouds amicably moving ever so peacefully to the right above you.
2
Spooky season was always the best, watching clouds form and rainfall in September, October, and November.
The chills, the ghostly breeze as she speaks in literate, yet unknowable mysteries, the nothingness and emptiness, like in Tao, which begets something and an entirely engulfing wholesomeness from its shallow, shadowy, yet intrinsically complete shell.
3
Just a skater punk cowboy staying as high as the night sky and blessed in the moonlight, universally vibing with the pavement below his little beat up board, trying to glance at the moon
— the magnificent moon which smokes dope amongst its bright hues spewing magical radiance into an otherwise dimly lit, yet still highly cultivated & cool universe.
4
I could do practically nothing all day, just skirt by & write, listen to mellow tunes, smoke and read novels & poetry, staying perfectly content with the ebbs and flows of this wayward nocturnal life.
I ride out, keeping my energy high, noticing that the misty, formless, mystical sea balances harmoniously with rugged, sound, threadbare mountains… smoking cigarettes, watching birds pass by like an old working man’s blues song
5
Crazy, amusing, musing, rambling, sprawling, spontaneous music… from the city of Chicago to Mardi Gras in New Orleans to Detroit, to suburbs in Sacramento, villages in San Francisco, and nights clubs in Florida & Manhattan.
The beats write poetry to this Northern Country swan song of infinite awakening, magic, and light… smoke clouds, moonlit aura, her essence as she caresses the midnight breeze forever lost in the effervescent glow of long lost wisdom, enlightenment, and poetic nature found along the way, love even on passing days with crashing waves.
Ultimately, we have found inspiration, a muse in the sleepy, rhythmic twinkle of illuminated minds, warm hearts, self aware intelligence, and the distinct gaze of the lover’s light.
Chapter 10: ‘Blissful Minimalism’
1
We say in 2008, “damn I wish I could go back… to those days when I didn’t care.
We say in 2012, “damn I miss like early 2008, when nothing mattered.”
We say in 2016, “damn 2012 was lit, wasn’t it?”
Now in 2025, even though a part of me wants so badly to be that kid in 2016, riding slopes of Tahoe mountains infinitely in a place that felt so much like Heaven, I realize the paradise of days of old is nothing akin to the paradise of right now.
No matter, where you are, look around & see the gold in it all.
Explore something constantly better, but know this is the better.
If you appreciate now, you will appreciate now in the long term, as it is always now, a moment to moment basis forever, always. Please, dear reader, don’t paint me black when I used to be golden.
Because I am golden… I am as bright as sifted jewels.
2
We all sometimes are desperate, metaphorically making our signs as bums on the side of the road, asking for the simplest things in return… always hoping we aren’t too demanding.
Then someone looks our way, notices how we deserve more & by their little kind regard or sweet and thoughtful gesture, we feel an alleviation of slight brain fog
— a little more optimism about the day & are compelled to return the favor in some way down the road: good karma moving along.
3
everything’s cool from afar… well most idealistic cravings, tendencies & settings.
girls are so cute from afar…. rather just drift like a ghost.
i skirt most things between girls.
ignorance is bliss & bliss is bliss.
i’d rather just banter on a steady blissful point… no need to really elaborate. the topic enhances in multitudes… unlocked universes already await to those who just keep an open third eye.
here we go, a wayward flow, back & forth, all the same… so too constant shifting change… motion sickness.
4
A thousand days of nothingness, lost in the poetic minimalism of life in dedication to art, starving for the pursuit of making something out of nothing. I dream of a cool room, bare with exception of white walls on all four corners, a stereo system, an album collection, a typewriter & an ash tray, a little desk on which it sits & the comfiest of all chairs — my preferred simplistic workspace.
All I do is listen & type… music the engine revving the writings: the gasoline helping my creative outlet channeling all artistic energy into every word I ever write.
5
Bro the whole point — like of it all — is that there’s no point… so just chill, imagine wildly vivid thoughts, retain inner bliss in a zen mellow zone, drift wherever your beat up shoes gravitate on this overcast day.
sometimes the sadness feels good.
maybe they kissed on the steps — the steps at the door by the porch.
He looked at you & honestly never saw anything cuter… subtle glance… the ways she moved, gliding on the moon.
it was a time… everything & nothing… stoked on silhouettes & cigarettes.
Chapter 11: ‘Nowhere & It’s Now’
1
We were definitely up to something. We were up to nothing at all… getting high by candlelight — ash & smoke from cigarettes cluttering the ground & sky… alright, alright, guess I felt kind of shy when I said hello, hi… figured I’m sweet, a nice enough guy, pretty fly from time to time.
We were definitely up to something.
We were up to nothing at all, getting high by candlelight. A spark in her eyes, I lit the match. Your aura consumed stars… a burst of light.
I hesitated, thought for a second, freestyle a verse, jotted down a line, took a drag so quick & sly. All I ever wanted was true & tried. So I sit in my grunge garb, wondering why we’re here. Oh hey, oh hey… my oh my. Neil Young sings Heart of Gold on this lonely & lovely little night. All we can do is sit pretty & when needed, attempt & try.
2
This is just the beginning of a dream-like everlasting quality… dream pack infinite — that thing we clutch so tightly & routinely make as if from memory on groggy early mornings: that first pot of coffee at 6:34am, that first pack of 27s at 7:11am…
…stumbling out of the bar, treading asphalt pavement, rocking vans or converse, mindlessly peering off at the sky, skies potently lighting up, shining an illuminating nature to the universe, conceptually envisioning… grasping Transcendental Elusive Nirvana
Chapter 12: ‘Pink Matter’
1
Kind eyes, shy smile, the good kind of shy… the cute kind, the kind that says I miss you, the one you know you can be vulnerable with.
She’s the gentlest… cutest.
All we want is simply a type of Creature Comfort.
She’s like a Bon Iver song. What was it? Holocene?
Or maybe Skinny Love.
I love her graceful aura, her serenity, her peaceful beauty.
2
I’ll give up in the most meaningful way possible… give into you so vulnerably… to give you a delicate flower… to see you handle my tears with tender care.
I think you are the closest thing to angelic — gentle wings… angels everywhere, if you have a perspective on the matter.
3
Been thinking about time: how it makes a foe a friend & friend a foe.
What am I doing here?
Literally who made it so that we live to die?
That in itself is the most poetic thing… or maybe it’s just catastrophic & tragic.
All things meet a halting, if at all untimely crash… so in the ebbs & flows, we must not care too much & just understand that life is a miserable attempt at stopping the inevitable when we should focus on how special the present time is.
4
here we go again… watching the o.c.
— any random show, any random song,
any random book, these words on this page… any random sight, anything just to kill the time
— not that it’s random, but it’s always nice to do something that’s so familiar, as if by memory:
mornings, nights, routines… all by memory.
5
lost in the song, i’m in conversation, but I forget where my story is going… lots of things saved, lots of things unsaved.
i hope this all makes some sort of sense in the future. time is all the same.
i love you, i love you forever & always.
i miss you, I miss everything about you forever & always.
those things are all I know…
6
we are simple. think about where you are & just be fully invested in that moment.
don’t worry about the outcome… just be grateful & gratitude will turn into everything.
7
lost in time. in time, we’re lost. find your way back to magic witchcraft, to the spell cast, to the wishing well… make a wish last, be quick, but not too fast. don’t rush to the graveyard
— your gravestone marked with your legacy: father, brother, mother, sis, son… son of a bitch, son of a gun. don’t worry about the little things…. they’ll kill you faster, skate punk in thrasher; i’m just an emo thug who loves her, listening to my music… headphones, strapped in & on. send her emojis on the iPhone… what has & hasn’t been.
home alone & stoned, nicotine in the bloodstream, spliffs & an emo tone… fairer weather — the weather is overcast. rain falls & i’m happy. rain falls… the moss is sappy.
we’re discovering things lost. i love my family, but what happened? i want her to fill my lonesome… feel my walls close in — backyard cigarettes. she’s there but nobody’s here yet.
i’ll write her a poem. how do we make this last? how do our heads crash… crash into you, need you… want you. you’re like bet, boo thang shawty bae. thank god for music, poetry & you. thank god for her eyes.
everything i love dies… so this is me walking away, this is me facing the day.
8
this is the beginning of not caring. this is the end
— a doors song… i just need one friend to do nothing with, to do everything with.
i just need one friend to do nothing with, to do everything with.
this is a full send… a way to waste a life.
who gives a fuck about girls… no relationship in real life & not planning on dating.
let me do me & you do you.
9
nervous about what? a slut is a slut. hope she keeps the door shut. hoe, lock the door shut. what does she want… what?
sad for what? lust is lust. refuse to fuss. light the fuse, you must.
ignore all temptation. shut the fuck up… hush, just hush… slit wrist & a lost crush… out to sea, brush the leaves… the path to ecstasy.
feel the breeze, let go of lust.
look at the trees. let go of crush…
10
i realize real eyes realize real lies.
you’re stoked, i’m stoked on your thighs.
come here, she’s going to help revitalize.
i memorize her eyes on mine.
we always find a way to shine. times ticking… on the table a line.
i write my thoughts down.
i avoid… putting the drugs down — don’t need what doesn’t want me. ignore her text, left on read.
we all see what we wanna see. to some, my thoughts are just in my head… another twitter thread,
poetry just something to do.
one flew over the cuckoos nest… one flew, just call me drew; a bird blows through… the blow, the dope, blown through & drugs on the table, what’s new?
nope, no more. drugs… i’m through with them & i’m through with you, i got a sober crew.
this ain’t nothing new. we out here smoking nicotine & drinking cold brew.
i’m high on life, high on her… minimalists high on the thought of you.
blue boy, why are you so blue?
probably because he lost the thought of you.
Chapter 13: Grey Matter
1
I’m a Taoist… not a Satanist.
I’m a vegan who eats meat, who smokes nicotine; gave up caffeine, but I drink medium roast coffee & black tea.
We need a lil sugar… but just enough. I barely eat. I gave up dairy… but I eat cheese.
I just smoke some nicotine… not weed; drink water… no alcohol, no tequila, no moonshine, nor rum, besides an occasional seltzer or beer; she wants me to get some money & get some pussy.
She asks how many times can a girl come before she’s over it all? Girls just want to have fun. Get some, she begs… a couple times, get some.
2
I ain’t sad, shit… ride in it, die in it, cry in it, be shy with it. I like how u handle it; emotional wit… came with the bag in it, came strapped in it, strapped with it, carrying shit, getting lit, not high, just dying in it, lost in it, bought with it, brought the shit, with the shit… nobody gets shit.
3
she lets down her hair. i may get what i want. just give it time… the process is a process — no more late nights & no more fight nights & not too concerned about everything & nothing.
I’m simply just alive.
I love women… from afar. I love everything about her… from afar. I love all of this shit… from afar.
I’m just a piece to others’ puzzle. You won’t hear the answer to the riddle from me. I’m working on it… I’m working on the big nothing, listening, loving… learning.
I’m just a vessel to the answer, not the answer itself.
I’m sorry, but you & me are the answer. But I won’t let them know that much.
All they know is… I love you.
My love for her will not be televised; it’s not possessive, nor is it obsessive… just kind of endearing.
she thaws & melts the cold… soft, sweet candy. she’s my high.
4
practice not putting in more energy than they do. just be an available source.
ignore self doubt, practice tolerance of yourself + others.
practice a quiet aura… a subtle uniqueness… a mellow personality.
you’ve been through a lot. soon it will make sense… all of it. but for now, wade through the deep end. it won’t be deep forever.
just vibe with life. hopefully it vibes back.
5
realizing what i got — things i’ve acquired & lost in the span of my entire life.
i’ve rid of much, besides my records… stored in a crate at my moms house, a record player, a handful of books, an old guitar that i’ve had since high school, 2 duffels of clothes, a backpack & snowboard gear i’ve had since the winter of 2015.
that’s it… oh & the iPhone i’m typing this on.
that’s what i’ve gathered in my 29 years on this universe. less is more, but why does it just feel like less is less… a job, a place, some things, some hobbies
— it’s all very minimalist of me… this little life — my little life — in a sparsely lit, sparsely furnished attic, no car as of yet, can’t find my wallet… but here we are, at the outskirts of summer
— the beckoning of fall & a new year looming soon enough — with my little things that could fill a regular car’s worth… no more, certainly not less… couldn’t even closely fill a storage crate.
my only habits are the vape i hit —nicotine, not weed & the coffee i brew every morning… my only form of caffeine, besides an occasional green or black tea.
i have two pairs of shoes & two hats… two beanies.
this is what i’ve gathered. let’s not mention what i’ve rid of.
i take 4 meds, including an inter muscular shot, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety, antipsychotics, sleeping meds, etc.
also drink water constantly, watch things, read things, write things, listen to things… it’s all rather barren, void — not of soul or life… my things are fully lived in but nonetheless — there is a lack of real abundance & still, too, depth in the little that i do have.
that’s all to report — half way through 31 with a small family — my parents & siblings… grandparents passed & no wife or kids.
this is my little life & things i’ve gathered.
6
I write as a practice. I knead things into being. I need things for my existence… for my being.
Being alive is a task all in itself.
I will write till 1000 pages of poetry fill a book. I want the soft accent of her French language
— French kiss on my lips & French inhale in her lungs.
I want a cute brunette to sweep me off my feet. Is that too much to ask?
I live so simply… like it almost hurts how simple the morning is.
Just want a coffee date, is that too much to ask?
No affairs after, no inner workings of magic in bedrooms… just a simple chat around a coffee table
— tea spilled, pillow talk, without the pillows, talk of the town with a woman, coffee shared… is that too much to ask?
To her, I’m nobody. To me, I’m simply a young Leonard Cohen — stylistically of course…only stylistically.
7
who cares, simply put… story of my life — that fickle yet still endearing friendship amongst loved ones, amongst little flings amongst homies.
All of this never mattered all that much… to me too? me neither.
so anyways, I’m going to ash out my cigarette, listen to my music
— to me, tunes sedatedly euphoric & continue my prolific stream of consciousness joint writing ventures… all of these lingering habits, all of these overcast vibes, all of these meditative moods, reflecting with my mellow coping mechanisms.
Chapter 14: ‘Take a Train to Anywhere’
1
Sweltering heat rolls in… so I duck in somewhere & tuck & roll & hit the vape pen & pull out a cute little cigarette from the pack in my pocket.
I blow through a whole check quick & check the balance — nothing left… so I whip up an iced coffee out of thin air. I write to pass the time & listen to old Mac Demarco albums on CD, vinyl & cassette.
I really adore his newer albums too:
One Wayne G — all mostly instrumentals — plus he’s releasing his newest LP ‘Guitar’ out in a month or two.
I read Burroughs & Plath & Ginsberg & Kerouac & Whitman & the like. It’s a nice life, fit to ride out to.
I rock minimal outfits… sitting in minimalist space. Some numb & dead feeling trickles deep inside. Some dumb fiends loiter out by the corner store. Are any of these pieces poetry or diary entries?
Probably neither… I was never much of anything. Meditative states mix with contemplative moods & a stimulant-infused, sedative-induced clarity.
Someone please send me a cute little doodle of any kind of thing & a little note in the mail… I’ll get the drawing tatted on my wrist & write you back. No real point to anything besides to pass the time.
Some junkie gets some quick fix in a back alley… somewhere, at any given time each day & a girl sits in her apartment feeding her helplessly cute little tabby cat & some hard working prep cook takes a break after making 100 sandwiches during the lunch rush mid-summer in a scenic lake town to sit in his usual little shaded spot on some cute little makeshift park bench just past the curb.
The manager comes out to tell him to smoke further down the street out of view of the customers:
‘I don’t mind you taking a quick smoke break & all, especially after a rush like we just had & it’s pretty quiet as far as any customers go right now… I just can’t let you smoke in plain sight… could leave a few of the guests, I guess, with a false impression about our employees…’
‘alright, yeah that’s cool… makes sense, I’ll move up the block a little more.’
So the kitchen employee finds a new smoke spot
— a new usual go-to smoke corner — walking out lighting up another smoke, wishing it was the off-season at his work, when business was slower… when the checks were nearly the same amount & it cooled off from the sizzled scorch of summer heat to the cool vacant mist of fall & winter snow.
Cold weather cigarettes almost always hit a little smoother & nicer
— a little more mildly soothing & not as noticeably & blatantly in opposition to our preferred senses… hot summers call for a chilled bottle of Bud Light or an iced-cold Coca Cola… or a cold brew with oat milk at some cool & quaint local coffee spot
— everything except cigarettes… any kind of place to escape to & hide out & duck & shy away from the heinous, seemingly mocking ridicule of the heat.
A little saunter down the road could really take the wind right out of your lungs, burning 6 cigarettes.
I read Burroughs — something about junk sick mornings — and Ginsberg — maybe ‘Howl’ or something like it from his Essential compilation.
We do all of these things just to pass the time, it’s all just something to do until that first cigarette & drag off of the vape pen & sip of coffee early the next morning with a new day looming & awaiting.
The junkie, cigarette-smoking kitchen employee, girl who was feeding her cute little cat & myself… all doing the same thing, passing the time, taking care of ourselves & the little things we stay busy attending to, as a way to cope & achieve some semblance of decompression & accomplishment via habitual routine, work & coping mechanisms. All in a day’s work, I guess, so it goes… so it goes.
2
The radiant vibrance of cotton candy skies drapes over lofty, usually fogged in hills.
People awaken slowly & lolly gag & meander over to their ancient & heavily used & stained coffee pots, ambling about in their spacious abodes, trying to find the words to say to their loved ones about anything at all, really just trying to wake up & open their eyes a bit.
The flowers open up & bloom at least the tiniest amount more & the household kittens claw at their scratchpads & the weatherman says to expect perfect weather, more or less the same as previous days, pretty much another Heavenly day.
The citizens dwell within this little slice of Utopia on coastal lands rested atop rolling foothills.
Tea is steamed & seeped, coffee continues to brew & people consume iced or drip coffee & reader’s digest, at leisure to bask & take in a slow sipping kind of morning… up to pretty much nothing & everything, really… just existing with mellow ease.
The lonely, steadily incoming streams of bristling brooks invite loafers to sojourn quietly in humbling bliss a moment — respite from any nefariousness.
A lot reveals itself in gently, quietly calm stillness.
A cute blonde & brunette girl in their early 20s & some intellectual gentleman, with two old books of poetry in his hand, all order white-chocolate mochas at the local café nearby a usually bustling downtown street corner.
Some people cuddle into & curl up amidst their blankets, sleeping in & slowly letting light seep in through the empty space between their blinds, while others — like these three close friends — rise early to the light of dawn.
The clock strikes 6:30 a.m. on the dot, a glowing sunlight just beginning its steady ascent above the clouds, peaking through light cloud cover settling above the town’s lazily, lightly privy, sun drenched, mistily soaked western seaside edge… a crisply sunken, softly sand-scattered, salt-water wind-blown kiss in the air, felt along cheek, skin & scent of all who stroll aimlessly about town, even those who just touched down at the airport about an hour north.
Some awaken with the sun — bright eyed & bushy tailed — still, so too, others turn over in their beds for a little extra beauty sleep, cajoling & pleading.
Wherever locals find themselves bright & early this morning, nothing really bothers them yet because the day has yet to really even begin.
The morning always comes in refreshing undertones.
Everything is worse at night & it’s darkest before the dawn… nonetheless, tomorrow always comes & the morning & a brand new bright eyed day will always sit in eager waiting right around the corner.
3
Dancing under starry eyed moonlit vastness, she rests her soul inside his welcoming outstretched arms, impressed upon the firm snug warmth of his embrace, the two of them tightly pressed against one another’s waist.
‘It’s a complete & utter waste of time without the music of it all, the slow dance to it all…’ she thinks. They connect & link up, hug & kiss countless times.
I guess all the distance only makes hearts grow fonder & small space between beckons two souls to collide. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird…”
The Notebook plays on. Let the song play out to the end… why does every single good book, every single good film, every single good song all fade away?
Fading… all fades away… all that’s good gone away, so here goes nothing… again nothing left up to nothing but fate.
4
Creation is endless & infinite, but at some point… we must dive a little more deeply into one piece of creation & garner the upmost intellect & wisdom from that individual piece via expansive reading or listening or viewing & developing a uniquely adept & intrinsic relationship with the piece at hand.
We only gain an in depth understanding through deep absorption of material, not lightly skimming over all pieces… but finding pure gold within one by means of infinite perpetual insightful meditation.
5
I just sat there. I made so much… for the best. Not too much to do besides listen to music & write.
The music’s all there, the writing is perpetually & futuristically never-ending. The girls come & go. They came & went.
Kind of over the whole lot of the dating scene. Just by my lonely, all by my lonesome little whole heartedly half numb & jaded & half stoked self.
So it goes. So it goes. Girls bum me out. So I bum a cigarette & bump some music & try not to think about all of them so much, the romanticizing of true love & drugs unavoidable & a subtly & stupidly entertaining venture to partake in, I guess… I guess I love all women… all girls.
And the loss of this cute girl & that beautiful one led me right into the arms of nicotine & caffeine, as well as the ones I avoid the most… narcotics, cocaine, MDMA, liquor & all of that.
All for what? Bruh it’s over… like it’s really over… the hard drugs & narcotics phase… all of the girls… the dating scene melodrama & nuances of social media… all of the bullshit flushed down the porcelain drain.
It’s really all over. I’ll be single forever, smoking my 20th to 30th to 40th cigarette of the day, taking my little white pharmaceutical pills, drinking high quality instant coffee with non dairy creamer listening to music I produced or songs & albums I like, all located in a couple playlists on audiomack & Spotify.
I’ll watch some shows I’ve seen about a thousand times on Hulu & HBO & maybe binge watch a new series, too… always writing like Bukowski & reading like a middle aged woman on a stoop both in the middle of nowhere at the heart of the core of everything, skirting out of the way of the girls in leather boots & mini skirts & denim jeans & converse… always skirting out of the way of the drugs with all of their allure & girls with equivalent amounts of allure.
It’s all the same… each day really feeling like a never ending limitless repeating 24 hour loop. Guess I’m on SSI Disability due to a mental handicap & all of that, not an intellectual or emotional awareness or intelligence handicap… just mental factors that make it a little difficult to work a typical, grinding & uncreative 9-5: Bipolar I Schizoaffective with Childhood Trauma, other PTSD, OCD & ADHD.
So at the end of the day, I got money coming in from the government & plan on smoking the same old cigarettes, writing the same old things, listening to the same old playlist, watching the same old shows, taking the same old pills, drinking the same old coffee, reading the same old books & talking to the same old people.
It’s all the same… all the same, but different. The songs switch up a bit… as do the little writings & shows & fiction & poetry… the coffee & cigarettes all hit different this time of the day versus that one, but it all helps just to pass the time… the routines, the habits, the vices & the hobbies to help escape the drudgery by sinking & devoting myself to something both stimulating & familiar, doing it all as if by memory.
Just going to dive into the writings & readings, my book & CD collection, listening to this new LP & that old one, flipping through pages, sipping yet another coffee & smoking yet another cigarette until I feel a soothing level & semblance of clarity.
Chapter 15: Coffee & Creamer
1
Crumbling smashing gnawing crush… crushing crush & smothered trampling of elemental cement below us as we watch the earth dissolve in ways, construction workers on a night shift patrolling the groundwork of laying some new pavement.
So subtly both tightly wounded & steadily sparked
— the wear & tear like holes in the tread of shoes —
from light loosely depleted hole-sunk steadfast rock, gravel & dirt below to pristine new rock & streets paved with the double yellow lines, just a calm safe little highway to roam & coast along on the way back near home with your boyfriend on up to the bench in the park at the top of the hill overlooking all of the sierras & coastal plains & mountain top peaks…
…drip & light drop, the lit little match & cigarette pack & numb headed alleviation of the flick of the cute wrists of the peaceful two & ash, the rainy drizzle brewed up to the most soothing of all storms, tranquil the morning after with the fresh scent of coffee beans being ground up…
…seeping through cotton filter paper, boiled water steaming up the glass of the coffee pot keeping a steady slow drain through the filter, hydrating enough
— water untainted when brought to boil & added coffee of sorts, perfect when paired with egg croissants, followed by 2 seven to 10 minute cigarettes
— roll time included —
with either raw or bugler papers & this new smooth premium pipe tobacco blend I got with an added bummed old but still fiber-glass infused filter found in the ash tray from discarded Class A cigarettes.
I’d rather smoke a bummed filter Rollie than a rolled cigarette without the filter & risk swallowing a pinch or so of tobacco.
I did that the other day a few times & the old anorexic era of mine resurfaced as I reached down my throat to get the tobacco out.
So I learned, rolling with raw papers — susceptible to a kick back of sorts & ingestion — should always be cushioned with a filter between tobacco & lightly fiendish lips… the paper around filter to hold it up.
So it always seems to go with smoking… we learn more tricks as we go along, just as a barista perfects his craft over time via one new trick to the next to whip up a coffee, matcha, or tea beverage with efficiency, precision, artistic aesthetics, flow & perfectly balanced taste.
However, coffee tends to revolve around the consumer, pretty relative to each individually curated taste so it takes a bit of flexibility & nimbly quick & almost deftly calculated amounts of foamed milk & espresso & cocoa & all of that.
With cigarettes, it’s more of a universally helpful methodology to smokers to come up on a trick or two each year they smoke, helping with distilling future experiences that may call for an old dog to use a recently learned trick.
Give a dog a bone & he’ll find something to do with it.
Similarly, when someone hands you a cigarette or asks to borrow a lighter or hands you a handful of tobacco & papers & a roller or one of those machines you crank back & forth with the tubed shaped filter papers or lets you hit their vape, you must know what to do next, both in etiquette & out of necessity to ensure a mildly serene & purely ephemeral drag off of a little smoke with ensuing relieving epinephrine release.
I could go into each of the etiquette cues & this cigarette perk & that little maneuver that helps you achieve the desired come up, but all wisdom comes with time. As in life, we learn new types of cheat codes to the game we play as we go along.
After all, we each play our own game even if only minutely & we basically unlock new levels as we go along & learn new skills & maneuvers & collect either virtual or metaphorical or tangible currency & gather a collection of luxury comfort items out of pure necessity & necessities as a comforting form of coping.
Either way, we just have to play along with it all & lean into everything a bit, even if you’re only a dope little barista on his smoke break… there’s always something around the corner to come up on, but most importantly so much to be grateful for:
the place you’re at with the people who have been there since day one, the very first day you met & everything you’ve experienced.
Gratitude then almost nearly guarantees or at least on some level ensures we’ll become a compassionate contributing element within our local little infrastructure & in a way a connoisseur within the realm of a fundamental niche & some useful role in the spot we currently reside within & exist… grateful for what brought us to where we are today, so stoked on each & every moment — the moment that is forever & always — in the now… always, always looking forward to at least one thing in the future.
I think Elaine from Seinfeld said that, or maybe it was her mom.
Who knows… and like my dad said, I must always keep my options open… my mom always showed me the intent & intrinsic meaning behind art: her ‘believe’ wrist tattoo… like my ‘999 ghost smoke’ & cute little ‘brokenhearted xoxo’ wrist tattoos… one tattoo drawn by the sis of one of my favorite all time human beings & the other the first time this cool girl I worked with ever used her needle on someone… didn’t at all mind christening the beginning of her hobby inking art on others who wanted
— maybe even needed — a tattoo.
She was the perfect tattoo artist the whole way through… seemingly even nonchalant in a way with a professional aura when all was said & done, despite the nerves midway through, this being her first time & all
— but JuiceWRLD playing off of the phone in the background soothed her & sedated me immensely, as did a little of this & some of that & the tattoo turned out pretty dope.
Along with the individual wrist tattoos my mom & I have in common, we both (along with my sister) also share a deep love & connection with cute little written sentiments, like the ones my mom inscribed on my iPod shuffle back in high school:
“never ever ever give up”.
Like my dad, she always had her own way of being so intently thoughtful, like little cute jots of notes or kind remarks & little cute ways of showing love through both writings & things she’d do back before iPhones were a thing & iPods were the wave, trend or whatever, along with getting me dialed in with literally every other thing possibly imaginable in my youth up until now. My sis, too, was always giving me little bits of wisdom here & there in little doses so perfectly spoken & needed at certain times along the high & low intervals & ebbs & flows & dips & woes of this life.
The one that continually stuck & always held an impactful perspective-shaping resonance was the way she’d always so kindheartedly tell me “time heals all wounds brotha.” On another note, I’ll never forget when I bought my first pack of cigarettes for a girl at some 7-11 or some gas station when I was 20 or 21… the smoking age hadn’t been increased from 18 to 21 yet. She always smoked cigarettes & I thought I could be nice & fetch her a pack of Marlboro Golds.
When I got back in the car, I felt a wave of cool level headed energy & stoke, even if I came back a little amused the cashier even sold them to me, thinking they’d not only have to check my ID, but that they’d even sell cigarettes to a previously pretty naive young kid, who maybe doesn’t strike as the kind who had any business buying a pack.
But he didn’t mind. He was rather unamused, but in the good sort of way & after I stealthily enough handed him cash or swiped my card or whatever, slid the pack across the counter as I rolled on out & jumped back in the car. We both drove each other around… she had a car & I had a car.
I didn’t end up smoking until a year later, starting at three cigarettes to a pack a day the whole first year & candy flipping my way into two packs a day for the 10 years until now that followed. But anyways, I hopped in & scooted onto the seat & handed her the pack gently smiling, almost a little low key giddy I could get her a pack.
She looked at me & smiled just as gently, responding something like, ‘oh cool, thank you so much…’ rolling down the window & lighting up a cigarette so intoxicating & pleasant to my senses with all the ensuing energy, just secondhand smoke alone at the time I was all but 20 years young, I don’t know… should’ve known then, like she probably did know about me at the exact moment, that one day I’d be out smoking cigarettes with the best & the worst of them.
Lastly, she looked at me with a smile upon a nice cute little quick pull of the cigarette & said, ‘It’s not what you do (Drew), it’s how you do it.”
—
2
Another day, another dollar, last call, some kind of scholar, new day… bright eyes, slow sips, cloud shrouded sunlight… glow up, could never really stop the shine, repeat the mantra once, twice, three times, strum a chord, bust a move, sing a verse freestyle some rhyme, damn she’s a ten… some dime from Tennessee… the only ten I see, well…
…that’s a lie there’s a whole bunch of dimes to the moon & back, infinitely free, feeling gucci, ice out the machine, keep the peace, all such grace, so much ease, see you in the morning, can’t get it for free, but can get it for cheap… dirty deeds done dirt cheap, so I keep it clean, whip up in the foreign, crank up the AC in the bougie OC… can’t take the heat, but the cigarette still hits alongside the cold brew & iced coffee. Mac Demarco once said:
“half of being a musician is being a poet…’
flipping through pages in his little journalist’s notebook
— the one my ex always used to give me. Guess all writers need music of some kind —
even if it’s just some jaunty chisel of flicked lighters & the bop to the tune of some blues & some Kerouac infused jazzy tunes on at the coffee shop as we open some new little book to read… so serene, the hot tea, girls at the coffee selling merch, hot Chai tea & steaming hot drip coffee… all’s alright & you’re alright with me.
Nights & mornings, slow sips & Mac Demarco crooning like Sinatra:
“oh… is it boring” & the coffee drips, the tea steeps, the pot guzzles & takes in steam & flushes out with incinerate beauty & refreshing steam… just a hint of a hit, bits of bean caught by filter & the powdered ground up bean meets water & cotton, collecting misty drippy dreams & fog of pot… mug… intoxicating coffee bean release:
machine beeps, flourishing finished, rumbled satisfaction of the pot in the little completion of its daily job, the little tumbled mug gathers the first fresh coffee aroma water elements.
In no time, you sip coffee, sure to keep a steady hand, the slow steady pull, sip & flow of coffee out of the pot, out the mug & sinking into pursed lips, grateful for a new day… feeling brand new, bits of melancholy the night before, but refreshing light of day & perfectly heated
— this one’s too hot… this one’s too cold… oh, this one’s just right —
coffee all ready to pour post brew on the little book-filled, poetry-littered coffee table, sliding… always just relaxed, whipping, dipping & skirting out to catch a vibe, view, wave, .wav, mellow scenic cruise, a little of this drizzle, a little of that splatter of light, the shine so subtle, the breeze, bliss, listening to tunes, funds saved… nearly never a lot, but always enough.
Roll up a Rollie, she wouldn’t smoke nicotine if it wasn’t straight out the fresh pack so open up a brand new bag of premium pipe tobacco & roll up a quick cigarette with the bugler papers some guy traded me for a warm soothing cup of coffee, pick the lighter out of my pocket real quick, being sure to light my cigarette, sliding the lighter her way across the table as I also pull out some cute little new Camel Black Series signature pack
— teal design reminiscent of the old Camel Crush logo back in the day… pack the Camel pack really quick in my hand, bumping the pack into the pocket of my hand a few —
maybe two to three times — pulling the top plastic off with the little place for slipping the little plastic lined cover… being sure always, to always keep the cellophane on the package. Cellophane could technically be used as a small baggy, but I really just keep it on for the classic aesthetic & feel of the whole thing.
Taking the cellophane off would be like cheapening the pack.
The haptics wouldn’t be as soothing, you know… almost the equivalent of tossing half your little Starbucks iced foamed mocha with whip out into the trash.
You never know, a friend may put the cellophane to good use.
Not even for what you’d always jump to conclusions & expect… probably even simpler logic & reasoning:
quick fix to a resolution & solution, like the homie needing some tobacco & some papers so you take off the cellophane, add a little pinch of tobacco into the little cellophane bag (enough for 3 cigarettes… give or take) & snugly fit about 4 to 6 papers & maybe some change & a perfectly useful $10 (maybe he was a bum, who had to make a quick run to 7 eleven to actually buy his own extraordinarily valuable
— at times… at least —
pack of Montego Blues… maybe he likes Reds or maybe he’s more of Marlboro 27s guy or Camel 99s type of fellow.
So you hand him this cute little allowance & goody bag for the perfectly reasonable All-American extracurriculars & assets… enough money to buy a cup of coffee & pack of non-filtered Pall Malls on sale at the local grocery outlet or gas station & off your homie goes with a cute little baggie so certifiably classy & classically Class A… a pocket of tobacco & papers to get him off to the races in a way, off to Speedway (the gas station) or Shell… somewhere, cruising on over after rolling up a quick cigarette… some premium pipe tobacco rolled into the surrounding bugler papers.
He lights the cigarette with the lighter you lended him, bidding you farewell… “hell yea, pimp, hope all goes smoothly today, hope the walk into town isn’t too bad.”
He replies,
“oh, I know, me neither, stoked for the change, I was down to nearly nothing after losing my wallet when we were at the bar last night… can’t remember where I left it,”
laughing & scratching his head…
“but you knew that. Alright I’m off… wish me luck,” laughing again, about to cruise on over to the gas station about 10 minutes away, his wife already gone with the car & at work for the next seven such quick yet in some ways such slowly passing hours.
We finish up our little engaging, comforting & comradely commiserations in our own soothingly friendly manner & way, as I lit up a quick smoke, being sure to say one last little final tidbit:
“hey, by the way… hold up really quick… before you take off… here, you can have the lighter, I got a pack of matches & wanted to get a brand new lighter anyways, you can keep that one… you usually love those little baby blue Bic lighters I always seem to have on me… so keep it, it’s all yours homie… love you like a brother, brother.”
Quickly he flushes up in an almost amused stoked little way, responding with a cute little sentiment in return,
“hell yeah, brother, you’ve always been my favorite, but you already know that… love you like I love my little sister, brother… you already know that, family, extended family, it’s all the same… you’ll always be one of my own… alright my friend, got to hit the road… be back in a few. Love you Brody, see you in a few, thanks for the lighter… peace out.”
I smile & wish him the absolute best… namaste:
the divine in me sees the divine in you…
“Shalom… adieu”
Farewell, peace brother, perfect peace.
So thus I recline in my comfy little lazy boy chair, almost more like a couch, out on the deck, slow sips off of the coffee so sedative in my way… feeling the slow soft stimulating yet relaxing rush following a quick little drag & pull off of the rolled cigarette.
So it goes… another day, another dollar, same old routines, different day, all of the same, so much & yet nothing really to say, just hope all the homies are doing well, staying safe, fading but never quite fading away & that all of the realest best friends I ever had find a little refreshing sprinkle of light to shine the true way to flourish on a path once so gray, now filled with bliss & perfectly content low light shade, some spot to chill in & a little blessed internal soul-awakened & enlightened clarity to keep them company, alongside all of the ones they hold so dearly close to their heart, all of their days…
…a little philosophy, grandparents out on the front porch, the kids inside watching Space Jam, Flubber, The Mighty Ducks, Lion King & The Jungle Book & the college kids watching The Bear, Shameless, Vampire Diaries, The OC & Gossip Girl at their respective houses not too far away & the parents stay continually going back & forth, at times chatting with this one in the family or that friend, being sure to keep a steady balance in perspective with the whole thing, amidst all this with everything going on. The world spins madly on.
Maybe all we needed was coffee in the morning, a little bit of something to pour in the evening, a little night cap, slowly sipping in the wee small hours of the morning, as well as in the wee small hours of the evening, sunrise to sunset with good sleep after 11 p.m. & before 5:30 a.m. Maybe all I ever needed was a quick trip to the gas station, smell of diesel, quick pit stop to grab some AM PM coffee & pack of Marlboro 27s as I make my way on over to the coffee shop (a little date with one of my besties… if you could call the outing a date… still, got to see about a girl like a little Matt Damon in the old 90s film… who knows if I actually need any therapy… well, probably just need to make my coolly so soon scheduled little psychiatry appointment & definitely the perfect amount of coffee with the coolest girls & some of the dopest homies).
You never know, something good is always around the corner, as I cross up onto the sidewalk, see someone skating on by & girls on their way out of the coffee shop nearby. I hop into the bookstore really quick, purchase a few new books
— some Hemingway, Steinbeck & maybe even a little so refreshingly cool of an edition of a novel by Dylan Thomas —
collect the receipt, to be utilized as a makeshift bookmark in at least one of the selected novels & pull out the fresh pack from AM PM, light up a smoke in the parking lot… little tidbits of ash & sedative-like-stimulant-like effects of the flick to ash to flick to cusp to wrist flick, a little inhale & exhale, almost a perfect little space to catch some fresh air (at least we like to consider it the best way to catch our breath) & a quick 7 minutes later
— maybe in Heaven or the Afterlife —
here comes another skater cruising on by as a cute girl in a brand new Benz stops to let him pass; I smile in my own mellow way at both the skater & her, finishing the last few drags of my cigarette.
The skater sends good energy my way & so does the girl, quickly glancing my way with such a serenely cute coolly nonchalant smile… I walk across the street, ash out my cigarette quick in the little spot for smokes sometimes available on the upper portion of local neighborhood trash cans & open the door gently to the coffee shop, needing a coffee as if I needed one since yesterday, seeing my friend the moment I opened the door, smiling, talking… all of that commiserating & in a matter of moments, we make our little drink orders
— hot mocha with whip cream for me & a blended iced white mocha for her.
Just like that, the day had so serendipitously only just begun.
Chapter 16: Reefer Glass
hooded glances sink all misty-eyed
working on dying, endless motion
junkies loitering in the vacant parking lot
desperately need a hit off something
skate rats at the park near the high school
girls headed in pairs of twos to the bathroom
some older couple reading a daily paper
really nothing new in the news
reading Kurt Vonnegut just to pass the time
doing anything just to pass the time
i think i’ll die here, if that’s alright with you
i’ll fade away, a veil of Elliot Smith & drugs
Broke boy with a bad attitude… crude & rude
Dogs barking see his ripped jeans
Smoke drifting out the little smoking area
Fog clouding over in plumes above the city
Little playboy bunny with the cute little bunny ears
He’ll never figure her out, what she’s ever up to
Just want to die snugly on a rainy day
When does all of the drudged monotony end
She broke my heart… her, her & her
They all did just by simply existing
This is the poem for hookers & moon gazers
Stupid worn out converse have holes in them
she’s in a mini skirt fetching a cab in the city
the cab stops in no time
maybe the cab driver likes her in the rear view
the mirror clearly showing up her skirt
stupid perverted little cab driver
stupid whimsical & the slightest bit slutty girl
I drank at terminal 3
I vaped in the airplane restroom
I died 34 times last week
I continue to die daily
didn’t feel good to sink to any level
better all up in my head
I wonder if the old homie got locked up
one of the old homie’s doing time right now
It’s only a matter of time
Change is always right around the corner
Pocket some loose change
No sign of light
Bunker & hunker down in the rain
First loss of light
Dusk to dawn… night night night
Sweet dreams sweetheart
I want to get high, but sadly can’t
Puts my relationships in jeopardy
Numb feelings trickle trickle trickle
Down the mountain the shredded line
Lost in thought, always lost in thought
I write using stone against rock
Little carvings etched into the rock face
You’re stupid… I’m stupid… we’re all so stupid
You could just give up the whole act
The old author sitting pounding away at the old typewriter
The cat lady chasing after all of her kittens
What drab lives we all lead
Drags off the spliff in back alleys
Leaving behind just poetic fragments of who we are
Who knew she could grow to be so cute
22… in college… studying literature
I’m over here philosophically looking into the existentialist point of it all
I’d rather read Bukowski talk about horse races
She was cute in her own way when she slammed the door in my face
Guess she was mad I had texted that other girl
Oh well, oh well
Used to listen to lots of music
Still listen to lots of music
I trust his & her taste
I have some CDs & a book collection
Played some Mazzy Star today & finished the novel Junky by William Burroughs
Kind of helps to read to slow the mind down & such
Currently reading Milan Kundera: The Unbearable Lightness of Being
as well as the poems of Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg, Sylvia Plath, Willa Cather & Leonard Cohen
Also picked up Bradbury’s ‘Fahrenheit 451’ & a Steinbeck novel, as well as Kaur’s ‘Milk & Honey’ & ‘Norwegian Wood’ by Murakami
So I got plenty to catch up on & read this month
Music is cool too
But really all I want to hear is the keys of the typewriter
Pew pew pew
The manuscript is all up in the air
Maybe the novel will never be finished
From this tweet to that tweet, it’s all so mindless
Try to delve into some idea on a deeper level
Nothing to dive into… the boy in his winter coat jumps into flurries of powdered snow… yippee
Hooray for the optimists
Thank God for the cynical people too
Good to be realistically positive
He says she talks too much
She says he doesn’t listen enough
The cruelly beautiful cycle of life unfolds
New day brings about fresh coffee
I sip & puff at my cigarette & read one of my twenty books
An album comes on the speaker
Some Zach Bryan ditty
Cool ex-navy country music
Onto Lou Reed & Mac Demarco
Chet Baker & Tom Petty & Nico
Pavement & Nick Drake
Slow Dive & The Cure
I’m about a slow life
Grinding away the minutes
Tuning in & tuning out from everything around me
Bro what the fuck are you talking about?
Honestly bro, I forgot… but hey, wanna piece a cigarette together?
Absolutely… but stop all of the small talk… I’m over talking about such bull shit antics… the weather this, this girl that… crank back up the music, smoke with me in our lil solitude, in some semblance of peace
God of all, I really do hope you have saved a place for me in Heaven. I’ve done a lot in my life & You of anyone know how much I’ve been through. At the end of the day, life is so short & we can’t do much, but make the most of our time here on Earth. Sometimes it seemed the only way to make the most of my time was to come up on some substance, only providing short term relief. Life, at least at times, definitely feels like Hell or just a dull recess. So I hope somehow I’ve done enough to pass through this Hellish Purgatory & make it into the Heavenly gates. I’ve fucked up too many times to count. I fuck up multiple times a day, sometimes heeding more to ways of the devil than to you, either by falling into negative thinking or lusting over some internet site or heading back to substances, forming a terrible rift between my family and me, as well as a disconnect in my relationship with You. I ask that you come into my life at all times. Help me to stay clean — I’ve been clean & sober for 7 months. Help me to always say no to substances & hopefully find a nice play to live to settle down, continue writing & maybe meet some nice girl down the road. My sis says time heals all wounds. I really do believe that. Please keep safe guard of & protection over my family. At the end of the day, I just want to do the most I can with the little I got. Above all, I know I compared life to some Hellish Purgatory, but we really do have the ability enjoy each & every day, another day in paradise, another day in your warm embrace & light. Through you all things are possible & you once kind of indirectly communicated to me in the pews of the church in Cohassett, I can do anything I set my mind to. I believe I can. Without you, all seems nearly impossible. But with you, a new miracle happens every day, even the simple act of chatting with my family & waking up to brewed coffee, a hot plate of food & the leisurely ability to smoke & write & listen to music & read & watch films & TV & football. I’m eternally grateful for my family, the gift of life & whatever comes after. I hope Heaven in the Afterlife makes it all worth it. Even if I just rot & my soul floats away into your embrace, I will just be so grateful for all the ways I have been hurt & blessed in this life because all of my experiences gave me a unique perspective on the intrinsic beauty, humor & poetic melancholic sweetness of living. I love you. To many more days of sobriety, hot coffee in the morning & time spent in pure bliss with family.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen
Chapter 18: demure haikus
long lost trodden state
where do you wander off to
little lonely star
—
i smoked cigarettes
thinking about you only
piece this last with you
—
writing here again
out of pure necessity
what do writers do?
—
little cute readings
dharma bum sipping some tea
climbing the mountain
—
pour up cup of joe
coffee date with a cute girl
cold brew with oat milk
—
got to write the novel
i tell myself i’ll write soon
yet i put it off
—
energy shifting
avoid the place it drains out
seek pure energy
—
all goes up in smoke
lost just blowing in the wind
souls live forever
—
someone says hello
I respond back gently… kind
so nice to see you
—
haikus kind of cool
art is in the poetry
ignore the complex
—
bored… so commonplace
you could have thousands of books
yet never read one
—
sitting all lonesome
someone sits by close to me
numb feelings trickle
Chapter 19: Depressed Recess
This is all so stupid
$uicideboy$ in the D.A.R.E. t shirts
Smoking… you know, a breath of fresh air
can’t write the novel… it’s played out
poetry + music comes in doses
sedatives & stimulants go a long way
What’s anyone ever even talking about
Small talk… gossip… small talk… gossip… back & forth sway of it all
Banter… banter… banter
Music… it’s a beautiful thing
Dip out of the party in a few seconds
Want you to look me in the eyes for 10 seconds & hold me tight for a little while, hug me so close before I break down crying like a lil baby
It’s really not too bad
Break down tobacco by my side
Car broken down on the side of the road
What do you want from me? me & my aloof tendencies, hopelessness blues & addictive personality
trendsetters all but gone away
who’s actually hot & who’s not
need the pharmacy to deliver like the US Postal Service
where do we go from here
i’m on a cloud… the last thing i need is benzodiazepines
oh you again… fashionably late looking low key kinda hot… so cute
Chapter 20: Maybe We’re Already Dead
When we die, I think we realize we were already dead…
For instance, when we go to sleep, we only ever remember waking up again. We have no recollection of the time in a perpetual blacked out dream state — a state we all but skip in the process from going to bed to waking up…
Therefore, if we ever pass away, the only thing we will ever have consciousness of is waking up again.
We won’t remember the time our body is asleep, or rather dead… we will only realize when we wake up in the next lifetime.
Personally, I believe in a spiritual place (or a spirit world) known as the Afterlife, as well as in the reincarnation of all plants, animals & beings back into the universe, to evolve & transfuse into new beings.
Although I believe in reincarnation, I think that applies to the future of creation, not to what happens to us when we die. I think we roam a unique realm in pure freedom from usual earthly ties, suffering & attachment.
Not to say I don’t believe in God & The Lord Jesus Christ.
Without God, this whole thing wouldn’t even be remotely fathomable.
Some may say it’s the Big Bang.
Something may have started from nothing, or the crashing of two sources of life harnessing energy.
Matter is neither created nor destroyed… but somehow & someway this whole universe was created.
Unless in some way, the universe & God & the entire solar system & elements were just here in some shape or form since the beginning of time.
And for all it’s worth, it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that there was no beginning: of time & the universe. That time & the universe— like God — has simply always been in continuous residual existence.
God could be anything to each kind of individual asked. You ask a little girl & she may say God is her parents who’ve always been there when she had nightmares or wanted to jump in their lap to give them a hug.
You ask an astrophysicist & he may say the universal planetary energy is God itself, causing & shaping everything in our periphery (I honestly just made that up… I have no idea what an astrophysicist does, but you get the point… we all conjure up our own idea of who & what God is).
This isn’t really a scientific read, or anything… I studied psychology in college, not philosophy or science.
In actual reality, I know nothing more than that guy you always see on your morning commute. I know just as much about anything in relation to what happens to us when we die & religion & spirituality as anyone who has ever walked this earth & knows even the slightest thing about Tarot readings & astrology & all of that.
But for the longest time, I wanted to dive deeper into this subject.
I am slightly attuned to the more imaginative & non-morbid ideas of death… just an inkling I’ve had ever since smoking my first cigarette, experimenting with DMT trips, acid tabs & mushrooms & all of that.
I’ve thought about our place as little specks in the overarching grand scheme of this whole thing.
Back to my very first sentence used to start the whole article off, something I’ve always come back to — an idea:
When we die, I think we realize we were already dead…
It’s highly likely we wake up from the dream — the simulation — we are in to reality as it actually is…
So here goes my take on what happens the moment we die:
I believe, first & foremost, there is a Heaven & there is no Hell… for everyone. At least, it closer resembles Heaven than Hell: simply a soul’s place in which to exist in some outer realm & blissful ideal universal state of being known as the Afterlife… a place to grasp Nirvana.
Maybe… just maybe
We all go to whatever our version of the Afterlife is. No matter who we are & whatever we did… we will all experience a state of the Afterlife.
If we like to read & write, we’ll be surrounded by books & the ability to write. If we like to listen to music, we’ll have all of the music we need to listen to for all of eternity. If we like to draw, we’ll have new ink pens & sketchpads & colored pencils. If we like to drive cars, we’ll have a full garage with cars somewhere…
But that’s only because when we wake up from life’s dream, we’re now alive in a realization we’ve been dead the whole time & can still escape in ghostly form to places similar to the ones we enjoyed in our lifetime, from art shops to record stores & cafés.
I think we all end up waking up in a ghostly spiritual realm nearly equivalent to Heaven. But what we do on Earth now seeps into what we will ably do in the Afterlife. The Ghost & Soul carry on long after we die & we continue doing what we love, in this lifetime to the next after death. Death just really awakening us…
The way I look at it, from a philosophical standpoint… back to the religious aspect, the reasoning many follow in the lead of Jesus Christ lay in the fact He symbolizes most of what could ever be found to be Holy in mankind… not that he is or isn’t God himself… God made in man’s image… I still, to this day, debate whether He & God are two separate distinct beings or one in the Same Trinity so that when He was praying to God in the garden or whatever & was tempted by Satan, He was actually just praying to Himself… maybe God & Jesus Christ & The Holy Spirit & the Devil & all of the demons & angels within the galaxy all play a balancing act.
…who is Satan anyways? Just the devil pimping out evil. But angels & demons involve themselves with all things — not necessarily in as such extremes as God & Satan — but on a smaller level… like some optimistic angelic girl in one ear & a bad bitch up to no good in the other… there’s angels & demons to all of this.
Maybe… this is all speculation.
But maybe… when we die, we become an angel or demon for those still living on Earth. We whisper in their ear or cause the onset of certain outcomes.
Or maybe, when we die, the soul has a way of haunting or blessing other individuals in close bond to that individual on Earth during a transformation in which the soul escapes from its bodily cage.
I believe the main reason, in the life we live out currently, to follow in the lead of Jesus Christ & the main point for why we should all emulate Jesus Christ, was because he not only showed us how to truly love & heal others via words & actions & how to handle all levels of suffering with the upmost grace & dignity… but also never ever gave up on a better, kinder, brighter & lighter world…
By living in the footsteps of Jesus Christ (speaking from studies in Psychology at UC Davis & my own fascination with the idea of the human psyche), we essentially give ourselves a means of vulnerable transference of our pain into the arms of another being, blessing us with a perspective that, no matter what we go through on Earth, there’s someone out there — in this case Jesus Christ, as well as every one of the ancestors who’ve gone before us — who has surely been through a similar, if not somewhat greater pain than the one we may face today. This transference of our pain to Christ makes our pain easier to deal with.
We need only to compare the first world problems we currently face (such as stress of raising a family or bitter resentment & jealousy of a girl who’s with a boy you like or a lingering substance abuse problem) to what Jesus went through in his 3 days on the Hill of Calvary — being brutally crucified & made an absolute mockery of & pretty much completely beaten & tortured in front of his Mother, the Virgin Mary & his closest friends — the Disciples & Apostles.
When we compare the problems we go through with the crucifixion itself, we gain a whole new perspective on the severity of our issues & realize our lives are not falling apart & there’s still a lot more to live for.
By achieving the smallest little things today, we unlock a way of blessing the many generations to come after us — with the works we do in our lifetime.
Who knows, maybe in the year 3030, my great-great-great nephew will be on his holographic watch, or whatever new technology they have then & will pull up my Substack or website.
You never know, the Apps we use today could simply just be viewed on more futuristic technology in the days to come. Essentially, people may still interact with older sites of the .com era: apps like WordPress or Substack shared from one person to another.
In his life, Mahatma Gandhi wrote something along the lines of, ‘whatever we do in life is insignificant, but it’s very important that we do it.’
I wholeheartedly & sincerely agree with this. On a further note, I think we are all artists.
Whatever our art form is — whether that be music or sports or business or whatever (it’s all an artistic form of pursuit & expression… yea, even in business & law, the way they handle changes on the stock market & analytically defend a case… so too an actor or writer or someone who likes to draw or a chef) — we all usually seek to potentially leave a legacy that will impact generations down the line, hoping to exchange some more light, insight & wisdom about this universe, leading always to a better day tomorrow than it was yesterday.
So, in the Afterlife as well, we look back on all we did in this lifetime. So the way I think about it, in my mind, when we die & enter into the Afterlife, the legacy & things we did for others & the things we created are all important… as one day, we will look back on our lives, either in a Hellish state of regret & shame (most likely not the case) or a type of ever so graceful & Heavenly acceptance & sincere warmth & awe. Similar to the way Max always wanted to die as light as a feather in Marcus Zusak’s novel ‘The Book Thief’ narrated from death’s point of view.
I like to think there is a Heaven — or in this case The Afterlife — simply because — for instance — if Jesus had said his final words, ‘they know not what they do’ in his last most agonizing ab crushing breaths for nothing & really had never resurrected or ascended into Heaven… then maybe this was all for nothing.
Maybe the impossibility of a world without any logical reasoning to existence is why people cling onto old fashioned traditional religious ideals within the Holy Bible & the idea of Jesus dying for our sins… almost as a way of writing off our lives… that whatever we do, Jesus has already saved us & will soon enact a promise to deliver us into Heaven.
It’s easier to believe in salvation than it is to ignore it altogether, let alone contemplate going to Hell.
A little bit ago… someone asked me if I knew I was saved. I was stunned & puzzled at this question & didn’t know how to answer them. I wanted to rebuttal it quickly: ‘how would you ever know until your time is up…’
For the longest time, I’ve considered myself a Zen Taoist Catholic… I was confirmed Catholic on a religious level, but on a spiritual level — my cozy little niche, where I spent most of my time residing in (the spiritual realm) & contemplating — I believed, not necessarily in any sort of Buddhist ideology, but in the Zen offshoots of it, most especially the teachings of Lao Tzu in his 2 part book: the Tao te Ching… which had as heavy an impact on my Spiritual beliefs as the Bible would reasonably hold to any old die hard Christians.
To a Taoist, Tao is essentially the Way, or the fundamental life essence in Everything: the Godly element in life. The Tao is the source & ideal of all existence — ultimately the same as saying God, but instead of referring to a being, the Tao refers to an almost atmospheric element.
When we act unnaturally, we upset the natural balance of the Tao, which is always aiming at perfect equilibrium within the universe, the balancing of opposites. Wu-Wei, or ‘the ebb & flow of non-action, responding with as minimal action as possible’, is one of the core concepts in Taoism, to not fight against — for example — the tides of the river, but to move in alignment with the changing tide & flow of the river’s current.
The minute we start opposing the Natural Way (the Tao) of the world, we are working against some greater universal energy & these actions could end up squelched & disrupted. We must flow with the universe. The Tao realigns all things to their true destiny, inspiring & initiating only what was meant to come to fruition.
In Taoism, what is meant to be will always be, as what is meant to be is also aligned with some greater universal nature. The Tao conspires in our favor so long as we accept & embrace whatever comes our way & go with the ebbs & flows of this life.
Anyways, to keep the story moving forward, I’d been messing around with some substances — the substances I always preferred to mess with were stimulants, whether coffee or black tea or nicotine & all of the others that follow suit & my pharmaceuticals prescribed to me were always pretty much sedatives.
Finding a chemical balance in the Bipolar ADHD of it all was always the trickiest thing. Had to figure it out. One of these days, all of it wouldn’t feel so awfully tiresome…
I wound up at a Christian Rehab Facility. One of those places that bleeds hard the whole mission statement, ‘Jesus Saves’.
They had made me hold up this sign one of my first days there as cars drove past. I was working at one of their job sites trying to get clean. The sign said ‘Honk for Jesus’. I was semi enthused & laughing my way through holding the sign when two pretty attractive girls drove by & flipped me off, giggling & laughing as they drove by, a little bit laughing both at & with me… I guess in this new day & age, it pays more to invest in a pack of Tarot Cards than to invest in a Holy Bible.
At the Christian Rehab Spot, we had designated smoke times, bible study in the morning & we had to work some time at one of the job sites — auto repair, auto detail, construction, kitchen, landscaping, etc. (after a few days, I helped with Auto Detail).
But every Sunday, without fail, we would be required to attend two Church services. One of the churches had an almost cult-like audience (but also some of the cutest girls too so I didn’t mind getting dressed up to honor God every Sunday… but was still far away from being there for the right reasons, still in it to kick the temptations of drugs momentarily
& pretty girls never hurt). After all, it was an all-male Rehab so I took what I could get as far as the girls went, even if it was only a glance in passing on Sunday. A few of the leading members of the church liked to visit us Rehab Boys over at the Mission.
Well, this guy sits down & wants to know my life story. Does he really care or does he just want to make sure I’m not another delinquent attending his church? Should I give him the TL;DR or my whole life story? I decide to spill off somewhere in between.
Yeah… I guess I’ll tell you the gist of how I got here, brotha…
Had a couple loving girlfriends in the past… in one of my more intense semi-recent relationships with my cute & thoughtful college ex, I joined a ski or snowboard club in college where I started to party lots more & partake in extracurriculars. I tried this & that for the first time in the winter of 2015-2016 after a summer spent at music festivals. I had picked up a little cigarette habit too, in late Spring of 2015.
In a few years, my ex & I broke up, after an unsuccessful stint with her in New York trying to land a job at SoundCloud & things of that nature, while she was going to school at Columbia for her masters. She was applying for a PhD program at Harvard a little later. I was dragging her down from her true potential & she only clung onto me so tightly because I was something safe & comfortable.
It was time for both of us to break away amicably, spread our wings & live independently of one another for the first time in three & a half years. The break up was about a year in the making & was an absolutely necessary move.
We smoked a cigarette in the park on the Upper Westside, even though she had given up smoking. I told her, just this last time, to smoke a cigarette with me again, to share one final smoke, almost more symbolic than anything, before I grabbed my already packed bags & took the first plane headed back home to California.
She called me crying nearly everyday for about a month to two months after, but soon fell into the arms of her soon-to-be-husband & all was alright in both of our worlds again.
I moved to the town we’d always have our Ski or Snowboard Club cabin trips at. I worked a small little local job as a barista & sandwich artist & flatbread cook. All was pretty good, but I started to fall into little drug tendencies & temptations again.
The drugs & alcohol were always around most weekends. The girls came & went, like cigarettes. I had a few crushes & a few fell through that I hoped would lead to more. My heart felt broken, not because of a girl or anything like that… just this utterly numb & overwhelmingly barren void I felt — some inexplicable void — I had no cure for. Like there was just a gaping hole in my heart no girls could heal me of… the only thing that did the trick for a brief instant was a drag off the cig & some drug habit.
Soon enough, it caught up to me & I was about to get into some trouble if I didn’t check into some mental hospital soon. Plus, I really hadn’t been feeling the way I typically do mentally, which — as an impulsive Aries with Bipolar 1 & an undeveloped frontal lobe — did lead to more susceptibility to risky decisions. Usually, in life — when offered — I could never refuse substances. I never had the little voice in my head telling me no, just a strong urge in the other direction, saying ‘fuck it, why not…’ & I’d use.
3 mental hospitals later & they ended up transferring me from the ski town to a college town about three hours away… away from the degeneracy of the old town & I was back to square one & ground zero. I knew nobody & was broke & homeless. But there was a cute little low barrier homeless shelter. I stayed there for several months while I got back on my feet.
I didn’t know what ‘low barrier’ meant until I had been there for a minute. I guess it pretty much means, so long as you get high off the property & weren’t found with any sort of substance on you, you could get away with getting high everyday & staying at the shelter. The staff was pretty nonchalant & carefree about the whole drug policy & hardly ever enforced it. But when I first got there, I had tried to evade any type of drug scene like the one back home.
I kept just smoking cigarettes — 2 packs of Montego Blue 100s — everyday, continuously sipping on Taster’s Choice Instant Coffee for the first few months with money from my dad & EBT Food Stamp Money.
I’d fuck around from time to time, but wanted to get away from any lingering kinds of drug tendencies. So I went to rehab after checking into a hospital & crisis center a few times in a row… off to the land where you read a Bible regularly & are not permitted access to phones. I’d be writing my family handwritten cards & playing guitar from time to time & listening to music off an old radio.
And here I am, talking to this guy who currently asks if I know I’m saved. To answer the question… yes in some ways, as someone previously baptized, I like believing I’m saved.
But there’s so much more that this man asking me this question didn’t see in relation to the whole picture of existence. Essentially, we must save ourselves by our actions, words & responses to the things we feel. Heaven isn’t a destination after we die, in the same way the Afterlife is. Heaven is a state of utter fulfillment relative to our sweetly impermanent lives on Earth. Heaven is a desired state of blissful peaceful coexistence in life as a human being. We create & manifest life as a blissful & Heavenly experience when we act, speak & feel in a way that invigorates & revitalize us, going towards positive high vibrational energy & staying away from the lower forms of energy seeking to drain us.
Life is suffering. We know that, as showcased by all we could put pen to paper on about all of the things we’ve been forced to or happened to endure over the span of our lifetime.
Jesus Christ (the Heavenly Father) showed us the true meaning of sacrifice, suffering for the good of humanity & those around Him. But there’s many cases of suffering that go even beyond the utmost pain suffered by Lord Christ on the Cross. Maybe they don’t go beyond that fateful day on the cross, but nonetheless there are many cases of extreme levels of suffering in this world, in our lives & others’.
Think about Jewish people forced to endure starvation & being gassed in gas chambers — months on end in concentration camps with hardly any water or food, or any small amounts of human dignity afforded to them.
Or the mere existence of slavery back in the day & the hate given black people for years & years & years… without even a hint of any remorse by those seeking to subordinate them…
Jesus suffered 3 of the most grueling days. Jewish people suffered months on end of inhumane agonizing torture & black people years (nearly a few centuries) of cruelty towards them.
Same with Tibetan monks, who in protest to some war — I’ve seen this somewhere on the internet… I can’t place it, but I’ve seen somewhere that as a way of protesting some government regime or war going on (Tibetan monks, as I was saying) — actually walk into a gas lit flared fire with just the shawl or whatever they got covering them — the little robe that monks always wear — and in some kind of way, set themselves on fire & stay perfectly calm in spite of being burned to death as a result of their complete meditative ability to abandon & dispel any feelings of suffering & pain.
So many of us go on hurting ourselves & others, yet so few of us master the artful gift of overcoming & releasing the traumatic constraints of lifelong suffering.
In Buddhism, as detailed in Hermann Hesse’s book ‘Siddhartha’ about a bodhisattva — who’d one day go on to become the Buddha — Siddhartha goes through every walk of life, from a life of wealth & excess to a life of lust to a life rejecting all wealth & material possessions. He realized, no matter what, in every walk of life, there are four noble truths.
Here are the Four Noble Truths in detail:
The Truth of Suffering (Dukkha):
Life is characterized by suffering, dissatisfaction, or a fundamental unease.
— This encompasses physical pain, emotional distress, the impermanence of pleasant experiences & the anxiety that comes with the transient nature of all things.
That is why, I say, the Afterlife will be the release of all of the chains & sufferings of this life.
The Truth of the Cause of Suffering (Samudaya):
The root cause of suffering is craving, thirst, or attachment to worldly desires and experiences.
— This attachment stems from ignorance about the true nature of reality… inability to grasp an innate interconnectedness of oneself in relation to everything in existence.
The Truth of the Cessation of Suffering (Nirodha):
There is an end to suffering.
— Suffering can cease when the craving & attachment that cause it are extinguished.
…this state of liberation is known as Nirvana.
The Truth of the Path to the Cessation of Suffering (Magga):
The way to end suffering is to follow the Noble Eightfold Path. This is a path of spiritual practice, living ethically, and cultivating wisdom to free the mind from ignorance & suffering.
The Eightfold Path is a set of eight practices — 3 core points, 8 in total
Wisdom:
Right View — Having a clear understanding of the Four Noble Truths and the nature of reality, including karma and impermanence
Right Intention — The resolve to be free of ill will, harm, and cruelty, and to instead cultivate compassion & non-violence.
Ethical Conduct:
Right Speech — Abstaining from lying, slander, harsh words & idle gossip. Speaking truthfully, kindly & constructively
Right Action — Behaving peacefully & harmoniously by not killing, stealing, or engaging in sexual misconduct
Right Livelihood — Earning a living in an ethical way that does not harm others (trading in forms of goods & the arts, etc., not trading in sorts of intoxicants, etc.)
Mental Discipline:
Right Effort — The intentional effort to prevent unwholesome states of mind from arising and to cultivate wholesome states
Right Mindfulness — Maintaining a clear and non-judgmental awareness of the body, feelings, mind, & thoughts in the present moment
Right Concentration — Developing a focused & universally aligned mind through meditation & other sorts of ways to clear the head to ultimately achieve a state of inner peace & perfect tranquility
The eightfold path cultivates wisdom, ethics & mental discipline to achieve liberation from suffering & so too enhancement of current consciousness & a blissful state of universally awakened enlightenment.
So, in a sense, the eightfold path is all about what we feel & think, respectively & respectably making moves based on what we feel & think to cultivate a higher meditative state fundamentally beyond capacities of usual suffering.
By always residing a little above it all, we can ignore all lower level energy forces eagerly awaiting to drag us down & we can escape all subsiding drudgeries, monotonies & ways of suffering through brand new focused mentalities, total wisdom on karma & impermanence & ethical ways to act from this life to the next lifetime.
Most vitally, in both the life we currently lead & in the Afterlife that follows, we naturally will end up gravitating to a Spiritual state of being, such as the ones found within Taoist & Zen Philosophies: existing according to the ideals of the Yin-yang, balancing counterparts, establishing a sense of collective consciousness & finding a rhythmic wave & flow to life in the hopes of achieving the ideology of the elusive & rarely grasped state of Nirvana.
The only difference from this life to the Afterlife is that the Soul Being experiences a constant never ending state of Nirvana, which is defined — in Buddhism, as well as in Zen & Taoist doctrines — as a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the being is released from the effects of karma & the cycle of death & rebirth… the final goal in the Afterlife is to be aligned with the Tao & its universal energy & live on a moment-to-moment zen level basis & live in ever bliss states of Nirvana.
Chapter 21: the melancholy to the whole thing
in life, there is a melancholic aspect i find myself despondently wading through lately. so many little things throughout the day break my heart in their tiny ways all at once.
today, i woke up & had a nice enough meal & felt pretty decent… as we all usually do in the light of a new day.
i slowly sipped coffee & hit a drag off a cigarette after a good night’s sleep… still a little too early to really feel any kind of way so far.
soon enough, though — even in early Fall — the temperature spiked & it got almost unbearably hot as the day went on, the warmth burning slowly & beating against my skin miserably.
i was listening to some music, as I always do & caught up on everything on the web & didn’t have all that much to do… just bored — even with an iPhone, with literally every kind of app i could ever need to take my mind off things & stay preoccupied.
we’re all too overly preoccupied as it is. the last thing i need is to stare at my phone all day.
who knows…
really, what else is there to do, if we don’t distract ourselves in little escapist pleasures? Maybe we could converse from time to time or play cards or dominoes or whatever & smoke & sip on something… or maybe we could play video games & watch skate films… but no matter what we do, all these things are still a form of escapist pleasure. so who really cares what we do with our free time so long as we respond kindly to others & still stay up to date on everything we need to do. no wonder we’re on our phones so much… otherwise we’d just stare out into oblivion, unless hopefully we had a book on our lap… most of the time, all we really got is our phone.
i usually wind up just engaging with the world from afar… swiping, tuning in & tuning out & listening to this & that, reading, scrolling & writing.
i tried opening up a book as the day unfolded & the morning progressed, but couldn’t really bring myself to follow along with the words strewn on the page. i gave up after a couple failed attempts at reading a chapter… i’ll try again tomorrow, hopefully with different results to Willa Cather’s poetry. soon enough, i picked up where i left off in my notes (i use this app on my iPhone called Paper with cool haptic feedback typewriter effects, in case you were wondering or wanted to know where i wrote all of my work down).
usually i write rather fluidly & quickly in the usual routine stream-of-consciousness fashion, but this time… i could barely bring myself to plug away one letter at a time, hardly typing away, just getting by so slowly from one bash to the next.
maybe i was still just waking up or didn’t choose a pertinent topic to write about. i don’t usually have any writer’s block & it’s infrequent i can’t bring myself to either read or write, often with a little music — some album i like (i.e Ethel Cain’s new one, ‘Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You’ that I’m listening to right now & have had on repeat) — in the background to move along the process of finding the right words out of thin air & think with clarity without the intolerable static of utter silence… absence of sound drowning out all ability to focus & collect my thoughts. music is key.
but i couldn’t even really enjoy a lot of the albums i was throwing on, either overwhelmed & overstimulating or just insufferable. and the words weren’t spilling out of me & nothing was really striking my soul’s match.
there was some tension… some unhealed damage & wound… something interfering with my ability to intake & create, absorb & process — chemicals inept at sparking a release of some artistic form of expression or decompression.
as i was listening to music in a rather solemn state of mind, i kind of just hunkered down & allowed the feelings to dissipate a little in a few hours & fall off my shoulders, the weight of this gnawing feeling in the core of my chest overburdening.
i ended up deleting all of the music off my library… all besides 3 albums:
$UICIDEBOY$ — ‘THY KINGDOM COME’
Pouya — ‘The South Got Something to Say’
Ethel Cain — ‘Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You’
my day got progressively better ever since i dwindled & narrowed down my library to my three current favorites & eliminated all of the clutter. junk in the heart is junk in the mind, after all… so too, whenever we see clutter, our minds naturally become cluttered. minimalism, on the other hand, tends to soothe the inner soul.
sometimes, if i’m not vigilant, these sadder phases actually end up lasting a lot longer & extending on for a few months if i don’t take proper little precautions, like being mindful of my thoughts & adjusting music to moods. music & mood truly go hand in hand.
the music we listen to & the novels we read & the things we dedicate our energy & time to & the thoughts we allow ourselves to cultivate should aim at the highest levels of self awareness, self realization & a kind of awakened insight & enlightenment.
mindless scrolling through socials would probably have helped a little in taking my mind off the melancholy. but i could think of better ways to spend my time… i’m kind of burnt out on every social besides Substack tbh.
best to write my thoughts down… in time, in time, i’ll get to it, as i always find a way of doing. the day dragged on as i hit drags off a cig, to take the edge off & come up a bit.
we’re presumably always either down & out or coming up… i felt down & out at the time before things kicked into gear. my head was fogged up & cloudy. i was hoping to come up on something cooler soon. i really just wanted to be so softly hugged & told it would all be okay & turn out just fine & that it wasn’t my fault… like the therapy scene in Good Will Hunting.
my friend used to tell me that i was too in my head always… but that’s the only place i know… to be blunt, i don’t know how to get out of my head.
for me, being in my head was always the safest place to be…
i’ll forever just be stuck in my head in perpetual melancholy. another day… so too, another cigarette & another coffee… plus some soothing music to be stoked about & written little notes & books on the shelf & coffee table: dopamine & serotonin boosts.
the feelings i had all day eventually went away, as all things do in time. ‘time heals all wounds’, my sis would always tell me. sometimes it’s the simplest changes we make that could lead to a profoundly new perspective & mood & way of thinking about a situation & how we connect back with ourselves & relate with the universe.
Chapter 22: fictional v reality… my thoughts on 30+
some poetry means something to me
some to everyone else
as the whole thing plays out
i jus write over & over again
to the universal feeling
of the whole damn thing
not always about me
sometimes about what all souls
every single soul could possibly
ever go through in life
those in A.A. going back to meeting
to get another coin for two weeks
those who worked everyday on a 9-5
+ haven’t touched the pint
in 7 minutes to seven days to a month to seven to a year, but are headed back on their way to a 7eleven
i’m sorry for the sins of me
& my brothers out in ski towns or beach huts or sisters going to Church every Sunday jus to get back with one guy to the next
i got so many things to express about the plight of all individuals, most especially those who ever bummed around & badly needed a cigarette
or the booze head trying to just decompress & slow down a bit with a coffee & baileys
We usually naturally prefer the cozy mentality & aesthetic, where we get to reside peacefully in a library all of our own making & jus sip on coffee & smoke cigarettes or maybe you like some English breakfast black tea in the morning, like myself — my only two substances ever in this world, caffeine in the form of either Yerba matté, black tea & lots of coffee & drags off the nicotine — either the little bits of hits off the vape or drag of the cigarillo & lil cig
i really do hope u don’t take my lil writings too seriously. after all, the way i write is just trying to figure out universal energy & show some type of empathy to human issues we all must conceptualize & try to wade through to contemplation & a little sympathy & movement towards a little more optimism & positively enlightened energy day in & day out.
i forgot i was smoking this cigarette & it went out… time to toss it in the ash try, another one gone again… then off to fetch my coffee, refresh all of the socials & check out the lil football stats & all that & then decently quickly light up a brand new & so refreshingly mellow & relieving Marlboro 27 cigarette with my cute pink kitty Bic lighter i got at the gas station & continue my whole little enterprising escapade of this whole deep dive into the literature of the whole thing, smoke & coffee in hand, a trip to 7eleven in the a.m.
chat so soon.
love you sis + fam
miss u always mom + KJ
sincerest regards,
drew
X @ripmylastcig
insta + threads @ripmylastcig
snapchat @drewboohenry
Chapter 23: soft acquisition
pointless calls on a Nokia flip phone in 2004
i used to tug at my mom’s sweater sleeves when I felt a sense of fear towards God & those trying to rob me of everything I love & hold closely dear in my heart… so equally weak in its wishful tenderness & as strong as my ability to meditate on the miracle of existence & experience, reflecting with deep breaths, awareness of safe spaces & comfort zones — only smoking cigarettes when the time feels like it is slowly diminishing the spark in my soul, a way to light the way in the darkness & dwell on everything with gratitude & come back to self… once close to home & in my heart & head, I can finally escape from the tortures & torments of perception. Only what we perceive & focus on — either muddled in confusion or fully embraced with clarity — has any kind of bullheaded control of our fate… as I step aside to avoid experiencing exposure to a type of self imposed opposition by any task force member against one’s self, seeking to beam me up & extinguish the light within.
i don’t like the way you attempt to corrode my thoughts & invade my space kind sir…
c’est la vie monsieur, he replies…
je ne sais pas… ça va?
ça va, c’est la vie.
now, this emphatic man comes up to me — not even remotely sympathetically sensitive to the vulnerabilities of mental disabilities & trauma — & soon interrogates me about the thoughts that intrusively gnaw at the back of my head… thoughts that aren’t my own
he wants me to head with him some bad place far away & before i could hardly refuse, he’s whisking me off for no reason to somewhere I don’t want to go & had no intention of going for any reason whatsoever.
This is all a search & rescue, but instead of rescue, it’s a search & abandon & abuse. I’m sensitive to people in positions of power taking advantage of the less fortunate.
the mind control by the current day & age’s government & law enforcement is at times relentless & uncomfortably unbearable & by no means should I subject myself to a subduing of sorts of my actually so wholeheartedly genuine & gently kind soul, as well as to a practice of data mining, manipulating & even controlling every little process of thoughts.
i am not a puppet with which you can literally place things on my hands & implicate that I did anything more than committing the sin of enjoying my vice of smoking cigarettes & sipping maybe too much coffee today, when maybe one could argue i should begin reading the Bible instead a tiny bit more.
A number pops in my head & a thousand thoughts flood in my inbox in a not too expected, undesirable fashion. Some of these thoughts are kindly aligned with the divinity I believe in my heart to be true of this universe & accept as something naturally inherited. But then again, other thoughts demean my very existence & crash into my head like a demonic Beamer driving too fast in the highway of my imperfect mind… not that any mind — including mine — is or isn’t perfect, so long as ego is kept naturally at a balance between high & low, just a touch of confident dignified self esteem & self worth, but also grounded enough to see the perceived issues we deal with go way beyond us: an issue almost all of humanity deals with… issues we work through, thoughts & feelings we cope through& respond gentle heartedly to… finding time for both work & play, dealing with consequences & grinding enough to set aside time for self healing & decompression in response to any latent edginess we feel that we further must take care of. We release this angst through chemically balancing substance, progress, awareness & extensive knowledge, forward motion & sensitivity & acceptance of the whole human condition relative to our own stance, mindfulness & perspective in our own corner niche of the world.
Two things I know for sure:
Nobody puts baby in a corner…
&
Pressure makes diamonds.
Chapter 24: Sobriety Epiphany
Recently, I’ve had what I call a ‘sobriety epiphany’ — the kind of epiphany that only comes when you realize how blessed life really is with simple, minimal substances like caffeine & nicotine.
I most likely will never be tempted back into a pit of despair from occasionally falling back into drug habits — whatever those substances may be. I never want to go back to my substances of choice, besides maybe one too many cups of coffee & 2 packs of cigarettes a day — because I saw how my addictive tendencies controlled my life & ended up going down a rabbit hole of sorts.
It’s one thing to naturally need a smoke & sip of something hot from your toasty mug every now & then. It’s a whole another thing to blow your check on a bag of whatever your heart desires, letting your impulsive mind & little intrusive thoughts win out, either dipping into some molly at the festival or a bag of powder (when you should just go on a cute & quaint coffee date with an actual white girl… trust me, the pick me up of coffee, non dairy creamer, sugar & being with a girl you like does the same exact thing as ten measly tiny bumps of powder, short lived to say the least).
Narcotics are whatever & the law is always right around the corner. Booze is cool, until you start drinking while you’re already in a hole of depression. Then… booze is the only thing you believe you need to sustain your small little bits of happiness left within this existence & the only thing getting you through the day, yet really by drowning away your sorrows, you are only doubling your troubles in the misery business that goes along with being the only one at the local bar before noon drinking a bourbon neat or whiskey on the rocks…
The thing about sobriety is that I noticed I can’t even entertain any sort of ‘fuck it’ mentality or start romanticizing little behaviors & the good old days & feelings we may have had had when we used to partake in those kinds of deteriorating, mind altering substances. Maybe you never really fucked around with drugs of any sort. Maybe you’ve never even smoked a cigarette. Most people have drank coffee, but that’s more of a tiny therapy session with the local barista than anything else. However, if you have dipped into any sort of extracurricular activity, I’m kind of guessing by now ‘you’ve fucked around enough to find out’ either that you never want to do it again because of the whole ‘been there, done that’ mentality or you continue to doubt whether you will ever quit & keep on promising yourself this will be the last time… just one more time, right?
But one more time… even entertaining the idea that you could do it just once opens the door to many more circumstances playing out before your eyes where you keep running into the very substance you’re running away from. When my mind is stuck on a certain idea or mindset or desire & craving to partake in a certain activity or aspect of life, it always seems to find its way to me, not the other way around. I’ll be turning my way around the corner to the local gas station or liquor store & someone else will be posted up a little down the street trying to slide something my way. I politely say no & kindly reply ‘well… at least there’s more to go around for you’ & keep on moving right along. But I only have the will power to genuinely refuse with a kind hearted smile back because I had already refused the drug in my head days in advance. I had said no, every minute of every day, this day & the day before that & the months that preceded it… so a little no on the corner was simply out of a habit of practicing such a refusal response.
To some, this is an obvious way to respond to someone offering any kind of substance, almost second nature, easier to move along than entertain such risqué & sketchy shenanigans. What if it’s not pure… hopefully it is… usually you could tell by the person offering… but still, you never know. So you say no & hope they won’t berate you for your unwillingness to partake in their little party favors.
But for some of us, the addictive tendencies & personality types tend to lead us right into the grips of a specific vice & we are powerless to say no before it, as if seeing anyone pulling a baggy out of their pocket is the golden ticket to a brilliant day when, in reality, most substances are far from brilliant & only offer a way of escaping reality for anywhere between 10 minutes to a maybe a few hours at most. I guess, you got to risk it to get the biscuit, as my sis used to say, but with my sis & fam in my mind, I don’t ever want to risk it ever again… my little epiphany: this relieving idea that I will be sober from this present moment until the last day I fatefully live on Earth (unless somehow unfortunately & unnecessarily peer pressured into some sort of illicit activity — something nearly impossible to do to me… I’ve done enough miscellaneous extracurriculars to know particular crowds & smoked too many cigarettes as to ever be bluntly bothered… people usually just don’t mess with me the way they may others).
I’ll admit, sometimes I tended to sway towards the more artistic & kind of druggie types & romanticized that life. My ADHD made it so stimulants actually had a way of calming me down. Only when I hadn’t yet had my morning smoke & coffee did I ever feel any type of unease & restless in any fashion. Any other stimulant did pretty much the same thing at much more intoxicating & higher levels.
But they were all so pointless in the end & the older I become, the more I crave — more than anything in the entire universe — time spent with my family completely sober, only maybe stepping out for an occasional smoke & brewing up coffee for the fam at the lake house cabin early in the morning: if it’s a legal substance & your family doesn’t mind you coping with that substance (tea, coffee, nicotine, CBD, a light beer, etc.), it must not be that bad. However, nowadays, if my mom & sis disapprove of something, I usually second guess it altogether.
My fam doesn’t mind whenever I smoke cigarettes or vape a bit or my love of coffee. They’ll share a glass of wine with me at the end of the day & my stepdad will whip me up a mixed drink (I tend to prefer nicotine & caffeine… maybe Camel 99s & a pink Monster, but my family absolutely loves their alcohol). I could step out whenever to go to the coffee shop & smoke. They confided in me though that I must at all costs stay sober if I want to either go back home or attend my sister’s wedding or visit her & be there for her while her kids grow. So that’s what I’ll do at all costs: stay 100% sober.
So I guess it’s the breakfast of champions for me: a toasty mug of coffee & blissful little cigarette. Nothing more & nothing less & my little writings, obsession with music, occasional readings & watching films & shows & just taking part in the more wholesome qualities of life.
So here’s to sobriety.
Here’s to black tea, medium roast coffee & mildly soothing cigarettes… the only substances that induce a sense of relief, while keeping you fully sober, enhancing clarity & self awareness & allowing you to focus mindfully on where you’re at in life, come to terms with it & enjoy it all.
Chapter 25: Key to Pure Energy
Energy of the purest form is what we truly crave deep within, both in our nervous system & inner network of our mentality. We must first dispel all forms of negativity & seek positive levels of the purest state of energy.
Many kinds of energy exist basically on a spectrum from low to high… but this diagnosis of energy is a little off base because it classifies energy only in terms of a fluttered kind of high energy & sedated dull low level. Here, on the other hand, I am placing energy into two forms: pure & toxic.
The last thing we’d ever want is to carry any toxic, low level energy. In the case of water, you’d much prefer Voss water over Crystal Geyser. In the same way, we crave only the pure.
Speaking of water, we must be like a refreshing artesian bottle of water, fluidly adapting to the world around us. When brutally cold, we turn into ice to match & adjust to the climate. When hot, we melt & in humidity or a sort of cloud cover, we evaporate into mist — to me, the purest form, coexisting atmospherically in nature. We just precipitate at once in a way that aligns with the universal Tao.
Tao, as I described in an earlier article, is the natural way of the universe & planet, a divine element within us & all that purely occurs within the environment, naturally tuned to the movement of the universe in pure synchronicity, fluidly acting in response to the rhythms of all that surrounds us. The way, or ‘Tao’, is in perfect alignment with natural predilections & fundamental ideas, wavelengths, frequencies & energy.
To live life in pure energy is to be channeling the fundamentally bright sided aspects of the whole universe. By channeling only pure energy, we naturally attain a more obvious way to recognize & avoid anything that’s toxic, noticing its intent to drag us down — the energy vampire of life attempting to suck our energy out & leave us dry — into abandoned states.
Toxic energy always opposes pure energy & desires to bring everything in its path down to its level as to not feel alone & not feel as sadly about its own inability to rise up. The more you start to glow & shine, the more those who aren’t shining or glowing want you to fall off. They’ll try with all of their will to make you jaded to the ways of the world & bring you down to their cynical view of everything, so they feel affirmed in some way, as if it’s ordinary to feel in some type of misalignment with the purely cosmic & awakened state of a blissful world. It seems as though some people don’t simply contemplate the beautiful mysteries of the world in harmonious, blissful peace, but would rather start their own seemingly trendy club of misery.
Trust me, enlightenment is way cooler than rotting in some melancholic pit of your own unprecedented, maybe over exaggerated woes, mediocrity & all too melancholic state. The easiest way to reverse the trend towards a negative state is to be grateful as early as possible in the morning, stay on top of all necessary errands & tasks so as not to feel weighed & bogged down later & to always do as much of what, deep within, you love most in the world as humanly possible when any free time opens up (or in the best case scenario, all the time if your favorite hobby & what you absolutely look forward to doing all day, everyday is also your full time job)… but to any person residing in a lower level energy state, holding less of a capacity for positivity in the scope of their whole life due to unfortunate or debilitating outcomes or circumstances, I get it, I have been there as well & feel your pain & see how easy it is to slip into these awful, albeit temporary states — noteworthy how transitional & impermanently fleeting these low level states & downward spirals can be so long as you don’t get caught up with a sort of romanticizing types of sadness & pursue some way out, with diligent intentional moves towards accepting where you’re at, while still keeping your senses in a chase for anything that brightens the eyes, stimulates vision, soothes the ears & offers an intrinsic feeling of innate relief… the things you pursue should give you a sense of worth & refresh & invigorate you in the midst of it all, from contemplation of an idea to full realization of a novel concept.
Pure energy is not some sort of amped level of high intensity, it’s more of a healthy, beneficial level. It’s not amplitude, it’s wholistic attitude defined by intently & genuinely living in accordance with a more divine & wholesome state in relation to yourself in coexistence with all of the others you’re surrounded by.
Pure energy is found within living in fluidly synergetic ways at a decently paced tempo & creating as much as you absorb, always finding where inner most desires lay dormant & need a bit of understanding, fulfillment & the edge taken off through decompression. Focus on all that attracts mindful clarity & seek perfect balance in the whole thing, just vibing accordingly to all thrown your way, riding the waves & .wavs (a type of music file) of life, always doing your best to stay afloat & enjoy yourself fully.
Everything matters when it comes to either zapping or instilling energy.
The following routines induce pure levels of energy:
listening to an album that highly relates to your life
Eating balanced, nutritional foods & drinking lots of water, tea, coffee & all other things allowing for healthy energy boosts
Slowing down the mind a little by reading & not becoming jaded by & overwhelmed with social media
At the same time, it’s good to stay healthily & reasonably connected to friends & stay on top of what’s going on in the world (done minimally throughout the day)
When all becomes too much & you feel like you’re at low energy & need stimulation & want to recap the events in your life after a long day, watch a show relating to the way your life is & it will most likely give you a boost & make you smile & maybe even laugh out loud a little (if you relate to it on a deeper level)
Gravitate to bright messages & memes & photos that make you contemplate just how beautiful & meaningful everyone really is as key components of this universe. If it brings you joy & sparks a little light in your soul, it’s likely bringing you a sense of belonging & spurt or pure energy.
Create something & make sense of the ideas & wildly vivid areas of your imagination, either by cute little doodles & drawings or via writing or playing some type of instrument or producing beats (on Ableton, FL Studio, or Logic) on your laptop or going skating or filming something you find to be aesthetically pleasing on one of those old camcorders… or who knows, maybe you like making jewelry or designing a clothing line… whatever you enjoy, take a moment for yourself & pursue that little creative interest & hobby.
Plant a garden & take time out of everyday to feel whole in nature. A little solitude & breath of fresh air always goes a long way.
Adopt a little kitten or dog so you have a best friend in this life & someone to always relate with & communicate feelings to. By taking care of a pet, you’ll be filled with joy, compassion & have a loyal emotional support animal & best friend beside you.
Maybe you & your friend could buy each other tarot card decks & dive deeper into the world of astrology & spiritual beliefs you may be inclined towards.
Listen to a podcast & watch an informative documentary on cool new concepts you’re interested in on YouTube or online a bit.
Go shopping at the mall for an hour or two… nothing like retail therapy to cure being out of it & in a drab sort of mood. You will naturally feel a little hop in your step & higher levels of energy when you buy that new video game console or jewelry or shoes, hoodie & beanie, or dope skateboard you’ve always wanted.
Always take the edge off with a small, allowable vice allowing you to take pleasure in the little things, whether that be a glass of rosé or white wine at the end of a long workday, a cigar or cigarillo after a day out on the golf course with your friends or possibly a bar of dark chocolate (or maybe, in my case, a cookies & cream Hershey bar…) any kind of treat that helps you appreciate & look forward to each & every day.
Keep God & family first & foremost in your heart… by holding them first, we are reminded of who has been there since day one & by living in honor of & respect for them in each & everything we do, we end up naturally feeling a sense of accomplishment & pleasant belief we are living according to God’s will & divine vision for our lives: unique, deeply meaningful existences — something we have to acknowledge all of the time… that we have a purpose, as well as to honor our mother, father, sister & brother & be grateful for the miracle of life & to commit to staying in vulnerable communication with God about our next moves & purest intentions regarding our overall quality of life & well being, with God’s forgiveness, fortitude & ability to help us respond to obstacles with a sense of perspective, humility, wisdom, enlightened levels of energy, an awakened consciousness, blissful self awareness & gentle mentality.
Self care routines help a lot as well. By taking care of our self & focusing on the internal, it’s naturally easier to then focus on all else left externally.
Hope this little article helps & that you always gravitate towards purer energy in every little thing you do.
Chapter 26: Whatever, whatever
Socials are all played out… post one or two reposts a day… if someone dm’s you, reply nicely back… but otherwise just do anything except socials… idk it’s kind of impossible not to be on socials a little bit… life’s boring
Girls run insta & Facebook
appearances matter, what you wear, how your hair falls that day, if you washed up & brushed your teeth, etc. so take care of yourself… wear only the dopest clothes & stay comfy
drugs don’t matter to me anymore… jus stick with smoking cigs & sip coffee
nothing left to do, except read & get caught up with the slower qualities of life… watch some shows & football games, listen to music on repeat & jus slow the pace of this whole thing down a bit… don’t mind the melodrama.
small talk is a banality you don’t ever need to bother yourself with
invest in books, music & clothes
say fuck it to those who don’t care
each & every life means something
everybody’s everything
damn… girls are hot… i’m whatever
ignorance is bliss… discernment of knowledge is wisdom… channel energy
it’s all in how you respond to losses
stay pure in thought… focus on only the most positive aspects of life
the noise the coffee makes from being ground up & aromas of being brewed in the morning wakes me up so nicely
what’s my sis & mom up to? and my dad… that’s all that really matters.
kind gentle softness is the #1 key
beautiful souls coexist gracefully
stay cozy & comfy & listen to the best music… look good, feel good
whatever, whatever… i’m going home… should prolly catch up on South Park
i don’t know, i really don’t know
shouldn’t let the little things get you down everyday… shit don’t matter
i’m tired of the chase of it all… not much to chase anymore. prolly jus staying single for life…
…but isn’t that jus the biggest lie?
it’d be cool though…
when i run low on nicotine or coffee, i feel the life blood sucked out
why is everyone so caught up on so much bullshit… i be straight & sad
jus sad all the time… maybe based & jus grounded in the sad reality of it all… everything means a lot to me, but at the same time i’m so numb
numb + jaded little existence
the girls chatting somewhere down the block… what would they want me to be doing? Prolly making money as a local barista or some shit + bringing home something to bump… but what’s the fucking point of that… i could come up on most things…girls & drugs? umm, excuse me m’aam… maybe just some cool church girl who still has her morals?
but what’s the fun if they’re not at least a little slutty…
a girl breaks my heart in her little way, then i take a drag off of the cigarette… the girls up to no good somewhere & life’s still such a drag whether you got one by your side or not…
being on SSI Disability cool enough, but what’s 1100$ a month. Need a job perhaps… but who hires at a decent enough salary for part time
— Bipolar I Schizoaffective with OCD + heavy PTSD in case you were wondering… maybe Kanye was right: that it’s some superpower… sometimes though, with meds, it jus feels like a never ending depression with mania simply as a mask to cover the sadness
but really, what girl wants a younger Charles Bukowski & Kurt Vonnegut type — i look a little better than the two of them, but i’m like a flight risk
maybe i’m jus a young Jack Kerouac, a beatnik who’s beyond his time. Who knows… maybe i’m ahead of my time.
imma pacifist & i’ve never passed a fist… past the 6th… 6:09 PM & i still could use a 5th… not a drop of liquor around & coffee will have to make do… anything to attain a little dopamine.
the whole thing’s jus tiresome, but at least in a cool way… i need the energy of divine femininity…
who knows, maybe once i’m outta this little shelter & have a place of my own, they’ll come around a bit more
who cares though?
‘who cares’… $NOT had that as his insta bio for a while
he’s always wearing his hoodie like Kenny… hoodie strings pulled tightly so it’s nice & snug… tbh i should start watching South Park again
i used to actually live in a place called South Park, where the zoo’s at in San Diego
so much worse & better then
so much worse & better now
2015 cigarettes changed the game
candy flipping & ski club did too
made it all a bit cooler
days on the upper west side of NYC to years & years on the West Shore of Tahoe… scenery of cities that never slept, bars, gas stations, coffee shops, bodegas, lakes & mountains.
made it all a bit cooler
it could all feel so nonchalant & relaxing… don’t over extend yourself
here we go again… little quibbles
used to dribble the ball a while back in high school… now i jus toss cigarette butts into ash trays
what’s the point? just so over it & these girls basically left me for dead so i’m jus doing the only thing i can do, a little drag off the cig because it seems like enough people in my life inadvertently told me to take a hike or jus kill myself altogether a little bit, so i’ll jus enjoy my cigarette instead… it’s all you got sometimes down in the mud.
she’s wearing a white tea with the all black goth nails & walks through a sprinkler… on accident or purpose? damn, what the fuck, i can’t… so i walk up the street & buy swisher sweets, two of those new black & mild cigarillos they got (the F T variety) & a pack of Lucky Strikes… what’s a boy to do… these girls are too cute & my life may as well be withered into a nicely crafted ash tray of sorts.
cremation & the ash off my cigarette & nicotine filtering into my black hearted lungs all the same. at least i’m choosing my way out in the long run. it’s only a matter of time. But honestly, thank God for cigarettes & coffee. it’s the only thing getting me through one fuck up to the next. life feels kind of fucked up so we (at least usually) get fucked up.
i’ll settle for the boring, bitter sweet melancholic ecstasy of a cig.
could be so cute. the two of us, you know. most of the time i’m pretty balanced with a mellow temperament. the only bipolar thing that really happens is i get too stoked off of my sadness & connect everything to each other with lots of loose associations
i find a million things all at once to be the coolest thing ever, but my brain speeds up to unbearable levels
the only psychosis i ever had was weed induced. so i’ve only had three or four spliffs the last 6 years.
been clean off stimulants, staying clean off stimulants, a grind whether you’re employed or still unemployed.
good bye weekend.
we work on something new everyday…
…all of us.
that girl didn’t deserve any sort of mistreatment by that older gentleman
i’m a protective person, but no way could i save any girl… hopefully she doesn’t stray too far from her safe haven & handles herself well wherever
reading books & listening to CDs is a cure… iPhones are cool, but my screen time like 14 hours thanks to a solid 8 hours of sleep each night, at least
i need a cold drink: some Yerba
little movements, flick of the wrist & flutters of the heart
feels good to be stuck in between a rock & a hard place & i mean that little expression in the best way…
like i love the cold, the stone & all of the rocks in the ground… to be cool, you have to wear a cool fit. when it’s cold, you can pimp out your attire… at least in the Fall & Winter
nothing left to do… maybe if i made time for more reading, i’d be happier
but i don’t even like reading that much… i jus like the pleasurable act of writing & listening to my tunes
tune in & tune out per usual
kicking rocks & kicking it
throw up the rock on sign then the three fingers up love sign
where were we at? who shot Cupid?
sir, why do we live jus to die?
all he could say was… cigarettes help you come to terms with that i think
Chapter 27: Cozy is Bliss
Soft snow powders the hoodie swaddled boy
Little droplets of pure snow hit the nose & cheek
He wanders on a path with light in his eyes
His step is soft & lighter than a falling feather
There is nowhere to go, but still he jaunts along
So endearing the way he moves like the clouds
He passes a girl who radiates with inner glow
They toss subtle, almost shy waves back & forth
He arrives to his favorite comfy local coffee shop
The warmth embraces his frost bitten cheeks
Upon entering the café, he must first gather himself & allow himself to collect his thoughts
The people pour in & out of the coffee shop
Similarly, the barista pours ample cups of coffee
The caffeinated liquid flows like this boy does
One down… a thousand more coffee drinks to go. Seems to be the opposite of off season. So incredibly busy at the café. So when the boy makes it to the front of the line, he gently smiles in his own little softly vibrant way & asks for a cold brew with oat milk & a drip dark roast coffee with almond milk for his mom who he missed dearly & called a little before he got there & made plans to meet up with her at the local café.
His mom, soon arriving to the café, didn’t want to be bothered with the bustle of the line if he already made his way through it once, knowing how busy it was this time of year, so told him to just order their coffee in advance of her arrival.
The barista smiled back his way. Some cute college girl trying to stick it out here until late Fall & do her best to help her parents afford her tuition… working over summer was the least she could do to help. Summers tend to bring higher paychecks & it would make being in college in late Fall & Winter all that much more rewarding.
Secretly, she thought the boy was so cute, but couldn’t be so blunt about it… so simply she made the drinks & called out his name to let him know the cold brew & drip coffee were ready — so too, grateful they were easy enough drinks to make on the go… better than whipping up four kids hot chocolates, an iced vanilla latté & white chocolate mocha for the family in front of the boy in line. Somehow the family who ordered those drinks were a little obviously & blatantly peeved the guy behind them got his drinks first — at least the father & mom were a bit annoyed… definitely not the kids, who could care less about not getting their drinks right away… they were just goofing around playing tag & hide & seek all around the café… but the parents couldn’t believe it. They kept just glancing at their wrist watch & secretly scolding the barista with little consideration to the fact she had just made two hot chocolates the order before or even taking into account the guy she thought was so cute, which cost her all of two minutes using the drip coffee machine & pouring out of the iced pitcher of cold brew from the café fridge to whip up his. She was still waiting for the drip machine to finish its pour, but had already begun getting all the necessary tools & coffee ingredients & chocolate & milk & all of that for the family. But they couldn’t care less about it being busy or that there was obvious tension between the barista girl they thought forgot about their order & the guy on his little early snowy morning stroll.
When the boy came up to politely grab the drinks she had so quickly made him, he smiled so graciously back, being sure to say a courteous thank you to her as she relayed the message: “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask”. He smiled without thinking much into it & made his way along on the way to a cute table on the café’s porch outside, as he waited for his cute busy-bee of a mother to arrive — a quick little way to catch up with her son & take reprieve & refuge from what had been a grueling day at the office, work never ending even at her old age. But to him, she hadn’t really aged a bit.
When the boy grabbed his coffee, he was about to take a sip & thought in his little contemplative manner, before he smoothly & steadily took a tiny sip of his cold brew. His state of mind was so clear headed & serene a little before 11 on a beautiful early Fall day. As he always does when getting a coffee & they ask for the name of his order, always being sure to respond, “oh, it’s …’ so tenderly in his sweet hapless fashion, the boy looked as he always did at the way the barista wrote the name on his cup… so cute to see his name written with a barista girl’s perfect almost calligraphy-like handwriting written on his cup.
Who knows, maybe she even drew him a cute little heart underneath his name like the last barista girl, not to sound conceited or anything.
He checked the cold brew & the name — albeit a little smeared off & a bit faded due to the combo of being sharpie on a venti eco-friendly plastic cup — was written in the handwriting of a girl who’s obviously done this a million times before & had plenty of experience with this sort of thing… he checked the other cup, the drip dark roast coffee with oat milk with sharpie written on a medium paper cup… a little easier to read.
In sharpie with a drawing of a little heart & arrow through it, she had written just like she had told him as he went on his way outside to the patio where he could smoke in peace: (with sharpie in the girl’s handwriting), “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask” with her number below… signed ‘love Brooke <3’.
Even though he preferred medium roast if it’s drip coffee, he had to keep this cup & to spare himself the embarrassment when his mom came to see him & risk handing her the cup with the girl’s writing to him on it (he forgot to tell her he was getting the drip coffee for his mom, not that he really needed to). He decided to sip on the coffee meant for his mom & just keep both cups to himself. After a few more sips, he viewed this as an opportunity to go up & see the cute barista one more time about a cup of coffee for his mom, who’d be there in a moment or two.
The line had died down by now as everyone was already rushing on their way to work for the day. Meanwhile, he thankfully had the whole day off.
He went up to the girl who was busy making a mocha of sorts. As she turned to place it on the counter, she nearly dropped the cup when she looked up & noticed him. She almost didn’t expect him to be back so soon. She was so stoked he was back & had to compose herself a bit in her head & calm herself down, even though he couldn’t tell in the least bit she was at all frazzled, besides almost dropping the mocha she had in her hand. They both just laughed…
“oh my God, sorry i didn’t notice you… i mean, i did… i just, i don’t know… i can’t believe i almost dropped that guy’s order,” she remarked.
“no worries at all,” the boy lazily laughed & said, “could tell you’ve been pretty busy today. you do a really good job of making it all look easy, though.”
“Really? i really do try… i just don’t want anyone like mad at me, i guess, even if that just means making them the perfect coffee quick enough.”
“Well, speaking of coffee, could i get another drip dark roast coffee. But can you write the name Elisabeth on it?”
“Oh my God, i’m so sorry… for your girlfriend, right?”
Laughing, “no, guess i just thought i’d see how you’d react,” out of hearing range of anyone else in the café with no one behind him in line so they could flirt pretty freely without judgement… ‘but Elisabeth is my mom’s name, she’s coming to meet me here in just a little bit. i thought i’d keep the other cup for myself in case i need it later. plus, she doesn’t need to know every detail of my life… she’s nosy enough as it is.”
“well, i actually get off in an hour. i don’t know, maybe we could go out & grab drinks or who knows… when you become free.”
“we’re just meeting up really quick — well quick for her — if you can wait around the tiniest bit after you get off here. i hear the ice skating rink downtown is pretty cool & we could pick up a bottle of whatever you like as far as wine goes at the winery right across the street from it… that place called ‘Vino Shack’.”
“oh that sounds so nice. damn, 30 minutes after writing that note on your — i mean, your mom’s — cup & we already have plans to go on a date…”
“Yeah, that’s news to me too,” both laughing, “i was really just taking a walk through the snow randomly & decided to cruise through & stop by here. i didn’t even think my mom & I would be catching up too a little today until literally an hour ago, let alone that I’d see a really pretty girl who’d practically ask me out before i could even ask her out. i guess self help articles were pretty on point & accurate in saying, “taking a walk helps you clear your head” because, i woke up this morning feeling decent, but still not perfect. Now everything just feels perfect. Oh there’s my mom… once i say good bye to her, we can whip over to the rink in my old Chevy. Probably be finishing up the minute you get off. Can’t wait, you’ve already made my day.”
“Well you definitely made mine. I was trying to be positive & all, but busy season rush gets the best of me sometimes, especially when i’ve only been working here since about two months ago & i’m not really a local, at least not just yet, just visiting until college starts up again. So glad to finally meet a cute boy who’s, well, just my type… alright, well go hang out with your mom, don’t let me get in between you two… plus i’m sure my boss hates it when this kind of thing happens. Thank God for things like this happening, though. Can’t wait to finish my shift & talk & skate & drink wine & all that. Like absolutely can’t”
“Me neither, really it’ll be a lot of fun… kind of unexpected, but in the best way & i really did miss this kind of thing. We’ll chat & kick it soonish. Can’t wait. Absolutely can’t wait.”
And right as his mom was about to see where he was at, she saw him strolling towards her with the drip dark roast coffee he had gotten her. Her coffee cup didn’t have the writing, “Elisabeth” on it, the girl had written in her cute way, “mom <3”
His mom looked back at the barista & saw the smile radiating off even her son’s glistening eyes & commented, “oh the new girl working behind the coffee bar is so cute… you should get her number… i mean, you never know.”
He just smiled as they sat back at the spot he got them on the patio right outside the coffee shop.
She looked down at his two coffee cups as he lit up a second cigarette — his mom, unlike some parents didn’t at all mind him smoking. There’s worse things, she thought… “what’s this, you got two coffees — honey, don’t you think you’ve had enough caffeine… well you always did like coffee so much. i don’t know what you like the most: cigs, coffee, or girls… like the one working today. You probably couldn’t go without all three of them.”
He sipped at his cold brew some more & his mom, just as observant as he was, glanced & finally noticed the thing she had let fly over her head the whole time… a note with a drawing of a heart & arrow through it & Brooke’s name on it & her number below it: “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”
…more notes on this little poetic piece & the boy & the girls & little notes & tidbits about my life:
the way he looked at it, each barista has such a unique cute style when it comes to the outfit they’re wearing that day & how well they seem to always write out each guest’s names, even with the rounded edges of a plastic cup — something that takes a little more finesse & skill than jotting something down on a flat edge paper… trust me, he’d even tell you, it’s not as easy as it looks, talking from his own personal experience, as he was a barista for two plus years & never mastered the trick of writing names out all pretty on the cup, from the name of the customers to the type of coffee they wanted.
He’d still always write down their name & little abbreviations for what the order was as gentle reminders of what each drink’s supposed to be… if there was a long enough line & there was no possible way for him to remember the order by the time he got around to the drink he had to place up with all of the other unfinished orders ahead of it.
He’d fetch two dollars & forty three cents from the cashier drawer, hand the change back to the awaiting customer & jot down their name & a quick written note on the cup for what they wanted.
He’d make the coffee quickly… the customers always loved this, but i guess he got his dad’s chicken scratch writing genes & not his mom’s flowing penmanship — well more a unique blend of both the style of his mom’s & dad’s little scribbling technique… ‘please channel your mom’s cute way of writing on this one,’ he kept thinking to himself (their signatures were nearly identical & so was the way he wrote on paper on his best days).
When he handed the guest his or her coffee or placed it on the counter & called out their name or whatever, they were always a tad impressed with his efficiency in whipping up drinks as quickly as humanly possible, but a little thrown off by the fact that their names on the cup almost looked as if they had been doodled on there by a child at least half his age.
They would then chuckle a bit sympathetically, especially since what could one really expect from a guy & his writing… the best individuals in crafting latté foam art & writing on cups in their soothing little fashion has almost always been achieved by women, not men. Men can make a good premium drip coffee & usually could work espresso machines alright in the morning. But girls take the cake on the rest of it.
Let’s face it, girls know what guys want way more than guys know what girls want. Fuck, they even know more about what we want & who we are internally more than we know ourselves. We’re clueless in comparison to the jaw-dropping-wisdom-bearing essence of women. In the end, big girls don’t cry. But boys do. And we should listen more to girls. You ever with a girl you like so much you don’t even mind listening to them ramble on about the universe to you?
Talking signifies a level of comfort. At times, girls talk when they feel uneasy & anxious. But a guy could always tell when a specific girl is truly so comfortable & couldn’t feel any more liberated from being around them. So it’s best to listen.
Guys never have much to ever talk about, but girls always got something interesting to say, so if she’s talking to you quickly in a highly engaged fashion, she’s probably at least a little into you.
Even if you two are only the best of friends & you couldn’t ever envision her liking you in that way, you never know… but she probably knows exactly what you’re thinking. If she likes you, trust me, she’ll give you a million signs she does & then a million one signs, not worrying about the chase or that you don’t notice, likely just finding it cute how obliviously self absorbed you may be & unaware of the difference between flirting & friendship. Oftentimes, when guys like a girl, they can’t stand to bare waiting around all day just wondering to themselves if anything will come of their crush… so they jump straight to conclusions or take the chance & ask the girl out right away.
Girls, on the other hand, seem to always have an option in their back pocket. While they’re waiting for one boy to make his move, they’re off with another & another then back to the boy they like.
Girls are cute when they play the field a bit…
I don’t think the same could be said about guys. Nothing worse than a guy bragging about some escapade he had. No need to ever kiss & tell.
Some may label girls as sluts for playing the field so much. Really, they’re just trying to give their love to all different types & not feel like they owe it to any single person as to not feel free & chain the blessing of their love down to any one guy.
That feels restrictive. Kind of how marriage kind of seems restrictive. If it’s the love of your life, fair… marriage sounds ideal. But should we really tie ourselves down to one person for the rest of our lives? In the heat of the moment, two lovers are deeply irrevocably in love — the only time I ever heard the cute word ‘irrevocably’ was when I watched the relationship unfold between Rob Pattinson & Kristen Stewart in Twilight… Bella admitting she’s ‘irrevocably in love with him.’ Yea, i could easily see how, on occasion, two souls almost impossibly collide & fatefully crash into each other, the weight of the other so immensely important, yet also dually light in their arms, as if they could disappear in each other’s arms & all the world would just slip away by their waysides, not ever able to hang up or let go until the other does. Real unconditional love is possible. So too, it’s almost inevitable.
But all I’m saying as the writer of this piece & firm believer in soul mates (in spite of some of the things I’ve discussed) is that, most of the times, whoever we consider to be the one — our one & only true love — in our lives is most likely just our heart’s new infatuation. Each love rolls around & makes itself available to us, as we allow it all to happen in divine timing — one love leading us to the next one & even more importantly, leading us back to ourselves… to truly love ourselves is the ultimate goal. We tend to stay together the longest with those who remind us that we are one of the most important things on this planet.
Almost more importantly than their love for us is the idea that by being around them, we grow to appreciate this life that much more & love ourselves more & more each day. With them, we start to give back of ourselves so wholeheartedly.
Internally, we feel much more healed than we used to. The more we’re around our soulmate — maybe even our muse — we evolve into the person we are really meant to be, evolution from caterpillar to brand new butterfly.
The cocoon is a stable relationship. Until we become a new version of ourselves, the relationship has not run its full course or maybe was never meant to happen. Essentially, we will never even get to the cocoon stage & remain forever a decrepit caterpillar, if the relationship is in any way toxic & filled with spite, backstabbing dread, jealousy, envy and/or someone in any way attempting to change everything that makes you the unique individual you are (extinguishing all of your light & diminishing the spark within… in the worst case scenario), maybe even being manipulative & causing you to feel codependent, as if you have no choice in the matter & that life would be worthless without them, almost leading you right into their ploy to ‘pick you up just to put you down’ long enough to where they could treat you any sort of way & you’ll almost always attempt to give them the benefit of the doubt & rationalize their unloving behaviors as your own fault & something you need to cope with & fix.
Toxicity in relationships is not so uncommon or rare — actually sadly more the norm than anything these days, if what you’re after is the first person to show you any kind of attention & affection without noticing the signs that the person’s intentions may not be as pure as you make them out in your head to be.
If you find yourself stuck in a relationship, where you’re relegated to feeling stuck in a stagnant state as a caterpillar or wilting flower never seeming to bloom, either because your surroundings aren’t allowing for the development of a cocoon or your partner refuses to water your stems properly & give you the right amount of light, it is crucial to leave before it’s too late.
By too late, I mean… before you feel like you could never turn back because you’re in too deep already & the wound of breaking up would hurt too much. But trust me, it’s never too late: you can move on without them whenever you so please. The longer you wait to break up with them, the more the wound will hurt later. Better to get things over with, like quickly ripping off a band-aid, than allowing yourself to grow attached to someone who can’t even love you enough to allow you to love yourself wholly. If anything about them hinders your ability to be your authentic self or makes you abandon some unique part of your soul, it’s never too late to move on. Time heals all wounds. And sometimes it’s best to go through the pain of distancing yourself from someone you truly do care about (but who may not feel the same about you, not that this even matters, if they don’t even allow you to love the person you’ve become) because, ultimately, relationships guide us back to ourselves & if we abandon who we really are at the end of the day to be with someone, it’s not a relationship at all — it’s an almost parasitic relationship where we allow our partner to suck & take the light & energy from us, allowing them to take up way too much space in our hearts, with little room for anyone else as we let them walk all over us in ways. This leads to isolation, low self esteem & losing friends because you’re more busy trying to satisfy your partner than hang out little by little with your friends.
Toxic relationships could also result in self harm, like how i used to ash out cigarettes on my hand & wrist or bash my head into the wall when my world seemed like it was falling apart or when a girl I liked was being antagonistic even when we were together & she’d run off for the night with some guy while I was left to brood in my room with thoughts that seemed to get away from me.
Sometimes I’d know she was cheating & I’d be at a party with a bunch of friends, yet I’d feel so absent-minded & unable to engage with the friends all around me who would willingly show me any type of affection, without the least bit of an ulterior motive or hidden agenda — they just wanted to show me love & vibe with me the way guys & girls do. I got so caught up in the girl three blocks down the road at some guy’s crib — the one that could care less about me & always made me feel worthless — instead of just letting the friends all around me — who were actually so kind to me — have access to my life. I was lost in my head. Even though I was a sensitive, vulnerable type, I was offering that vulnerability up to someone who was toxic in my life, because — maybe at the core — I felt like I deserved a love that felt unsteady, maybe mistaking the volatility for something that made me feel alive… the high when she showed me any affection & the nearly masochistic pleasure I got when she was unkind to me, but then later embraced me as we went on to listen to JuiceWRLD or Lil Peep in my room & fuck away the tension & inconveniences & rip back open the little baggy she brought home.
The whole world fell down beside me in these little moments & i felt like i could die & that would be alright. And when she broke my heart in the many small or sometimes catastrophic ways she always did, I’d always remind myself of the good moments & that her fighting me on everything & all of the ups & downs I faced were just because we were both passionate & really actually cared so much for each other. It’s not to say she didn’t care for me. It was just so toxic in the end. I mean, no matter what I always cared so much about her & still hope she’s doing well.
Last time I talked to a friend, he said he just got a text from her telling me to “go fuck myself”. So not to go & spoil the ending, but it’s safe to say I made the right move ending things between us. But something about relationships like that always drew me back to them.
Maybe i thought somewhere deep inside the only relationships I’d ever have — of course… besides the genuine heartfelt lifelong bond i still have with my best friend… my sis — would tear me apart inside & hurt me no matter what (so like Bob Marley said, i ‘had to find the ones worth suffering for’) due to issues with a controlling step dad, attachment issues with my mom since I was a young kid when she was always gone away on business trips & PTSD from people of authority — like people supposed to take care of me— taking advantage of & either physically, emotionally, or mentally abusing me. It all kind of hurt. But hurt just turned into jaded numbness.
And i found a sort of intrinsic pleasure & beauty in that pain. And so my relationships seem to possess all of those qualities: pain, pleasure & beauty… maybe it’ll always be that way, but i’ve had enough experiences to know that i don’t want to make the same mistakes i used to & the next one will be different. Who knows, maybe the next one is just around the corner, a hop & a skip away. Maybe like Brooke, she just works at the local downtown coffee shop, record store or bookstore & the timing just wasn’t right before.
Like his mom said… ‘i mean, you never know.’ lots of the time, what we are looking for is also looking for us. To the next girl who buys me or brings me coffee, if you need anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask… i’ll be around.
Chapter 28: C’est la Vie
dope up on the counter
slide past… i know the high never lasts
don’t mind what the other boys up to
swallow a pill
decompress to take the edge off
vanquish the toxic build up
let the demons disperse
only allowing angelic divinity to subside
here i sit, jus up to nothing really…
almost wishing i had snagged the dope off the counter
i made a beneficial decision
but all these things too bleak
and this cigarette is much too dry
so i hit the vape & sip heavily iced coffee
let that ice me out the same way the dope would
tab on the tongue from memory’s past
if memory had a memory
i guess it may dwell too long
roots deep, plots thicken
caught up around a rose bush
the thorn snagged my skinny wrist
i shave my little scruffy whiskers
stay as clean as possible
keep my appearance gucci & whiskers neat
jus another day in my usual drab grunge fit
baggy long sleeve under a baggier short sleeve
designer jeans with a serene disposition
mildly soothing temperament
not a charge, drug bust or imposition
jus a kid with a pure heart & vulnerabilities
forever seeking to dispel bad energy
wait for the pharmaceuticals to dissolve
if pimps didn’t have to get with hoes
and hoes was really a compliment
then maybe not as much would be expected
and whatever you do wouldn’t carry so much weight on your aching slouched shoulders
the trauma cuts too deep
and i jus hope for a specific cushioned softness
you deserve a cute coziness, comfort & clarity
pleasant kind of numbness
i only ever received via benzodiazepines
relationships could be sweet
like cocoa butter kisses
maybe God made us endure Hell
so we’d have perspective on the matter
appreciate the bittersweetness of life
so we could fully appreciate Heaven
celebrate life + pour one out for the homies
ending was never linear, nor cyclical
not the end, each day a new beginning
bright eyes… first day of my life
i’m wide awake, it’s morning
breakfast of champions
coffee in bed
best friend & girlfriend in the kitchen
cigarettes on the balcony
newspaper still found a way
to the front porch
jus the insta & X feed
snap a pic to the OGs
we never bought into the whole thing too much
cutest girl pours coffee into her Yeti
she’s off to work at her dope little tattoo shop
kitty comes up to cuddle with me
then i snugly hold onto her
as her paw rests on my heart & she purrs
turn on some snowboard film on the TV
a little background aesthetic
the kitten jumps off to the scratchpad
then hops up on the window ledge
i feed water into the drip coffee machine
jus let the medium roast coffee brew
and also foam up some frothy oat milk
i whip up some espresso shots
and drink the cappuccino quick
sip at the drip coffee i add Baileys to
Ça va? Çomme ci comme ca… ça va? ça va…
So it goes.
Chapter 29: in search of purity + clarity
clarity
need a cute girl by my side
ride or die
night glides into midnight moonlight
to dawn… new moves & a soft sight
sight for sore eyes
this new wit whittles down to nothing
come up off something
so serene the way light hangs off the moon
sunset fleeting if only for a moment
but trust me, there will be more
slutty little bitty jus wanted your number
who cares about her past?
she still wanted you, didn’t she?
faded at dusk & twilight
no sense to make sense
of these convoluted thoughts
she looked too cute, i guess
and i guess, best case scenario
she’d never stray too far away
and stay dressed in high tops & a hoodie
and i’d wrap my arms cozily around her
shaking bones & little quirks soften
intensity no longer overbearing
jus her heartbeat close to my own
i’ll never be able to figure this shit out
girls go through a billion things a day
i jus wanna be thoughtless
with a thot sitting bedside
besides, i was never really worried about anything
jus want an angel close by where i reside
someone to confide in
without shady passive aggressiveness
love you
till next time
i’ll be listening to tunes
catching up on some old shows
you know that ‘California… here we come’ (the OC) kinda vibe & ‘you know you love me… xoxo, gossip girl’
anyways shouts out to readers & writers everywhere
sincerest regards & all of the best wishes
xoxo, drew baby
Chapter 30: twenty little poems
1
sitting here at the diner counter
nothing but clouds outside
sleepy faces drinking coffee inside
coffee pot from table to table
someone asking for the check
another pulling out a flask
and pouring about a third into their coffee
some read the daily newspaper
still most of the others chat & chat & chat
the speakers play a sad old country tune
cheer up young man, it could be worse
i walk up to the man with the flask
try to be jus the least bit social
plus i could really use a shot
i slide a buck his way
ask if there’s any chance
i could get a little in my coffee
he smiles, pulls out the flask
pouring a healthy enough pour in my cup
thanks a lot, pretty down bad right now
this should help a bit
a little goes a long way, he says
both of us smiled, yea
i drained the coffee in one sip
the warmth, the soothing warmth
thanks again, i said
as i placed a 10 in the checkbook
i grabbed my jacket & headed out the door
lit up a smoke on an overcast Autumn morning
not much to do but smoke
went to the bus stop & lit up one more
the day had jus begun & i was jus getting by
going through the motions the way i always do
2
bleak grey underground
nature offering reprieve
grief over this old thing years ago
cigarettes a way to politely resign
never considered myself much of anything
i’ll write till i’m dead… write after i die too
this can’t be the end… not even close
ghost dwells adjacent to the lonesome grave
old man doesn’t like people walking on his lawn
the music died… jus the sound of the typewriter
visions of the afterlife… read a book… anything
what’s there to do… really?
sweet & low & bitter coffee
life really is a colder version of Hell
3
i lose everything
self sabotage
girls make me sad
broken hearted girls breaking hearts
the whole thing makes me sad
hard to find humor in the little things
dead inside, numb inside, crying inside
lonesome little wanders past a brick wall
energy vampires everywhere
seeking to drain us
float, float, float
i don’t want to die
so i count my blessings, smoke a cig
and fade away into the night
velvet underground & white light
but it’s jus the light on my dresser
with a lighter & brand new pack of smokes
to face the day
4
grey winter
apocalypse dawn
two lips
like swans in a pond
what’s the point to the extravagance
find luxury within necessity
grace in the existence of a stem
strum the chord, a little feminine in nature
don’t mind when she speaks in tongues
i jus fall asleep soundly
to the beating of a mellow drum
5
her designer boots
dope hoodie she stole off her boyfriend
mini skirt she wears
so they stare at her legs
the boyfriend doesn’t care too much
neither do i, i really could care less
not that i don’t notice
i jus never let that sort of thing
have an effect on me for too long
they’re a cool couple… some of the good ones
seems like girls are purely entertainment
but they’re the whole reason we even exist
swaying to the rhythm
she never cared about other’s affection
the mischievous glances as she walked by
she welcomed everyone into her world
the boyfriend was nonchalant, calm & collected
nobody could take her away from him
because he loved her enough to let her go
the moment he met her
maybe not actually let her go
but he knew he’d love her
no matter what she did or where she went
things turned out alright
eventually she went her way
& he went his
but things turned out alright
his heart had been broken for years
so had hers
they both jus hid it well
smoking one last cigarette together
before parting ways
6
my art is often misunderstood
music & writings about death & awakening
passing the time one thing at a time
God & family above all else
He sees the divinity in us
My mom sees the divinity in me
I jus got to channel the divine
Blessed ethereal angelic enlightenment
Find fine tuned clarity, dress in the best
we think too much
the trick is to not think so much
process thoughts & move on
move along like i know you to
7
friendly convos exchanged freely
cashier didn’t want to hear it
they had a long day, longer life
stifling, trifling, sipping coffee
hibernating inside heat
decompressing in the rugged cold
she had tapestries & Peruvian rugs all over
Colombian coffee & Arabian smokes
the lucky strikes will hold me over
at least a few hours, moments within bliss
light chit chat, light up a smoke
forgive & forget this & that
comfort is found in the intricacies & nuances
8
Romeo & Juliet… Cobain & Courtney
Some things go out with a bang
Dang, she sang a tune that pleased her Lord
Guess if it’s all the same, i can’t go on
Without a hit of something real
In my feelings every single day
She been making me feel like a stray puppy
Kiss so icy on my snowed-in frozen cheek
Warmth on cold, like dry ice
Hang me up to dry
They said my writings are trash
i’m fine with that
jus a disaster artist who will keep creating
time stands still
90s teens watching the Simpsons
please don’t ever choke me again
smoke a cigarette
get one off & laugh at this life thing
9
unique, habitual pleasantries
the ritual of monotonous routine
find a book & album you like
dive all the way in the deep end
depends on mood, depends on the day
sitting here fading away
a new day to face & waste away
wading way deep into the deep end
these are the moments we hold onto
the times life feels like a little miracle
10
soon we’ll discuss worldly affairs
but first… coffee
the stillness yet commotion
a ride on the train would surely help
clear my head
anything to clear my head
i find a nook on the side of the road
seeking minimal shelter
the books line the shelves
so many people overburdened by thoughts
let me tell you one thing…
meditate on eventual death
the rest is jus a perk to the whole thing
11
maybe the key is in forfeiting
smoke a cigarette & give up
we were never really going far anyways
12
sad faces seeking transcendence
wake me up when the sun strikes
shivers in morning cold
we could never be perfect
accept where you are in the moment
life is…
the music we listen to
our outfit & appearance
the thoughts running in our head
our most recent smoke
and the coffee held in our hands
13
so cold in the hood
ask the brothas, like what’s good
believe half of what you see
none of what you hear
what’s the point of flexing
i jus need a smoke
owl perched in camo white
bright day… future too bright
minimalist minimalism
great work today… at least you showed up
ignorance will always be bliss
apathy to all except money & necessities
the news is really saying nothing
they died going down the drug route
i’m getting another drip coffee
Thanks God for today
miserable at best
two shots in the dark
anorak jacket
racks on the girl, pocket change in her jeans
look around, a whole lot of nothing
so make the most of it
14
ugly duckling
even the ugly duckling was cute
quiet in the classroom please
the point is mute
15
sometimes we jus need a place
to write, smoke, sip & listen to music
16
down past gang hot spots
ghetto suburbia
7 eleven & gas stations & liquor stores
there’s a comfort in loitering smoking
my work is never finished
smoke reefer spliff
lifted from ash to ash
die under pale moonlight
sir you’ll never read those books
once in a blue moon
you’ll never listen to those records
once in a blue moon
shuffling the music, writing anything
this is a far cry from war time
17
you sit in an amber snow field
the words we could never say
stray puppy looking for a home
fog sets in ample doses above the hill
i pull up like i’m Kanye
what could i ever say
baggy hoodie, baggy pants
all to your dismay
i was never one to impress anyone
dressed like i’m headed to my funeral
the secret remains in the utter apathy
i died many moons ago
and you go on talking about the weather
18
cultivating something elaborate
ignites via simplicity
the joke: i’m dead & i have nothing to show for it
less has always been more
i could read the morning headlines
but the only things are glory & tragedy
life is the much needed smoke break from work
life is the pure abandonment of solitude
life is getting lost in the music, lost in a book
at the end of the day: fuck ‘em
they don’t know what they’re doing
any more than i know what i’m doing
music on an infinite loop
did i tell you i’m already dead
there’s nothing to know, nothing to do
GIVE UP I BEG YOU
my life is going nowhere & i love you
i love life, but i promise it’s so pointless
she took a point of MDMA at the festival
music, the vibes, music, the vibes
trust me… i gave up
time to cultivate the come up
19
i lean in to tell her it’s not really important
there are more pressing issues at hand
like making & saving money
i jus smoke my money away
writing & music are the only pieces of art
i have any time for
it would seem to all be pointless
writing jus to pass the time
doing everything jus to pass the time
trickling water off the brazen stone
the home empty in the backwoods
so little to life besides pent up energy
release release release… find release
to relief relief relief… seek relief
you weren’t meant to be stuck in a box
rid yourself of vanity & ego
hot tea in the nick of time
holding on to nickels & dimes
20
you were always the realest, the coolest
Marlboro pack & a game of pool
relax, nobody & nothing’s going anywhere
my poetry is for the 21st century
i wish i still had an iPod
you can do too much on iPhones
is it possible they’re too accessible?
any more drugs
& i’ll either be in rehab or a mental hospital
writing is the cheapest form of therapy
take me back to Squaw Mountain, 2016
i need the feeling of ecstasy
i crave the touch of some white girl
life is jus some stupid drawn out death march
hopefully Satan & God take pity on me
you won’t remotely see or hear from me
at least until i come up & have made it
i kinda skate, but i push mongo… whatever
maybe we all have inklings of death
& its sweet release
Chapter 31: Stupid Gnawing Feelings
Back up slumped against the wall
Pitter patter of the rain drumming
Wet drops drip on the tattered roof
Someone hitting a little bump
With another in a bathroom stall
Seeking something kind of ethereal
Zig Zag papers & some loose leaf
Always whip the wallet out quickly
Got to pay for this iced bud light
6 pack of bud & a pack of smokes
A stack of bills & some loose change
Baby been down & out… too iced out
It’s never too bad though
Smoking out the back seat
Sitting nursing this black eye
Lips wanna kiss another’s
What’s the point of whatever
Quick fuck & a few bucks
Get fucked & get buck
Where’s the truth
Probably somewhere in cold concrete
Praying for the storm
Calm is boring, but boring is cool
Light it up… another day all but gone
It’s all been played out
It’s all but done with
The whole thing’s vanished
Ash on the leather seat
Beat plays on & nothing hits
The beat the only thing that hits
Little match with the side shit
Main bitch & our next trip
Trip over a bitch
& you’ll see me in my bag for weeks
The whole thing’s so mundane
The neighbors must think we run a meth lab
Drab & drag… the whole thing
Such a drab drag dragging on
The homeless guy pushes the cart along
My words all dissolve
Time to solve the distance between us
Where’d she go
Wish you were here
You’re nowhere near
I’ll near break down without a cig
Here one sec, gone the next
Flick the shit out the rear view
Make one more 11:11 wish
Damn bitch with the iced out wrists
Cute hips twist with the brisk frisk
slip in the whip
pink slip & a pink slit
poetry makes her melt
maybe some makes her wet
she’ll never be mine
i can’t claim any one thing
but i may be hers
Quickie in the mall restroom
Hotel key at midnight
Making our way through the lobby
The doorman still there to greet us
Complimentary coffee
Cig out on the patio
& a continental breakfast
The point is to not think so much
Just let the process flow
The rhythm of mindful movement
She stabbed me in the back
That’s alright… Romeo loved Juliet
got nothing to eat
jus this damn relieving nicotine
anything to take the edge off
a hot girl & tunes that bang
Sink the shot…
Cig in the ash tray as i take a shot
Whip out the key
Drive to the point & ride snow
Ride slow in the old caddy
Nothing to do except this baddie
She’s cute & the whole world knows it
I don’t care about nothing
Except the drip i got on
And the tunes i got booming
She’s a boo… they say boo hoo
Pookie & a poolside convo in the a.m.
Room key & we gone till next morning
Shower head soaking wet
Kind of over it all & Sunday’s best
Life’s cool if you don’t look into it
All’s cool if you don’t look into it
Bruh must think he’s the shit
Rather be aloof & indifferent to this
Way she moves got me fucked up
Next thing i know, i’m fucked up
Fuck do they think, i’m next up
I’m just in the background
Back of the club smoking cigarettes
Just a goth bitch with a grunge fit
Cute girl popping out in a new whip
She’s a little fader girl
In a thrasher hoodie & high top kicks
Dressed to impress & a little mess
Not really trying to impress
I go on & on, yet jus digress
Die more… live less
is less more?
Life’s a bore
Up north… where she at?
Up north, in the highest alps
Vision clear… nothing but clouds
Too much coffee
Need the perfect balance
Of both water & coffee
Steadily incoming tunes
Energy at an all time high
Yet fully 100% sober
water + caffeine + music + nicotine
reading, writing, listening
sipping, smoking, sipping, smoking
Drip or drown world
Drip or drown world
Whole world dying slowly
Whole universe thriving quickly
Chapter 32: Altar to the Most High
…
little makeshift garden in the coffee shop corner
bloom within & without
the angel dances on the moon
frost dwells on her lips
cinnamon scented leaves
the farmer waits for harvest
a little tune travels the midnight air
basking in misted dew
little shoulder slumps
backstreet alley way spliff hits
and the whole town never sleeps
first hints of dawn sun to chilled 3 a.m. air
all the same… someone’s always up & going
the newborn baby, the dying man
grandma still smokes even with lung cancer
nothing was ever going to get her down
secret not so secret little cherished treasures
the boyfriend’s hoodie she never takes off
cigarettes lit out on the fire escape
falling in love in mental hospitals
everyone’s half delusional enough to live
been to the bar so much in life
jus for pool, darts & coffee they had in a pot
now i want a dart board & pool table
maybe it’s all show, some sort of ambience
like the initial vibe you get anywhere
MTV & ski films on the television
skateboards & vinyl records on the walls
it could all be so cool
find your sacred space to cultivate
cleanse the space with incense or whatever
christening a makeshift abode to dwell in
all we had ever was our senses & environment
some enemies & some friends
little stupid substances & little stupid thoughts
infinite space in music & poetry & film
cozy love forever more, cozy love forever more
…
we sat back of the theatre
she cried a bit
we’d make out in the car later that night
something to find comfort in
guess she found some solace in me
one moment she’s crying into my shoulder
the next moment she’s nuzzling into my cheek
her kisses are soft…
light as a feather angel kisses
the film was about some girl & her brothers
how she was always their rock in hard times
she was the glue that kept everything together
but the brothers were always preoccupied
one with girls, one with drugs, one with work
she felt like the one with girls kinda replaced her
with the girl he was into that week… that year
the one with the drugs overdosed, nearly dying
the one with work lost his job & was giving up
she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders
as if she couldn’t live for herself anymore
she was so busy consoling her brothers & others
her love life fell through the cracks
almost nonexistent & dead on arrival
she worked a double & tried to keep in touch
but she ended up breaking down half way through the film & spent time in a facility
for the first time, she couldn’t be there for others
she lost herself in her empathy for others
surely selfless, but at what expense?
taxing on the soul, mind & body
seeing their sis suffer opened the brothers’ eyes the one with drugs went to rehab & recovered
the one with girls broke up with his girlfriend,
taking some time to focus on himself & family
and the one always busy with work ended up settling down, taking a more casual part time job
the day their sis got out of the hospital, they all were waiting for her in the car with flowers, as well as some chocolate & chai tea from the café
from then on they spent every weekend together
over at one of their places watching shows, reading magazines, listening to music, etc.
she looked at them during a game of cards…
drinking her wine, feeling so cozy & warm
almost sleepily content deep in her bones
thinking, “i missed this… even while it’s all so perfect, it feels like i could miss it. i’ll always miss this. i hope days like this last into eternity.”
…
coffee stains on my shirt
cigarettes in the ash tray
holy bible on the dresser
no longer need a girl
drug scars on my face
baggie hoodie on me
music helps the process
another day to make the most of it
altar to the most high
wear something nice
do little nice things for myself
everyone working a 9-5
and i’m jus sitting around
with my disability check
nothing’s on TV
love of all things simple
maybe it’s hard to love me
maybe there’s not much to love
me & my carhartt & vans
i hop into the corner store
pick up my pack of smokes
maybe a nitro cold brew & i’m on my way
merry sort of folks down by the lake
morning strolls
afternoon strolls
evening strolls
they roll by & they’re all the same
existence goes to the flow of each drag
life is a blessing
unlock new levels
write more, make music
wear cool shit, do dope shit
operate at a high frequency
jus meditate on nothingness
acknowledge your higher self
divine energy always desired
reject all forms of negative energy
the mountains call out to me in stillness
glacier snow cold invites me into its arms
the palace of Heaven awaits
but first i must give up all forms of sin
sloth, lust, etc.
art is our way of praising the Lord
my druggie era is hung up to dry
liquor jus stays on the shelf
…
feeling like an all dog
all of my tricks used up
used to like smoking cigarettes
now it just feels cliché
like something i’m forced to do
i remember the feeling of getting high
yea, i miss that feeling a lot
used to always chase the high
now i don’t know what i’m after
truthfully i don’t really want to do anything
i jus toss on music to have on in the background
and read or jot down some thoughts
life jus moves too slowly
like i’m waiting for something to happen
and nothing ever does
lonely feelings trickle down
i want to go on some dirty site online
but i’m over it
it’s best to avoid lust for spiritual reasons
fuck if i know those spiritual reasons
maybe cleansing auras & enhancing chakras
plus God detests sin
and to attain any semblance of Heaven
we must act in accordance with God’s will
sin may seem like a vague concept
but we inherently understand its meaning
sometimes we ignore momentary pleasure
in pursuit of a higher long term purpose
energy shifts as you make impending moves
no doubt music festivals happening all year
jump into the orbit of high energy high above
when way up in the clouds, find eventual balance
coexistence with this higher state is necessary
to attain a sense of serene euphoric Nirvana
the miracle lies in creating space within space
Chapter 33: jus a 90s baby in the 21st century
listening to The Moon & Antarctica
gravity rides everything
guess that was released
by Modest Mouse in 2000
wild to think how different it was
simply from 1998 to 2000
like we all change identities
one decade to the next
still the same people but the trends switch up
sometimes i think about this
hyper focused social media age
from 2008 on
when Facebook went up & MySpace went down
a monumental tragedy
but at least the late 2020s
starting off better than the early 2020s
X seems cooler than twitter originally was
& insta so popular it almost feels dead
wild how everyone falls for the clout on insta
like Snap is quick which is cool
i’m not against socials in any way
they help you connect & all that
despite losing nearly all of our attention span
the whole world suffering from A.D.H.D
unless you’re not preoccupied
and actually still listen to analog music
while also reading books… not doom scrolling
anyways, the show goes on
X really be spot on… on the ball if you will
if used right, socials are highly relevant
but i kinda miss the days of ‘98
like some Morgan Wallen song
in One Thing At A Time
about chipper, Andrew & the ‘98 braves
watching the World Series on a T.V.
with maybe 32 channels
ESPN, ABC, Disney, MTV, etc. were still there
things were so simple
before even the iPod
i always thought iPods were the coolest, though
i’ll probably invest in one again
for fuck’s & nostalgia’s sake
20 something years after the release
but didn’t a Walkman
and all those cassette tapes & CDs
we treasured so much in the 90s
didn’t that spark up pretty much the same
if not more resonant & impactful feelings?
but now that iPhones exist
i think iPods are kind of a rare collector’s item
i still remember early Apple commercials
they were revolutionary
now they can barely outperform their last iOS
thank God for iPhones though
a purely genius invention
but smart phones have their limitations
in theory & function, smart phones are limitless
like the pill taken in that one movie
i think it was called limitless
where you can pretty much do
anything you ever dreamed of
if you have some sort of visionary idea
everything is right at your fingertips
exponentially more practical than flip phones
but low key, I kind of miss having a blackberry
back in 2008 & a Nokia all the way back in 2004
in the simplest terms, things were jus cuter then
you’d download some music on your phone
& text your friends wassup
short little messages
typed little longer ones on the blackberry
but still… guess i liked writing even back then
as i typed pages & pages of text to my ex
i don’t do that anymore (i was 17)
now instead of texting someone
i jus write an article instead
and maybe write a tweet or 2
and send out 3 or 4 so snaps
of benign, really almost meaningless posts
hoping they’re still at least the least bit artsy
but really all i ever wanted
was to send a quick text or call someone
check my email
or maybe make up some gossip girl type blog
in the end we must remained focused
on hobbies that could turn into revenue
dreams could potentially become a reality
when you do something you’re decently good at
but absolutely love doing & do it so much
you almost inevitably end up profiting off of it
maybe cash in your wallet doesn’t stack up
but hopefully in the case of artistic ventures
at least your soul feels rewarded & wealthier
In Joanna Quinn’s debut novel, The Whalebone Theatre, the artist Taras & Rosalind, basically the queen of the estate who admires art from afar, discuss this concept:
“Money is the greatest destroyer of art,” says Taras.
“Is it?” says Rosalind. “Many artists I know consider money to be a great gift.”
“A gift that gets heavier & heavier, says Taras […]
“I’m sure every family has boxes in the attic. Family treasures packed away for a rainy day,” trills Rosalind.
(Joanna Quinn from her novel “The Whalebone Theatre, page 133)
so maybe in some sense, with the iPhone & new age technology, we let go of some of the clutter & threw our treasured possessions to the wayside preferring the lighter, modern thing.
but somewhere along the way
we lost some of our artistic ignition & spark
like Mac Demarco conveys so deeply
in songs like Preoccupied
on Here Comes The Cowboy:
“Passin’ around
You blacken your body
No conversation
To ease up your mind
And nobody seems
To see the outside of it
Preoccupied
And nobody’s hiding it
Preoccupied
Nobody’s hiding it
Preoccupied
Nobody’s hiding it
Open your mind
Filled it with bullshit
Locked up your heart
Without even knowing it
It must be a sign
The days that we’re living in”
in the end, at all costs, we must realize one thing:
phones are not limitless end all’s to everything
they have their restrictive elements
it’s important to use them accordingly
but as sparingly as possible,
even if that’s 6 hours a day instead of 14
or just not stare so blankly at it so often
so we could look around & take things in
reflect within & without
not so much on things at our fingertips
but on something that goes beyond
something divine we are called to
to make art in this universe
is to make something out of nothing
even if you can’t invent something
like the iPod or Walkman or this & that
as writers or maybe you just read or make music or whatever you do artistically
we don’t write & make art for attention or money or some sort of societal approval,
we do these things to reveal to us some sort of mystery deep within us that, like a bird in the cage of our souls, must be set free on paper, film, recording, or canvas
“Sun don’t shine in the shade
Bird can’t fly in a cage
Even when somebody go away
The feelings don’t really go away
That’s just the wave…”
(lyric from Kanye West’s song ‘Waves’ on his LP The Life of Pablo)
new age technology could be the sunlight sprinkling in through the curtains or it could be the shade clouding up the bright spots.
so too, modern technology could be the bird, but could also hinder oneself & act as a cage.
whatever you do, find the poetry in it
the endless expansiveness of consciousness in it
and never live in a shell
without ever healing the internal
& genuinely feeling connected to the external
switch things up
watch an art film on TV
then listen to a vinyl off the record player
then go on a cute lil walk to the lake or mountain
maybe with your headphones in
then record yourself on guitar or piano
then produce some beats on Ableton or Logic
then draw a cool picture in your sketchbook
and read the next two chapters of 3 or 4 novels
sometimes we get bored
but arguably, in this day & age
endless ways exist to enjoy ourselves
we just can’t get stuck in a loop
habitual routines are perfectly cool
but it‘s important to set aside time
for all kinds of things under the sun
and reflect on everything by moonlight
to sweet dreams & blessed moonlight
waking up to a fresh batch of coffee in the a.m.
morning sunlight, bright eyes & peak vibes
we are limitless creatures
limiting ourselves in a preconceived world
each day wake up with gratitude
and take time for yourself doing what you love
never look back
and know our soul gravitates
towards alignment in relation to the universe
and that there are new waves of understanding, optimistic light & positive energy,
as well as endless fulfillment & contentment…
jus waiting to be awakened within us
sometimes we jus have to exist in ways
beyond jus conventional modern day ideals
and explore the finer things within ourselves
the soft spots, creative interests & subtleties
a piece of art making sense of this universe
whether it’s something you created
or something you love coming back to
sometimes a simple melody or poetic writing
can enlighten us & return us to a Heavenly state
an artistic skate film or foreign film, etc.
could change our whole perspective
and simplest treasures like tending a garden
or cuddling with a kitten or puppy
could help us remember
the value of pure existence
PS: hopefully you go out & buy an old flip phone, typewriter, old camcorder, a ton of vintage books & vinyls & listen mostly to analog music… well, iPods are pretty cool too. And don’t worry… yes smart phones are the dopest too. without them i wouldn’t be able to write this whole thing right now & post it online so keep the phone on you too, for so many reasons this generation knows too well: jus remember, there is a life beyond the screen. trust me, i need to remember that, too.
Chapter 34: notes (3/10 – 3/16/2026)
Cthese may as well be on a napkin…
…some notes (March 10th – March 16th, 2026):
slow, steady drumming
the undercurrent of trendsetters
falling into the abyss
the things a parent does, the lengths they go to, never ceases to amaze me
coffee & cigarettes for breakfast, lunch & dinner
maybe if i jus sit at the typewriter long enough, something will come of it
those hot dull afternoon hours… i almost miss the feeling of being sleepless at 2 a.m.
he wasn’t much of anything except for his writing
bitching… always bitching & moping around
three shots of Hennessy & a half pack of smokes will help most men face the day ahead or day before
i listen to the environment & read
what would you do if you had everything in the world & yet nothing at all?
loose ends to tie up… birds chirp & i know they’ll chirp again tomorrow. loose ends still to tie up.
a blessing would be weighing 169 again. i weigh about 198. we’ll work on it.
all i ever wanted was to hear the typewriter… clink clink clank clink
blink 182 on the radio & things feeling like 2016
turning on a record feels far more personal than shuffling music on your phone
guess it was all cool
nice spacious room
the records, the books
the kitchen & queen size bed
nice bathroom
nice neighborhood & all of that
maybe i’m already dead
and my heaven is here
deciphering wisdom is knowledge
the art of learning is in the intention
a good album is good for years on end
you can always come back to it
a day in the life:
wake up, take my pills
put a record on
& a snowboard film on YouTube with the sound off
write whatever, make lots of coffee
smoke throughout the day
play another record, this one then that one
write some more, read as much as possible
jus getting by
sometimes euphoric the boredom
depending on how i feel that day
go for a walk to 7eleven or Starbucks
it could all be so simple
wanna smoke this spliff in the backyard
take a hit, pass it then dip
sit in someone’s whip, cruise on the strip
then watch her strip
down the hatchet
one last go at it
nothing left but the dull middle zone
jus a bag of bones chilling at home
can’t even get stoned
phone stuck on dial tone, cell roams
sitting at the crib & hardly peaking
jus steady sleeping… up to nothing really
sedated off the pills
these days i’m hardly ever in my feelings
trickling of water in the shower
missing the days of Rocket Power
nothing hits like it used to
smoke a cigarette because what else should i do
i’m used to it, the feeling of being old news
all worn in & warped like this vinyl tune
place got some nice views
see you & wish we both knew
the bliss of each other’s warmth
cuddled in under the blankets
spring showers giving into harvest
your shoulder a place to rest
we escape down the old side streets
away from the formal exchange
to our secret spot out by the park
seemed a cool enough spot to smoke a cig
then we stopped by the corner store
picked up some coffee & a doughnut
whatever, just something to do
it was always whatever,
it was always jus something to do
listening to Elliot Smith
my life is all but over… my life has jus begun
where do i go from here?
maybe i should fast more often
give up porn, i guess, for spiritual reasons & to hopefully heal some of my chakras
i’m on a spiritual journey that requires me to stay off of my iPhone if i’m not writing
in my bag for you
reading more & sleeping in
listening to field medic at dawn
life’s such a feeble little romantic thing
rattling train tracks
the solemn brisk night
nowhere to go
lonesome crowded west
less is more
but sometimes more is more
either way
i jus want what’s needed
she was a dream
he never wanted to wake up from
you never had much to say
brewing coffee quietly
in the dozing morning kitchen
basking in the first hints of sunlight
you never had much to say
you jus conveyed everything
with a feeling
a deeply gentle, serene feeling
you never had much to say
to you, words were never enough
you’d look at me
& i’d instantly know how you felt
comfort of your sweater covered hands
as you rest them gently in mine
for a moment, a moment within forever
your kind of bond
the kind that never fades away
spoken into existence
not through words spoken,
instead almost purely via feelings
girls who rock dad hats almost always cute
bougie feminine nature
Jus Getting Started feel like OG Project Baby 2 Kodak
4evrglades4evrglades4evrglades4evrglades
nicotine, cash, rain falls, pitter patter pack
around the corner, loiterer
jus another fiend & a fifth
six hours later, nothing’s changed
six days later, nothing’s changed
six months… six years later, nothing’s changed
still about a bag & a bitch
still in my bag about 1000 of them
i miss you too much
numb my feelings cuz this shit all too much
over this, dust to dust
smoking till death,
smoking after it too
guess i been dead
what else is there to do?
nicotine, cash, rain falls, pitter patter pack
hit me up with the stacks & racks on racks
work on myself
save up to top shelf
sex sells, art doesn’t always
shit don’t matter if they don’t see the vision
let everything jus slide by
focus on the vision
pure gold, flash of crimson
the lord’s tears & ultimate redemption
we going up, don’t let nobody tell us different
glowing pains, adrenaline flow through veins
styrofoam cup of coffee & benzodiazepines
some light music, a little something to read
shows at night, cigs on the balcony
walks to the lake, coffee shop & gym
some late thing to crush on
expression of thought through art
the slow gentle ebbing flowing .wav of life
a good thought stuck in your head
God & family above all things
little smirk from a girl, kind words of a barista
space to breathe, create, process & decompress
meditative habitual ritual routine
igniting the spark to the match
unlocking spiritual consciousness & awareness
connection with humanity on a universal level
what else is there, if not experiences?
experience of the senses & mind, body & soul
creating an ecosystem
revolving around a calm nervous system,
chemical balance,
& universal alignment…
& jus vibing internally
with the universe externally
this life to the next, ups & downs are a certainty
we simply need to hold on & ride .wavs
catch a vibe,
cultivate & nurture whatever it is
so you peak more often than not
simply on atmospheric quality
innate sensitivity to energy
& a spiritual intuitiveness & insight
as well as self awareness & acceptance
with regards to the moment
you’ve arrived to & continually experience
jus existing as a key part of the whole cosmos
we are all keys to a universal portal
harnessing pure energy — eternally generating —
& a vibrant, high level collective consciousness
we are all beams of light
jus waiting in the wings to shine
glow angel baby… glow.
beam me up. beam us all up…
pick me up quick in the old ford bronco
bumping tunes smoking Marlboros
girls in it for a lil blow & a lot of dough
pull off the side of the road,
quick break, quick smoke
we used to feel better than the old folks
now i jus wanna be sitting pretty all alone
the rocking chair with no thoughts on the dome
nowhere to go
because i’m stoked
i’m doing my thing & feel at home
Over & over, playing an age old song
Looking around like what else is there to see
I’ve seen a lot of pretty faces in this life
Some not so pretty ones too
And i feel worn out from all of it
Weary of popular media
The whole thing’s played out
Of course, a lot of things
Can be seen more than once
Felt more than once
Heard more than once
I jus want to experience some things
For the first time again
And not feel as though
— As much as i’m through with the whole thing —
So too, the whole thing’s also through with me
dwell space, save face, first date
what’s with the rat race?
tired of the chase
smoking a cigarette
phoebe bridgers, ace of spades
you in the crowd
smoke signals, calling your name
aloof, standoffish vibe
sorry for being kind of an outcast
in it on the ride home, music blasting
you were everything, everlasting at the time
now i’m jus left with this cigarette
& all of these Dylan Thomas memories
damaged, broken brain
listen to Jelly Roll to ease the pain
jus want the drugs
because i ain’t ever had no love
sure i’ve had love, in reality
but i can’t feel that shit
i need something i can feel
vast open space high up in the mountains
find some shade to rest your mind in
zen isn’t about what we do
it’s about how empty our head is
finding relief in an empty mind
clearing out space, rid of clutter
awakening the inner sanctuary
Chapter 35: Peace Within, Peace Without
Sometimes it’s best…
to jus let things go that don’t serve you & to stop worrying about the in-between of everything… like what people think about you. Some people have such negative energy, even when they put on a front or air of positivity, almost as if they are vampires sent to suck the energy out of you.
Some things eat away at your life… other things are perfectly reasonable ways of wasting away countless hours engaging with. Instead of a waste of time, these activities simply offer a way of passing the time nicely. As all we’re ever really trying to do is pass the time & not stare at the clock as it takes what feels like a relentlessly torturing & never ending hour to go from 11:33 to 11:34. we must not worry about whether we are spending our time wisely. Otherwise, we will always be worried about whether we are doing the right thing & not fully focused on the task at hand. Whatever you do, dive 100% into it, wholeheartedly absorbed in what you are doing.
Otherwise, why do it? We spend so much time opening & closing apps, picking up & putting down books, not necessarily because these things don’t stimulate us, but because in the back of our head, our minds are elsewhere. We have a million things on our minds & so cannot truly focus on what we’re doing. Yea, maybe it’s ADHD, but maybe this also could be an inability to slow down enough to give yourself fully to the present moment… not race scrolling through a billion different things at once & listening to only bits & pieces of songs before going to the next.
Sometimes, as in the case of the zen principle of Wu-Wei, no action is the best line of action. Sit with everything, allowing yourself to accept the possibility that things just are the way they are & nothing you could do could really change that.
Karma piles atop karma without interference. Let things simply naturally lead to where they may. In most scenarios, manifesting a desirable future is absolutely key. The trick to manifesting outcomes is to speak things into existence & live your life as if the thing you wish to manifest is already a part of your reality. In essence, be the change you wish to see in the world. Fake it till you make it.
Sleep is imperative. So is the type of music you repetitively listen to. It’s not about what you do, it’s about what you don’t do. It’s in how your thoughts shape up & really where they take you. I was just propositioned about a risky opportunity: whether or not I’d want drugs… that they’d take care of me. But this is the furthest thing from taking care of me, especially due to the fact that the place I’m at has a strict no-drug-tolerance policy. The devil on one shoulder keeps tapping me & whispering “why not just do it… could be lots of fun.” But the angel on the other has been continuously saying, “you have everything you could ever need at the present moment. Just be content in your sobriety… know that this is a crossroads in your life & that things will soon get a lot better for you so long as you can prioritize your future, instead of jeopardizing all of it…”
In my life, currently, many positive changes have been gaining pretty decent traction, but all still remains relatively stagnant. In my experiences, it has always been hard to refuse a come up & alleviation from a high when things moved kind of slowly. Almost self sabotage before things ramp up to shift my life in gear without letting it follow its natural course, either forward or backwards. I try to be proactive & make a move, instead of allowing universal timing to play its part… even though nothing all that good happens once you get high, especially after the first euphoric few hours wear off & i’m just stuck there with my decision, in constant worry i’ll be asked to leave my current residence as a result of my choices. Here, the best action is no action.
But let’s say you are in hot water… what do you do? First things first, you sit tight & hope for the best. Ask for God to come into your life & be so grateful for what you do have. Find a quiet nook to go & meditate on peaceful outcomes in a quiet corner of your own solitude & let things cool down a bit. I guess, in life as in relationships, “distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
When you are in trouble with your boss, wife, a rival or someone who used to be like a brother to you until a rift occurred between you two, it’s crucial to acknowledge & establish your boundaries so as not to be lit up or indicted any way by that individual. The peace within is the peace without & peace without is peace within.
If you feel unease in your environment & didn’t even necessarily do something to offend anyone, just find a safe space where they cannot corner you & throw around accusations & stir up unnecessary trouble in your life. If you feel a sort of palpable restless, nervous tension when someone walks into the room or crowds your personal space, the best thing to do is walk away — in a sense, what I mentioned earlier: Wu-Wei, or non-action… a light dismissal & indifference & swift maneuver away from the person projecting any semblance of negativity your way.
If a dispute escalates, oftentimes there’s no turning back & one of you will end up victimized & wounded in some way… mentally, physically, or emotionally. Deciding to evade, step aside, retreat & withdraw in these moments allows each individual to dwell a little in relative peace & sit with these lingering jarring feelings & realize that maybe, with some distance between them & the opposition — before they got overly carried away in the pressing heat of the moment — they were able to clear their head & reassess the situation, realizing maybe they amped it all up a bit & it wasn’t all that big of a deal… that peace found & a return to amicability & resolution is the best way to approach things.
Sometimes those around us beam us up or who knows, maybe they even presumptuously hype us up when we’ve done nothing yet to either warrant or deserve this kind of overwhelming, even slightly uselessly discomforting attention.
Sometimes we just want to go about our affairs in peace & not wonder if what we do in our spare time appeals to every single person, as if we need anyone’s upmost approval besides God’s.
After all, He sees all & knows all things — inherent weaknesses & struggles & vulnerabilities, as well as strengths & demeanor & the way we handle ourselves & cope with everything, whether good or bad, as we seek to coexist with others in this universe as best as possible… He understands.
We must only call to the Heavenly Father in all that we do — whoever God is to you — as well as to our guardian angels & all that is wonderful & fair in relation to our ability to exist in peace… and they will respond softly back in the sweetest way with some miracle & gently soothing ideas for the best possible next step to take on the way to aligning our mindfulness with whatever leads us to a higher level of self awareness, gratitude, ability to find success & come up on something better from where we’re at, accept all of our insecurities & past mistakes & suffering as part of what helped us learn & heal & later evolve into a better person each & every day & fulfill whatever we hoped to accomplish & eventually become.
The first step, though, is to call upon God, as well as your guardian angels… when you tell them in an honest way what you’ve been feeling lately — both positive developments & little obstacles & the main issues & circumstances impacting your life — they will listen to you & subtly respond in return, maybe not via direct communication, but through little universal signs all will be alright, so long as you stay mindful of each little way the universe offers its blessings (staying so eternally grateful) & focus on gravitating towards light & energy & positive elements & thoughtful spaces.
The ideal should be focused around divinely creating the life God ultimately intends for us. God doesn’t intend for us to suffer any more than we have to & only wants us to find all that he had in store for us — the universal treasures & bright spots in existence — living always to our upmost potential & becoming who he designed us to be.
Book 15 of the Tao Te Ching applies insightfully to the concept that we must trust in the universe & stay mindful of all things, accepting of what used to be & in tune & aligned with God’s wish for us & universal flow & seeking of a brighter future.
Book 15 of the Tao Te Ching (the Power for the Peaceful edition, translated in English by Marc Mullinax) reads as follows:
“15: Original Patience
—
I. Original masters excelled in mystery & discerning elusive wisdom. While it is impossible to retrace their exact knowledge, one may distill their traits:
II. Unhurried, like when one crosses a frozen rock stream,
Vigilant, like when one senses dangers from all sides,
Reverent, like an honored guest
Relaxing & fluid, like thawing ice on the move,
Simple & pure, like the virgin texture of the beginner’s mind,
Accepting & empty, like a valley or cave
III. Meditate on this: How does muddied water, when left alone, gradually clear?
Can we too practice clarity by stillness alone?
Can we maintain our original nature of serenity & silence throughout life?
Follow Tao to remain empty but accepting, so even when ancient, one is never exhausted… or unfulfilled.”
At the end of Book 15 of the Power for the Peaceful edition of the Tao Te Ching, Marc Mullinax includes quotes by renowned individuals to highlight what was spoken about within the verses.
The following are the quotes listed at the end of Book 15 in this edition of the Tao Te Ching:
“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is Patience.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Education
“By means of tranquility, the murky becomes clear. By means of movement, the still becomes alive. This is the natural Way.”
— Wang Bi
“After you have cultivated yourself with silence, you know the confusion of an abundance of words.”
— Hung Ying Ming, Master of the Three Ways 1.32
“The heart cannot be made pure, but if you avoid the muddying elements purity will appear on its own.”
— Hung Ying Ming, Master of the Three Ways 1.150
“The quiet is quieting. There are answers in the silence.”
— Gordon Hempton
“To be teachable is a thing that ages not with age.”
In Joanna Quinn’s debut novel, The Whalebone Theatre, the artist Taras & Rosalind, basically the queen of the estate who admires art from afar, discuss this concept:
“Money is the greatest destroyer of art,” says Taras.
“Is it?” says Rosalind. “Many artists I know consider money to be a great gift.”
“A gift that gets heavier & heavier, says Taras […]
“I’m sure every family has boxes in the attic. Family treasures packed away for a rainy day,” trills Rosalind.
(Joanna Quinn from her novel The Whalebone Theatre, page 133)
so maybe in some sense, with the iPhone & new age technology, we let go of some of the clutter & threw our treasured possessions to the wayside preferring the lighter, modern thing.
but somewhere along the way
we lost some of our artistic ignition & spark
like Mac Demarco conveys so deeply
in songs like Preoccupied
on Here Comes The Cowboy:
“Passin’ around
You blacken your body
No conversation
To ease up your mind
And nobody seems
To see the outside of it
Preoccupied
And nobody’s hiding it
Preoccupied
Nobody’s hiding it
Preoccupied
Nobody’s hiding it
Open your mind
Filled it with bullshit
Locked up your heart
Without even knowing it
It must be a sign
The days that we’re living in”
in the end, at all costs, we must realize one thing:
phones are not limitless end all’s to everything
they have their restrictive elements
it’s important to use them accordingly
but as sparingly as possible,
even if that’s 6 hours a day instead of 14
or just not stare so blankly at it so often
so we could look around & take things in
reflect within & without
not so much on things at our fingertips
but on something that goes beyond
something divine we are called to
to make art in this universe
is to make something out of nothing
even if you can’t invent something
like the iPod or Walkman or this & that
as writers or maybe you just read or make music or whatever you do artistically
we don’t write & make art for attention or money or some sort of societal approval,
we do these things to reveal to us some sort of mystery deep within us that, like a bird in the cage of our souls, must be set free on paper, film, recording, or canvas
“Sun don’t shine in the shade
Bird can’t fly in a cage
Even when somebody go away
The feelings don’t really go away
That’s just the wave…”
(lyric from Kanye West’s song ‘Waves’ on his LP The Life of Pablo)
new age technology could be the sunlight sprinkling in through the curtains or it could be the shade clouding up the bright spots.
so too, modern technology could be the bird, but could also hinder oneself & act as a cage.
whatever you do, find the poetry in it
the endless expansiveness of consciousness in it
and never live in a shell
without ever healing the internal
& genuinely feeling connected to the external
switch things up
watch an art film on TV
then listen to a vinyl off the record player
then go on a cute lil walk to the lake or mountain
maybe with your headphones in
then record yourself on guitar or piano
then produce some beats on Ableton or Logic
then draw a cool picture in your sketchbook
and read the next two chapters of 3 or 4 novels
sometimes we get bored
but arguably, in this day & age
endless ways exist to enjoy ourselves
we just can’t get stuck in a loop
habitual routines are perfectly cool
but it‘s important to set aside time
for all kinds of things under the sun
and reflect on everything by moonlight
to sweet dreams & blessed moonlight
waking up to a fresh batch of coffee in the a.m.
morning sunlight, bright eyes & peak vibes
we are limitless creatures
limiting ourselves in a preconceived world
each day wake up with gratitude
and take time for yourself doing what you love
never look back
and know our soul gravitates
towards alignment in relation to the universe
and that there are new waves of understanding, optimistic light & positive energy,
as well as endless fulfillment & contentment…
jus waiting to be awakened within us
sometimes we jus have to exist in ways
beyond jus conventional modern day ideals
and explore the finer things within ourselves
the soft spots, creative interests & subtleties
a piece of art making sense of this universe
whether it’s something you created
or something you love coming back to
sometimes a simple melody or poetic writing
can enlighten us & return us to a Heavenly state
an artistic skate film or foreign film, etc.
could change our whole perspective
and simplest treasures like tending a garden
or cuddling with a kitten or puppy
could help us remember
the value of pure existence
PS: hopefully you go out & buy an old flip phone, typewriter, old camcorder, a ton of vintage books & vinyls & listen mostly to analog music… well, iPods are pretty cool too. And don’t worry… yes smart phones are the dopest too. without them i wouldn’t be able to write this whole thing right now & post it online so keep the phone on you too, for so many reasons this generation knows too well: jus remember, there is a life beyond the screen. trust me, i need to remember that, too.
He arrives to his favorite comfy local coffee shop
The warmth embraces his frost bitten cheeks
Upon entering the café, he must first gather himself & allow himself to collect his thoughts
The people pour in & out of the coffee shop
Similarly, the barista pours ample cups of coffee
The caffeinated liquid flows like this boy does
One down… a thousand more coffee drinks to go. Seems to be the opposite of off season. So incredibly busy at the café. So when the boy makes it to the front of the line, he gently smiles in his own little softly vibrant way & asks for a cold brew with oat milk & a drip dark roast coffee with almond milk for his mom who he missed dearly & called a little before he got there & made plans to meet up with her at the local café.
His mom, soon arriving to the café, didn’t want to be bothered with the bustle of the line if he already made his way through it once, knowing how busy it was this time of year, so told him to just order their coffee in advance of her arrival.
The barista smiled back his way. Some cute college girl trying to stick it out here until late Fall & do her best to help her parents afford her tuition… working over summer was the least she could do to help. Summers tend to bring higher paychecks & it would make being in college in late Fall & Winter all that much more rewarding.
Secretly, she thought the boy was so cute, but couldn’t be so blunt about it… so simply she made the drinks & called out his name to let him know the cold brew & drip coffee were ready — so too, grateful they were easy enough drinks to make on the go… better than whipping up four kids hot chocolates, an iced vanilla latté & white chocolate mocha for the family in front of the boy in line. Somehow the family who ordered those drinks were a little obviously & blatantly peeved the guy behind them got his drinks first — at least the father & mom were a bit annoyed… definitely not the kids, who could care less about not getting their drinks right away… they were just goofing around playing tag & hide & seek all around the café… but the parents couldn’t believe it. They kept just glancing at their wrist watch & secretly scolding the barista with little consideration to the fact she had just made two hot chocolates the order before or even taking into account the guy she thought was so cute, which cost her all of two minutes using the drip coffee machine & pouring out of the iced pitcher of cold brew from the café fridge to whip up his. She was still waiting for the drip machine to finish its pour, but had already begun getting all the necessary tools & coffee ingredients & chocolate & milk & all of that for the family. But they couldn’t care less about it being busy or that there was obvious tension between the barista girl they thought forgot about their order & the guy on his little early snowy morning stroll.
When the boy came up to politely grab the drinks she had so quickly made him, he smiled so graciously back, being sure to say a courteous thank you to her as she relayed the message: “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask”. He smiled without thinking much into it & made his way along on the way to a cute table on the café’s porch outside, as he waited for his cute busy-bee of a mother to arrive — a quick little way to catch up with her son & take reprieve & refuge from what had been a grueling day at the office, work never ending even at her old age. But to him, she hadn’t really aged a bit.
When the boy grabbed his coffee, he was about to take a sip & thought in his little contemplative manner, before he smoothly & steadily took a tiny sip of his cold brew. His state of mind was so clear headed & serene a little before 11 on a beautiful early Fall day. As he always does when getting a coffee & they ask for the name of his order, always being sure to respond, “oh, it’s …’ so tenderly in his sweet hapless fashion, the boy looked as he always did at the way the barista wrote the name on his cup… so cute to see his name written with a barista girl’s perfect almost calligraphy-like handwriting written on his cup.
Who knows, maybe she even drew him a cute little heart underneath his name like the last barista girl, not to sound conceited or anything.
He checked the cold brew & the name — albeit a little smeared off & a bit faded due to the combo of being sharpie on a venti eco-friendly plastic cup — was written in the handwriting of a girl who’s obviously done this a million times before & had plenty of experience with this sort of thing… he checked the other cup, the drip dark roast coffee with oat milk with sharpie written on a medium paper cup… a little easier to read.
In sharpie with a drawing of a little heart & arrow through it, she had written just like she had told him as he went on his way outside to the patio where he could smoke in peace: (with sharpie in the girl’s handwriting), “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask” with her number below… signed ‘love Brooke <3’.
Even though he preferred medium roast if it’s drip coffee, he had to keep this cup & to spare himself the embarrassment when his mom came to see him & risk handing her the cup with the girl’s writing to him on it (he forgot to tell her he was getting the drip coffee for his mom, not that he really needed to). He decided to sip on the coffee meant for his mom & just keep both cups to himself. After a few more sips, he viewed this as an opportunity to go up & see the cute barista one more time about a cup of coffee for his mom, who’d be there in a moment or two.
The line had died down by now as everyone was already rushing on their way to work for the day. Meanwhile, he thankfully had the whole day off.
He went up to the girl who was busy making a mocha of sorts. As she turned to place it on the counter, she nearly dropped the cup when she looked up & noticed him. She almost didn’t expect him to be back so soon. She was so stoked he was back & had to compose herself a bit in her head & calm herself down, even though he couldn’t tell in the least bit she was at all frazzled, besides almost dropping the mocha she had in her hand. They both just laughed…
“oh my God, sorry i didn’t notice you… i mean, i did… i just, i don’t know… i can’t believe i almost dropped that guy’s order,” she remarked.
“no worries at all,” the boy lazily laughed & said, “could tell you’ve been pretty busy today. you do a really good job of making it all look easy, though.”
“Really? i really do try… i just don’t want anyone like mad at me, i guess, even if that just means making them the perfect coffee quick enough.”
“Well, speaking of coffee, could i get another drip dark roast coffee. But can you write the name Elisabeth on it?”
“Oh my God, i’m so sorry… for your girlfriend, right?”
Laughing, “no, guess i just thought i’d see how you’d react,” out of hearing range of anyone else in the café with no one behind him in line so they could flirt pretty freely without judgement… ‘but Elisabeth is my mom’s name, she’s coming to meet me here in just a little bit. i thought i’d keep the other cup for myself in case i need it later. plus, she doesn’t need to know every detail of my life… she’s nosy enough as it is.”
“well, i actually get off in an hour. i don’t know, maybe we could go out & grab drinks or who knows… when you become free.”
“we’re just meeting up really quick — well quick for her — if you can wait around the tiniest bit after you get off here. i hear the ice skating rink downtown is pretty cool & we could pick up a bottle of whatever you like as far as wine goes at the winery right across the street from it… that place called ‘Vino Shack’.”
“oh that sounds so nice. damn, 30 minutes after writing that note on your — i mean, your mom’s — cup & we already have plans to go on a date…”
“Yeah, that’s news to me too,” both laughing, “i was really just taking a walk through the snow randomly & decided to cruise through & stop by here. i didn’t even think my mom & I would be catching up too a little today until literally an hour ago, let alone that I’d see a really pretty girl who’d practically ask me out before i could even ask her out. i guess self help articles were pretty on point & accurate in saying, “taking a walk helps you clear your head” because, i woke up this morning feeling decent, but still not perfect. Now everything just feels perfect. Oh there’s my mom… once i say good bye to her, we can whip over to the rink in my old Chevy. Probably be finishing up the minute you get off. Can’t wait, you’ve already made my day.”
“Well you definitely made mine. I was trying to be positive & all, but busy season rush gets the best of me sometimes, especially when i’ve only been working here since about two months ago & i’m not really a local, at least not just yet, just visiting until college starts up again. So glad to finally meet a cute boy who’s, well, just my type… alright, well go hang out with your mom, don’t let me get in between you two… plus i’m sure my boss hates it when this kind of thing happens. Thank God for things like this happening, though. Can’t wait to finish my shift & talk & skate & drink wine & all that. Like absolutely can’t”
“Me neither, really it’ll be a lot of fun… kind of unexpected, but in the best way & i really did miss this kind of thing. We’ll chat & kick it soonish. Can’t wait. Absolutely can’t wait.”
And right as his mom was about to see where he was at, she saw him strolling towards her with the drip dark roast coffee he had gotten her. Her coffee cup didn’t have the writing, “Elisabeth” on it, the girl had written in her cute way, “mom <3”
His mom looked back at the barista & saw the smile radiating off even her son’s glistening eyes & commented, “oh the new girl working behind the coffee bar is so cute… you should get her number… i mean, you never know.”
He just smiled as they sat back at the spot he got them on the patio right outside the coffee shop.
She looked down at his two coffee cups as he lit up a second cigarette — his mom, unlike some parents didn’t at all mind him smoking. There’s worse things, she thought… “what’s this, you got two coffees — honey, don’t you think you’ve had enough caffeine… well you always did like coffee so much. i don’t know what you like the most: cigs, coffee, or girls… like the one working today. You probably couldn’t go without all three of them.”
He sipped at his cold brew some more & his mom, just as observant as he was, glanced & finally noticed the thing she had let fly over her head the whole time… a note with a drawing of a heart & arrow through it & Brooke’s name on it & her number below it: “if you need anything… anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”
…more notes on this little poetic piece & the boy & the girls & little notes & tidbits about my life:
the way he looked at it, each barista has such a unique cute style when it comes to the outfit they’re wearing that day & how well they seem to always write out each guest’s names, even with the rounded edges of a plastic cup — something that takes a little more finesse & skill than jotting something down on a flat edge paper… trust me, he’d even tell you, it’s not as easy as it looks, talking from his own personal experience, as he was a barista for two plus years & never mastered the trick of writing names out all pretty on the cup, from the name of the customers to the type of coffee they wanted.
He’d still always write down their name & little abbreviations for what the order was as gentle reminders of what each drink’s supposed to be… if there was a long enough line & there was no possible way for him to remember the order by the time he got around to the drink he had to place up with all of the other unfinished orders ahead of it.
He’d fetch two dollars & forty three cents from the cashier drawer, hand the change back to the awaiting customer & jot down their name & a quick written note on the cup for what they wanted.
He’d make the coffee quickly… the customers always loved this, but i guess he got his dad’s chicken scratch writing genes & not his mom’s flowing penmanship — well more a unique blend of both the style of his mom’s & dad’s little scribbling technique… ‘please channel your mom’s cute way of writing on this one,’ he kept thinking to himself (their signatures were nearly identical & so was the way he wrote on paper on his best days).
When he handed the guest his or her coffee or placed it on the counter & called out their name or whatever, they were always a tad impressed with his efficiency in whipping up drinks as quickly as humanly possible, but a little thrown off by the fact that their names on the cup almost looked as if they had been doodled on there by a child at least half his age.
They would then chuckle a bit sympathetically, especially since what could one really expect from a guy & his writing… the best individuals in crafting latté foam art & writing on cups in their soothing little fashion has almost always been achieved by women, not men. Men can make a good premium drip coffee & usually could work espresso machines alright in the morning. But girls take the cake on the rest of it.
Let’s face it, girls know what guys want way more than guys know what girls want. Fuck, they even know more about what we want & who we are internally more than we know ourselves. We’re clueless in comparison to the jaw-dropping-wisdom-bearing essence of women. In the end, big girls don’t cry. But boys do. And we should listen more to girls. You ever with a girl you like so much you don’t even mind listening to them ramble on about the universe to you?
Talking signifies a level of comfort. At times, girls talk when they feel uneasy & anxious. But a guy could always tell when a specific girl is truly so comfortable & couldn’t feel any more liberated from being around them. So it’s best to listen.
Guys never have much to ever talk about, but girls always got something interesting to say, so if she’s talking to you quickly in a highly engaged fashion, she’s probably at least a little into you.
Even if you two are only the best of friends & you couldn’t ever envision her liking you in that way, you never know… but she probably knows exactly what you’re thinking. If she likes you, trust me, she’ll give you a million signs she does & then a million one signs, not worrying about the chase or that you don’t notice, likely just finding it cute how obliviously self absorbed you may be & unaware of the difference between flirting & friendship. Oftentimes, when guys like a girl, they can’t stand to bare waiting around all day just wondering to themselves if anything will come of their crush… so they jump straight to conclusions or take the chance & ask the girl out right away.
Girls, on the other hand, seem to always have an option in their back pocket. While they’re waiting for one boy to make his move, they’re off with another & another then back to the boy they like.
Girls are cute when they play the field a bit…
I don’t think the same could be said about guys. Nothing worse than a guy bragging about some escapade he had. No need to ever kiss & tell.
Some may label girls as sluts for playing the field so much. Really, they’re just trying to give their love to all different types & not feel like they owe it to any single person as to not feel free & chain the blessing of their love down to any one guy.
That feels restrictive. Kind of how marriage kind of seems restrictive. If it’s the love of your life, fair… marriage sounds ideal. But should we really tie ourselves down to one person for the rest of our lives? In the heat of the moment, two lovers are deeply irrevocably in love — the only time I ever heard the cute word ‘irrevocably’ was when I watched the relationship unfold between Rob Pattinson & Kristen Stewart in Twilight… Bella admitting she’s ‘irrevocably in love with him.’ Yea, i could easily see how, on occasion, two souls almost impossibly collide & fatefully crash into each other, the weight of the other so immensely important, yet also dually light in their arms, as if they could disappear in each other’s arms & all the world would just slip away by their waysides, not ever able to hang up or let go until the other does. Real unconditional love is possible. So too, it’s almost inevitable.
But all I’m saying as the writer of this piece & firm believer in soul mates (in spite of some of the things I’ve discussed) is that, most of the times, whoever we consider to be the one — our one & only true love — in our lives is most likely just our heart’s new infatuation. Each love rolls around & makes itself available to us, as we allow it all to happen in divine timing — one love leading us to the next one & even more importantly, leading us back to ourselves… to truly love ourselves is the ultimate goal. We tend to stay together the longest with those who remind us that we are one of the most important things on this planet.
Almost more importantly than their love for us is the idea that by being around them, we grow to appreciate this life that much more & love ourselves more & more each day. With them, we start to give back of ourselves so wholeheartedly.
Internally, we feel much more healed than we used to. The more we’re around our soulmate — maybe even our muse — we evolve into the person we are really meant to be, evolution from caterpillar to brand new butterfly.
The cocoon is a stable relationship. Until we become a new version of ourselves, the relationship has not run its full course or maybe was never meant to happen. Essentially, we will never even get to the cocoon stage & remain forever a decrepit caterpillar, if the relationship is in any way toxic & filled with spite, backstabbing dread, jealousy, envy and/or someone in any way attempting to change everything that makes you the unique individual you are (extinguishing all of your light & diminishing the spark within… in the worst case scenario), maybe even being manipulative & causing you to feel codependent, as if you have no choice in the matter & that life would be worthless without them, almost leading you right into their ploy to ‘pick you up just to put you down’ long enough to where they could treat you any sort of way & you’ll almost always attempt to give them the benefit of the doubt & rationalize their unloving behaviors as your own fault & something you need to cope with & fix.
Toxicity in relationships is not so uncommon or rare — actually sadly more the norm than anything these days, if what you’re after is the first person to show you any kind of attention & affection without noticing the signs that the person’s intentions may not be as pure as you make them out in your head to be.
If you find yourself stuck in a relationship, where you’re relegated to feeling stuck in a stagnant state as a caterpillar or wilting flower never seeming to bloom, either because your surroundings aren’t allowing for the development of a cocoon or your partner refuses to water your stems properly & give you the right amount of light, it is crucial to leave before it’s too late.
By too late, I mean… before you feel like you could never turn back because you’re in too deep already & the wound of breaking up would hurt too much. But trust me, it’s never too late: you can move on without them whenever you so please. The longer you wait to break up with them, the more the wound will hurt later. Better to get things over with, like quickly ripping off a band-aid, than allowing yourself to grow attached to someone who can’t even love you enough to allow you to love yourself wholly. If anything about them hinders your ability to be your authentic self or makes you abandon some unique part of your soul, it’s never too late to move on. Time heals all wounds. And sometimes it’s best to go through the pain of distancing yourself from someone you truly do care about (but who may not feel the same about you, not that this even matters, if they don’t even allow you to love the person you’ve become) because, ultimately, relationships guide us back to ourselves & if we abandon who we really are at the end of the day to be with someone, it’s not a relationship at all — it’s an almost parasitic relationship where we allow our partner to suck & take the light & energy from us, allowing them to take up way too much space in our hearts, with little room for anyone else as we let them walk all over us in ways. This leads to isolation, low self esteem & losing friends because you’re more busy trying to satisfy your partner than hang out little by little with your friends.
Toxic relationships could also result in self harm, like how i used to ash out cigarettes on my hand & wrist or bash my head into the wall when my world seemed like it was falling apart or when a girl I liked was being antagonistic even when we were together & she’d run off for the night with some guy while I was left to brood in my room with thoughts that seemed to get away from me.
Sometimes I’d know she was cheating & I’d be at a party with a bunch of friends, yet I’d feel so absent-minded & unable to engage with the friends all around me who would willingly show me any type of affection, without the least bit of an ulterior motive or hidden agenda — they just wanted to show me love & vibe with me the way guys & girls do. I got so caught up in the girl three blocks down the road at some guy’s crib — the one that could care less about me & always made me feel worthless — instead of just letting the friends all around me — who were actually so kind to me — have access to my life. I was lost in my head. Even though I was a sensitive, vulnerable type, I was offering that vulnerability up to someone who was toxic in my life, because — maybe at the core — I felt like I deserved a love that felt unsteady, maybe mistaking the volatility for something that made me feel alive… the high when she showed me any affection & the nearly masochistic pleasure I got when she was unkind to me, but then later embraced me as we went on to listen to JuiceWRLD or Lil Peep in my room & fuck away the tension & inconveniences & rip back open the little baggy she brought home.
The whole world fell down beside me in these little moments & i felt like i could die & that would be alright. And when she broke my heart in the many small or sometimes catastrophic ways she always did, I’d always remind myself of the good moments & that her fighting me on everything & all of the ups & downs I faced were just because we were both passionate & really actually cared so much for each other. It’s not to say she didn’t care for me. It was just so toxic in the end. I mean, no matter what I always cared so much about her & still hope she’s doing well.
Last time I talked to a friend, he said he just got a text from her telling me to “go fuck myself”. So not to go & spoil the ending, but it’s safe to say I made the right move ending things between us. But something about relationships like that always drew me back to them.
Maybe i thought somewhere deep inside the only relationships I’d ever have — of course… besides the genuine heartfelt lifelong bond i still have with my best friend… my sis — would tear me apart inside & hurt me no matter what (so like Bob Marley said, i ‘had to find the ones worth suffering for’) due to issues with a controlling step dad, attachment issues with my mom since I was a young kid when she was always gone away on business trips & PTSD from people of authority — like people supposed to take care of me— taking advantage of & either physically, emotionally, or mentally abusing me. It all kind of hurt. But hurt just turned into jaded numbness.
And i found a sort of intrinsic pleasure & beauty in that pain. And so my relationships seem to possess all of those qualities: pain, pleasure & beauty… maybe it’ll always be that way, but i’ve had enough experiences to know that i don’t want to make the same mistakes i used to & the next one will be different. Who knows, maybe the next one is just around the corner, a hop & a skip away. Maybe like Brooke, she just works at the local downtown coffee shop, record store or bookstore & the timing just wasn’t right before.
Like his mom said… ‘i mean, you never know.’ lots of the time, what we are looking for is also looking for us. To the next girl who buys me or brings me coffee, if you need anything at all, don’t ever hesitate to ask… i’ll be around.
Recently, I’ve had what I call a ‘sobriety epiphany’ — the kind of epiphany that only comes when you realize how blessed life really is with simple, minimal substances like caffeine & nicotine.
I most likely will never be tempted back into a pit of despair from occasionally falling back into drug habits — whatever those substances may be. I never want to go back to my substances of choice, besides maybe one too many cups of coffee & 2 packs of cigarettes a day — because I saw how my addictive tendencies controlled my life & ended up going down a rabbit hole of sorts.
It’s one thing to naturally need a smoke & sip of something hot from your toasty mug every now & then. It’s a whole another thing to blow your check on a bag of whatever your heart desires, letting your impulsive mind & little intrusive thoughts win out, either dipping into some molly at the festival or a bag of powder (when you should just go on a cute & quaint coffee date with an actual white girl… trust me, the pick me up of coffee, non dairy creamer, sugar & being with a girl you like does the same exact thing as ten measly tiny bumps of powder, short lived to say the least).
Narcotics are whatever & the law is always right around the corner. Booze is cool, until you start drinking while you’re already in a hole of depression. Then… booze is the only thing you believe you need to sustain your small little bits of happiness left within this existence & the only thing getting you through the day, yet really by drowning away your sorrows, you are only doubling your troubles in the misery business that goes along with being the only one at the local bar before noon drinking a bourbon neat or whiskey on the rocks…
The thing about sobriety is that I noticed I can’t even entertain any sort of ‘fuck it’ mentality or start romanticizing little behaviors & the good old days & feelings we may have had had when we used to partake in those kinds of deteriorating, mind altering substances. Maybe you never really fucked around with drugs of any sort. Maybe you’ve never even smoked a cigarette. Most people have drank coffee, but that’s more of a tiny therapy session with the local barista than anything else. However, if you have dipped into any sort of extracurricular activity, I’m kind of guessing by now ‘you’ve fucked around enough to find out’ either that you never want to do it again because of the whole ‘been there, done that’ mentality or you continue to doubt whether you will ever quit & keep on promising yourself this will be the last time… just one more time, right?
But one more time… even entertaining the idea that you could do it just once opens the door to many more circumstances playing out before your eyes where you keep running into the very substance you’re running away from. When my mind is stuck on a certain idea or mindset or desire & craving to partake in a certain activity or aspect of life, it always seems to find its way to me, not the other way around. I’ll be turning my way around the corner to the local gas station or liquor store & someone else will be posted up a little down the street trying to slide something my way. I politely say no & kindly reply ‘well… at least there’s more to go around for you’ & keep on moving right along. But I only have the will power to genuinely refuse with a kind hearted smile back because I had already refused the drug in my head days in advance. I had said no, every minute of every day, this day & the day before that & the months that preceded it… so a little no on the corner was simply out of a habit of practicing such a refusal response.
To some, this is an obvious way to respond to someone offering any kind of substance, almost second nature, easier to move along than entertain such risqué & sketchy shenanigans. What if it’s not pure… hopefully it is… usually you could tell by the person offering… but still, you never know. So you say no & hope they won’t berate you for your unwillingness to partake in their little party favors.
But for some of us, the addictive tendencies & personality types tend to lead us right into the grips of a specific vice & we are powerless to say no before it, as if seeing anyone pulling a baggy out of their pocket is the golden ticket to a brilliant day when, in reality, most substances are far from brilliant & only offer a way of escaping reality for anywhere between 10 minutes to a maybe a few hours at most. I guess, you got to risk it to get the biscuit, as my sis used to say, but with my sis & fam in my mind, I don’t ever want to risk it ever again… my little epiphany: this relieving idea that I will be sober from this present moment until the last day I fatefully live on Earth (unless somehow unfortunately & unnecessarily peer pressured into some sort of illicit activity — something nearly impossible to do to me… I’ve done enough miscellaneous extracurriculars to know particular crowds & smoked too many cigarettes as to ever be bluntly bothered… people usually just don’t mess with me the way they may others).
I’ll admit, sometimes I tended to sway towards the more artistic & kind of druggie types & romanticized that life. My ADHD made it so stimulants actually had a way of calming me down. Only when I hadn’t yet had my morning smoke & coffee did I ever feel any type of unease & restless in any fashion. Any other stimulant did pretty much the same thing at much more intoxicating & higher levels.
But they were all so pointless in the end & the older I become, the more I crave — more than anything in the entire universe — time spent with my family completely sober, only maybe stepping out for an occasional smoke & brewing up coffee for the fam at the lake house cabin early in the morning: if it’s a legal substance & your family doesn’t mind you coping with that substance (tea, coffee, nicotine, CBD, a light beer, etc.), it must not be that bad. However, nowadays, if my mom & sis disapprove of something, I usually second guess it altogether.
My fam doesn’t mind whenever I smoke cigarettes or vape a bit or my love of coffee. They’ll share a glass of wine with me at the end of the day & my stepdad will whip me up a mixed drink (I tend to prefer nicotine & caffeine… maybe Camel 99s & a pink Monster, but my family absolutely loves their alcohol). I could step out whenever to go to the coffee shop & smoke. They confided in me though that I must at all costs stay sober if I want to either go back home or attend my sister’s wedding or visit her & be there for her while her kids grow up. So that’s what I’ll do at all costs: stay 100% sober.
So I guess it’s the breakfast of champions for me: a toasty mug of coffee & blissful little cigarette. Nothing more & nothing less & my little writings, obsession with music, occasional readings & watching films & shows & just taking part in the more wholesome qualities of life.
So here’s to sobriety.
Here’s to black tea, medium roast coffee & mildly soothing cigarettes… the only substances that induce a sense of relief, while keeping you fully sober, enhancing clarity & self awareness & allowing you to focus mindfully on where you’re at in life, come to terms with it & enjoy it all.
she felt like the one with girls kinda replaced her
with the girl he was into that week… that year
the one with the drugs overdosed, nearly dying
the one with work lost his job & was giving up
she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders
as if she couldn’t live for herself anymore
she was so busy consoling her brothers & others
her love life fell through the cracks
almost nonexistent & dead on arrival
she worked a double & tried to keep in touch
but she ended up breaking down half way through the film & spent time in a facility
for the first time, she couldn’t be there for others
she lost herself in her empathy for others
surely selfless, but at what expense?
taxing on the soul, mind & body
seeing their sis suffer opened the brothers’ eyes the one with drugs went to rehab & recovered
the one with girls broke up with his girlfriend,
taking some time to focus on himself & family
and the one always busy with work ended up settling down, taking a more casual part time job
the day their sis got out of the hospital, they all were waiting for her in the car with flowers, as well as some chocolate & chai tea from the café
from then on they spent every weekend together
over at one of their places watching shows, reading magazines, listening to music, etc.
she looked at them during a game of cards…
drinking her wine, feeling so cozy & warm
almost sleepily content deep in her bones
thinking, “i missed this… even while it’s all so perfect, it feels like i could miss it. i’ll always miss this. i hope days like this last into eternity.”
When we die, I think we realize we were already dead…
For instance, when we go to sleep, we only ever remember waking up again. We have no recollection of the time in a perpetual blacked out dream state — a state we all but skip in the process from going to bed to waking up…
Therefore, if we ever pass away, the only thing we will ever have consciousness of is waking up again.
We won’t remember the time our body is asleep, or rather dead… we will only realize when we wake up in the next lifetime.
Personally, I believe in a spiritual place (or a spirit world) known as the Afterlife, as well as in the reincarnation of all plants, animals & beings back into the universe, to evolve & transfuse into new beings.
Although I believe in reincarnation, I think that applies to the future of creation, not to what happens to us when we die. I think we roam a unique realm in pure freedom from usual earthly ties, suffering & attachment.
Not to say I don’t believe in God & The Lord Jesus Christ.
Without God, this whole thing wouldn’t even be remotely fathomable.
Some may say it’s the Big Bang.
Something may have started from nothing, or the crashing of two sources of life harnessing energy.
Matter is neither created nor destroyed… but somehow & someway this whole universe was created.
Unless in some way, the universe & God & the entire solar system & elements were just here in some shape or form since the beginning of time.
And for all it’s worth, it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that there was no beginning: of time & the universe. That time & the universe— like God — has simply always been in continuous residual existence.
God could be anything to each kind of individual asked. You ask a little girl & she may say God is her parents who’ve always been there when she had nightmares or wanted to jump in their lap to give them a hug.
You ask an astrophysicist & he may say the universal planetary energy is God itself, causing & shaping everything in our periphery (I honestly just made that up… I have no idea what an astrophysicist does, but you get the point… we all conjure up our own idea of who & what God is).
This isn’t really a scientific read, or anything…
I studied psychology in college, not philosophy or science.
In actual reality, I know nothing more than that guy you always see on your morning commute. I know just as much about anything in relation to what happens to us when we die & religion & spirituality as anyone who has ever walked this earth & knows even the slightest thing about Tarot readings & astrology & all of that.
But for the longest time, I wanted to dive deeper into this subject.
I am slightly attuned to the more imaginative & non-morbid ideas of death… just an inkling I’ve had ever since smoking my first cigarette, experimenting with DMT trips, acid tabs & mushrooms & all of that.
I’ve thought about our place as little specks in the overarching grand scheme of this whole thing.
Back to my very first sentence used to start the whole article off, something I’ve always come back to — an idea:
When we die, I think we realize we were already dead…
It’s highly likely we wake up from the dream — the simulation — we are in to reality as it actually is…
So here goes my take on what happens the moment we die:
I believe, first & foremost, there is a Heaven & there is no Hell… for everyone. At least, it closer resembles Heaven than Hell: simply a soul’s place in which to exist in some outer realm & blissful ideal universal state of being known as the Afterlife… a place to grasp Nirvana.
Maybe… just maybe
We all go to whatever our version of the Afterlife is. No matter who we are & whatever we did… we will all experience a state of the Afterlife.
If we like to read & write, we’ll be surrounded by books & the ability to write. If we like to listen to music, we’ll have all of the music we need to listen to for all of eternity. If we like to draw, we’ll have new ink pens & sketchpads & colored pencils. If we like to drive cars, we’ll have a full garage with cars somewhere…
But that’s only because when we wake up from life’s dream, we’re now alive in a realization we’ve been dead the whole time & can still escape in ghostly form to places similar to the ones we enjoyed in our lifetime, from art shops to record stores & cafés.
I think we all end up waking up in a ghostly spiritual realm nearly equivalent to Heaven. But what we do on Earth now seeps into what we will ably do in the Afterlife. The Ghost & Soul carry on long after we die & we continue doing what we love, in this lifetime to the next after death. Death just really awakening us…
The way I look at it, from a philosophical standpoint… back to the religious aspect, the reasoning many follow in the lead of Jesus Christ lay in the fact He symbolizes most of what could ever be found to be Holy in mankind… not that he is or isn’t God himself… God made in man’s image… I still, to this day, debate whether He & God are two separate distinct beings or one in the Same Trinity so that when He was praying to God in the garden or whatever & was tempted by Satan, He was actually just praying to Himself… maybe God & Jesus Christ & The Holy Spirit & the Devil & all of the demons & angels within the galaxy all play a balancing act.
…who is Satan anyways? Just the devil pimping out evil. But angels & demons involve themselves with all things — not necessarily in as such extremes as God & Satan — but on a smaller level… like some optimistic angelic girl in one ear & a bad bitch up to no good in the other… there’s angels & demons to all of this.
Maybe… this is all speculation.
But maybe… when we die, we become an angel or demon for those still living on Earth. We whisper in their ear or cause the onset of certain outcomes.
Or maybe, when we die, the soul has a way of haunting or blessing other individuals in close bond to that individual on Earth during a transformation in which the soul escapes from its bodily cage.
I believe the main reason, in the life we live out currently, to follow in the lead of Jesus Christ & the main point for why we should all emulate Jesus Christ, was because he not only showed us how to truly love & heal others via words & actions & how to handle all levels of suffering with the upmost grace & dignity… but also never ever gave up on a better, kinder, brighter & lighter world…
By living in the footsteps of Jesus Christ (speaking from studies in Psychology at UC Davis & my own fascination with the idea of the human psyche), we essentially give ourselves a means of vulnerable transference of our pain into the arms of another being, blessing us with a perspective that, no matter what we go through on Earth, there’s someone out there — in this case Jesus Christ, as well as every one of the ancestors who’ve gone before us — who has surely been through a similar, if not somewhat greater pain than the one we may face today. This transference of our pain to Christ makes our pain easier to deal with.
We need only to compare the first world problems we currently face (such as stress of raising a family or bitter resentment & jealousy of a girl who’s with a boy you like or a lingering substance abuse problem) to what Jesus went through in his 3 days on the Hill of Calvary — being brutally crucified & made an absolute mockery of & pretty much completely beaten & tortured in front of his Mother, the Virgin Mary & his closest friends — the Disciples & Apostles.
When we compare the problems we go through with the crucifixion itself, we gain a whole new perspective on the severity of our issues & realize our lives are not falling apart & there’s still a lot more to live for.
By achieving the smallest little things today, we unlock a way of blessing the many generations to come after us — with the works we do in our lifetime.
Who knows, maybe in the year 3030, my great-great-great nephew will be on his holographic watch, or whatever new technology they have then & will pull up my Substack or website.
You never know, the Apps we use today could simply just be viewed on more futuristic technology in the days to come. Essentially, people may still interact with older sites of the .com era: apps like WordPress or Substack shared from one person to another.
In his life, Mahatma Gandhi wrote something along the lines of, ‘whatever we do in life is insignificant, but it’s very important that we do it.’
I wholeheartedly & sincerely agree with this. On a further note, I think we are all artists.
Whatever our art form is — whether that be music or sports or business or whatever (it’s all an artistic form of pursuit & expression… yea, even in business & law, the way they handle changes on the stock market & analytically defend a case… so too an actor or writer or someone who likes to draw or a chef) — we all usually seek to potentially leave a legacy that will impact generations down the line, hoping to exchange some more light, insight & wisdom about this universe, leading always to a better day tomorrow than it was yesterday.
So, in the Afterlife as well, we look back on all we did in this lifetime. So the way I think about it, in my mind, when we die & enter into the Afterlife, the legacy & things we did for others & the things we created are all important… as one day, we will look back on our lives, either in a Hellish state of regret & shame (most likely not the case) or a type of ever so graceful & Heavenly acceptance & sincere warmth & awe. Similar to the way Max always wanted to die as light as a feather in Marcus Zusak’s novel The Book Thief narrated from death’s point of view.
I like to think there is a Heaven — or in this case The Afterlife — simply because — for instance — if Jesus had said his final words, ‘they know not what they do’ in his last most agonizing ab crushing breaths for nothing & really had never resurrected or ascended into Heaven… then maybe this was all for nothing.
Maybe the impossibility of a world without any logical reasoning to existence is why people cling onto old fashioned traditional religious ideals within the Holy Bible & the idea of Jesus dying for our sins… almost as a way of writing off our lives… that whatever we do, Jesus has already saved us & will soon enact a promise to deliver us into Heaven.
It’s easier to believe in salvation than it is to ignore it altogether, let alone contemplate going to Hell.
A little bit ago… someone asked me if I knew I was saved. I was stunned & puzzled at this question & didn’t know how to answer them. I wanted to rebuttal it quickly: ‘how would you ever know until your time is up…’
For the longest time, I’ve considered myself a Zen Taoist Catholic… I was confirmed Catholic on a religious level, but on a spiritual level — my cozy little niche, where I spent most of my time residing in (the spiritual realm) & contemplating — I believed, not necessarily in any sort of Buddhist ideology, but in the Zen offshoots of it, most especially the teachings of Lao Tzu in his 2 part book: the Tao te Ching… which had as heavy an impact on my Spiritual beliefs as the Bible would reasonably hold to any old die hard Christians.
To a Taoist, Tao is essentially the Way, or the fundamental life essence in Everything: the Godly element in life. The Tao is the source & ideal of all existence — ultimately the same as saying God, but instead of referring to a being, the Tao refers to an almost atmospheric element.
When we act unnaturally, we upset the natural balance of the Tao, which is always aiming at perfect equilibrium within the universe, the balancing of opposites. Wu-Wei, or ‘the ebb & flow of non-action, responding with as minimal action as possible’, is one of the core concepts in Taoism, to not fight against — for example — the tides of the river, but to move in alignment with the changing tide & flow of the river’s current.
The minute we start opposing the Natural Way (the Tao) of the world, we are working against some greater universal energy & these actions could end up squelched & disrupted. We must flow with the universe. The Tao realigns all things to their true destiny, inspiring & initiating only what was meant to come to fruition.
In Taoism, what is meant to be will always be, as what is meant to be is also aligned with some greater universal nature. The Tao conspires in our favor so long as we accept & embrace whatever comes our way & go with the ebbs & flows of this life.
Anyways, to keep the story moving forward, I’d been messing around with some substances — the substances I always preferred to mess with were stimulants, whether coffee or black tea or nicotine & all of the others that follow suit & my pharmaceuticals prescribed to me were always pretty much sedatives.
Finding a chemical balance in the Bipolar ADHD of it all was always the trickiest thing. Had to figure it out. One of these days, all of it wouldn’t feel so awfully tiresome…
I wound up at a Christian Rehab Facility. One of those places that bleeds hard the whole mission statement, ‘Jesus Saves’.
They had made me hold up this sign one of my first days there as cars drove past. I was working at one of their job sites trying to get clean. The sign said ‘Honk for Jesus’. I was semi enthused & laughing my way through holding the sign when two pretty attractive girls drove by & flipped me off, giggling & laughing as they drove by, a little bit laughing both at & with me… I guess in this new day & age, it pays more to invest in a pack of Tarot Cards than to invest in a Holy Bible.
At the Christian Rehab Spot, we had designated smoke times, bible study in the morning & we had to work some time at one of the job sites — auto repair, auto detail, construction, kitchen, landscaping, etc. (after a few days, I helped with Auto Detail).
But every Sunday, without fail, we would be required to attend two Church services. One of the churches had an almost cult-like audience (but also some of the cutest girls too so I didn’t mind getting dressed up to honor God every Sunday… but was still far away from being there for the right reasons, still in it to kick the temptations of drugs momentarily & pretty girls never hurt). After all, it was an all-male Rehab so I took what I could get as far as the girls went, even if it was only a glance in passing on Sunday. A few of the leading members of the church liked to visit us Rehab Boys over at the Mission.
Well, this guy sits down & wants to know my life story. Does he really care or does he just want to make sure I’m not another delinquent attending his church? Should I give him the TL;DR or my whole life story? I decide to spill off somewhere in between.
Yeah… I guess I’ll tell you the gist of how I got here, brotha…
Had a couple loving girlfriends in the past… in one of my more intense semi-recent relationships with my cute & thoughtful college ex, I joined a ski or snowboard club in college where I started to party lots more & partake in extracurriculars. I tried this & that for the first time in the winter of 2015-2016 after a summer spent at music festivals. I had picked up a little cigarette habit too, in late Spring of 2015.
In a few years, my ex & I broke up, after an unsuccessful stint with her in New York trying to land a job at SoundCloud & things of that nature, while she was going to school at Columbia for her masters. She was applying for a PhD program at Harvard a little later. I was dragging her down from her true potential & she only clung onto me so tightly because I was something safe & comfortable.
It was time for both of us to break away amicably, spread our wings & live independently of one another for the first time in three & a half years. The break up was about a year in the making & was an absolutely necessary move.
We smoked a cigarette in the park on the Upper Westside, even though she had given up smoking. I told her, just this last time, to smoke a cigarette with me again, to share one final smoke, almost more symbolic than anything, before I grabbed my already packed bags & took the first plane headed back home to California.
She called me crying nearly everyday for about a month to two months after, but soon fell into the arms of her soon-to-be-husband & all was alright in both of our worlds again.
I moved to the town we’d always have our Ski or Snowboard Club cabin trips at. I worked a small little local job as a barista & sandwich artist & flatbread cook. All was pretty good, but I started to fall into little drug tendencies & temptations again.
The drugs & alcohol were always around most weekends. The girls came & went, like cigarettes. I had a few crushes & a few fell through that I hoped would lead to more. My heart felt broken, not because of a girl or anything like that… just this utterly numb & overwhelmingly barren void I felt — some inexplicable void — I had no cure for. Like there was just a gaping hole in my heart no girls could heal me of… the only thing that did the trick for a brief instant was a drag off the cig & some drug habit.
Soon enough, it caught up to me & I was about to get into some trouble if I didn’t check into some mental hospital soon. Plus, I really hadn’t been feeling the way I typically do mentally, which — as an impulsive Aries with Bipolar 1 & an undeveloped frontal lobe — did lead to more susceptibility to risky decisions. Usually, in life — when offered — I could never refuse substances. I never had the little voice in my head telling me no, just a strong urge in the other direction, saying ‘fuck it, why not…’ & I’d use.
3 mental hospitals later & they ended up transferring me from the ski town to a college town about three hours away… away from the degeneracy of the old town & I was back to square one & ground zero. I knew nobody & was broke & homeless. But there was a cute little low barrier homeless shelter. I stayed there for several months while I got back on my feet.
I didn’t know what ‘low barrier’ meant until I had been there for a minute. I guess it pretty much means, so long as you get high off the property & weren’t found with any sort of substance on you, you could get away with getting high everyday & staying at the shelter. The staff was pretty nonchalant & carefree about the whole drug policy & hardly ever enforced it. But when I first got there, I had tried to evade any type of drug scene like the one back home.
I kept just smoking cigarettes — 2 packs of Montego Blue 100s — everyday, continuously sipping on Taster’s Choice Instant Coffee for the first few months with money from my dad & EBT Food Stamp Money.
I’d fuck around from time to time, but wanted to get away from any lingering kinds of drug tendencies. So I went to rehab after checking into a hospital & crisis center a few times in a row… off to the land where you read a Bible regularly & are not permitted access to phones. I’d be writing my family handwritten cards & playing guitar from time to time & listening to music off an old radio.
And here I am, talking to this guy who currently asks if I know I’m saved. To answer the question… yes in some ways, as someone previously baptized, I like believing I’m saved.
But there’s so much more that this man asking me this question didn’t see in relation to the whole picture of existence. Essentially, we must save ourselves by our actions, words & responses to the things we feel. Heaven isn’t a destination after we die, in the same way the Afterlife is. Heaven is a state of utter fulfillment relative to our sweetly impermanent lives on Earth. Heaven is a desired state of blissful peaceful coexistence in life as a human being. We create & manifest life as a blissful & Heavenly experience when we act, speak & feel in a way that invigorates & revitalize us, going towards positive high vibrational energy & staying away from the lower forms of energy seeking to drain us.
Life is suffering. We know that, as showcased by all we could put pen to paper on about all of the things we’ve been forced to or happened to endure over the span of our lifetime.
Jesus Christ (the Heavenly Father) showed us the true meaning of sacrifice, suffering for the good of humanity & those around Him. But there’s many cases of suffering that go even beyond the utmost pain suffered by Lord Christ on the Cross. Maybe they don’t go beyond that fateful day on the cross, but nonetheless there are many cases of extreme levels of suffering in this world, in our lives & others’.
Think about Jewish people forced to endure starvation & being gassed in gas chambers — months on end in concentration camps with hardly any water or food, or any small amounts of human dignity afforded to them.
Or the mere existence of slavery back in the day & the hate given black people for years & years & years… without even a hint of any remorse by those seeking to subordinate them…
Jesus suffered 3 of the most grueling days. Jewish people suffered months on end of inhumane agonizing torture & black people years (nearly a few centuries) of cruelty towards them.
Same with Tibetan monks, who in protest to some war — I’ve seen this somewhere on the internet… I can’t place it, but I’ve seen somewhere that as a way of protesting some government regime or war going on (Tibetan monks, as I was saying) — actually walk into a gas lit flared fire with just the shawl or whatever they got covering them — the little robe that monks always wear — and in some kind of way, set themselves on fire & stay perfectly calm in spite of being burned to death as a result of their complete meditative ability to abandon & dispel any feelings of suffering & pain.
So many of us go on hurting ourselves & others, yet so few of us master the artful gift of overcoming & releasing the traumatic constraints of lifelong suffering.
In Buddhism, as detailed in Hermann Hesse’s book Siddhartha about a bodhisattva — who’d one day go on to become the Buddha — Siddhartha goes through every walk of life, from a life of wealth & excess to a life of lust to a life rejecting all wealth & material possessions. He realized, no matter what, in every walk of life, there are four noble truths.
Here are the Four Noble Truths in detail:
The Truth of Suffering (Dukkha):
Life is characterized by suffering, dissatisfaction, or a fundamental unease.
— This encompasses physical pain, emotional distress, the impermanence of pleasant experiences & the anxiety that comes with the transient nature of all things.
That is why, I say, the Afterlife will be the release of all of the chains & sufferings of this life.
The Truth of the Cause of Suffering (Samudaya):
The root cause of suffering is craving, thirst, or attachment to worldly desires and experiences.
— This attachment stems from ignorance about the true nature of reality… inability to grasp an innate interconnectedness of oneself in relation to everything in existence.
The Truth of the Cessation of Suffering (Nirodha):
There is an end to suffering.
— Suffering can cease when the craving & attachment that cause it are extinguished.
…this state of liberation is known as Nirvana.
The Truth of the Path to the Cessation of Suffering (Magga):
The way to end suffering is to follow the Noble Eightfold Path. This is a path of spiritual practice, living ethically, and cultivating wisdom to free the mind from ignorance & suffering.
The Eightfold Path is a set of eight practices — 3 core points, 8 in total
Wisdom:
Right View — Having a clear understanding of the Four Noble Truths and the nature of reality, including karma and impermanence
Right Intention — The resolve to be free of ill will, harm, and cruelty, and to instead cultivate compassion & non-violence.
Ethical Conduct:
Right Speech — Abstaining from lying, slander, harsh words & idle gossip. Speaking truthfully, kindly & constructively
Right Action — Behaving peacefully & harmoniously by not killing, stealing, or engaging in sexual misconduct
Right Livelihood — Earning a living in an ethical way that does not harm others (trading in forms of goods & the arts, etc., not trading in sorts of intoxicants, etc.)
Mental Discipline:
Right Effort — The intentional effort to prevent unwholesome states of mind from arising and to cultivate wholesome states
Right Mindfulness — Maintaining a clear and non-judgmental awareness of the body, feelings, mind, & thoughts in the present moment
Right Concentration — Developing a focused & universally aligned mind through meditation & other sorts of ways to clear the head to ultimately achieve a state of inner peace & perfect tranquility
The eightfold path cultivates wisdom, ethics & mental discipline to achieve liberation from suffering & so too enhancement of current consciousness & a blissful state of universally awakened enlightenment.
So, in a sense, the eightfold path is all about what we feel & think, respectively & respectably making moves based on what we feel & think to cultivate a higher meditative state fundamentally beyond capacities of usual suffering.
By always residing a little above it all, we can ignore all lower level energy forces eagerly awaiting to drag us down & we can escape all subsiding drudgeries, monotonies & ways of suffering through brand new focused mentalities, total wisdom on karma & impermanence & ethical ways to act from this life to the next lifetime.
Most vitally, in both the life we currently lead & in the Afterlife that follows, we naturally will end up gravitating to a Spiritual state of being, such as the ones found within Taoist & Zen Philosophies: existing according to the ideals of the Yin-yang, balancing counterparts, establishing a sense of collective consciousness & finding a rhythmic wave & flow to life in the hopes of achieving the ideology of the elusive & rarely grasped state of Nirvana.
The only difference from this life to the Afterlife is that the Soul Being experiences a constant never ending state of Nirvana, which is defined — in Buddhism, as well as in Zen & Taoist doctrines — as a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the being is released from the effects of karma & the cycle of death & rebirth… the final goal in the Afterlife is to be aligned with the Tao & its universal energy & live on a moment-to-moment zen level basis & live in ever bliss states of Nirvana.
to jus let things go that don’t serve you & to stop worrying about the in-between of everything… like what people think about you. Some people have such negative energy, even when they put on a front or air of positivity, almost as if they are vampires sent to suck the energy out of you.
Some things eat away at your life… other things are perfectly reasonable ways of wasting away countless hours engaging with. Instead of a waste of time, these activities simply offer a way of passing the time nicely. As all we’re ever really trying to do is pass the time & not stare at the clock as it takes what feels like a relentlessly torturing & never ending hour to go from 11:33 to 11:34. we must not worry about whether we are spending our time wisely. Otherwise, we will always be worried about whether we are doing the right thing & not fully focused on the task at hand. Whatever you do, dive 100% into it, wholeheartedly absorbed in what you are doing.
Otherwise, why do it? We spend so much time opening & closing apps, picking up & putting down books, not necessarily because these things don’t stimulate us, but because in the back of our head, our minds are elsewhere. We have a million things on our minds & so cannot truly focus on what we’re doing. Yea, maybe it’s ADHD, but maybe this also could be an inability to slow down enough to give yourself fully to the present moment… not race scrolling through a billion different things at once & listening to only bits & pieces of songs before going to the next.
Sometimes, as in the case of the zen principle of Wu-Wei, no action is the best line of action. Sit with everything, allowing yourself to accept the possibility that things just are the way they are & nothing you could do could really change that.
Karma piles atop karma without interference. Let things simply naturally lead to where they may. In most scenarios, manifesting a desirable future is absolutely key. The trick to manifesting outcomes is to speak things into existence & live your life as if the thing you wish to manifest is already a part of your reality. In essence, be the change you wish to see in the world. Fake it till you make it.
Sleep is imperative. So is the type of music you repetitively listen to. It’s not about what you do, it’s about what you don’t do. It’s in how your thoughts shape up & really where they take you. I was just propositioned about a risky opportunity: whether or not I’d want drugs… that they’d take care of me. But this is the furthest thing from taking care of me, especially due to the fact that the place I’m at has a strict no-drug-tolerance policy. The devil on one shoulder keeps tapping me & whispering “why not just do it… could be lots of fun.” But the angel on the other has been continuously saying, “you have everything you could ever need at the present moment. Just be content in your sobriety… know that this is a crossroads in your life & that things will soon get a lot better for you so long as you can prioritize your future, instead of jeopardizing all of it…”
In my life, currently, many positive changes have been gaining pretty decent traction, but all still remains relatively stagnant. In my experiences, it has always been hard to refuse a come up & alleviation from a high when things moved kind of slowly. Almost self sabotage before things ramp up to shift my life in gear without letting it follow its natural course, either forward or backwards. I try to be proactive & make a move, instead of allowing universal timing to play its part… even though nothing all that good happens once you get high, especially after the first euphoric few hours wear off & i’m just stuck there with my decision, in constant worry i’ll be asked to leave my current residence as a result of my choices. Here, the best action is no action.
But let’s say you are in hot water… what do you do? First things first, you sit tight & hope for the best. Ask for God to come into your life & be so grateful for what you do have. Find a quiet nook to go & meditate on peaceful outcomes in a quiet corner of your own solitude & let things cool down a bit. I guess, in life as in relationships, “distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
When you are in trouble with your boss, wife, a rival or someone who used to be like a brother to you until a rift occurred between you two, it’s crucial to acknowledge & establish your boundaries so as not to be lit up or indicted any way by that individual. The peace within is the peace without & peace without is peace within.
If you feel unease in your environment & didn’t even necessarily do something to offend anyone, just find a safe space where they cannot corner you & throw around accusations & stir up unnecessary trouble in your life. If you feel a sort of palpable restless, nervous tension when someone walks into the room or crowds your personal space, the best thing to do is walk away — in a sense, what I mentioned earlier: Wu-Wei, or non-action… a light dismissal & indifference & swift maneuver away from the person projecting any semblance of negativity your way.
If a dispute escalates, oftentimes there’s no turning back & one of you will end up victimized & wounded in some way… mentally, physically, or emotionally. Deciding to evade, step aside, retreat & withdraw in these moments allows each individual to dwell a little in relative peace & sit with these lingering jarring feelings & realize that maybe, with some distance between them & the opposition — before they got overly carried away in the pressing heat of the moment — they were able to clear their head & reassess the situation, realizing maybe they amped it all up a bit & it wasn’t all that big of a deal… that peace found & a return to amicability & resolution is the best way to approach things.
Sometimes those around us beam us up or who knows, maybe they even presumptuously hype us up when we’ve done nothing yet to either warrant or deserve this kind of overwhelming, even slightly uselessly discomforting attention.
Sometimes we just want to go about our affairs in peace & not wonder if what we do in our spare time appeals to every single person, as if we need anyone’s upmost approval besides God’s.
After all, He sees all & knows all things — inherent weaknesses & struggles & vulnerabilities, as well as strengths & demeanor & the way we handle ourselves & cope with everything, whether good or bad, as we seek to coexist with others in this universe as best as possible… He understands.
We must only call to the Heavenly Father in all that we do — whoever God is to you — as well as to our guardian angels & all that is wonderful & fair in relation to our ability to exist in peace… and they will respond softly back in the sweetest way with some miracle & gently soothing ideas for the best possible next step to take on the way to aligning our mindfulness with whatever leads us to a higher level of self awareness, gratitude, ability to find success & come up on something better from where we’re at, accept all of our insecurities & past mistakes & suffering as part of what helped us learn & heal & later evolve into a better person each & every day & fulfill whatever we hoped to accomplish & eventually become.
The first step, though, is to call upon God, as well as your guardian angels… when you tell them in an honest way what you’ve been feeling lately — both positive developments & little obstacles & the main issues & circumstances impacting your life — they will listen to you & subtly respond in return, maybe not via direct communication, but through little universal signs all will be alright, so long as you stay mindful of each little way the universe offers its blessings (staying so eternally grateful) & focus on gravitating towards light & energy & positive elements & thoughtful spaces.
The ideal should be focused around divinely creating the life God ultimately intends for us. God doesn’t intend for us to suffer any more than we have to & only wants us to find all that he had in store for us — the universal treasures & bright spots in existence — living always to our upmost potential & becoming who he designed us to be.
Book 15 of the Tao Te Ching applies insightfully to the concept that we must trust in the universe & stay mindful of all things, accepting of what used to be & in tune & aligned with God’s wish for us & universal flow & seeking of a brighter future.
Book 15 of the Tao Te Ching (the Power for the Peaceful edition, translated in English by Marc Mullinax) reads as follows:
“15: Original Patience
—
I. Original masters excelled in mystery & discerning elusive wisdom. While it is impossible to retrace their exact knowledge, one may distill their traits:
II. Unhurried, like when one crosses a frozen rock stream,
Vigilant, like when one senses dangers from all sides,
Reverent, like an honored guest
Relaxing & fluid, like thawing ice on the move,
Simple & pure, like the virgin texture of the beginner’s mind,
Accepting & empty, like a valley or cave
III. Meditate on this: How does muddied water, when left alone, gradually clear?
Can we too practice clarity by stillness alone?
Can we maintain our original nature of serenity & silence throughout life?
Follow Tao to remain empty but accepting, so even when ancient, one is never exhausted… or unfulfilled.”
At the end of Book 15 of the Power for the Peaceful edition of the Tao Te Ching, Marc Mullinax includes quotes by renowned individuals to highlight what was spoken about within the verses.
The following are the quotes listed at the end of Book 15 in this edition of the Tao Te Ching:
“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is Patience.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Education
“By means of tranquility, the murky becomes clear. By means of movement, the still becomes alive. This is the natural Way.”
— Wang Bi
“After you have cultivated yourself with silence, you know the confusion of an abundance of words.”
— Hung Ying Ming, Master of the Three Ways 1.32
“The heart cannot be made pure, but if you avoid the muddying elements purity will appear on its own.”
— Hung Ying Ming, Master of the Three Ways 1.150
“The quiet is quieting. There are answers in the silence.”
— Gordon Hempton
“To be teachable is a thing that ages not with age.”
Written with love & care by Drew HenryChapter 1: ‘Fever Dream’
Lucas stumbled in groggily into the kitchen, thinking nothing of anything, just blankly bumping into this & that — any kind of way to open up the fridge & grab cereal & a bowl of milk in his morning daze. He fidgeted around to find a pack of cigarettes in his pocket — a fresh pack, which he dutifully packed by banging the back of the pack into the pocket of his hand, undoing the plastic lining on top & removing the inner covering, leaving the cellophane on the package.
He quickly tossed his bleach blonde hair away from his eyes, then stepped onto the balcony to admire & appreciate the sunrise & a nice morning smoke to go along with the backdrop of the lake — pearly blue water rippling, trees brimming along the sides of the cabin. He lit up a smoke, being sure to close the patio door before any smoke lingered in. Shortly thereafter, Kelly — his longtime roommate — stepped out & lit up a cigarette alongside of him, just in case he might need a bit of company on a wonderfully & mildly serene morning.
She gazed over at his lonely eyes as he leaned over the balcony railing looking out at the view, knowing he pretty much was caught up, thinking about his Sally again. Or should I say, not his. He looked up — the sun bright in his eyes — taking a drag, kind of mumbling something about this & that & Kelly offhandedly just smiled in his direction, kind of at his innocence & hopeless romantic notions, which left him feeling more abandoned than loved.
She sort of accidentally laughed out loud & he snarled back jokingly, “who do you think you’re laughing at?” Kelly just responded with a lazy, sun kissed grin on her face, “oh, you, of course, the way you carry yourself. I could tell you’re still tore up inside wanting to be with her.” By her, she meant Sally.
“Well… of course.” He sighed, shaking a bit in cold morning air, still comfortably sipping a refined, smooth, slow sip of his coffee & equally refined, relieving, albeit quickly impulsive drag off of his Marlboro. These two roommates — best friends, might I add — tossed occasional subtly subdued & sweet glances each other’s way. Lucas continued, not really at all impressed with his own comment, looking again at Kelly — hand flitting about slightly with her hair, flipping a page of her magazine. Safe to say, she wasn’t too in the mood to hear about this predicament.
Oh, Lucas & his girl problems, she thought & smiled his way, wholeheartedly knowing this longing emotion he felt wasn’t really even his fault. She sympathetically crossed her legs, tugging unamused, yet still cutely at her sweater sleeves. She politely looked up from her magazine. Still early in the morning, she too felt a tiny bit cold, even forlorn. Something deep within her — some intense emotion, some delicate feelings — tugged away, also at her, even though she also still felt quite sleepy, still attempting to keep herself awake & warm enough, sipping her coffee & pulling sweet little drags in ways even more relaxed, refined & cutely than Lucas.
Lucas, rather dejectedly, went on, “I guess, right? I mean, she’s so cute & kind of funny in an endearing kind of way.”“Well…” Kelly responded, “she’s not remotely funny, to me at least, but her little smirk & giggles at your little snide remarks is cute & you two do seem to have a spark, which is the most important thing.”“Well, the spark really is important, but I can’t find the courage to ask her out.”
Lucas duly noted & shyly pointed out, “especially since she’d probably say no, obviously… because she’s been so wrapped up in Robbie for the past three years.” Kelly knew just as much as Lucas how much this affected him. Lucas contemplated this, probably attempting to process his feelings & affections. He had previously been staring down at the ground beneath himself — his soft shadow looming as his skin glistened gently, sun still light & bright against his bleached blonde hair. His eyes glowed beautifully some type of way. His hands insecurely, yet snugly reached into the confines of his pockets — the warmth, a place to rest his idle hands — with a look of longing sadness cast in his expression.
He looked up again at Kelly — sun bright against his face, shining out over the whole balcony, especially adding an attractive highlight to Kelly’s look, a shimmering quality in her eyes, her smile, her long flowing brunette — almost auburn — hair. Lucas smiled as he looked her way, now kind of more focused on Kelly’s eyes, a feminine sensitivity coming up delicately within his being, as well as hers.
“Damn,” he observed as he noticed Kelly again opening up her magazine, back to her idly ideal morning reading pursuit. She placed her lighter & a tube of lipstick that had been sitting out back in her purse. Lucas seemed to mellow a bit. He looked out at the lakeside view. He was caught up, clearly still all too lightly absorbed in his own life, mind, feelings & overall emotions. He wanted to wrap up his original thoughts, which chipped away at his heart.
Lucas could never really come to terms with some feeling deep inside, but he didn’t know exactly which one. “Every time I see them talking at the café, my insides tangle in that awful sort of way… my heart can’t take it. Then she looks at me & my heart leaps back up a bit.”Kelly just smirked a little more, “you’re such an idealist. It’s not like she’s the only girl who could sweep you off your feet. Don’t get all caught up… yup, that’s my only piece of advice: Don’t get caught up. Don’t let her feelings determine yours.”
Well, nonetheless, Lucas badly needed to get over Sally — especially because of the aforementioned Robbie — but he wasn’t going to do it by sitting around, drinking coffee & smoking cigarettes on the balcony all day. At this point, his & Kelly’s morning cigarette routine seemed a pretty good place to start.
Lucas sat down on one of the balcony recliner chairs, opening up an interesting novel about hobos in Japan & began reading it — thoroughly enjoying the distraction — while Kelly flipped through some arduous pop culture magazine… just anything to dive away from real life into the world of ridiculous celebrity drama & vaguely true gossip — an escapist pleasure to the fullest degree.
Together, they smoked four more fresh Marlboro 27s. At the end of their morning smoke & early readings, they proceeded to return inside of the crib to settle down, read some more & brew another fresh pot of coffee. In a daze, they got up, slid open the balcony door, sliding their hapless souls into the house, each promising each other that soon they’d quit their addictions. Yet another day spun on & their cigarette habit inevitably endured another day.
“Bruh, where the fuck is my phone?” Lucas chirped to Kelly once they got inside, in the way an annoyed pessimist would. Kelly was a little too aware of what he had just said. “Bruh, don’t call me bruh Lucas… you know I don’t like shit like that or ‘bro’ or ‘dude’. And ‘bruh’… I have no fucking clue where your phone is. Why do you need your phone anyway?”
Lucas leveled with her, expressing, “I need it to call my lawyer & get me off of those vandalism charges down at the church. One rowdy night with the boys & they want to call that a crime.”
“Well it wasn’t like pretty graffiti or like the Mona Lisa or some Van Gogh ear-off-of-your-head type shit. It was a stupid picture of a Yin Yang symbol & weird cartoonish guy drinking a 40 on the door of a Catholic Church. I don’t think the Bible talks about Buddhism at all… or Super Mario type cartoon goons.”
Lucas laughed. Remembering the night vividly. He playfully reminded his lovely roomie, “the only way you’d know is through osmosis, since you haven’t read the Bible a day in your life… I’m a Zen Catholic myself. Fuck, they should etch a little Yin Yang symbol in each & every Eucharist, the body of Christ, the spirituality of the Buddha (cracking up mostly to himself at this point). And why do you think that was a 40? Could have been a glass of holy water.”
Kelly snarked, “with you, it’s always a 40, you drunkard…” Kelly laughed. “Anyways, you got to show up to court or something like that?”
Lucas said in the most nonchalant way possible, the way he always was about both important & non important things, “nah, my lawyer just had me sign a few papers, stating I was guilty. Since I’m confessing prior to the court date, the judge just fined me a measly 400$ & said I have to complete 20 hours of community service at the church. Hey Kelly, how about you tag along with me to the city today. We can tag another church. Well,” laughing more to himself in his deprecating way, “maybe just not a Catholic Church this time, it’s played out. How about the Jewish Synagogue on 44th?”
“How about if we just play it by ear… I’m down to go to the café & record store downtown. I want a Sinatra record & a scone.”“Perfect, it’s a date,” Lucas concluded.
And it really was a date & day they had planned, but platonically of course… But you’d never know the two of them weren’t boyfriend & girlfriend with how similar they were & the way they were always laughing & doing things together. Plus, Kelly’s ears & literally her whole energy always perked up every time when Lucas said his usual phrase — “Perfect, it’s a date.” He said this whenever they planned on running around & acting goofy all day.
In reality & oh so secretly, Kelly had the biggest crush on Lucas. It was tough. She had to control herself & keep these feelings hidden. He liked Sally. As a result, Kelly downplayed her affections, always trying to be a bro to Lucas so that he wouldn’t run away at more obvious advances. After all, she didn’t want to seem desperate. Timing was everything. He’d come around, at least eventually. Her mother had once told her, “honey, expect the worst. Hope for the best.” This was a common phrase, but Kelly always held onto the sentiment. Of course, she prepared herself for a let down. At the end of the day, Kelly imagined & hoped that Lucas would someday fall in love with her.
She didn’t want to lose him. She felt this incredibly too heavily due to a fear of abandonment that started to drag her down after her ex — the other love in her life — passed away when she & him were just 16. She never dated since, the only person being worthy to date after being Lucas. She & her ex were in a bad car accident… really. So bad. He was driving… she was in the passenger seat. She was the only one wearing a seatbelt.
After all, it was one of those old fashioned cars where the seat belts seemed more optional than anything, the old leather ripping, the wide dash, everything cheap and heavy. He went through the front windshield. She hung on & just broke an arm. The air bag was nonexistent. He was dead on arrival. She was too — on emotional terms, not physically — as they planned to get married after high school. Now, he was gone… just gone. Maybe he was around in some way, her lifelong partner & angelic counterpart in the afterlife.
Kelly strapped in for another ride downtown — this time Lucas driving — along the same dreaded worn out & treaded old roads she & her ex used to drive on. One of them was the same road they crashed on. She felt the same warm fuzzy feelings towards Lucas as to her ex — deeply hidden of course, but the same feelings. Lucas really was her best friend. I mean… fuck Sally. No one could stand losing Lucas in quite the same way in which Kelly couldn’t. She couldn’t bear that kind of reality — one without the light of their bond. Kelly sat in the passenger seat, playing with her necklace & hair, Lucas driving with one hand on the wheel.
They were close. The only time that they ever fooled around, though, he was too drunk to care. He always forgot it all the following morning… the previous night’s addictive pulling at one another’s shirt — lips inseparable — a distant blur; obvious attractions between Lucas & Kelly obvious at least to everyone, except Lucas himself.
They may have semi-recently shown up at a party with a 6 pack & handle of vodka. Mainly, they just stuck together, smoking cigarettes outside with the other degenerates — hiding away from any social exchanges of any meaning, buying a bag or two of who-knows-what drugs, blasting rap music in Lucas’ old Jeep Cherokee, making out. Lucas wasn’t sober enough to think about what that night meant for their relationship. They got as high as possible away from the chaos in the house party.
On that fateful night, with Kelly’s guard completely down, she gazed over at Lucas — shoulders slumped & a strawberry blush to her cheeks. Kelly viewed Lucas with the most amorous gaze, half drunkenly and lovingly looking into his soul, fumbling over the seat to bite his bottom lip and kissing his neck like there was no tomorrow.
And there really wasn’t because, every time after these drunken house party exchanges, Kelly knew Lucas wouldn’t remember a thing, but she remembered everything, always pretending to be more drunk than she really was and only fumbling over the car seat because she wanted him so bad. Lucas just did it because he was drunk and it was something to do, whereas Kelly wanted him with all of her heart, always instigating the drunk make outs… always finding Lucas even cuter when he was fucked up beyond meaning.
She really would’ve gone anywhere with him & today, on their drive downtown, she looked over at Lucas idly driving, cars buzzing by the opposite direction, playing with her hair. She saw in him something she’d seen so many times before, when she was looking at her ex… it was a certain vibe & character trait that she couldn’t put a finger on. But she realized that she wanted to be with Lucas for the rest of her life. She just had to somehow win his affection away from fucking Sally when he was sober, not just in a casual drunk make out sesh. She had to win his heart for real. She had played it off for too long & she could lay low for a little while longer.
At some point, the words “I love you for real Lucas, like wanna-be-with-you-love-you” would surely fall off of her lips. But for now, they voyaged on, Lucas unaware of the affectionate glances Kelly was secretly throwing his way as he drove one handed towards the cafe, the one where Sally worked, the café Kelly hoped she wasn’t working at today even though, likely, that was a major reason Lucas wanted to go.
Lucas turned a corner, made another left & pulled up to the café in his usual white Cherokee, the car he’d had for 6 years & counting. He always liked things that were familiar, bought the same brand of clothing & food… same brand of cigarettes, same familiar routines, same old friends & the same old dusty records. All of the things that he despised were new & fairly pretentious. He mainly just hated phones — the way people used them as if they were more necessary than simple conversation or books or even people themselves. The way he looked at it, someone could be so preoccupied… they’re calling people to meet up, talking for half an hour on their phone, then — when the person shows up — they are texting another person, looking at constant social media material online. Their own existence sums up to the little rectangle box in front of them — existence numbed down to what’s on their phone — leaving little room to survey the world itself… people essentially becoming desensitized to their eminent surroundings.
Especially considering the fact that Lucas complained about losing his phone earlier, he himself knew how easy it was to rely on something that wasn’t even around 30 some years ago. He basically just wanted the pre-iPhone 90s back. Lucas always wore denim, listening to old Elliot Smith & Gang Starr albums on his Walkman, reading Bukowski & sipping coffee from a café that had actually been there since the 1990s. He constantly left his phone behind at the house, just carrying some cash & a book as he drove to the café… as he did this time with Kelly. He had already called his lawyer and signed the necessary papers, paying the fee for his vandalism charges & promised that he’d volunteer at the local library as the extent of his community service work.
The café they always went to had the oddest little name, Café to Nowhere — been there since 1994… The owner — a Mr. Joey Duds — always had different answers for why the café had been so named… mostly because he loved entertaining the different guesses of guests as to the name, leaving the esteemed establishment’s name more a mystery of intrigue than anything.
If Kelly & Lucas had any sort of guess at it, they’d say it’s because, in their case, a coffee is the first thing you do when you get up & it leads to nowhere, a day spent chatting with friends consistently downing more pots of coffee, eventually occasionally having a night cap coffee to tuck you in warmly on cool nights. In essence, they believed Café to Nowhere was called as such because there was nowhere to go after the café — the coffee was so good that you’d stay until the shop was closing & they kicked you out. Even then they didn’t close till 10 p.m. — with all of the businessmen who needed a red eye coffee for their red eye flights late at night.
The café even served alcohol Friday through Sunday, after 4 pm so it really was the only place Lucas and Kelly hung out on weekends. Then, after getting kicked out because of closing time, they’d all head to the one or two house parties happening every weekend down the road. And the café was not just a café with a liquor license. Attached was a quaint room, with about 200 records, CDs & cassette tapes to choose from. A new age system with a U-Turn Audio Record Player was connected to a big Audio Engine subwoofer & two smaller Audio Engine speakers. Guests could lift the needle & play any record they’d like as soothing accompaniment to their coffee.
Sure, people would spill coffee in the music room or a novice would scratch a record & a local record snob would sneer at them, but Joey Duds never minded a broken record or little spill, adding to its charm, & naturally necessitating that people were careful with the records in the music room. People sometimes argued long & hard the best genres — what makes a true collection… Whether jazz has any relevance to today’s culture, whether metal is the new hip hop & hip hop the new punk & punk the new emo & emo the new goth & hyper pop the new pop & indie the new alternative — any sort of conversation about this cover or that, any sort of way to defend their taste in music, as people always do. Duds always had a fresh collection for both the old heads & modern kooks. The barista girls always made the best coffee, from mochas to cappuccinos to a classic drip or french press. And Joey Duds’ locally famous shop Café to Nowhere undoubtedly was the best place to start your day or end it in town.
Kelly went over to the counter, ordered a scone as she previously insisted on & an iced coffee, Lucas a hot drip black coffee, no creamer & coffee cake. Funny… it always seemed guys wanted hot drip & girls wanted anything cold, iced, or blended. Kelly paid the tab, observantly noting that Lucas had paid for their stupid drugs, liquor & cigarettes over the past few weeks, fueling a light bender so it seemed for the two of them. Because Lucas fueled the bender, Kelly even offered to buy him a record, already sliding two 20s over the counter, telling Duds to keep the extra cash as tip. They wandered over to the music room & Kelly found the record she wanted so badly. It was ‘In The Wee Small Hours’, a classic by Sinatra. Lucas thumbed through different hip hop & punk records, deciding on ‘Aquemini’ by Outkast, another hit laden tape by the Atlanta rap duo, both a cassette as well as a record of their esteemed & culturally profound masterpiece of the late 1990s, 1998 to be concrete. Kelly never understood how he could buy hip hop on vinyl. She thought the best sound on records came from vinyls in the 50s to 70s.
Unwavering, however, Lucas defended his taste… not by saying anything, but by lifting the record table needle. He removed the vinyl from the inner sleeve (upon taking the plastic off after Kelly paid for the record, of course). Lucas gently slid the infinitesimal needle back on the edge of the record, which to both Kelly’s & Lucas’ surprise was evidently a collector’s edition colored vinyl (a tie dyed pattern of purple, black & white). Before Kelly could say anything about her opinion as to why hip hop should not be played in a small café & that it should be reserved for benders & drunken Cherokee excursions, Aquemini’s Intro, ‘Hold On Be Strong’, came on with a thumping bass in the café. To Kelly’s surprise, it fit the mood of the current day completely. As the whole record played, it became the day’s anthem — as niche tunes usually seem to become. Every day, they got a new song stuck in their head to sing in aisles in super markets & in showers & on car rides downtown. Today, their song was ‘Da Art of Storytelling (parts 1 & 2)’ by Outkast. They played that part of the record till they tired of it & kept playing it so much after tiring of it, that they didn’t even tire of it anymore. They just couldn’t get enough of the sound.
From then on, Kelly made a promise to herself she’d look more into 90s hip hop & deviate a little from the accustomed norm of 50s & 60s & 70s pop, folk & singer songwriter shit. Lucas told her to check out A Tribe Called Quest, Nas, 2Pac, Souls of Mischief & Gang Starr. Lucas was fully into hip hop, even though he was just a skinny, bleach blonde haired white boy. He still kind of dressed like a thug, always in baggy jeans & crew necks, with a beanie on, his usual look. He either geeked out to punk or hip hop — anything 90s — even some singer-songwriter grunge vibes found within the likes of Jeff Buckley, Elliot Smith as aforementioned, Pavement, Sonic Youth & Nirvana. Lucas considered himself to be a music expert. But, since he was always listening to music, he was a little desensitized. Meanwhile, Kelly was always dancing like she’d never heard music ever so perfect. Lucas thought that was such a cute trait of Kelly’s — her dancing — when her eyes widened & she made Lucas dance with her. The way she vibed to all of his music so much, he really did love that.
In a matter of moments, Lucas contemplated a half hazard attempt at a meaningless dance with Kelly to a worn out Outkast gem, their second favorite of the day, a jam known as ‘Slump’. Equipped with a light thimble of a tack & polite utterance, one of the kind patrons of the renowned café almost overtly thanked the cute barista girl for his wonderful mocha. All of a sudden — no one in line awaiting a coffee currently — rain started slightly tip tapping & putter pitter pattering like steel brushes patting tin drums on the roof at the café. The current hip, slightly scruffy crowd currently in the store that morning simultaneously & instantaneously all gazed out the window longingly with a content jovial glee in their demeanor. The forlorn crowd outside the ashy driftwood windowsill quickly and efficiently begin to ash out their last cigarette — dampened, it was the last now. They scuffled into the café. Rain started coming down thick and rowdy — a gloppy, thick dripping pour, thundering hard rainfall. Slapping in autumn, it fell on the sunken tobacco moleskin brown windowsill in late October.
“An extra cup of free steaming, hot medium roast drip coffee to everyone who bought merchandise or anything from the music collection today, on the house & free of charge as well to anyone who purchases a shirt, hoodie, hat, beanie, record, CD, or cassette now…” Joey Duds proudly exclaimed warm heartedly. He softly yet assertively enjoyed the interest of both economic bartering, social commerce, creative recreation, useful and necessary materialism, public benefit & most importantly, community development.
It was a continual communal bond between patron saint, barista endearment & brand loyalty. Maybe, to some, it greedily could be construed to a near fault. Instead, though, his sales discount was successfully & beautifully orchestrated & initiated as the rain fell. The weather imbued autumn slush — October splash just in time for the spooky season. I guess that’s the name people use in reference of mucky days in Fall. Halloween was less than a mere week’s wait away. The crowd laughed as the baby infant crooned, grooved & vibed at the end of the jazzy hip hop tune. And don’t even get Lucas started on how much they bumped, bounced & bopped to the 3rd anthem ‘Rosa Parks’.
As the imagery sinks in, pretend you the reader are sitting in Café to Nowhere on a dismally gloomy & yet such an abundantly cozy day as you enjoy a nice drip coffee, on the house, no less. You listen to the Outkast tape or ‘In the Wee Small Hours’ vinyl you just bought, drifting off candidly sipping your warm roasted coffee… made by no other than Mr. Joey Duds — brewed by the owner himself… extravagance and luxury cultivated & defined in the finest sense. Or, at least, I love to think of coffee on rainy days as the highest form of extravagance & luxury… though also merely a necessity at this point as well. But let’s not lose track. So, without further to say about this or that, let us return again to the story, on that fateful week in October — more Specifically October 24th, 2024 — marking the 30th anniversary of the award winning coffee and record store — a one stop shop… a little place that we like to call Café to Nowhere.
Chapter 2: ‘Thrift Shop’
Some days, Lucas wakes up & everything in life resembles a fog. He goes over to his stereo system & presses the eject button, taking out Outkast’s ‘Aquemini’ cassette tape and inserts ‘Obscured by Clouds’ by Pink Floyd, as the lovely town of Camden, Sierra & Café to Nowhere a couple blocks down the road shields itself in blanketing overcast. Often times, he sits with albums for days at a time, staring at all of the posters in his room, opening up a book about anything & everything. He promised himself he’d replay the album consistently throughout the day, now slowly opening his eyes, beginning his morning meditations, focusing on his breath, in his messy slept-in comforter, the album coming through crisply on his vintage, heavily used stereo system littered almost entirely with stickers.
Lucas stared at his book collection, sitting comfortably and relaxed now upon finishing his morning meditations, dressed in cozy sweats covered by an oversized hoodie, his vans & slippers in the corner of the room. Some were little scraps of poetry assembled into collections. Others were interesting pieces of fiction. Along with the Pink Floyd tape currently playing in the background, Lucas also had almost as many records, CDs & cassette tapes as the entire collection down at the café. He loved how albums possessed a whole story, concept & underlying meaning interweaving on each record.
Lucas had poetry & fiction novels on his book shelf — surely containing thousands upon thousands of words. He had tangible analog sounding collectors items, filled with intricacies in tone & texture & definitive effects. He wondered about the true actual worth of an album. The entirely felt impact of analog CDs was definitively limitless.
Lucas adored the idea of being able to hold a tangible analog copy of something so near & dear to his heart. He saw how specific CDs related differently to specific times in his life. CDs reminded him of the beauty within individual moments. The CDs he loved the most were the ones that related deeply to crucial moments defining our way of life. The best albums captured moments in time.
Lucas got up out of bed, a little too quickly, making his eyes blur up a bit due to lack of blood flow with respect to his lanky figure, his thin physique. He rubbed his eyes & walked over nearly mindlessly to the bathroom door, a mere few steps away within the petite quarters of his lakeside cabin room. All of the walls within his little loft-like dwelling consisted of mahogany wood chipped material. His floors were carpet, with exception to the delicate tile within the bathroom.
Sometimes, Lucas cursed to himself at the carpet floors because, though cozy on his bare feet, he often made the mistake of carrying coffee around from place to place within the confines of his room, lackadaisically, thus at times staining the previously neat carpet he compulsively kept so vigilant about diligently making sure to avoid ruining, priding himself on taking care of his interior surroundings. He always thought how you take care of little minute details, microscopically, as pertains to personal matters, correlated with how broader matters, less in your control, were handled, taken care of & turned out.
Upon briskly shaving his face with a go-to electric razor, left at his standard setting so as to leave just the perfect amount of stubble & brushing his coffee and cigarette stained teeth & gums for approximately two minutes and counting, he twisted the nozzle of his shower, closing both the inner water protector & outer curtain while it warmed up. He went over to his dresser, grabbing attire that suited his mood for the day. Although he was a guy, he probably eagerly paid more attention to details of style than Kelly, potentially caring even more so what people thought about his daily outfit.
Lucas continued to get dressed little by little, the noise on Pink Floyd’s tape coming through so much more definitively and refined, hitting his inner core, tapping into a more universal frequency. He quickly glanced at his full sized mirror tucked away methodically placed to enhance perceptive angles & depth to the room. Sure, he never minded his reflection, but he wasn’t trying to view himself any type of way really either.
Not that he really cared about people viewing him with either approval or acceptance, but he always liked wearing a fit that left an indelible mark on people’s mind as to who Lucas really was, his clothes matching his personality, leaving others with a genuine outward impression of his internal disposition. Today, Lucas grabbed a light grey beanie, woven & knit, as well as a white Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker’s ‘Full Moon Rising’ tee, a grey men’s faux cashmere sweater, loose baby blue denim skater jeans, black half cab vans shoes (standard 10 1/2) & a pair of softly woven Saxx boxer briefs, as well as cheaply dependable Hanes socks, a standard outfit, but also a variation of his usual style he hasn’t rocked in almost a week.
Lucas left all of these selections neatly folded on his bed, his shoes & socks at the foot of his bed. He hoped that he would inevitably come off in his usual grunge, yet basic & edgy & outcast way with intrinsically soft, sublime vibes. He half skipped quickly to the shower, making sure to get in while it was at perfect heat, undressing, throwing his clothes in a nearby laundry basket, sliding into the embracing warmth of the briskly hot, ever flowing water. Lucas took a brisk ten minute shower, never showering for excessive durations. Still, he always made sure to fully clean up nicely & shampoo with that one coconut scented brand he liked so much, also applying moisturizing body wash & the whole works. He got out, a little hurried to dry off in his towel, stumbling over to his bed, soaked blonde hair wet & messy. He maneuvered his clothing atop & loosely falling over his tall, skinny frame, one garment to the next, lastly lacing up his half cab vans and snugly fitting the beanie cozily on his head, a grey knit woven beanie with light strands of hair peaking through in a punk way. Lucas considered adding highlights, a bit of brunette could offset the bleach blonde nicely. He was in equal amounts so unequivocally emo & punk & grunge & so too standard, classic, basic & bougie all at the same time. The Pink Floyd tape was still playing as the soundtrack to the foggy morning routine, closing out on the blissfully sweet sedative-like finale ‘Absolutely Curtains’ adding the finishing touch to ‘Obscured by Clouds’.
Lucas let the tape run, knowing it would come to a full stop at the end of Pink Floyd’s last song. He briskly sauntered on over to the kitchen, feeling fresh after his shower and morning meditations. Their little clock showed it was 10:15 a.m. Kelly had been in a refreshed mood, decorating the house all morning in spooky season Halloween decor, getting fully in the mood for the Holiday, gearing up for October Fest down at the café. October Fest was celebrated by the whole town, usually with copious amounts of binge drinking & live music at the café, as well as a carnival and haunted house downtown on the day of Halloween. Currently, the television at their lake side cabin was playing anything & everything Tim Burton had created. Kelly had been thinking long & hard about who their duo should dress up as for the festivities.
Coming up with mostly dead ends, she enthusiastically perked up a bit upon noticing Lucas’ little appearance in the kitchen, “Hey Lucas, who should we dress up as for Halloween?” Sadly, Lucas was still in a bit of a daze from the therapeutic meditation & shower. He just responded in a matter of fact way, so nonchalant about the holidays, “Oh, damn, Kelly, you know I don’t really care for the idea of stupidly pretending to be someone else. I’ll probably just wear some grungier clothes of mine and say I’m dressed as a bum or something this year.” “What? That’s stupid… and boring. Not that I really mind simple & boring. I like the grunge idea though. I love that whole era of fashion & music, now that you’ve nudged my music appreciation in favor of 90s grunge bands, as well as styles. Well, you are blonde, you should be Cobain for Halloween, you could still dress in a grunge bum minimalist fit, with little worry about finding a costume, with your hair basically like Cobain’s in a more skater boy or surfer way.”
“Alright, yeah, I guess that’ll work, I’d probably just need to find a pair of those goofy, iconic white rimmed sunglasses he always wore & dig through my closet to find a vintage & appropriate flannel for everything going down at the café. But God save me if I wear one of those dreaded Nirvana tees fake fans always seem to wear. Cobain, especially, would never be egotistical & conceited enough to wear a tee so blatantly promoting his band (Lucas, himself idly reflecting on Cobain saying on their Live MTV performance Lucas had on CD, “This is off our first record… most people don’t own it,” in a way that downplayed their musical genius)… so yeah, I guess I’m just going to stick to grunge clothes & try to find a pair of those shades he always wore at one of the thrift stores downtown. Hell, you could be my drummer at October Fest, you know go as Dave Grohl and shit… we’ll both wear the shades if we can find two and flannels, and denim jeans, it’ll be pretty funny, me with semi long blonde hair, that skater boy or surfer hair as you referred to it & you with that long brunette Dave Grohl hair.”
“Hell yeah, well I’m going to wear a Nirvana shirt, as lame as it might be to you Lucas, but for the most part we’re just going to look like grunge kids, I’ll probably have to carry around drum sticks to make my costume more obvious, but I like this idea. It’s fun… we get to dress as dope bandmates, as we basically are little bandmates to each other on a day to day & we don’t have to fuss with a lot more painstaking costume ideas.” Lucas half laughed, thinking about how dope it’d be if Kelly actually knew how to play the drums, casually thinking about how cool it might be to surprise Kelly by getting her a drum set & impromptu lessons for her birthday coming up in November. Drums would be fun to have around the house and, either it would be hilarious to watch her drumming attempts or she’d actually get good at it & be eternally grateful for Lucas hooking her up with the set and first lesson. He made a mental note in his head to consider surprising her on her forthcoming birthday, November 14th.
“Alright”, Lucas had made up his mind, “well, the 31st is right around the corner… Thinking about things, it’s always best to come to October Fest prepared. So let’s make a quick run to the market to load up on booze & cigarettes. I mean, enough to get us through the weekend… as most of this weekend, we’ll be too hungover to go shopping. And while we’re in the area, we can see what they got in store down at Down Bad Thrift.”
“Hell yeah,” Kelly exclaimed, smiling at his get-up-and-go attitude. “Let me just grab a few things & clean up a bit before we leave. The Halloween decorations are perfect, but they also left kind of a whole chaotic mess in my frantic hurry to give our crib some spooky season holiday flair. Just wait until October Fest ends & I prematurely start getting into the spirit of Christmas right out of the gate. You’ll probably be sick of it all by the time December rolls around.”
Lucas chipped & chimed in, “the only thing I’ll be sick of is the music. We’ll probably have to cut a deal to only play Christmas music two hours a day, especially considering the fact you start jamming out to that festive junk about four weeks too early. But, if it’s just for two hours, it wouldn’t bug me at all. In fact the jovial spirit of it all would probably grow on me, so long as you don’t wear out it’s welcome.”
“Alright, it’s a deal… three hours a day.” Kelly laughed as they had already begun shaking upon her saying, ‘it’s a deal’, knowing she upped the hour time to three instead of two hours. Lucas just accepted defeat. “Perfect, three hours sounds ideal,” Lucas gave into his loss, but not without slight begrudging sarcasm. “For the both of us, incredibly so ideal. I can’t wait,” Kelly played in with his sarcastic, sardonic attitude, sounding as chipper as ever on the other hand.
Oak Street Market & Down Bad Thrift were both about 10 miles away. They had made plans to gather up a few food items, and of course drinks & take a peak at Down Bad’s fall clothing and miscellaneous selection. First, Lucas absolutely had to grab a CD for the car ride over. He made a whole point to grab it, wheeling off to the collection in his room — all kept within a vintage crate from the 1940s sitting at the foot of his bed — Kelly couldn’t help but let a chuckle faintly escape her mouth, finding Lucas’ wildly fluctuating & impulsive music needs rather amusing, but not altogether invalidated as his selective taste in music always kept the car rides all that much more interesting. It was a constant worry of Lucas’ that they wouldn’t have the perfect album to appropriately accompany each trip, whether to Down Bad Thrift, Oak Street Market, Café to Nowhere, Camden Lake Beach, or anywhere. Each kind of deviation in their travel plans changed up Lucas’ vibe ever so subtly & slightly, thus garnering the attention of uniquely different CDs custom selected for whatever the particular occasion may be at that given time.
Today, since their trip involved going to the thrift store, Lucas felt like the Cobain album he had just been pondering, Nirvana’s 25th Anniversary Edition of ‘MTV Unplugged in New York’, would be the perfect entertainment for their trip.
He ever so deftly unlocked the crate, adeptly grabbing his CD Collection in the corner nook & began flipping through the discs until he came across the heavily played ‘MTV Unplugged’ one with Kurt in his thrift shop styled grunge green sweater. By far, his favorite songs, which he looked forward to on the ride over to thrift a bit, were ‘About A Girl’, ‘Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For A Sunbeam’ & ‘All Apologies’.
Kelly grabbed her purse, applying quick, hurried touches to her hair, tossing it a bit to give it that cute, but laidback look. They headed out happily & contentedly to the Cherokee. Lucas swung around to Kelly’s side, politely opening up the door for her, “Ladies first, of course.” “Why, thank you, my kind sir,” she replied back, tipping an imaginary cap towards him. He laughed, mumbling how it was nothing, that he just wanted to get her in a good mood for the ride over to Down Bad Thrift listening to Cobain live on the ‘MTV Unplugged’ CD. “I knew chivalry wasn’t dead, Lucas… oh, thank God.” “Kelly, chivalry…” Lucas was quick to remark on the subject, having supposedly full wits about himself on this lovely day after a much needed shower and meditations.
“…Chivalry is only dead because it is almost more impolite to open up doors for women these days, if you don’t pick the girl you’re opening up the door for properly. Girls in the new generation seemingly think it’s a bit demeaning, almost that we as men imply they can’t open up doors themselves.”
“Oh, thanks for ‘mansplaining’ homie. Lucas, God, I knew that much at least… you opening the door was actually so sweet. The only fault lay in the fact that you felt it necessary to explain to me why chivalry is dead. I’m all too aware so many conceited, so called woman these days are just stupid, quick to assume & can’t see a kind gesture for what it is.” Kelly felt a bit insulted. She still was able to stay cavalier & nonchalant.
Lucas apologized. He had inadvertently approached the whole ‘chivalry’ topic too bluntly. Bluntness & not seeing a bigger picture was a persistent shortcoming. He again made a snap judgment prematurely. His way of speaking about matters beyond his own breadth of knowledge from truly lived out experience sometimes occurred due to haughtily overestimating himself & disregarding struggles commonly shared by all living beings — how personal & profound this harsh reality (i.e. for women).
Lucas at times came off a bit narcissistic, even though he wasn’t. He was, however, kind of self involved at times. He was still slowly learning to come to terms with occasionally uncomfortable, seemingly all too unearned privileges he didn’t even necessarily covet, as a result of being a young attractive white male in this society.
Kelly just sat with her hands in her lap, slightly annoyed, but she really could care less. She was touching up her makeup, having pulled down the little mirror above where she sat passenger side. She ran her hands through her hair & put the mirror back. She couldn’t wait for the trip & ride.
Lucas still felt bad. He felt like he had to reconcile his original thought process. “Damn, alright. Sometimes I explain things to girls. Damn, always with that… I’m sorry. I mean women. Sometimes I explain things to women a bit prematurely, not even paying attention really to what I’m saying. You know how ADHD & unfocused I am at times. I really do want to say the proper thing at all times. I’m not really necessarily wishing to be more politically correct. I’m always just so caught up in bigger problems actually incredibly completely out of my control… damn, I really hope Sally & Robbie break up. Do you ever think they could?”
Oh my God. Kelly knew when Lucas got like this, he would never shut up. He would get wound up & just blurt out inane & all too insincere, insecure & atypically the most insensitive & oblivious bullshit ever. Kelly might as well just grab a cigarette from the pack in her purse & just hand it his way. He really just needed to relax a bit. He got too over analytical & critical of himself. Badly, he needed a quick pick-me-up. She pulled out a cigarette for herself & extended another his direction. Lucas quickly snatched it. Really, there was nothing he needed more than a drag. He inhaled & his demeanor so immediately mellowed out. He looked at her with an indebted sigh of relief. He took 2 more drags. And another.
Kelly laughed, almost with ‘just a hint’ of jealous insecurity or maybe detachment at the Sally detail, not that Lucas ever noticed that sort of thing. She hated when he obsessed with the wrong things. She unintentionally rolled her eyes, looking out the window opposite of the boy’s direction, whom she loved so much. It must be ADHD.
Lucas now eagerly & carefully opened the Nirvana CD in the front seat next to Kelly after smoking his much needed & soothing cigarette & more optimistically slid briskly out of the car. He walked in front of the car & opened the hood to briefly check the oil & engine & then continued to the trunk, placing Nirvana’s ‘MTV Unplugged’ disc into the Cherokee’s 6-Disc-CD-Changer. He hopped back in the driver’s seat. Smiling Kelly’s way, he breathed deeply in & out. He reached in his pockets for one last smoke & of course, the keys. “Sorry about all of that.”
Kelly couldn’t help but remember that first day driving with him… ever. This all took place before she opened up one drunken, revealing night after a few weeks of getting to know each other when she finally let loose, tears all over — pouring — about the car accident that took the life of her former love back in 2014 on incredibly icy roads.
But before telling him about the 2014 car crash, she noticed that Lucas, oftentimes not concerned on a day to day with most ongoing events around him, was on the other hand so careful about everything within the realm of his aesthetically pleasing vintage car, his minted white Jeep Cherokee. I mean, first of all, as far as impressions go, she could tell he took really good care of his baby (his baby besides hopefully herself, one day, she thought). Everything, she soon inevitably found out, was spotless and in perfect, original condition, the interior and exterior as if the car was brand new, an old Cherokee in 2024 looking as good as it did on the first day out of the shop in 2002. He didn’t buy it then, but was constantly cleaning it, mostly manually at home once a week, and taking it into the shop for upgrades and tune ups almost monthly.
Plus, at the forefront of Kelly’s mind, most importantly, she nostalgically remembered their first drive together, before Lucas knew anything as mentioned about the crash. Yet, he still made sure she had her seat belt on before backing out of the lot, taking off, and driving into the horizon. He wouldn’t shift into gear. Reverse that, he didn’t and wouldn’t even put the keys into the ignition until he could be sure Kelly had her seat belt on… “as being cautious when driving really is key, especially because it kills more people than cigarettes do, number one in the nation as a cause ahead of number two, tobacco products,” Lucas, unknowingly unaware of her specific past, said in passing. Far from upset, used to all of the trauma by now, Kelly was actually just quiet and secretly impressed and pleased Lucas understood just how safe drivers have to be these days. Even the most confident driver can take his mind off of the wheel for four seconds and crash.
She fully, if almost way too deeply, understood that concept to her very core by now. She easily brushed off Lucas’ comment, not yet exposing her story of being a survivor in a crash that took the man she was next to, and had been next to for years. Instead, she just smirked and perked up ever so knowingly and gently, mindfully and dutifully placing the seat belt around her fit yet curvy frame, locking it into the buckle.
That assertive, yet cautious and careful side of Lucas, mixed with playful unconcern to all of the other people seemingly in the world, kind of like a household cat or protective dog of the crib, was the first thing that drew Kelly to this boy who was noticeably, in her eyes, super attractive, which she noticed on the first drive they took together, and remains to this day even more so all too aware of Lucas’ classic edge and defined jaw and naturally good looks. She wasn’t too bad on the eyes herself, but she had a refined type of beauty that grew on men over time, not stunning ‘fake’ (she truly believed, typical of the way she viewed most fashion trends) model features like Sally. Honestly, though, the only reason Lucas never really commented on how good Kelly looked on the daily more often, of course even just casually in passing, was because of how accustomed they were of being around one other every single day. It may seem kind of off putting, or misleading at least currently, to just comment on her appearance out of the blue when he had never thought it necessary to tell her what he thought Kelly should already know about herself, “that she’s fucking beautiful,” and (as her best, still fucking straight friend) truly thought any guy lucky enough to have her by his side should forever count his blessings.
So, as she thought about all of the qualities that held Lucas so near and dear to her, the first song of Nirvana’s ‘MTV Unplugged’ came on through the car’s superb sound system, ‘About A Girl’. It was funny because Lucas just loved having his best friend along for the drive, but Kelly was deep in thought, thinking about him and his car and the whole thing. She was lost in thought, but still she had been cutely aware that the first song was named ‘About a Girl’… she liked Nirvana a lot actually.
Lucas was kind of comical in the way he always wanted so badly to show her a piece of music, paying less attention to the particulars of the CD, just focused on how cool it sounded. She paid more to attention to detail, as women instantly so often do, in addition to multitasking on anything else going on. Lucas just heard the guitars and drums and the overall vibe. Meanwhile, the lyrics hinted to Kelly generally to where Lucas’ mind was at. The feminine side of her kept secret wisdom like that aside to herself as she knew Lucas was more captivated with the tone of the record’s sound than with the underlying feelings the music was attached to, at least in relation to how stoked Lucas had been to show Kelly, of all the people he knew, this specific CD. I mean, she had listened to it a lot a while back, but now his excitement in hearing it, even if for the 100th time, was truly endearing. And the lyrics always ended up hitting Kelly even more profoundly after seeing Lucas so hyped on listening to it.
Of course, the CD could be heavily felt in the back of her head, together with concurrently cruising on roads which naturally brought out an over awareness to detail in her senses, which she had in high amounts regardless. Lucas knew how tragic that crash must have been, and only tried to alleviate it with the best possible music he could, driving as well as he ever could. And Kelly could see how much the whole thing meant to him; she saw he really did care about all that happened and still felt it necessary to get out of the house even on the days it was hardest and easiest to bunker down at home, even if they had to drive. But she saw he just wanted her to flow with the little rhythms of life, like the music flowed and the street moved on along. They always went at their own pace, but they always made sure to accommodate each other in the kindest ways. She loved the way they did that.
And, sure he just wanted to drive and go thrifting and loiter about a little and smoke and just kick it, not really thinking about what the whole thing means or chatting all too much, but she could tell he really cared. His little eager vibe, so stoked on a specific CD while he drove along, lightened the mood always to the point where she got into the music on the road too, laughing, smoking cigarettes out the window, turning the music all the way up that much higher, both to forget the past and make sure this moment right now lasted a lifetime, in case anything ever happened again.
All that remained was the ignition revving and Lucas coasting, first back and then in a swift maneuver forwards towards Down Bad Thrift.
Kelly didn’t even hold onto anything, surprisingly just slumped peacefully in her seat, so instinctively at peace knowing Lucas was a remarkably good driver. After all, Lucas kept his car in still originally mint perfect condition, his sound system was top of the line, tires capable of handling any severities in weather elements, and his engine was non stock and boosted, not that he leaned on it, at least too heavily. Lucas, of course, liked to show it off just the tiniest bit, sound of exhaust purring and speaker booming out of the surround sound amplifier throughout and subwoofer that was in the back trunk with the 6-CD-Disc-Changer. He only drove fast, though, with Kelly at the very beginning of drives just to lighten the mood a bit playfully and ease the tension from the past in his little way, but then he’d drift along from place to place at more cruising speeds.
He had his music collection loosely stowed away out of reach from visibility, in case someone potentially wanted to break in. That actually happened once to his baby sitter when he was all but about seven years old. Her window got hit and smashed with an evident beer bottle at the side of the car, and every single one of her CDs was taken from the front of her car. He knew how much his priceless collection was worth so, as a matter of safe keeping and safe guarding and also simply as a means of keeping his mind at relative ease, he always kept any off handed CDs and cassette tapes and vinyl records in the trunk, covered by his softest blanket, in crates. Those trunk windows he had fully tinted black. The rest he had only slightly tinted so as to not get pulled over for disobeying any sort of regulations. He couldn’t really afford the whole fine, more in terms of its inconvenience.
Lucas always kept a few packs of cigarettes in the center console, often buying a carton just to have in the car in case he went through the pack in his pocket too quickly or he misplaced them. He rarely would ever misplace a pack, but always happened to burn through a whole one at parties with Kelly if he had been drinking and was in the mood to chain smoke. She noticed that they only really chain smoked when they were in larger crowds, something to fall back on both to get a breath of fresh air outside most literally and as a way to get a breath of fresh air away from the tug and pull of all the people they knew. But he’d keep them at their disposal always in case needed.
Lucas had some other things in the car, a pack of tarot cards that Kelly had gifted him the past winter and a guitar and skate deck and some boots. But honestly, in Kelly’s mind, the cool thing about his car and these rides could be found in facing something tough and overwhelming, and seeing what may change for the better just around the corner. The good always follows the bad. In Lucas’ opinion, even the most miserable person can find pieces of light if they reach at and grasp for it. Light was always there and Lucas just had to remind Kelly, eventually we can do things again the same as we used to.
Almost ironically, she found the drives healed some of the most wounded parts in her, covering something tragic with more optimistic and soothing memories as a bandage. As they drove away from the lake house, this time to the next, each trip inevitably became easier. The drives themselves were like mellow therapeutic outings, helping her cope with tragedy in infinitely lighter conditions and experiences, affirming the emotional awareness and maturity between the two of them. The little drives meant lots. Far from weighing heavily on her mind, the rides actually lessened innate feelings of heaviness, each one softening heart wrenching pain, lessening underlying trauma, soul finding new comfort. Something Kelly always remembered to tell herself, which Lucas would smile upon hearing whenever it was mentioned to him, “time heals all wounds.” It really does.
He putted along at the last portion of the drive along the quaint, remote road on 7th Avenue in Downtown, snagging the most coveted parking spot right in front of Down Bad Thrift. Sure, Lucas had to pull off a pretty tight parallel park in between two trucks, but he pulled the maneuver off alright. He figured, even if he had lightly tapped the front or back bumper of either truck, the trucks would hardly even scratch, a solidly structured frame in front and behind each. Still, Lucas guessed it was worth a shot and took a chance, mostly successfully, except for the truck owner coming out hassling him after, asking why he felt a need to park so close as now, he really couldn’t actually back out, cars tightly in a row packed on the street one after another. I guess Lucas just happened to be the only one willing to parallel park, not at all seeking to impress upon or upset anyone. He just wanted to lighten their little walk on the way back to the car, assuming they’d be carrying a few of the thrift store disposable bags full of clothing and accessories and anything else they liked.
Lucas yelled across a little white lie from the driver’s side door, “Oh sorry, sir, we’ll only be a few, got to get ready for the festival.” The truck driver just ignorantly yelled back, “What the hell are you talking about… a festival?” Oh he was a tourist. They assumed nearly as much and Kelly, seeing Lucas hadn’t fully calmed the angry truck driver’s mind, just nicely called out to the poor man just trying to go on about his day, kindly excusing their actions ever so politely stepping in, “Oh my God, I promise we’ll only be 20 minutes tops, we come in here a lot so it should be quick. I’m so sorry, we got a cigarette for you in case you at all want a smoke while you wait.” All of a sudden, at the arrival of Kelly and her soothing voice to the scene, the truck driver immediately began to noticeably soften, apologizing, letting go of his ego and stoking it a bit too, “Oh no, darling, I don’t smoke, sweetheart, but I had no idea it really was only going to take… 20 tops you said? No worries at all, take your time,” giving her the most tasteless smile.
Lucas just rolled his eyes, not too worried at all now about the traffic coming his direction. For one, October Fest hadn’t swung into full gear throughout the town — still a relatively slow weekday — so cars weren’t really pushing their way past him and Lucas just wanted to push his and Kelly’s way past this old man, who struck a chord in Lucas so vulnerably hurt by older men who viewed him like dirt and detestably viewed Kelly in ways potentially even more crudely just focused on one single element of her true character, at least in Lucas’ mind which often had ways of playing tricks, exaggerating brief little moments like this. He so often got so caught up, building it all up in his head.
Kelly knew she’d have to calm Lucas down as well after all of this, seeing both sides of this previously tense moment, all too aware things like this always had a way of irking Lucas to his bones, tugging at his heart so hurt in the past, always uniquely protective of girls close to him. I mean, after all, Kelly had endured enough trauma, if one could at all consider this traumatic to anyone but Lucas and his own helpless relationship to men. At the moment, Lucas only thought about Kelly to take the focus off his own burdened issues, how she always put up with way more than she should have. I guess, at some point, Lucas just wanted to really show her he felt the pain she felt in a way too.
They held onto pain differently maybe… or maybe, they felt a trauma shared yet separate. But he knew all too well about this world’s way of wounding a bright, kindhearted soul. Kelly had already known this quality of Lucas. Like many, he wanted something back that was taken, something he could never get back. It was something from childhood in the early years a little before or after pre-school, he could never really recall. But he knew many persons in charge who manipulated control over him, kinds of people who he could never really fully come to trust. In the end, on this day, I guess he felt so protective of Kelly then because trauma made him sensitive and Kelly was receptive to his sensitivity with open arms and a way to soften his endless distrust of the world.
So often hidden heavy emotions came across in public as an apathy he firmly displayed. He really just didn’t want to open certain wounds of old. They had healed well enough. The old man hadn’t hurt, or even remotely worried, Kelly. Lucas really just needed her to go into the store with him. As a pacifist, his only way of diffusing all of his dilemmas was to avoid and escape. Of course, he was more bothered by it than Kelly, who was so keenly used to that kind of attention by now.
Unknown to him, she actually was only focused on getting Lucas into Down Bad Thrift, the same thing Lucas hoped to do. Really, Lucas just needed to smoke a cigarette and go check out the selection, just anything to just keep the day in an optimistic light, focusing on the present, not stuck on things from so long ago which sometimes lingered and resurfaced in little, seemingly minute run ins like this.
Lucas never really could do anything about it. These men had a nasty way of making him look like the degenerate kid up to no good, when he really longingly wanted to do what he could to take care of Kelly. He didn’t have much, but he had his car and a few nice things and his best friend. He really wanted only to be useful, even if only for a little. And this kind of thing sometimes opened old wounds — a love he had for the world only to be inevitably damaged by it. It all hurt to say the least. Maybe that’s why he got along so well with the more feminine side of humanity. He didn’t get the toxicity within common masculinity. He never really understood the greed, for wealth and power, the whole idea of getting into a girl’s pants on surface levels, working out excessively… all except he got the idea behind cars. Ever since his dad held him on his lap in the driver’s seat to let Lucas hold the wheel.
Besides that, he would never give into the preconceived idea of what being a man means. To him, it meant more than what job you had or anything, but in the amount you actually loved others and gave yourself up to others without expecting anything in return, the way you handled yourself and all of the pain you had recovered from. It had nothing to do with what you wore or if you went out to drink at night or smoked. To be a man meant not what you gave to others, but in how you treated them. His dad had always sought to instill that within him, and his mother showed it to him day in and day out through example alone and demonstrated actions. Although she and him both found an underlying beauty to quotes and the way things were written or worded — often times discussing different books they had been reading lately — she knew that it was her actions that would leave an impression on Lucas and his other younger siblings. She read novels as that made her soul whole, but solely in the way that she went about her day — this captivating, softly warm hearted feminine soul — she left a true example of the true meaning of what it means to genuinely love the ones you care about. Sure the shows his mother used to watch were superficial, but nothing about the way she loved was superficial. Kelly and his three other sisters all loved in that specific kind of way. So funny how often you learn about the kind of man you want to become in light of the eyes of the girls who you love and that love you the most. Being a man or woman means the ways one gives into, withstands, accepts, and remedies their life for another.
She took her arm and put it gently around Lucas’ shoulders and playful attempted at making a skipping motion to move on from this whole, the man upon seeing the two of them turning away and pacing back and forth a bit scrolling most likely the news feed on his phone, maybe New York Times or if he was a bit more on the intellectual side, which anyone could reasonably be, maybe the New Yorker — idly checking up on news, this old man’s past time, similar to a cigarette. Surely, he poorly was just responding in the best way he saw possible to his truck being blocked off and in no way deep down meant to stand between the outing of these two young individuals. It really was a misunderstanding. Lucas read it all a bit too personally as well as drastically, although he what he was downright upset about wasn’t the man himself, but his inability to really discuss things with Lucas man to man, thus making Lucas feel like he was forced to feel more immature than he really was, as he was nevertheless cast the role of everything from childish to victim to antagonizer. He did no accusing, but had to sit out while his best friend, the pretty girl, and this old man, wealthy elite, settled and resolved it all, Lucas stood idly as a disdained dog or child. Yet, there he was, an adult experiencing childhood flashbacks right alongside of Kelly, but feeling totally aloof alone.
Still, he meandered up the curb past the cars, his luckily timed parking spot feeling intensely inconvenient by this time. He felt the inconvenience wrenched wretchedly in his gut. But he felt Kelly’s arms come around his and as she motioned in a playful skipping way forward, he loosened up and knew that “this too shall pass”, as Kelly always remarked to him. Sure, he would hold onto the trauma inducing momentary trigger for a few hours, but as he grew older, he found his way back to self connectedness, awareness, security, sensitivity & the sense of playfulness only the young at heart can have. Lucas may have been young at heart, but both he and Kelly had age old souls, so wise early on and even more so in young adulthood, the tragic realities they faced pivotally at crucially cruel & sad moments within the scope of their lives only leading to more depth & maturity. Someone once told Lucas, “it’s all about perspective… with more experience comes greater perspective…” It was something along those lines in an attempt to show him the power he held, a little spark to his fire and passion within, after a time he knew little about his innate, unwavering strength — he really did always find a way out of dark times, and this mentoring individual just wanted to remind him of his capabilities.
She took her arm and put it gently around Lucas’ shoulders and playful attempted at making a skipping motion to move on from this whole, the man upon seeing the two of them turning away and pacing back and forth a bit scrolling most likely the news feed on his phone, maybe New York Times or if he was a bit more on the intellectual side, which anyone could reasonably be, maybe the New Yorker — idly checking up on news, this old man’s past time, similar to a cigarette. Surely, he poorly was just responding in the best way he saw possible to his truck being blocked off and in no way deep down meant to stand between the outing of these two young individuals. It really was a misunderstanding. Lucas read it all a bit too personally as well as drastically, although he what he was downright upset about wasn’t the man himself, but his inability to really discuss things with Lucas man to man, thus making Lucas feel like he was forced to feel more immature than he really was, as he was nevertheless cast the role of everything from childish to victim to antagonizer. He did no accusing, but had to sit out while his best friend, the pretty girl, and this old man, wealthy elite, settled and resolved it all, Lucas stood idly as a disdained dog or child. Yet, there he was, an adult experiencing childhood flashbacks right alongside of Kelly, but feeling totally aloof alone.
Kelly slightly lightly tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, patting his back and in a most relaxing and chipper way, said, “Come on bestie, let’s see what they have in stock, got to be something good in here, sometimes you just got to litter the toxic, bitter attitudes of old folks towards you just slide of your shoulders. They’re just jealous of our youthful outlook and still pure hearted nature.” Just like he led her way through her trauma recovery as they tread their way on wayward roads, him the captain to her renewed hopefulness on car rides, she was in the driver’s seat as far as shopping and retail therapy truly went.
They even had old collectors edition vinyls and original CDs and tapes, and old VHS tapes reminiscent of happier childhood memories. We take the good with the bad in the life, oftentimes one after the other. There’s nice guys & evil guys, best friends & arch enemies, good cop & bad cop, low points & high lights, come up & come down, the mania & depression, day & night… it all comes in waves, one can’t exist without the other, the harsh makes us appreciate the gentle, the forgettable only puts an emphasis on and holds a candle to the remarkably memorable, stubborn mistakes lead to insightful lessons. On this day, Lucas was handed the bad news first. He had to face ever present past trauma he had not fully recovered from. Also, he only had 20 minutes to look around and hadn’t even enjoyed a stress and anxiety relieving cigarette. I mean, how could he look through all of this in 20 minutes, all of these brand new yet vintage CDs?
“Wow, Kelly, look at their CD collection…” his voice came through in a more humbled, warmer tone at a more balanced wavelength. Kelly was easily pleased in hearing him back to his usual mellow & meditative attentiveness to his CDs and of course music. “Kelly, damn, did you see this? They got ‘Man on the Moon’ by Kid Cudi and old Ratatat and ‘Goo’ by Sonic Youth and the Flaming Lips… and oh my God, I absolutely have to get this one… I can’t believe they have ‘Heaven or Las Vegas’ by the Cocteau Twins. Someone played them once, I can’t remember where…” His voice trailed off as he talked more to himself at this, a way to collect his thoughts and engage with everything while also tuning out a bit from harsh realities we never had to pay too much attention to anyways.
He was unaware Kelly was grinning and laughing happily only to herself out of Lucas’ hearing radius or sight at the opposite end of the store. She amused herself, watching Lucas swipe & scroll & snag off the shelf then put back neatly onto it repetitively & rhythmically hopping mildly around the thrift store’s music collection. Kelly decided it was time to bring Lucas back down to Earth, heal his ADHD temporarily, so she called out from the clothing section, “Hey Lucas, grab that Cocteau Twins CD.” “Or what about The Velvet Revolution?”
“Lucas, you’re killing me, I think the car ride back definitely calls for a bit of ‘Heaven or Las Vegas’ something soothing in spite of a lot going on, all of the hectic banter. We need that post punk goth vibe, something with heartfelt feeling kind of like The Cure.” “Oh, you’re definitely right, sorry I got carried away, guess it helped just get away from that bullshit back there. You’re right, Cocteau Twins is perfect for today.” “Lucas, you were right, you’re always right to you know? That CD really is a good choice, I’m not even shocked you know every damn band anymore. But, hurry, check out what I found. We only have about 8 more minutes before angry trucker hat guy, or whoever, goes off again.” Lucas obliged stumbling on over, flaunting the new CD tightly held pressed into his sweater just above his heart.
She held up the goofy, white rimmed glasses. “They had two pairs of them, the iconic ones, right? Like you were talking about before, can you believe it? And some old hemp vans for you and some vintage denim Chuck Taylor Converse for me, a flannel for each of us, two pairs of denim jeans & most intriguingly a vintage worn out dad hat for me and one of those beanies with the ear muff things attached to it, like Cobain wore or maybe a Russian or two wore back in the day, I don’t know… what do you think?” Lucas was amped, fully out of his state of reflectivity, “Damn, what the hell, for Heaven’s sake, Kelly it’s perfect. ‘Look good, feel good’ right. You know, this will probably be one of the best October Fest experiences yet.” “Lucas, I completely agree, we’ll make it all so worth it… always good to cherish the holidays. You finally got in the spirit. I was hoping you would. Alright we got 5 minutes to check everything out, set everything down and get on out of here to avoid any more hassle or conflict. And of course, let’s switch up the music a bit, Nirvana was perfect for the drive here. On the way back, we’ll play the new one. It’s ’Heaven or Las Vegas’ tonight. Alright, let’s make moves… 4 minutes.”
It had been so cute she had been keeping track of the time. Lucas would have been in there for another two hours, his car towed by then. They checked out the goods swiftly enough, items placed together hastily and compactly in Down Bad Thrift Tote Bags, “free of charge on any orders over $100. Guess your total comes out to $100. About $10 apiece for each item. The CD cost a bit more since that one was brought in still in original mint condition. Cash or card?” “Just using Apple Pay these days,” Kelly commented, loving most of the more basic, useful & minimal iPhone apps.
“Well, it’s worth making use of some left over hard earned cash on the holidays. It’s as good a time as any. The money was burning a hole in my pockets anyways. I was more worried we would get carried away shelling it on way too much booze. I absolutely love Down Bad Thrift. You guys always have the best items here. Money ends up well spent.” “Yeah, the shop is definitely not the worst place to be,” the friendly cashier giggled a bit complacently. “It has its perks… don’t tell anyone, but some of this stuff they just hand to us as we’re about to head home for work. It’s a pretty tight knit community, especially at the thrift shop, as you and all the locals know quite well.”
Kelly and her best friend in the whole world smiled back at the kind cashier and picked up the tote bag filled with their shopping finds, making their way to the car and sliding into the car just as their burdensome friend was looking their way pointing down at his watch, in ticking rhythms. Lucas smiled & waved in a mocking, nonchalant manner and back out skillfully, expertly maneuvering between the cars and out onto the roads, flipping off the gentleman as he rode off into the early sunset, this late afternoon a few days before Halloween. Before merging onto the open road, he jutted into a more accessible parking spot just down the road out of the line of sight of the man in the Ford pickup. Before Kelly questioned his quick pit stop, she distinctly remembered one thing was left to take care of before setting forth on the ride back to the Lake House. In the 6th CD slot of the Cherokee’s 6-Disc-CD-Changer in the back trunk, he inserted ‘Heaven or Las Vegas’ by the Cocteau Twins. The CD resided in the slot alongside all of the CDs in the other slots: ‘Donuts’ by J Dilla, ‘1999’ by Prince, ‘Beautiful Vision’ by Van Morrison, ‘Berlin’ by Lou Reed, ‘What’s Going On’ by Marvin Gaye, and of course the ‘MTV Unplugged Live’ performance by Kurt Cobain at front and center in Nirvana.
The lush intro of ‘Heaven and Las Vegas’ came through on the amplified sound system and sub woofer as soon as Lucas switched over the CD in auxiliary from the 5th to 6th slot. He twisted his key to get the ignition up and going, pressing on the gas as a way to quickly rev the engine up to maximum initial speed and capacity, with no cars in relative to proximity, soon settling down to slower speeds, coasting along at a precise speed limit. He was basically on auto pilot, finally able to enjoy Kelly’s company. She was slumped and exhausted as much as he was alongside of him. He rolled down his driver’s side window in the midst of artfully managing to remove a pack from his left pocket. He was accustomed to pulling it out quickly in times like this, eyes never pulled away from the road, focused on driving, yet still fully able to whip up & procure two cigarettes from the pack, one for him & one of course for her. She lazily held out her hand, appreciative of the thoughtfully well handled art of pulling out a cigarette while focusing completely ahead on more pertinent matters at hand.
She smiled a smile she could only make to Lucas, lashes fluttering over in his direction, then quickly looking out the window to the road. They passed by as it seemed to pass them. She pulled out her favorite Day of the Dead Zippo Lighter from the glove box & lit up her smoke, Lucas already half way through his 3rd drag, blissfully engaged Nirvana. He thought about that album & then brought his mind back to the one put up to the highest reasonable decibel, a volume that was the go to favorite when wind swept through their hair, light from setting sun coming in soft wavy hues with the clouds seemingly content up in the sky. They couldn’t hear a word the other was saying, but they had a vague notion & general idea what was on their mind.
It was the music, the cigarette, facing & overcoming trauma, and most importantly the candid company of one another. They go out and face the day, experience it all, then return to home base. The beginning, middle & end blurring together in an ideal moment. They would of course remember all that happened that day, but the thing that stayed with them on a more permanent level was not the little run in with the guy who owned the Ford Pickup. Rather more engrained was one, defining cute moment, Kelly’s hair picking up in the wind, her hand riding waves outside of the window, Lucas quickly ducking his head out of the window in a quick rush like the most satisfied puppy would & the two of them returning to their little thoughts focused on the road & in awe of the sunset.
Then they looked at each other, his hair curling up in a soft tuft both with & against the wind, hers flowing freely behind her ears. A look passed between them of an almost sedative & mellow & overwhelmingly pleased vibe. It had an underlying quality. There was deep longing & enticing feelings. His eyes gave off the tiniest amount of “I fucking love you.” Hers did too.
To be honest, Lucas enjoyed one of his most relieving & soothing smoking sessions that night, alone in wondrous solitude, Kelly smiling peacefully as she cooked up their favorite, Mahi Mahi which she wrapped as a burrito in an organic tortilla with classic refried beans & Spanish rice, guacamole, extra hot salsa & the secret ingredient — tater tots. She set the plates down on the glass dining room table and called out to him, gleefully hoping that she wasn’t rushing up his much needed smoke or anything, but just gently reminding him the Mahi Mahi burritos were on the table whenever he was ready.
They both agreed that eating on the couch could be excused tonight “after all the little melodrama…” “We got through it, didn’t we” “We sure did, no doubt about that.” They had been chatting across the way from each other, him out on the terrace & her from just beyond the warmly lit sliding glass doors.
Lucas efficiently took a few more puffs of his cigarette, the most intoxicating ones of all, the one you always had to call quits on at some point. He wouldn’t want to wear out the welcoming effects. Sure, one was left as nothing but a butt & fallen ash, but that was life. We felt it all sweep over us, fully caught up by the daily tides & then a chapter closed. We lit up a brand new cigarette. All comes to eventual ends then starts up again. We begin anew.
Nothing in life was permanent, it was all temporary, that was the beauty. Right now, it was all in the Tim Burton flicks on TV as they a bit scandalously lay on the couch snuggled on each end under blankets while also trying to devour Kelly’s Mahi Mahi burritos all while watching the work of the renowned Tim Burton & attempting to not spill with a still upmost self respect. They were fully tuned into the Burton classics. Time seemed to go into wild blissful comfort, all but standing still. The two of them passed out in less than half an hour. It was only 7:30 p.m.
The next morning, around 6:30 a.m., Kelly lulled up out of a Burton enhanced daze, a bit of beauty sleep to say the least, and laughed hilariously at Lucas, face down against the cushion. He could have felt embarrassed if he had been in a more wakeful state, a small line of drool against the cushion. ‘I’ll have to wash that,’ Kelly thought well amused by his utter sleepy abandon. To wake him, she brewed up the quickest pot of coffee you may have witnessed ever in history, so used to the process.
She was a barista in college so classic drip caused no sense of fuss within her. She just operated the machine in subtly unenthused ways… the water, boiling it, the paper filters, just the right amount of Cafe to Nowhere’s grounded bag of medium roast Colombian coffee beans. In a matter of what seemed like two or so minutes, she held up a fresh cup right up against Lucas’ gently sensing and lightly snoring nose — the cup Lucas drank from & rinsed and washed clean each day.
Kelly knew he would come to in a matter of moments. Just like the steadily dripping, eventually brewed coffee, she would have to patiently wait for Lucas to come to his senses. She knew the only thing he wanted more than a fresh Marlboro 27 and her company of course (how could he not, she thought) was coffee, to taste & smell. The coffee and fresh cigarettes helped him move from restful sleep to meditation & then awakening. The coffee, cigarettes, mediation & shower was just minimal daily activity to prepare for what may lay ahead of him. It was all therapeutic.
Lucas didn’t like therapy too much, but having studied psychology in depth, he knew what his mind & body & soul would need as a means of acclimating himself to both routine & change, pleasure and pain, sensitivity & absent mindedness. He got into gear in the morning, winding up as a way to ready himself to face each day’s profoundly new demands & stresses & then wound down on serene nights, decompressing in a reflective fashion, nostalgically enjoying anything familiar.
The mornings and nights, all by instinct & inevitable memory. We drift to sleep and we slowly open our eyes to awake. He dreamt his final, most memorable parts of his dream. Kelly and him had opened up a coffee shop. Instead, they served free coffee all day & business revolved around selling goods exchanged for another item of same or lesser value to their returning visitors, It was a non profit, experience driven shop. At the exact moment when he announced it was their one year anniversary, at the shop of course, he awoke to a cute sight of Kelly, albeit a tiny bit blurry at first lazily opening his eyes. She looked so captivated by the sight of his slow ways of waking up, then returning her attention back to watching TV with the still toasty mug of his sitting on the edge of the living room coffee table, the aroma engulfing his being & bringing him to his senses.
He rose up off the couch, blankets strewn about. He speedily rushed his hands to the coffee mug’s handle and hurriedly yet conscientiously moved the cup in his general direction, warm drip of hot coffee dripping just a tiny bit from his lips — this was Heaven to him, truly breakfast in bed, immediate drip coffee. He looked Kelly’s way. She was actually a bit sluggish still and inattentively & idly staring at some celebrity gossip on television.
Lucas couldn’t help experiencing a feeling of overwhelming attraction to Kelly, the way she was in her mellow morning routine, still in her sweats & an old college crew neck & beanie & Uggs. She liked when she didn’t try to be like all other pretty girls. He doubted even his stupidly precious Sally looked this good so early in the morning without makeup or even swapping out the outfit of the night before.
“Well, at least you’re finally awake,” Kelly exclaimed in a bored yet humored way. “It took you over a half hour to awake, you were dreaming pretty vividly. It probably had something to do with the coffee I held in front of you for a few minutes. I put it on the table, but it got cold so I had to brew another pot. It’s cool though, I had more to drink myself. Anyways, good morning.” Lucas, still with half opened eyes was the most content she had ever really noticed him on this morning. His vibe was so mellow.
He was really nice to be around — she thought — early in the morning, before he got caught up in it all, even more quiet but in a more easy going & less introverted lonely way. He was just so glad to see another dawn, not that he was awake for it, but a new day always meant brand new beginnings. And today, he looked at Kelly and said the sweetest thing.
He said, “You’re my fav Kelly, thanks for the coffee… and Kelly, it’s really good to see you. Cocteau Twins last night and that one song playing & the drive & the cigarette… and you, you stuck right by my side the whole entire time. That one song that was playing… the whole thing, I’ll hold onto that moment forever. Oh yeah… I almost forgot which song it was. I don’t know, the way you looked at me, I don’t know, it was so cool. The song, before I fall back asleep, hold on I know it. It was… yes, how could I ever forget, the self titled track on the Cocteau Twins’ CD, 5th track, ‘Heaven or Las Vegas’. That meant the universe to me.
Kelly looked his way, secretly stoked and soothingly stunned. He actually remembered one of those fateful moments they had between each other where their eyes just fell in a mellow, sedated & blissful glow upon one another. Moments liked those happened a certain memorable moments in their life. She knew it was their most coveted state, beyond even what Lucas could ever envision. It was Heaven. Maybe it was Las Vegas too, but it was definitely truly Heaven.
“Lucas,” she responded back, “It meant the universe to me & even that much more. Those moments are some of the greatest ones in my life. It’s true, in those states, I honestly could never ask for more. Seeing you like that is a sight that I’ll cherish forever & ever infinitely.”
He smiled so openly vulnerable & she knew he really wouldn’t forget that one. More than anyone & anything, she wanted him and those exact moments. Lastly, she knew it would not be the last time that happened, not even close, she distinctly believed their souls had met up in this lifetime for a predestined reason; slowly, but surely their souls were crashing into each other deeply in the gentlest way one could ever intend.
Chapter 3: ‘October Fest’ Bonus: ‘Café to Nowhere Tribute — A Little Nostalgic Look Back at Joey Duds & the Coffee Shop’s Humble Beginnings’
This whole experience & scene that formed within the cute little community of Camden, Sierra all began four years before Lucas was born on May 5th, 1998 — a little over three years after Cafe to Nowhere’s first day as a business in the neighborhood, to be exact, October 24th, 1994 — the day, month, and year when Joey Duds believed it was a proper enough time to introduce a new downtown coffee spot, a niche place that would naturally enhance the coffee drinking experience as this rad new owner entrepreneurially & insightfully knew the one aspect of the café experience usually missing at most coffee joints was the distinct accompaniment of music alongside of the outing.
Of course, most cafés nowadays stream music on speakers amplifying on surround sound throughout — usually a Spotify playlist likely named “Coffee Shop” or “Rainy Morning Jazz”. Joey liked that logistically, surely, of course.
Still… Duds wanted to legitimize the listening experience with something a bit more authentic & engaging to each of the guests at his shop, so he decidedly implemented a music lounge as one of the crucial aspects of the newly founded café. Guests inevitably would find themselves strolling into that now widely acclaimed little hangout spot, soon stirring just the right amount of buzz. The lounge opened up to a vast collection — inclusive of the widest variety at their fingertips, from grunge to hip hop to indie, country, punk, shoegaze, heavy metal, goth, folk, emo, jazz, classical, pop, of course rock & roll & all that follows thereafter.
In the music lounge, a guest could then peruse the esteemed collection of vinyl records, CDs & cassette tapes, pleasantly available for purchase if they came up on & found something worth the little extra cash stashed in their back pocket wallet. Maybe they’d find an album that could possibly impact the way in which they thought about their day, where the day turns into a month, as well as a uniquely nostalgic, impactful experience that would last a lifetime. In turn, Joey Duds was walking around in a blissfully aimless way right on that exact corner in downtown Camden one day in early September of ‘93, suddenly landing on both the idea to create this cool little establishment, along with the name which always left people innocently craving an answer as to the name’s reason.
Cool names were frequently discussed in a similar fashion to the way people always ask others if the tattoo they got inked had any meaning. I mean, of course the tattoo has meaning… anything you want etched in that cutely needled and edgy way has memorably engraved meaning — a cool & nostalgic little memorable treasure marked in a thoughtfully subtle & steady handed trend setting way. So without too much built up or preconceived hype, about a year before deciding to build the café, then the fall of 1993 as mentioned briefly in passing, he decided to call the soon to be developed shop “Café to Nowhere”, coming up with the name in a mere matter of moments.
Duds, in his own way, lay all of his cards out on the table. In Texas Hold ‘Em, one would never do this, right? Magicians usually never give away their tricks, as my sister initially clued me in on sometime in maybe about 4th or 5th grade… just as authors never stay up on gossip & the talk of the town. Well, of course they do… I’m kidding & kind of attempting to be sarcastic. Oh well, nevertheless, Joey Duds 100% wanted the music, coffee & an introduced weekend bar to be such a well paired experience that there was nowhere you needed to go afterwards, everything existing pleasantly — if not at all a bit complacently — at his cute café. Poker-faced Duds looked up from his hand of cards, ‘I see your call. I’ll raise. I’m all in.’
So there it was, now October, 1994. Sitting in a remote & cool part of downtown, there was Café to Nowhere at the corner spot, his ultimate life’s work and establishment, the founding of a one stop shop, where he & baristas would help satisfy customers’ oftentimes frequently arising demands by efficiently serving excellent coffee, discussing & checking out their vinyl, cassette tape, and CD purchases, in addition to mindfully — having proudly attained their liquor license as well — fetching the guests glasses of beer & liquor & even whole wine bottles, all while (hastily in the steadfast, quickly paced meantime) offering sensationally tasting food & appetizers, to enjoy delectably for hours on end posted up at the cute little, freshly built locally owned café.
So the year, if you can begin to ponder & reminisce the days of the café’s meager start, was 1994. The seasons had grown colder, now October 24th. Duds naturally felt a bit nervous, or rather subtly apprehensive, as he was really just so stoked, fidgeting here and there, constantly doing nearly a million little errands at or nearby the café to get his little coffee joint up & running, steaming to a complete & perfect brew.
Joey wanted to set himself up for success & only experienced a casually nervous tension in those early days because he conscientiously noticed the café’s potential & knew all of the work he would have to put in to cultivate a unique hot spot, destined to inevitably become a Camden cornerstone.
Then came the first selections that Joey wanted to feature prominently at the café. The first record which came to mind, for whatever reason in Duds’ lackadaisical and reasonably observant way, was a record Lucas would first stumble upon in college his Sophomore year. He literally accidentally knocked over the CD sitting unopened on a table in his friend’s dorm. He drunkenly crashed into the table on which the CD lay flat, tipping it completely.
That was the year 2018, but let’s get back to 1994 — the year Joey was so carefully focused on setting up the music lounge in that gloomy fall month of October, seeking out the record he impulsively and rationally thought would be the best one to christen the café’s experience, the one Lucas finally listened to 24 years later a little before he became a legally drinking adult. The album, impactful in Joey’s life span, was ‘Dirty’, the Sonic Youth record, released on June 21st, 1992, exactly 2 years, 4 months, and 3 days before the coffee shop was built, months spent on construction, a few years on monotonously tedious paperwork.
Upon the album’s release, only two years & some change prior to the café’s first day in business on the block, locals in Camden barely even paid any mind or thought to the new grunge scene coming up on the West Coast & relatively world wide, although still just in its rawest and most original form.
Nirvana had, what seemed like so long ago, released their introductory grunge experimental record ‘Bleach’ as well as the renowned classic, ‘Nevermind’, having not released Lucas’ favorite tape ‘In Utero’ quite yet. Also, a few bands similar to Sonic Youth & Nirvana had been making a few waves already in the grunge scene, such as Mud Honey, Green River, Stone Temple Pilots & The Smashing Pumpkins, incentivizing & provoking full blown interest in a whole new genre, stemming a bit from post punk, goth, pure punk, indie classical & just elements of almost all of the currently existent genres.
Grunge pulled from all of these genres, really fully hoping instead however to give their music a much denser & grimier sound with a shimmery, thickly reverb heavy electric guitar, amplifying the tones & overall drive of the instrument, sometimes screeching in one take session songs on their albums or live in concert, not that bands like Nirvana made any real mistakes, such as in their MTV Unplugged Performance live in Hells Kitchen of Manhattan, New York on November 18th, 1993. DGC released Nirvana’s tape on November 1st, 1994 — ever so nicely capping off that wonderful first week of the Café’s humble beginnings with a resounding bang.
Everyone could tangibly hold the final recording of the recently passed grunge rockstar, Kurt Cobain & crew, taking center stage on MTV amidst vivid stage lighting & ethereal atmosphere at the Sony Music Headquarters hosting a tight knit community. Nirvana played to an almost cult-like fan base at the time, their music soon rampantly inviting many people into their sound, a vibe everyone could truly appreciate. But at first, it was just those of course in Seattle & a few grunge type hipsters who had moved away from the city of Washington to places like none other than the city of Sierra, more specifically the little town of Camden.
Joey Duds was one such individual, having made the brave jump & decision to quit his job as both a broker & stock trader in Seattle — jobs he had kept for the past 14 years — to move to a town not many had heard about. He had done his research though, on the best and cutest — albeit mostly unknown & only lightly talked about — towns. Camden, Sierra was at the top of most of these lists, both in the eyes of the independent types of folks hip to underground trends.
Joey already felt destined to forget more run-of-the-mill business pursuits, fully focused on his dream of establishing a renowned coffee shop somewhere remote & quaint. He had an innovative hunch that an up & coming town like Camden would most definitely rely on the comfort & jolt of coffee to spur morning business venture pursuits, as well as just to wake himself up in the process of getting the tight knit community moving & grooving. This Camden town was rumored to possess a full blown intellectual mind of its own. Duds hoped Camden would unequivocally perfectly fit his vibe.
He moved a month later, early winter of 1992, boarding a plane just a month after quitting his jobs as a broker & stock trader, the first flight out of Seattle, a one way ticket, not a usual two way getaway, to Camden. The employee checking his bags even inquisitively asked where he was headed, to which he so simply replied in a rationally blunt yet still enthused tone “Camden, Sierra”. He was not too focused on talking with many people, more in a daydream kind of daze eagerly awaiting his voyage, departure, & soon-to-be arrival to the town he had researched for so many extensive nights in his minimalist apartment in Seattle.
“Sir, your bags?” Duds apologized, coming back to his surroundings a bit, a tad lethargic from waking up so early, still not yet having enjoyed his morning coffee. He almost both mindfully and mindlessly, in dual amounts, pondering off into what he envisioned would be his new life in this town which flew under so many’s radar.
“So Camden, huh?” The employee who checked his bags laughed after asking the question, for the most part at Duds’ inattentiveness that was ironically paired with a slight hop in his step & chipper demeanor & relaxed, idle disposition. The employee contentedly chimed in again, obviously just happy to engage with customers on another lovely day at the airport, anything to help the time pass swiftly by, attentively focused on the fliers instead of minutes on the clock, so that he could count money in his pocket, not the time on the wall. A few minutes passed by and Duds was not all together making casual conversation in his groggy state.
So the bag checker just let things slide, still attempting to stay friendly & courteous, “Well, sir, I hope you take it all in & really enjoy your vacation,” the playfully hard working employee said in passing the ticket back to the cafe’s eminent owner.
The bag checker went on, almost overly aware that the ticket he handed back only allotted a one way trip even though, when asked whether the trip was a little vacation to get away from work for a while, Joey replied, “Oh, uh yeah…” followed by a murmuring of “that’s where I’m headed, should be fun…” as he let out the most contentedly unconcerned little chuckle after he acknowledged how the new experience would most definitely be a fun — if not… life changing — one.
Understandably, the bag checker was, slightly a bit confused as to why Duds would purchase a one way flight for a vacation, but sadly also considered an astutely obvious factor that, like many of the people flying out that this man comes across on these early morning flights, this particular frequent flier — by the name of Joey Duds — may not have disclosed the task he had to attend to in Camden. It was a lot to disclose in depth. He decided unconsciously to keep it all under wraps.
To the bag checker, this was a typical incident when it came to conversing with the flyers. To him — at least he made the assumption — travelers like Duds were ones he usually referred to as “preoccupied hoverers” who just hovered from place to place idly focused on other things, maybe even lost in the confines of their cell phone, simply going from one destination looming, or hovering, over the airport floors.
Even if something went terribly wrong at the airport, preoccupied hoverers were usually so caught up in their headphones & predetermined task that nothing ever seemed too catastrophic, chaotic, conversationally important, or relevant to stand in the way of their blissful solitude in the time spent waiting for flights, standing in baggage claim and lift lines, boarding & sitting on the plane & exiting the plane, finding a taxi & unpacking. Some people, throughout the whole excursion, keep all of social exchange to a minimum, preoccupied in whatever to help remain detached, despondently hovering above one place to the next until they reach their final destination.
The bag checker & this specific preoccupied hoverer — Joey Duds — really both only wanted the time between now to the time that they got in their casual & comfy clothes in the confines of their respective homes, to pass by as swiftly as humanly possible.
Duds, in his impulsive early morning traveling plans, was not really paying attention to this man he would for all intents & purposes never see again foreseeably going forward. His bags now travelled down slowly moving conveyor belts, or whatever they call those little moving pads at airports that transfer luggage to drivers who load them snuggly onto the plane’s undertow storage. Please forgive my lack of airline slang terminology.
Joey, the man highlighted in this little chapter, was on a mission. Obviously it didn’t involve paying much consideration to Seattle conversations, which to him resided within mere nostalgic memories in his past.
Nonetheless, Joey Duds was on a mission, a specific mission to make it all the way safely to Camden away from all of the Seattle hustle & bustle, lit up sky lights & all of the big fuss & glimmer & glam, the mania and depression on the despondently & vaguely gray streets.
Duds let all of this emotion & constant murmur & ongoings within the airport, culminate in an album that highlighted the mixed feelings of coming & going, giving & taking, apathy and empathy, something that hit one’s senses. He of course turned on the generationally weary eyed album “Dirty” by Sonic Youth, which almost singularly found a subtle sonic layer, an emotional capacity for both apathy & feeling within sound.
In a matter of weeks, he would have fully set up & organized his recently paid for studio apartment & would maybe even be able to say he made a friend or two, sharing conversations with some locally famous personas or esteemed store owners by then, knowing that half of moving to a new city is just striking up conversations.
You know, when you move somewhere, it’s nice to put a few cards on the table, so to speak, to get your name on the board, throw yourself into the mix & build a whole new reputation typically based off of initial impressions, the original glimpses into one’s core nature. Whether their perception holds weight, or carries genuine credibility or falsified self assumptions, varies person to person. Anyways, Duds hoped they would at least view him in an endearingly approachable manner in his new residence. He couldn’t wait to set up.
Now skip forward to a little less than two years later & Joey is still getting set up… only this time, he has a furnished place to get back to, along with at least one of the few girls who always stops by the still young 34 year old Joey’s studio abode. He had his dwelling pad perfectly suitable for days he wished to stay in, often cozily participating in the little comforting home body lifestyle.
Now he had to set up his new dream and dial in on what was needed to turn his hobbies — listening to tunes, sipping on coffee — into a fully realized, profitable enterprise. Even in Seattle formerly as a stock trader, when he traded stocks at 4 in the morning on the West Coast — seeking quick low buys and high sells in day trades — he still never gave up on his dream, simply to drink coffee, listen to music, socialize & go about each day in a rhythmically subdued, soothing way. What he loved was coffee, not stocks & bonds & all of that pursuit of wealth for wealth alone. He wanted social exchange, street-like currency, business ethics & a fair trade.
His dream, of course, required wealth. That’s where jobs he despised going to each day actually left long term benefit. So those years & years of accountability & returning to work day after day after day — even if reluctantly — all paid off?
Joey already had enough savings & earnings in 14 years as a broker & stock trader to own & run a coffee shop right out of the gate. Landing in Camden in 1992, he spent ample time getting a read on the people & surroundings, establishing first his identity as a fresh faced intellectual in Camden just starting to get a feel for the little ongoings of daily life within the town.
Two years since his arrival eventually passed — he had consistently went around all of the other cafés & bars, or ‘pubs’ as they called them there… Joey went to films at night & book shops & strolled along the streets either on foot or via bike or in the comfort of the old Ford he had just recently bought. During these two years, he meandered from place to place, envisioning both a location for his foreseen café & thinking out how the coffee shop would inevitably turn a profit.
The cash, he imagined, not including the tips left in a jar for the lovely & youthful & opportunistic baristas, would be the true means of exchange to pay for the café’s expenses & to fulfill his vision of having quality items for people to purchase, from coffee to wine to CDs & appetizers, so they’d hang around & continue getting drinks and food & pieces of music.
So while other places served coffee, no doubt, Duds had plans for the big picture. The big picture involved the music lounge. That all started with an online purchase, delivered to his Camden studio apartment, of Sonic Youth’s Dirty, in vinyl format & as CDs and cassette tapes. Duds paid in full for the ‘Dirty’ tapes & assumed, in the future, that he would probably find a music vendor offering discounted prices to store owners buying in bulk, thus maximizing returns on investment when sold back to customers.
Two weeks later, the Sonic Youth records, CDs & tapes arrived. And 24 years after that, Lucas got his first glance at these very tapes, music inspired by, but not based in hip hop. It was the first genre since hip hop to garner his attentive respect. The pivotally iconic music, hands down, was grunge. One of the esteemed grunge masterpieces was ‘Dirty’. The band, of course, went by ‘Sonic Youth.’
Replenishing (or recharging / balancing / clearing) **chakras** comes from yogic, tantric, and energy healing traditions. The idea is that these seven main energy centers can become depleted, blocked, or overactive due to stress, trauma, lifestyle, or emotional patterns—leading to feeling drained, anxious, stuck, etc.
There isn’t strong empirical scientific proof that chakras exist as literal spinning wheels of energy, but many of the practices used to “replenish” them (meditation, breathwork, yoga, mindful movement, sound) produce measurable benefits like reduced cortisol, better nervous system regulation, improved mood, and enhanced body awareness. So people experience real replenishment even if the mechanism is interpreted differently. Here are the most common, practical ways people replenish chakras, roughly ordered from most universally recommended to more specialized: 1. **Chakra-focused meditation & visualization** (most direct method) Sit quietly (or lie down), breathe deeply, and move attention from root → crown. Visualize each chakra as a colored spinning wheel or vortex: – Root (base of spine) → red – Sacral (lower abdomen) → orange – Solar Plexus (upper abdomen) → yellow – Heart (center chest) → green/pink – Throat → blue – Third Eye (forehead) → indigo – Crown (top of head) → violet/white Imagine dirty/stagnant energy leaving and bright, fresh light pouring in. 10–20 minutes daily works for most people. 2. **Breathwork / pranayama**
Deep diaphragmatic breathing, alternate nostril breathing (nadi shodhana), or breath of fire (kapalabhati for lower chakras) moves prana (life force) and quickly “recharges” the system. Even 5 minutes of slow 4-7-8 breathing can feel like hitting reset. 3. **Yoga asanas targeted to each chakra** Certain poses open / activate specific centers: – Root → Mountain, Warrior I, Tree – Sacral → Pigeon, Lizard, Bound Angle – Solar Plexus → Boat, twists, Warrior III – Heart → Camel, Bridge, Cobra – Throat → Fish, Shoulderstand – Third Eye → Child’s pose, Dolphin – Crown → Headstand (or Legs-up-the-wall for gentler) A full chakra yoga flow once or twice a week is popular. 4. **Sound & vibration** – Chant the bija (seed) mantras: LAM, VAM, RAM, YAM, HAM, OM/AUM, silence – Listen to chakra-specific frequencies (e.g., 396 Hz root, 417 Hz sacral, etc.) or Tibetan singing bowls – Binaural beats or nature sounds while visualizing 5. **Color, food, & nature** Eat / surround yourself with the chakra’s color: red root vegetables, orange citrus, yellow bananas/corn, green leafy veggies, blue blueberries, purple grapes/eggplant, white/light foods for crown. Spend time barefoot on earth (root), near water (sacral), in sunlight (solar plexus), etc. 6. **Crystals** (if you vibe with them) Place corresponding stones on the body during meditation: red jasper/carnelian (root), carnelian (sacral), citrine (solar plexus), rose quartz/green aventurine (heart), aquamarine/sodalite (throat), amethyst/lapis (third eye), clear quartz/selenite (crown). 7. **Energy work**
Reiki, acupuncture, qigong, or pranic healing sessions can give fast “top-ups” if you’re depleted. Self-Reiki hand positions over each chakra area also works. **Quick daily routine many people swear by** (10–15 min): – Ground yourself (barefoot outside or visualize roots into earth) – 3–5 min box breathing – Quick full-body scan + visualization of white/golden light washing through all chakras
End with gratitude or an affirmation like “My energy flows freely and abundantly”
Start wherever feels easiest/most needed—many people begin with root + heart because they’re foundational for feeling safe and loved. Over time the whole system tends to come online more smoothly.
Socials are all played out… post one or two reposts a day… if someone dm’s you, reply nicely back… but otherwise just do anything except socials… idk it’s kind of impossible not to be on socials a little bit… life’s boring
Girls run insta & Facebook
appearances matter, what you wear, how your hair falls that day, if you washed up & brushed your teeth, etc. so take care of yourself… wear only the dopest clothes & stay comfy
drugs don’t matter to me anymore… jus stick with smoking cigs & sip coffee
nothing left to do, except read & get caught up with the slower qualities of life… watch some shows & football games, listen to music on repeat & jus slow the pace of this whole thing down a bit… don’t mind the melodrama.
small talk is a banality you don’t ever need to bother yourself with
invest in books, music & clothes
say fuck it to those who don’t care
each & every life means something
everybody’s everything
damn… girls are hot… i’m whatever
ignorance is bliss… discernment of knowledge is wisdom… channel energy
it’s all in how you respond to losses
stay pure in thought… focus on only the most positive aspects of life
the noise the coffee makes from being ground up & aromas of being brewed in the morning wakes me up so nicely
what’s my sis & mom up to? and my dad… that’s all that really matters.
kind gentle softness is the #1 key
beautiful souls coexist gracefully
stay cozy & comfy & listen to the best music… look good, feel good
whatever, whatever… i’m going home… should prolly catch up on South Park
i don’t know, i really don’t know
shouldn’t let the little things get you down everyday… shit don’t matter
i’m tired of the chase of it all… not much to chase anymore. prolly jus staying single for life…
…but isn’t that jus the biggest lie?
it’d be cool though…
when i run low on nicotine or coffee, i feel the life blood sucked out
why is everyone so caught up on so much bullshit… i be straight & sad
jus sad all the time… maybe based & jus grounded in the sad reality of it all… everything means a lot to me, but at the same time i’m so numb
numb + jaded little existence
the girls chatting somewhere down the block… what would they want me to be doing? Prolly making money as a local barista or some shit + bringing home something to bump… but what’s the fucking point of that… i could come up on most things. girls & drugs? umm excuse me m’aam… maybe just some cool church girl who still has her morals?
but what’s the fun if they’re not at least a little slutty…
a girl breaks my heart in her little way, then i take a drag off of the cigarette… the girls up to no good somewhere & life’s still such a drag whether you got one by your side or not…
guess being on SSI Disability is cool enough, but what’s 1100$ a month… Need a job perhaps… but who hires at a decent enough salary for part time
— Bipolar I Schizoaffective with OCD + heavy PTSD in case you were wondering… maybe Kanye was right: that it’s a superpower… sometimes though, with meds, it jus feels like a never ending depression with mania simply as a mask to cover the sadness
but really, what girl wants a younger Charles Bukowski & Kurt Vonnegut type — i look a little better than the two of them, but i’m like a flight risk
maybe i’m jus a young Jack Kerouac, a beatnik who’s beyond his time. Who knows… maybe i’m ahead of my time.
imma pacifist & i’ve never passed a fist… past the 6th… 6:09 PM & i still could use a 5th… not a drop of liquor around & coffee will have to make do… anything to attain a little dopamine.
the whole thing’s jus tiresome, but at least in a cool way… i need the energy of divine femininity…
who knows, maybe once i’m outta this little shelter & have a place of my own, they’ll come around a bit more
who cares though?
‘who cares’… $NOT had that as his insta bio for a while
he’s always wearing his hoodie like Kenny… hoodie strings pulled tightly so it’s nice & snug… tbh i should start watching South Park again
i used to actually live in a place called South Park, where the zoo’s at in San Diego
so much worse & better then
so much worse & better now
2015 cigarettes changed the game
candy flipping & ski club did too
made it all a bit cooler
days on the upper west side of NYC to years & years on the West Shore of Tahoe… scenery of cities that never slept, bars, gas stations, coffee shops, bodegas, lakes & mountains.
it could all feel so nonchalant & relaxing… don’t over extend yourself
here we go again… little quibbles
used to dribble the ball a while back in high school… now i jus toss cigarette butts into ash trays
what’s the point? just so over it & these girls basically left me for dead so i’m jus doing the only thing i can do, a little drag off the cig because it seems like enough people in my life inadvertently told me to take a hike or jus kill myself altogether a little bit, so i’ll jus enjoy my cigarette instead… it’s all you got sometimes down in the mud
she’s wearing a white tea with the all black goth nails & walks through a sprinkler… on accident or purpose? damn, what the fuck, i can’t… so i walk up the street & buy swisher sweets, two of those new black & mild cigarillos they got (the F T variety) & a pack of Lucky Strikes… what’s a boy to do… these girls are too cute & my life may as well be withered into a nicely crafted ash tray of sorts.
cremation & the ash off my cigarette & nicotine filtering into my black hearted lungs all the same. at least i’m choosing my way out in the long run. it’s only a matter of time. But honestly, thank God for cigarettes & coffee. it’s the only thing getting me through one fuck up to the next. life feels kind of fucked up so we (at least usually) get fucked up.
i’ll settle for the boring, bitter sweet melancholic ecstasy of a cig.
could be so cute. the two of us, you know. most of the time i’m pretty balanced with a mellow temperament. the only bipolar thing that really happens is i get too stoked off of my sadness & connect everything to each other with lots of loose associations
i find a million things all at once to be the coolest thing ever, but my brain speeds up to unbearable levels
the only bout of psychosis i ever had was weed induced. so i’ve only had maybe three spliffs the last 6 years.
been clean off stimulants & staying clean off stimulants… a grind whether you’re employed or still unemployed.
good bye weekend.
we work on something new everyday…
…all of us.
that girl didn’t deserve any sort of mistreatment by that older gentleman
i’m a protective person, but no way could i save any girl… hopefully she doesn’t stray too far from her safe haven & handles herself well wherever
reading books & listening to CDs is a cure… iPhones are cool, but my screen time like 14 hours thanks to a solid 8 hours of sleep each night, at least
i need a cold drink: some Yerba
little movements, flick of the wrist & flutters of the heart
feels good to be stuck in between a rock & a hard place & i mean that little expression in the best way…
like i love the cold, the stone & all of the rocks in the ground… to be cool, you have to wear a cool fit. when it’s cold, you can pimp out your attire… at least in the Fall & Winter
nothing left to do… maybe if i made time for more reading, i’d be happier
but i don’t even like reading that much… i jus like the pleasurable act of writing & listening to my tunes
tune in & tune out per usual
kicking rocks & kicking it
throw up the rock on sign then the three fingers up love sign
where were we at? who shot Cupid?
sir, why do we live jus to die?
all he could say was… cigarettes help you come to terms with that i think
Energy of the purest form is what we truly crave deep within, both in our nervous system & inner network of our mentality. We must first dispel all forms of negativity & seek positive levels of the purest state of energy.
Many kinds of energy exist basically on a spectrum from low to high… but this diagnosis of energy is a little off base because it classifies energy only in terms of a fluttered kind of high energy & sedated dull low level. Here, on the other hand, I am placing energy into two forms: pure & toxic.
The last thing we’d ever want is to carry any toxic, low level energy. In the case of water, you’d much prefer Voss water over Crystal Geyser. In the same way, we crave only the pure.
Speaking of water, we must be like a refreshing artesian bottle of water, fluidly adapting to the world around us. When brutally cold, we turn into ice to match & adjust to the climate. When hot, we melt & in humidity or a sort of cloud cover, we evaporate into mist — to me, the purest form, coexisting atmospherically in nature. We just precipitate at once in a way that aligns with the universal Tao.
Tao, as I described in an earlier article, is the natural way of the universe & planet, a divine element within us & all that purely occurs within the environment, naturally tuned to the movement of the universe in pure synchronicity, fluidly acting in response to the rhythms of all that surrounds us. The way, or ‘Tao’, is in perfect alignment with natural predilections & fundamental ideas, wavelengths, frequencies & energy.
To live life in pure energy is to be channeling the fundamentally bright sided aspects of the whole universe. By channeling only pure energy, we naturally attain a more obvious way to recognize & avoid anything that’s toxic, noticing its intent to drag us down — the energy vampire of life attempting to suck our energy out & leave us dry — into abandoned states.
Toxic energy always opposes pure energy & desires to bring everything in its path down to its level as to not feel alone & not feel as sadly about its own inability to rise up. The more you start to glow & shine, the more those who aren’t shining or glowing want you to fall off. They’ll try with all of their will to make you jaded to the ways of the world & bring you down to their cynical view of everything, so they feel affirmed in some way, as if it’s ordinary to feel in some type of misalignment with the purely cosmic & awakened state of a blissful world. It seems as though some people don’t simply contemplate the beautiful mysteries of the world in harmonious, blissful peace, but would rather start their own seemingly trendy club of misery.
Trust me, enlightenment is way cooler than rotting in some melancholic pit of your own unprecedented, maybe over exaggerated woes, mediocrity & all too melancholic state. The easiest way to reverse the trend towards a negative state is to be grateful as early as possible in the morning, stay on top of all necessary errands & tasks so as not to feel weighed & bogged down later & to always do as much of what, deep within, you love most in the world as humanly possible when any free time opens up (or in the best case scenario, all the time if your favorite hobby & what you absolutely look forward to doing all day, everyday is also your full time job)… but to any person residing in a lower level energy state, holding less of a capacity for positivity in the scope of their whole life due to unfortunate or debilitating outcomes or circumstances, I get it, I have been there as well & feel your pain & see how easy it is to slip into these awful, albeit temporary states — noteworthy how transitional & impermanently fleeting these low level states & downward spirals can be so long as you don’t get caught up with a sort of romanticizing types of sadness & pursue some way out, with diligent intentional moves towards accepting where you’re at, while still keeping your senses in a chase for anything that brightens the eyes, stimulates vision, soothes the ears & offers an intrinsic feeling of innate relief… the things you pursue should give you a sense of worth & refresh & invigorate you in the midst of it all, from contemplation of an idea to full realization of a novel concept.
Pure energy is not some sort of amped level of high intensity, it’s more of a healthy, beneficial level. It’s not amplitude, it’s wholistic attitude defined by intently & genuinely living in accordance with a more divine & wholesome state in relation to yourself in coexistence with all of the others you’re surrounded by.
Pure energy is found within living in fluidly synergetic ways at a decently paced tempo & creating as much as you absorb, always finding where inner most desires lay dormant & need a bit of understanding, fulfillment & the edge taken off through decompression. Focus on all that attracts mindful clarity & seek perfect balance in the whole thing, just vibing accordingly to all thrown your way, riding the waves & .wavs (a type of music file) of life, always doing your best to stay afloat & enjoy yourself fully.
Everything matters when it comes to either zapping or instilling energy.
The following routines induce pure levels of energy:
listening to an album that highly relates to your life
Eating balanced, nutritional foods & drinking lots of water, tea, coffee & all other things allowing for healthy energy boosts
Slowing down the mind a little by reading & not becoming jaded by & overwhelmed with social media
At the same time, it’s good to stay healthily & reasonably connected to friends & stay on top of what’s going on in the world (done minimally throughout the day)
When all becomes too much & you feel like you’re at low energy & need stimulation & want to recap the events in your life after a long day, watch a show relating to the way your life is & it will most likely give you a boost & make you smile & maybe even laugh out loud a little (if you relate to it on a deeper level)
Gravitate to bright messages & memes & photos that make you contemplate just how beautiful & meaningful everyone really is as key components of this universe. If it brings you joy & sparks a little light in your soul, it’s likely bringing you a sense of belonging & spurt or pure energy.
Create something & make sense of the ideas & wildly vivid areas of your imagination, either by cute little doodles & drawings or via writing or playing some type of instrument or producing beats (on Ableton, FL Studio, or Logic) on your laptop or going skating or filming something you find to be aesthetically pleasing on one of those old camcorders… or who knows, maybe you like making jewelry or designing a clothing line… whatever you enjoy, take a moment for yourself & pursue that little creative interest & hobby.
Plant a garden & take time out of everyday to feel whole in nature. A little solitude & breath of fresh air always goes a long way.
Adopt a little kitten or dog so you have a best friend in this life & someone to always relate with & communicate feelings to. By taking care of a pet, you’ll be filled with joy, compassion & have a loyal emotional support animal & best friend beside you.
Maybe you & your friend could buy each other tarot card decks & dive deeper into the world of astrology & spiritual beliefs you may be inclined towards.
Listen to a podcast & watch an informative documentary on cool new concepts you’re interested in on YouTube or online a bit.
Go shopping at the mall for an hour or two… nothing like retail therapy to cure being out of it & in a drab sort of mood. You will naturally feel a little hop in your step & higher levels of energy when you buy that new video game console or jewelry or shoes, hoodie & beanie, or dope skateboard you’ve always wanted.
Always take the edge off with a small, allowable vice allowing you to take pleasure in the little things, whether that be a glass of rosé or white wine at the end of a long workday, a cigar or cigarillo after a day out on the golf course with your friends or possibly a bar of dark chocolate (or maybe, in my case, a cookies & cream Hershey bar…) any kind of treat that helps you appreciate & look forward to each & every day.
Keep God & family first & foremost in your heart… by holding them first, we are reminded of who has been there since day one & by living in honor of & respect for them in each & everything we do, we end up naturally feeling a sense of accomplishment & pleasant belief we are living according to God’s will & divine vision for our lives: unique, deeply meaningful existences — something we have to acknowledge all of the time… that we have a purpose, as well as to honor our mother, father, sister & brother & be grateful for the miracle of life & to commit to staying in vulnerable communication with God about our next moves & purest intentions regarding our overall quality of life & well being, with God’s forgiveness, fortitude & ability to help us respond to obstacles with a sense of perspective, humility, wisdom, enlightened levels of energy, an awakened consciousness, blissful self awareness & gentle mentality.
Self care routines help a lot as well. By taking care of our self & focusing on the internal, it’s naturally easier to then focus on all else left externally.
Hope this little article helps & that you always gravitate towards purer energy in every little thing you do.
I walk in the ashes littering the cement pavement down over at this abandoned graveyard. I light up my seventh cigarette of the hour; the hour is nearly coming to an end: 2:59 a.m. I had been at a music festival about two weeks earlier and had enough molly (aka MDMA, aka ecstasy) to last me the month, even after all the point pills I passed out at the festivities. The festival was cool… it took place a little before Christmas. The artists performing were pretty popular in the Dubstep and EDM scene. I was high the whole time at the festival. I looked around, and everyone was all but losing their minds, going off, on their way up as well from what I could tell from the dose of whatever it was they, too, respectively took.
The subwoofer and speaker system at the venue were cranking, and everyone was at a loss for words; music was turned all the way up anyway, so nobody could really hear each other. There were guys doing light shows and girls hula hooping. I don’t know, there were a few faux mosh pits where people just danced like crazy. But as far as I went at the whole thing, the high levels of MDMA I took had a way of sedating me into a trance of almost pure music bliss, euphoria, and an acceptance for the little bit of time we get on this Earth—our existence as human beings barely even a blip in infinite time. I looked around, and everything felt so chill, and the music sounded so dope. Raw MDMA, like pure bliss to my soul.
Now, two weeks have passed since the music festival, and I’m at this old abandoned cemetery, still coming up, still hardly ever coming down. Maybe I’m here because it was an appropriate place to appreciate a cigarette—in fellowship with and accompanied by the dearly departed. It was an extremely brisk and not so lonely January morning, the smell of flowers on gravestones on the tips of the senses, a light frost on grass and stone. I sat on a bench at the end of one of the rows of graves, which had engraved “This bench is dedicated in loving memory of Don Coats (1963–2017), the best dad, brother, husband, and above all… friend to all” on the ground directly below the bench. I thought about this Don fellow as I smoked my first 3 a.m. cigarette of the day. I wasn’t really prepared for the sunrise. I was quite enjoying the solitude, basking in the bright-eyed early morning hours. The sun would mean being bothered with a thousand new complications—text messages, interactions, and responsibilities of the day ahead. For now, everything felt perfect.
Sitting amongst all of the goners in their coffins at this cemetery who had passed had a unique way of calming me down and enhancing another high. I took two points of MDMA over the course of three hours before skating over here with my headphones playing out a mix of rave energy and cloud rap, emo trap, and some indie punk albums—or whatever I was into at each exact moment.
Let’s be honest: all music sounds a thousand times better when you’re high. The genre doesn’t really matter so long as you vibe with the sound. Specific music sounds perfect at different times—timing is everything. There really is a time and place for practically every song and kind of artist.
I continue to sit on the bench, grab my Yeti coffee mug I had set down on the ground, and take a sip of the medium roast drip I had made before coming here skating—music in ears, coffee in hand. It was a smoothly paved road on the way over, so I never took a spill. Neither did the coffee.
I think about the 27 Club and artists like Lil Peep and Juice WRLD and overdoses and the overwhelming nature of music celebrities that have fallen to drug use and disenchantment with societal systems—from Elliott Smith to Kurt Cobain and 2Pac. We all got to die sometimes—in youthful angst or elderly bliss in a rocking chair. We all must move on at some point. I think about death as I sit sipping coffee slowly and smoking a lil cig.
we walked aimlessly through the streets, rain fresh glazed on the concrete. we weren’t going really far. he smoked a doobie. the cops were on patrol. i lit up a smoke & bought a coffee at the corner store… anything to do something yet nothing. no money besides $9.08. no loitering signs outside. The women came out & gestured us to move on along. a cute kitty came up to us next to an abandoned house. hopefully he had food & a place to crash like our hapless homeless souls. this girl at the bookstore was dressed to impress, gothic fishnets & all. jus sitting around now… nothing on the agenda. life is starting to come together — moving into my own condo in a month. two packs of Marlboro Reds, some benzodiazepines & i’m set. Come & smoke with me. Come & die with me. the birds are all hibernating. i hibernate too. in my hoodie. i wash up. smoke. sip some coffee. listen to music. life’s alright sometimes when you don’t look too deep into it. winter break & solstice beckons good cheer. i sit in vague hopes for a spot to call my own, music booming off the subwoofer. call me what you want, but all i ever needed was to write to music. the boys are all telling war stories, watching some show. i’m out of sight in the back room, cranking listening to loud tunes. nightmare through back alley streets ends here. she smokes, the air trickling out the open window. i’m sipping another coffee after popping two pills. nobody’s mourning me. i sit at the table, inhale morning air & say a prayer to the Heavenly Father. why is everyone so preoccupied. i am too. i really do need to head to the mall for some retail therapy. it’d do me well. but i been broke. at least my music bangs. this is all so futile, they said. what are you so mad about. Rollie cigarette & some tea. The film has no place here. maybe i’ll start filming aesthetic shit on a camcorder. life’s about the little things. hydrate.
There’s this man comes off his balcony every morning without fail to collect his mail & pick up the paper the messenger sent flying his way. he reads some of the top headlines & heads out back to tend his garden. seems like everyone has something they do as if from memory every morning. i wake up & instead of the morning paper, i read a chapter of a book & listen to my playlist — all TeamSesh instrumentals (Drew the Architect, Cat Soup & Drip-133) — on repeat. i write the usual things, about girls & drugs & smoking cigarettes on rooftops & drinking coffee from the corner store down the street. it’s all played out. life’s played out. One long drawn out AA meeting. the old man walks on over & throws on the golf channel. he’s always watching golf, dressed like he’s ready for 18 holes & church. the girls down at the church can make even the most devout Christian boy weak in the knees. Hell, even the grandpa’s weak in the knees, mostly for other reasons. the books i read all try too hard to say something. Meanwhile, i’m trying to write the book on nothing. In the same vein, getting high leaves you without a care in the world for hours on end. i don’t need any new friends & i don’t need any new hobbies. i’m starting to sink comfortably & complacently into my depression. drugs would help, but they come & go. at least i got a pack of smokes & a thought that maybe all anyone ever needed was a good playlist, an iced out outfit they’re wearing, a little vice to take the edge off & one good thought running through their heads. i promise you, depression isn’t too bad once you sink into it. It’s okay to be sad.
Little playboy bunny with the cute little bunny ears
He’ll never figure her out, what she’s ever up to
Just want to die snugly on a rainy day
When does all of the drudged monotony end
She broke my heart… her, her & her
They all did just by simply existing
This is the poem for hookers & moon gazers
Stupid worn out converse have holes in them
she’s in a mini skirt fetching a cab in the city
the cab stops in no time
maybe the cab driver likes her in the rear view
the mirror clearly showing up her skirt
stupid perverted little cab driver
stupid whimsical & the slightest bit slutty girl
I drank at terminal 3
I vaped in the airplane restroom
I died 34 times last week
I continue to die daily
didn’t feel good to sink to any level
better all up in my head
I wonder if the old homie got locked up
one of the old homie’s doing time right now
It’s only a matter of time
Change is always right around the corner
Pocket some loose change
No sign of light
Bunker & hunker down in the rain
First loss of light
Dusk to dawn… night night night
Sweet dreams sweetheart
I want to get high, but sadly can’t
Puts my relationships in jeopardy
Numb feelings trickle trickle trickle
Down the mountain the shredded line
Lost in thought, always lost in thought
I write using stone against rock
Little carvings etched into the rock face
You’re stupid… I’m stupid… we’re all so stupid
You could just give up the whole act
The old author sitting pounding away at the old typewriter
The cat lady chasing after all of her kittens
What drab lives we all lead
Drags off the spliff in back alleys
Leaving behind just poetic fragments of who we are
Who knew she could grow to be so cute
22… in college… studying literature
I’m over here philosophically looking into the existentialist point of it all
I’d rather read Bukowski talk about horse races
She was cute in her own way when she slammed the door in my face
Guess she was mad I had texted that other girl
Oh well, oh well
Used to listen to lots of music
Still listen to lots of music
I trust his & her taste
I have some CDs & a book collection
Played some Mazzy Star today & finished the novel Junky by William Burroughs
Kind of helps to read to slow the mind down & such
Currently reading Milan Kundera: The Unbearable Lightness of Being
as well as the poems of Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg, Sylvia Plath, Willa Cather & Leonard Cohen
Also picked up Bradbury’s ‘Fahrenheit 451’ & a Steinbeck novel, as well as Kaur’s ‘Milk & Honey’ & ‘Norwegian Wood’ by Murakami
So I got plenty to catch up on & read this month
Music is cool too
But really all I want to hear is the keys of the typewriter
Pew pew pew
The manuscript is all up in the air
Maybe the novel will never be finished
From this tweet to that tweet, it’s all so mindless
Try to delve into some idea on a deeper level
Nothing to dive into… the boy in his winter coat jumps into flurries of powdered snow… yippee
Hooray for the optimists
Thank God for the cynical people too
Good to be realistically positive
He says she talks too much
She says he doesn’t listen enough
The cruelly beautiful cycle of life unfolds
New day brings about fresh coffee
I sip & puff at my cigarette & read one of my twenty books
An album comes on the speaker
Some Zach Bryan ditty
Cool ex-navy country music
Onto Lou Reed & Mac Demarco
Chet Baker & Tom Petty & Nico
Pavement & Nick Drake
Slow Dive & The Cure
I’m about a slow life
Grinding away the minutes
Tuning in & tuning out from everything around me
Bro what the fuck are you talking about?
Honestly bro, I forgot… but hey, wanna piece a cigarette together?
Absolutely… but stop all of the small talk… I’m over talking about such bull shit antics… the weather this, this girl that… crank back up the music, smoke with me in our lil solitude, in some semblance of peace
in 7 minutes to seven days to a month to seven to a year, but are headed back on their way to a 7eleven
i’m sorry for the sins of me
& my brothers out in ski towns or beach huts or sisters going to Church every Sunday jus to get back with one guy to the next
i got so many things to express about the plight of all individuals, most especially those who ever bummed around & badly needed a cigarette
or the booze head trying to just decompress & slow down a bit with a coffee & baileys
i really do hope u don’t take my lil writings too seriously. after all, the way i write is just trying to figure out universal energy & show some type of empathy to human issues we all must conceptualize & try to wade through to contemplation & a little sympathy & movement towards a little more optimism & positively enlightened energy day in & day out.
i forgot i was smoking this cigarette & it went out… time to toss it in the ash try, another one gone again… then off to fetch my coffee, refresh all of the socials & check out the lil football stats & all that & then decently quickly light up a brand new & so refreshingly mellow & relieving Marlboro 27 cigarette with my cute pink kitty Bic lighter i got at the gas station & continue my whole little enterprising escapade of this whole deep dive into the literature of the whole thing, smoke & coffee in hand, a trip to 7eleven in the a.m.
I saw the slit in her dress & the ones covering her small, fragile arm & wrist. She’s dainty, but maybe I shouldn’t call her fragile
— just irrevocably numb to all of the pain she’s been through, yet still always finding ways to compose simple, kind words to others & gesture an unswerving smile with the sweetest, cutest dimples you might have ever seen…
tracing patterns in the sky, patterns in your hand, auras around your being & determining the answers to all of your questions through a simple tarot reading & small talk around a lightly burning & roasting fireplace… gazing underneath infinite starlight gleaming in her eyes.
Both warm & cold, she is the light bright & cold stone at every angle of your subtle & gentle being.
2
I see a girl… I lean over to tie my shoes. I scruff my hair up & down & pull up my pants. I’m trying to pull myself together a tiny bit. I don’t want to look empty handed when a girl that cute walks by… a glance
— I pull out a smoke… if only a bit of gum (anything to distract myself in it all). I notice her & she notices me… yeah, she smiles inwardly, combing her hair gently down, hands brushing up. I efficiently move from here to there.
She asks for a lighter, noting the exchange — how quickly I can flip it in her direction. Maybe she wants to know if I’m cool… like cool enough to pimp out the little things.
If I can do that, I can keep up with her: the magnitude of her soft weight on me, the idea of her head nuzzled into mine, the thought of my hand around her… She’s wearing a sweater — maybe cashmere… she’s wearing a bracelet & doc martens.
Thank God I wore my beanie & those high top vans… always classic — good to be classic & endearingly edgy. She’s cute in a way where she could easily pass as both a local girl & a city girl.
I can’t really impress her, I guess… she can see right through the flex of it all. But it’s always nice to try, so I stealthily reach into my pocket & pull out & hand her the lighter — noticeably baby blue. She grabs it, softly brushing against me.
Damn, she lights a cigarette in a way that’s more attractive than one may think — right to the point: the flick of her thin wrist, the smooth drag & pull & crisp smoke trail — a thin cloud that only girls can really blow. She hands me back the lighter.
Both of our hands linger on one another for a brief moment. She thanks me & kisses me so softly & sweetly on the cheek… before she fades out into the evening. I never even ever think to get this girl’s number in the quick & cute little string of events.
I guess she must have liked the way I was cool with the little spark of the lighter & initial spark with her, too. She also probably liked the way my hair fell that day & the high tops & beanie & whatever else.
The kiss was so unexpectedly nice. Sometimes it’s best not to see where the whole thing goes. That would be such a drag, right?
I bet… I take two mightily steady smoke pulls before I ash out my last cigarette.
It was a good night so I head on home, remembering that girl in the all white cashmere sweater with the doc martens & the bracelet.
It was a good night so I head on home.
3
She walks, heavy boots clad on her heels, treading on asphalt pavement.
She takes a breather from her casual morning stroll & sits on steps outside of a cathedral… her toes pointed inwards, her hoodie hiding her cloudy & misty eyes & goosebumps forming on her skin as a result of catharsis from the music she’d been listening to.
She leans into her praying hands & cries deep, melancholic tears — pondering past romantic flings & whether she should hit up a priest at this point & confess her little faults — barely even considered sins to degenerates in a nearby alley. These faults weighed on her so heavily.
Even though she was far from a sinner, she was far from a saint too, cheating & falling into old vices & harder drugs & lustful & risky behavior.
Her life was relatively uneventful, though, at the end of the day — writing sonnets in her loft she thought Shakespeare would be proud of… tossing every single one of them aside & sipping on something & switching her attention to her old stack of CDs & her little vintage stereo.
She found peace in Joy Division — a band that always cured her torment, alleviating & relieving a constantly lingering headache… not knowing what to do with her current mixed state — both manic & depressed… even half delusional & only finding happiness within the sadness.
She wanted to feel acceptance, even if that meant a smile from a cute local barista boy. So she made efforts at getting an iced coffee at the local café to feel kind of like a semi-decent citizen.
She made her way over to the local café. Upon getting up from the cathedral steps (she really was thinking of talking to a priest…) — wiping away the downtrodden tears off of her cheeks — she meanders over to the coffee shop.
Predictably, an attractive barista smiles her way & hands her the iced coffee she paid for. She felt she deserved half as much. She bought a book of old poetry at the local bookstore & headed back to the cathedral again.
She stepped into the confessional with the priest — purposely missing both of her appointments at the gynecologist’s & her therapist’s. She felt cleansing her sins would do her better, overall… at least her soul.
Everything else was fine… she just felt an overwhelming guilt or shame or whatever nagged incessantly at her, no matter how many times she went to checkups & therapy.
She looked at the crucifix on the wall… Jesus dying on the cross — she thinks about how The Heavenly Father died & contentedly sits in the Heavenly Kingdom, yet still makes time to listen & forgive her & offer her a sense of closure to past slip-ups.
‘I guess life’s not that bad,’ she thought, saying 10 Hail Marys & 3 Our Fathers — pretty much a Rosary’s worth of prayer as her penance — after the act of contrition on her way out of the stainless-glass-adorned cathedral.
Now sitting cozily in her loft, she read the old poetry book she bought… crying tears of joy this time, thanking the Lord for forgiving her sins & blessing another day of her existence.
‘We all get 365 days each year… to make the most of it all’, she thought. Far from a sinner, far from a saint, but still uniquely angelic…
‘I guess life’s not that bad’, she thought & smiled.
4
Metaphorically, cement was her worldly natural element of choice, visually at least
— charred, slowly corroding yet unwavering & once malleable & soft texture… as well as the instinctual airy breeze — the pure & cold & permanent paired with the invisible: a juxtaposing contrast between the two.
Her cigarettes & coffee & tea were her substances of choice — tobacco & caffeine: her usual barely contemplated daily tendencies… surely addictive & inescapable habits.
Any kind of cheap, leveling stimulant awakened mindfulness in her senses via vice-infused routines pushing along the cultivation of outer-worldly thought & meditative acceptance of the people in her life & place she’s at & everything spinning madly on around her.
She sips & smokes & slows down. She blankly moves about, forlorn, removing her little kettle from heat in her tiny kitchen, preparing to steep the green tea she had originally bought that same winter while visiting Japan, hoping to feel less apathetic & casually despondent in drastic perpetual lag… as she so often had for days at a time.
She makes it a point to read something anytime she sips her steeped tea — poetry deep within her core thoughts… a poetic rhythm to the way she moved.
She was refreshingly sober & grounded in reality
— one with the cement & breeze & unshifting asphalt pavement, set in stone & unchanging despite being elementally struck by the breeze & tread of rubber tires & beat-up converse & vans & all of that. She loved how pavement always stayed the same. She loved the band, Pavement, too.
She spoke & read bilingually & could read & use sign language, too. She had all sorts of superfluous skills. Either heroic or villainous, she possessed both qualities, rolling up & rolling through any type of way
— floating by, striking a match & striking up a conversation, just passing through, coexisting & doing pretty much anything to confirm her existence, which had a way of being about both comfort & dismay.
She never knew how to feel about this little life, looking down at the street below her old heavy & worn out boots… kisses in the wind a feathery feel stimulating her otherwise overly desensitized skin, star shopping & shoe gazing, hurt & recovered all at once, empty & whole all at once, fleeting & permanent all at once, flawed & perfect all at once.
She duly notes American soils receding — the real estate just the cement pavement for Fords & Harleys & buses & subways & this whip & that Beamer & this taxi & that cop car & this Benz & that Jeep & this skater boy & that girl strolling by — so they can cruise through in every direction on hard asphalt.
Every now & then, she escapes the city a few times each year to explore nature & dwell on the existentialist truths of the cosmic universe in some remote & expansive solitude.
Yet she always returns to city streets & her humble abode & to her garden & to the friendly tiny kitten consistently purring at her dusty & bellowing doorstep.
She knits on her front porch, hazily focused — like a preoccupied mother — on the kitty making her way back to the steps… yet she felt alone, even on crowded streets.
Sadly, maybe all she wanted — at least subconsciously — was the bliss of a timely peaceful death… we all moved towards its fate anyways — waiting for the inevitable an overbearing burden… her only occasional suicidal thought, however, was dying like Chet Baker
— falling out of a window —
or like Elliot Smith — jumping off of the roof of a building… simple and quick — the sudden crash, falling swiftly within breezy air onto the cement ground below.
But the fleeting thoughts always found ways of passing. She was, without a doubt, an abstinent-minded creature
— devout in doing little & talking minimally & devoted to simply being aware & alive & not worrying too much about guys & all of that on a moment to moment basis.
She dreamt of the day she would be embraced by the afterlife she craved, but never feverishly indulged too hastily finding out & dying, if only unexpectedly, still semi-content & grateful existing…
…yet daydreaming frequently of the day when her bodily being transcends eventually into a ghostly form
— life like the shifting dissipation of cement into rubble into nothing but scraps in thin air… to feel one with sobering cement:
the way the breeze must feel as it collides against its cement counterpart, balancing opposites
— a yin yang alchemist of the windy elements & bare trodden ground… to some, obviously a crush eternal at one with the great nothingness. She was a ghost on Earth already… at least in her eyes, conceptually, barely reflecting on her looks in the mirror
— the heroine spoken of so vividly in feminist literature, appearing like an eclipse — only visible for mere moments… her thin figure & dress barely brushing against mid thigh with soft fabric flowing; hair strewn about in whatever way it fell that morning.
Quite naturally, she exuded an innately gentle disposition & the softest & shyest of temperaments.
All she was in this small town was a ghost
— at least in her conceived imagination —
avoiding the lustful glances of the men passing her… moving humbly from place to place, keeping on her mind little phrases to get her through tasks & chores & sojourning within an imaginary world somewhere out of this world, far from the one she actually occupied, hesitantly accepting her present world.
She was recognized in amity by many. Some locals — even some tourists — knew of her since forever ago. She remained constantly disillusioned, focused on highs only meditatively accessible to those who sought after them.
A yogi of sorts, attractive as any & all, yet still she loathed her Earthly form… a beautiful exterior overshadowing what lies on the interior… if only someone could really notice her true & genuinely angelic soul & tend to the damaged aspects of her heartbreaking cuts & wounds.
She longingly wished for more.
Still, she always appreciated what came her way, unavoidably craving the day she passed on, keeping to her blissful dream state
— consumed with escapist pleasures, smoking her cigarettes & drinking her coffee & sipping tea & partaking in any activity that enhanced clarity & kept her at peace with the bare & raw concept of living, constantly adjusting to the fickle whims of everything seemingly so annoyingly needy & insufferably intolerable in some ways.
She didn’t mind existence too much at the end of the day, though, because she simply meditated singularly on the connection between all beings & a much more expansive mentality
— a brighter fundamental wave length, destined for far more than just human fallibility & corruption, which she absolutely avoids… striving to maintain a ghostly aura & chill & airy presence… Because to her, ghosts were perfect —
so long as they refrained from haunting — residing in the Heavens, out of Purgatory, free of pretense & attachment & bodily earthly confines & useless nuisance of society — each one a type of captivity just tarnishing the original unblemished state of everything in this realm.
She idealized little ritualistic behaviors
— the idea of doing nothing by doing something… a sip & smoke & drawing & notes on paper & tarot readings & attention to detail & a book about anything.
She dwelt in solitude, disengaged from social gatherings & ignoring the game — both of dating & popularity — on a daily basis (everyone superficially only seemingly caring appearances & first & last impressions).
She knew other girls envied her good looks & guys coveted her & people always talked about everyone & everything.
News traveled fast in a small town… she ignored the gossip.
She could care less about the guys hitting on her & the girls hating on her.
She skirted off out of view in her mini skirt up her steps to throw on a show, cozily snuggled into her squish-mallow in her hoodie under a knit blanket.
She always found ways of escaping the grind of daily existence… wanting to feel like a ghost — her soul waiting to free itself from its mediocre cage.
One day she’d be free, an inhabitant of a majestic realm, where she has already envisioned herself.
She could manifest anything… she would manifest a new kind of reality.
5
We all need some divine feminine energy… so too, comfort within our own solitude.
I sit here: a vibe to be in my own space — cozy, wearing a hoodie & denim jeans… peaceful essence in a comfortable spot, lost in thought with a good book in hand.
I’ll look up from my frequent readings, sitting in relatively sedated bliss, not too worried about time passing.
I’ll pull out a cigarette, appreciative of the back & forth motion…. this waltz, this dance. More often than not, it’s sweet enough.
Slow dance somewhere… together so long, the old man & woman still looked as if they were on their first date — endlessly in love, still cutely enticed.
Together so long, they mesh; little tension quickly dissipates. Original first date feelings set up their whole, little rhythm — the small chit chat, the little nuances, the jokes, habits, ways to loosen up, the dinner parties & breakfast mimosas, his friends & her friends.
We’re used to it… they’re used to it. He moves in his own way
— nonchalant, yet caring in nature. She moves in her own way — soft in touch & warm in heart.
I’m just waiting now to find the right girl
— to vibe with, slow dance with… our favorite song on the speakers, her head on my shoulder, a flutter of infinite nature… she pulls me closely in
— light step, this way and that… here & there, in tune, cute little smirk, a heartfelt little sway; soft kiss on my cheek, soft kiss on her neck… we all just want the one person who makes us feel so at ease deep within; so cute:
her little energy, ways she goes about things… she tells me to take her hand:
‘just vibe to it all’, she reminds me…
…the little rhythms of all of this — someone I could ride with… so, in a way so cute, I had hesitantly asked her if she wants to dance:
a shy glance between us two, a flit of movement, tussled hair, nervous hands, a glow about her eyes…
…feelings, looking away — a bit shyly — then her eyes link up.
I meet hers… look away a single moment (hopeful she feels it too… she really does, too).
She closely moves into the hoodie I wear. Saying anything at all felt unnecessary.
The song played… nothing left to do, but just so sweetly sway to the music with our arms around one another.
She soothed my being — delicate dispositions felt. We liked the song a lot.
She was so cute… I looked alright enough. She had a warmth to her & so often, my heart had felt cold… but now she was right there — soothing sweet relief slow dance.
The song played on… we never drifted apart — at least too much.
A few hours passed… I sat outside on the steps & lit up a smoke.
She came outside… sat right up against me, perched up on the step, as well.
She asked me for a smoke…
“I didn’t know you smoke…”
“I didn’t know you did either…”
“Seems like I have to…”
“Yeah, me too…”
“So glad you’re here, though…”
“Yeah, it’s really cool we met…”
“Damn, yeah, it really is…”
We smoked in silence… stars rested glowing high above, as we rested alongside of each other.
It was the perfect night, the beginning of something incredibly cute
— thanks to a slow dance, a smoke sesh… someone to smoke with… someone to ride with… someone to vibe with —
‘finally’, I thought, finally… but here, I sit, in a hoodie & denim jeans
— on my own in a cozy little spot… any place that felt like home —
writing this, about to get some coffee & smoke a cigarette. I guess we’ll have to see if I’ll ever find this girl to vibe with
— our favorite song on the speakers.
Here I am. There she is.
It’s all alright… one of these days, in time.
6
Slut cut gut, flirting that hurts with a girl in a mini skirt, white girl tatted in the matte black car with the pale body & painted black nail polish all to my demolish…
…she worked at & pulled down at her dress that kept rising at the thigh, got a guy high then carved a wound deep inside & dragged his heart low against the pavement, her dancing to hip hop & punk in her old worn & torn beat up converse platforms & her dope ride she picked you up in, her fishnets & little piercings & rings on her hand…
…wildly playfully teasing you, making you feel like a real cool guy again, then weak in the knees, then completely vulnerable to every type of attraction to her… devil & angel on the shoulder, little bumps & hip stirs & fluttered core & playful wrists…
…everything on the low, grinding out on the dance floor, keeping the whole thing low key, truth seeming fiction, fiction seeming true, possessions of soul & body… maybe she practiced some devilish magic or witchcraft…
… the fact that she loved everyone, the nice guys who were naive & sweet, as well as the ones who treated her in all sorts of other ways, sometimes kind of badly…
…like she had a genuinely cute & sensitive & empathetic way of being; she just wanted to make sure you were okay & liked all of the attention & affectionate glances she received, but love never seemed like it was enough…
…she wanted a deep level of emotional & personal & vulnerable intimacy from all of the types she found comfort in or felt longing for… she wanted to know what little desires & secrets & wisdom others held deep within.
No matter who you were, she found a way to tap into your own internal cravings… she broke my heart every time she walked up & down the block.
That’s just the way she was.
She was a heartbreaker.
7
Wearing black boots & a little white dress
— with a cardigan draped over —
this girl Adrianna hits a line in the bathroom stall & heads back to the bar stool, asking the cute bartender she had known for years & years for a cool bottle of bud light & a whiskey on ice
(‘for my boyfriend,’ Adrianna said, laughing at her mini stupid joke & draining the three-shots-worth-of-whiskey glass in one go at it & taking a steady pull from the chilled bottle of bud light as chaser).
She could drink with the best of them & had just broken up with the boy she had been dating for a few months.
He couldn’t handle the side of her that was always up in his business & verging on a little excessively obsessed with him… the less they cared, the harder she started to fall in love.
Sometimes Adrianna seemed fake on the surface… only because she was going along with everything, not really trying to be her genuine authentic self with people who were always just spewing nonsense bullshit & didn’t really care about her.
So Adrianna hung with her close friends mostly, but oftentimes found herself in larger crowds of people, not necessarily a social butterfly in the slightest
— although the ones who didn’t know her true introverted nature would beg to differ —
but she’d still engage in conversation with other locals & jokingly laugh with guys who were funny & play along with bitchy girls as if she could wholeheartedly relate with what they were going through & who they were hooking up with & their little chatter about what’s going on in town & could shoot darts & shoot pool like nobody’s business.
She’d drink iced coffee with her friends in the morning, sleepily so dazed & nonchalantly & mindlessly scroll through her phone & listen to music on car rides with the volume all the way up on her way back home, throwing on something cozy or dressing her best to go to work on the weekdays.
She still attended a cute little Christian church every Sunday
— missing her dad so much, who passed away when she was about 21.
Adrianna’s dad always made sure she went to church with him.
Adrianna utterly despised going to church at the time, whenever she had to get ready for it, but seeing all of the people all dressed up & feeling pretty cute all dressed up herself & listening to little words of wisdom & gracefully accepting God into her life & spending quality time with her dad doing any type of thing just to be around him & grabbing a coffee & something from the bakery on those mornings on their way home from Church… all always ended up making the day more pleasant & to this day all of the memories & time she spent with her dad still carry a vast amount of nostalgia & meaningful place in her heart.
Her dad was everything to her. Adrianna lived her life in a way she thought would honor him, devoting her life to listening to that angelic voice in the back of her head & forefront of her heart that always led her in the right direction.
She felt like her little angelically insightful gut feelings were little friendly reminders from her dad in Heaven… still always guiding her towards the light in the universe
— even though she had equal amounts of a wildly devilish side (hitting lines in bathroom stalls & shooting whiskey like she shot pool) & still also a subtly enlightened angelic side.
Adrianna’s dad was always there to hold her hand on the first day she had kindergarten & gave her a hug & kiss on the forehead as he always did
— kind of a little embarrassing at the time, but so incredibly gentle & sweet now — when she graduated from high school.
Adrianna’s dad bought her the first phone she ever owned back when they first came out with the BlackBerry in the earlier 2000s & he surprised Adrianna with her first car — a cute vintage Volvo — on her sweet 16th that her friends always were stoked to be passengers in.
Adrianna never let anyone drive it, not even one of her cooler boyfriends… definitely not her boyfriends… she couldn’t trust them to begin with
— the way they always sped through town & revved up on freeways with an almost kind of loosely reckless abandon.
How could she expect her boy to take care of the car her dad had so thoughtfully gifted her?
So she’d switch off back & forth days they’d pick her up in their car & days she’d pick them up in hers.
The only time she ever would relent to letting one of the girls she was friends with drive
— the ones she knew on a deeper level & trusted with her life —
occurred when something was out of her hands… for instance, when it was high school prom & she got a little too drunk
— drunk enough to blow at least a .08… plus she was only 18 at the time —
so Adrianna ended up asking this friend of hers named Sophie, who she had known since she joined the public school system in 6th grade, if she could drive her home really quick just around the block & down the street a few miles.
Sophie said she didn’t mind at all, but that they’d have to take her Subaru & leave the old Volvo at the party… after all, if she took her home in the Volvo, Sophie would regrettably have to drive herself back to the party & the car would still be gone in the morning & she’d much rather take her car as she definitely wasn’t going to drop her off & then make the long trek to walk all of the way back to the party. Adrianna didn’t care at all… so long as she made it safely & cozily up to her room & hopefully not throw up in the car.
She badly wanted to take a quick shower & change into her comfiest clothing & just get away from the crowd… as she had a good feeling the party would get rolled.
She promised herself she would do her best to just ignore the fact that this one cute guy at her high school was asking her why she was leaving so early & to arrive home before it was eventually curfew… I mean, both her parents extended curfew & allowed for a little leniency, especially considering it was prom night, but it was already 12:30 & her parents told her to make sure to get home by 1:00 A.M.
They told her she definitely couldn’t spend the night at the nice crib of the girl who was throwing the party, as they didn’t want her messing around with one of the boys & hooking up & all of that.
They told her she could drink, but after all, as someone who always attended church every Sunday without fail, her dad was highly against her fooling around at such a young age.
He wasn’t necessarily against the idea of premarital sex, but just preferred to not test the combo of her & some high school boy… hoping with all of his heart she would wait until college.
Adrianna sometimes had an attitude like she didn’t care & liked to get involved with a specific kind of scene & party at a younger age.
But one thing she never did was disrespect her father — she never wanted to let him down & held him in really high regard & listened to all of his advice & insight over the years & really loved him.
Adrianna missed him incredibly & now she had her mom to deal with.
Her mom wasn’t too much of any typical kind of inconvenience, she was just kind of out of the picture, a little stuck in her ways & kind of always never cared that much about even having a relationship with Adrianna, seemingly missing her husband who was gone too soon more than she missed her own daughter who was still right there a phone call a way… but the two of them didn’t have much to talk about anyways as her mom barely ever even listened to anything she told her, more focused on making it to the bottle of vodka then paying any attention to Adrianna.
I guess the post traumatized part of Adrianna got the drinking & coke hitting, wildly devilish & often dismissive side from her mom & the authentic & genuinely kind & angelically warm church going, pool shooting & dart playing side from her dad.
Sometimes she wish she never left her mom’s womb & that she didn’t have to ever see the day she would attend her dad’s funeral as they lay him in the casket with her still placing flowers on his tombstone… asking God why she had to take the best man & friend she ever knew away from her.
So Adrianna lived without any kind of fear of dying, often fucking around & sadly getting involved with another guy who didn’t care about her the same way her dad did…
…doing drugs & chasing whiskey with beer & not really giving a casual fuck about much of anything, besides making it to church on Sundays, making it through another day without her dad & somehow finding a little spark & light in all of the darkness in this often cold world, finding ways to vibe & socialize & cool off & somehow create new memories filled with everything from tearful moments & dejectedly crushing heartbreak to times that felt like ecstasy & pure relief to the melodramatic socializing & overcast beach days to calmly boring coffee shop trips & faded bar nights & house parties to tarot readings around a coffee table…
…then without fail, always back to her cute & quaint little church on Sunday, less for salvation & more to spend time with her dad…
…who she hoped to see one day in the next life or afterlife or Heaven or wherever she ended up at the end of this whole thing.
Forever up to something, always trying to vibe with the funny sad of it all, whipping up plans to go to the bar & entertain the bad girl side that wants to party or sleepily craving a mellow day, just content lounging all day listening to music & checking socials & watching some show on TV… reading books & sipping mimosas & drawing little cute pieces of art in her mini sketchbooks.
Nothing she did could take away the void she felt
— at times feeling so absent of feeling anything —
after losing her dad, but she lived her life to the fullest & was always his favorite little angelic girl no matter what she did… Adrianna never wanted to let him down, but she could never let him down
— he would be there always… always protecting her from now until infinity —
forever & always… in this lifetime & the next… whether Heaven or the Afterlife or wherever.
She’d always be his girl.
8
Her vibe was too essential & perfect. I’d see her & feel struck down in the best way possible.
I would mention something to her & smile loosely, just kind of hoping to leave some kind of impression
— anything at all… anything she did felt spot on.
I felt like I could only grasp at her ultimate raw delicate touch & dynamic, intrinsic & intriguing fundamental beauty.
I felt like there was one last ticket I needed to attain… maybe a taxi I had to catch. It almost felt as if the universe was whispering, “better hang on tight kid.”
She was light glistening on snowy peaks, soft wind gently drifting down my spine. Her presence loosened up my own & woah, quickly lightened my stride.
But there existed, so too, a minute hesitant urgency towards the ways in which I approached her at times.
The feeling felt pressing. Of course, it wasn’t. I just wanted to enjoy little moments happening.
A part of me wished she could always pass me by. There was a relaxing & also rapid, yet fluttering movement & loosely kinetic tension in all of it.
I’d pass her way. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been opposed to an occasional devious stare thrown in my direction.
She may have been thinking the same. All I can say is that there was an addictive quality to the glance. I looked over at her as she walked ahead.
She was a little busy with some task. She often happened to be playing with her hair.
Of course, I was always impulsively chain smoking out on the deck. I guess all that mattered was that she was never too far away.
Well… yeah, 80% of cigarettes picked me up when she was busy & inexplicably — too inevitably — went away… she’d disappear to attend to more pressing, urgent matters & demands & wasn’t — well… really, couldn’t be — around.
But she was always around, no matter what ‘at least… if only’ in spirit & so was my nicotine, addictive to the senses.
The other 20% either felt like a romantic type of ecstasy or underwhelming bitter substance. Her vibe brightened my day.
I yearned to be amidst her company & aura… that specific peak synergistic vibrance I felt, her ultimate strength, sparkle & glow.
I was usually cozy in a hoodie & beanie. She had a similar outfit taste early in cold, sharp morning air & late at night.
You could always tell when she was still kind of sluggish, just waking up. She’d be so sleepy & not really at all in the mood.
Maybe she’d be in her bag or feelings, just like all of us… some days. She looked the same as she always did though.
Too incredibly cute. Too incredible & cute.
She could be really hot… if she felt so inclined. She was absolutely one of the most pleasing sights my eyes had ever seen.
I’d see her & feel mellow, at ease… a sedative wave coming over, yet slight edginess.
The universe really was right — “better hang on tight kid.” That’s all I could do.
Although I didn’t necessarily need to hold her, I wanted to… badly.
Like cigarettes, girls come & go.
These little moments — the fading spark & connection — was inevitably fleeting… at least for all I knew.
I’d always, forever feel some type of way about her.
Please don’t worry universe, I’ll always hang on tight.
‘Dear Mother Nature…’
9
Damn, she was the finest girl around.
The masochism in me wanted her to slap me & slam the door in my face, as I watch her out the window walking back out on the street looking as hot as ever in a hoodie… watching her ass beneath the mini skirt.
Nobody said a girl couldn’t wear a hoodie over a mini skirt. Girls always made me feel like gold & dirt: gold rush & dirt pit… back to this bitch, back in this bitch — back in my bag about a bitch.
Let me tell you one thing: life is stupid… so don’t waste it on women.
Just use it for knowledge & the music of the whole tragic thing.
Romanticize the funny tragic parts…
10
You had me with your playful smile — the way I thought you actually hated me.
You talked to me quickly for hours on end. I couldn’t stand it… I loved it all endlessly
— every minute in your presence pure all out adrenaline coursing, flowing in my veins… addictive to hang amongst one another.
You said you had nothing to take care of & that you could put a few things off to spend a whole day running around as little jokers.
We basically were the ones scoffed at… but we didn’t care, so long as we held each other tight, as warm as a night light, basically intertwined with one another
— star struck… you couldn’t have one without the other… incredibly dynamic.
But then one day you didn’t show up. Nobody ever said what happened to you.
It killed me, not knowing about it all — how something came up so you left town. You were my little soft eyed angelic girl.
Now you were 1,400 miles away… too far. Nothing felt the same or shined as bright.
Sure, this whole poem is a piece of fiction. But I always just assume my better half lives 1,400 miles away, all too caught up, not knowing I exist… the two of us unaware of the potentially innate gravitational pull.
Somewhere my other half resides… yeah, one day our paths will suddenly collide.
Maybe I’ll run into her as I lazily turn… having just bought iced coffee at a café.
She’ll look me in the eyes & I’ll know… I’ll just know it’s her with every ounce of my perceptive being and bright eyed soul.
All I really wanted & craved simply was the hit of nicotine smoke somewhere nice & grunge minded & minimalist, as the rain on the balcony outside laps softly, brushing against my skin… puttering
— music so kindly pouring in with tonalities that verged on feeling like pure euphoria, atmospherically sending electricity waves throughout the entire body — head to toe, surging through the wrist, fingers pressed tightly in the clutch of a cigarette… coming to caressing, polite lips, taking in slightly shy incandescent drags, passing along to someone a little rough along the edges who wanted to bum one…
…meditatively escaping the current numbed state most drifted away in melancholically, rather up & into an evasively fresh realm of thought, mind state & mentality… as well as to scopes of galaxies within & without; people unknowingly, to many besides you, capably holding entire universes within, their deepest fear not their inadequacy… but the power they held within themselves that was powerful beyond measure.
Enlightened beings forge perfect little optimistic trails through seemingly uncrossable stone to new worlds, galaxies & universes designed with architecture premised on brand new thoughts & coping mechanisms, revolving around meditatively decompressing & releasing — slowly absorbing fully & letting go of — all thoughts, pretenses & pressure points on this natural earth we inherited, so we may instead float up to a Heavenly Third Eye Kingdom
— soft swift plunge & light ascent away —
into a domain lying at the heart of the depth of our connectedness to focus… how we focus & gather consciousness, of which we must pivot adrift & channel underlying wave frequencies adept at transferring knowledge, only attainable to the one who is gifted in the art of being a purely & energetically welcoming light, shining & emitting a signal from currents electrically raging through the galaxy, communicating with nature’s wisdom thug & infinite universal dealer, simply finding the connect between wall & cord.
So too, we are meant to shine as lights late at night, to help guide others.
But first, we must know ourselves deeply, as well as intimately enough, to know just where our inner circuits & wires beam, radiating endless energies throughout, flowing within our vibrational bodily shells inwards & outwards into, metaphorically, the gratefully accepting outlet, plugging our needs in knowledge & wisdom, communicated via the outlets
— Earth, Mother Nature, the Universe & Galaxies —
to us lowly Earthly Creatures, as we distance ourselves from low level stillness… instead beaming as one with everything. In this span, one could’ve simply, casually, oh so meditatively & nonchalantly been focusing on their breath, inhaling & exhaling amidst any background setting
— chaotically tinged or amidst semblances of peace —
as one lets go of vague worry, embracing & accepting the great Tao of everything in the eminent line of sight, touch or feel & takes in any & all occasions, sometimes excusing oneself as a matter of politeness to quickly & most deliberately sip some Japanese Tea or steaming hot drip coffee or something iced while pairing this reflective sipping with the quirks & gestures of raising & flicking wrists, repetitively bringing to mind & from mind…
…inhaling & exhaling, as one smokes what seems, to a young bodhisattva like myself, rather reminiscent of how one may very well envision afterlife ecstasy feeling… more distinctly, ecstasy within the afterlife…
…as in death, we find life & so it goes… infinitely onward, as the living must simply keep living to the best of their energy state capacities & levels so that — one day, in all due time — we all may find what we so seek:
the ever Elusive Nirvana & the opportunity to experience sublime pleasures of ecstasy in forever’s afterlife.
2
I’m lost in cathartic noise, buzzing, falling beside me on my sleeve… the fuzzy, warm thoughts — warmest feelings, brightest synergy.
First of all, practice mindfulness… after coffee — take a break, a refrain & repose from the hustle & bustle. Our culture speeds by too rampantly for us to process. To really engage, you must be idle.
Once idle — dwelling on the spontaneity & the impulsivity of everything from a slump — you come out of the cave & brush the leaves out of the way & a subtle clearance so that you may wake… awakening to light & a brand new day.
For me, there’s nothing left to do, except write… to each his own. If I was a music artist, I’d make music.
But I’m a writer… so I write. I used to make music a few years ago, though, too — I play guitar & used to produce & make my own beats (who knows… maybe I’ll start making music again).
At the end of the day, I’m an artist… so I make art. Whoever you are is what you almost always find yourself doing.
I’ll always want to write, produce, draw & who knows… maybe make some indie skate film with an old camcorder — things along those lines. Do whatever you’re good at often enough & you’ll find a way to profit off of the venture.
Engage in — releasing output & absorbing input — what you love the most.
I read something — this or that, here & there — then I write to the noise of any kind of often melodic, bass-drenched, beat-heavy & lush-sounding tune on infinite rotation in my headphones… everything from low key & demo acoustic, to a little more hype & rave energy, to shoe gaze & grunge to punk & indie, to hip hop & country ones.
The music is all there — background noise & something to drain out all of the static… sure, I smoke from time to time, drags off of a cigarette about once every hour… yeah, the coffee remains ever flowing (going to get a cup probably here in a bit — always on my way to brew up something… brewing up some more poetry here now).
Vices act as a crutch to fuel the writing: the little mechanisms, hand quirks, slow sips, ways to catch thought, breath & being. In a reflective way — contemplating this all — I look around, sigh deeply & write… I look around, sigh deeply, & sip… I look around, sigh deeply & smoke.
I stay consistently writing, contemplating & deeply — always deeply & reflectively — meditating on words & inhales & exhales, over & over again & again, always seeing where the pages linger, always trailing steam rising above my mug, always following the smoke lingering. The nature settles in sunlight behind the fog. I settle as the writer who doesn’t care. I mean, I do care… I’m just relatively bored.
So I try to make sense of & clarify thoughts by placing words on paper, going out for a smoke, throwing on some mix of songs by an artist I’m into, setting aside time to read fiction & poetry & whatever strikes a chord & making another pot of coffee & sipping some tea — the decompression, awareness of thoughts & adjustment of chemical balance.
Clarity comes & stays & drifts & flows. These ebbs & flows make us human. The world around us shifts in nature.
The universe sees how we put out efforts — to gain mindfulness, awareness & clarity — so, surely enough, the universe bestows upon us a blessing. Curses turn into lessons & then remedies.
Remedies turn into skill sets & then bliss. Bliss turns into conscious expansiveness.
Consciousness, once tapped into, becomes gently soothed so that we may say hello kindly to the unfolding day, not hide away & avoid. Instead, we put out our arms, tip our cap & bow to the worldly presence as the worldly presence bows to us. We see the purely divine in each other.
As we accept our own faults & scars, we can also see what enlivens the light within our soul — the light itself a cure. The scars fade & disappear… healed. Faults are forgivable, but first we must forgive ourselves… our unique liberation allows us to move ever so freely & creatively.
As we show our most genuine truth — acting according to self realization peaks — we begin to know ourselves & thus humbly exist. We don’t seek some approval or kindness… Simply, we love with & move in kindness because we walk within core dispositions.
At the end of the day… when in light, we are kind, hesitant to boast… sincere; we speak little, but step with a cool hop — the energy, not from external attitudes.
The lightness & glow & ease of shine stems from something way more internal. We throw on a nice outfit… comfortable.
We look good so we feel good & vice versa. We come up on a new pack & iced coffee to face the day. Sometimes we are apprehensive. Sometimes feelings arrive & dissipate. Sometimes all we feel is jarring burden.
We feel weighed down & so too, feel that our weight bothers others. Whether we know it or not, we rarely have any ability to predict weighted days & we can’t predict the light ones. Sometimes we make people’s days, but do not remotely even mean to.
Sometimes we ruin people’s days, but do not remotely even mean to. All you have to remember, is to seek light… kind of how nicotine can only be felt when it is brought to light — stoked in a way, or vaporized, so that chemicals release.
So too, we must burn the fuse properly within our own energetic compartments by doing what we love, with a clear mind & head on our shoulders, so to speak — with nothing but love & gentleness at the forefront of our mind, peacefully pursuing both needs & creative hobbies with equal interest, intent & curiosity.
Conscientiously engaged & absorbed, our minds find the match, stimulating our minds & loosely positively surging in radiant waves & pulses throughout. We light the natural chemical to find release.
We light up, feel & engage with the feelings, letting go, coming back to, connecting to ourselves & the ground beneath & the stars above. We find a tapped into universal wave state.
If we’re able to feel universal wavelengths & then decompress — allowing us to settle — we can achieve what some only achieve by sipping tea & coffee, or smoking… the fiend’s essence, however, is tied down.
But if we can spark this natural energy & light the dark spots — often creative portals — we can harness all that is tangibly bright & then even intangible matter will find a unique way to liven up in body & soul. All of our being will see the inevitable day as something to be so truly grateful for… because our minds & soul will be clear.
Our body will be one with energetic bliss. We will be both cozy & ready to engage. The world poses something & we solve. Nobody abandons us… even though they often go away, the universe is always right there as a willing listener & a genius light source, giving us what we need, momentarily.
We find within ourselves an inherent gem. Self care & self love flows externally as we let ourselves glow within… shining. Others see us, channeling our frequency & our light meets them at first glance.
Rather than make an impression, unfairly, they can’t help but return their light.
The universe may actually be more fair, in the most impartial way, than we thought. We just have to unleash the light within. We just have to find a metaphorical match to light a natural fuse within our beings — our essence the stimulant… properly lit.
As we find what fuels energies within us, we can always find release. We smoke so much & drink so much, but maybe we just had to spark & replenish potential potencies in more pure ways.
Here’s a match, go find & unleash the soothing inner warmth & natural chills & worldly highs & insightful lows. We only need to bask in self love… aware. As we kindly regard ourselves, we glow.
The match I gave you is truly solely yours alone to refuel maximum capacity to kindly approach everything — from yourself to others to daily tasks. All of the meditative aspects just give way to a way of freely focusing with clarity on all that is around us & within us. Sometimes there’s a comfort in energy. We face the day & our mood brightens.
Nothing can stop us because, in the end, we hold galaxies within us — flowing with the currency of the current… like the rivers — intricately connected with wavelengths as they come & go in the universe: one mindful & clearly focused mind state.
3
Eternally bathed in gray, tattered, frayed;
sedated, splat, forever strayed, half jaded;
sedated daze, infinite day, low light shade;
blissful tea haze, steeped seep, it steams;
coffee, wet water, press, drip drop, dream;
pockets packed with snug packs stashed;
smoke plume, ever lit hues, stark contrast;
nightly lilac craves endless ethereal racks;
spliff tinted backwoods, zips, cash stacks;
tape deck, neck tat, sex & checks cashed;
dejectedly flitting & grasping hair strands;
gentle care, aware, stupidly there, so rare;
ambient effervescence, slate mist castles;
sunk, fluttered states, moonlit reefer owls;
arched punk gates, zone bliss stone fields;
astonished, quick withdrawal out of sight;
aura highlights flight over skeptic heights;
nearby drags on the low & thrasher lowlife;
solitude draped, partly twilight’s white flag;
subtly high off girls, the vans a soft brag;
such an endless drag, sad lag, slouch sag;
still dressed in the best, yet so depressed;
witch craft, spells cast whip up a sick hex;
still high off girls wearing vans, the checks;
up to our necks, nothing left, nothing less…
4
So bones pick against the glacier adrift. My sheath won’t break through the stone. Grinding, gears shift on sleet plywood. Where were we… this elemental warehouse?
Fundamental matter grasps cotton thread. Caressing essence of the plain white tee picks at filter denim thrown about knees, scuffed to the touch — a feel of currency.
Soaked water off of foundations seeps into cracks… How does ice melt to seep… settling deep within the internal Earthly seams?
Closing, ice dissipates then freezes again. From dust we are born & to ash we return.
Maybe Hell & Heaven is in coexistence:
Frozen Heat, Warm Ice, Beautiful Balance.
I light the smoke, envisioning my death, lit up & smoked by kings on thrones — one last smoke before the harvest… my bones crumpled down to nothingness & only bits of a Whitman hinted grassy knoll
— leaves of grass & our skin the same, each new skin layer a blade of grass:
the sheet, the paper, the tree, the breath; the skin, the salt, the earth, the plant… So too, surely we reincarnate to another, in a world of overtly natural disintegration, to bone rot & decay to full crush — ash of our bones rising misty eyed above & our skin, laundry returning to the Earth & our soul released by God to angelic overtones (maybe one day to be smoked potently…) as we smoke the smoke that smoked.
We feel like a cigarette in full drag, released by & from our being: the essential existence as ghostly form… maybe we exist in meta galaxies as a plant amidst a larger realm & outer universe.
Surely then, someone could roll up the plant we exist equally as, smoking us wholly up.
We are nothing but littered plant shells.
Who knows if our being turns to plant… maybe we are already a peaceful plant in the whole scope of universal theory — plant matter, not ash & dust… reality is only reality, all at once, all at the same fateful time. We live to die, but death just awakens us.
5
we only live .000000000001% of this whole thing, much much less than that, in the span of the timeline of all universal existence.
the other 99.999999999999% of the time, we live within the pure euphoria of Afterlife.
our body may rot, the disintegration of shell, in & out our graveyard coffins, or we may cremate into ash, but our soul will dissipate in a brand new form in a whole another similar realm. we never really die — feeling destroyed… crumpled like that extra soft worn paper. on Earth, we are secretly dead & in Hell. we’re already dead. when you die, you awake.
no longer in Hell, you realize you’ve been dead a long time.
maybe it’s been Hell anyways, God’s way or the highway… which way? that way.
please shine a light on the whole thing & police shine a light through the tinted windows of these petty thief reefer thugs.
but then it’s just the security guard at the bar… what happened to getting by & being one of the cooler guys around?
guess this world broke me, the women & jobs, the waiting room of it all… i’m dependent upon my family and this organization or that paycheck or disability from the government & the cigarettes flowing in, the income only leading to the day figured out; jot it out in your checking book, nothing working out.
tired, the gloom of not walking out like a high class citizen on the street with all of the strolling freedoms in the world — to move & smoke & sip this and that to the music of it all… it’s all we ever needed.
dear Lord,
save me from dying under a white hot sun… you know, i need the bright side & the bad side as well. always just enough dark to see.
6
Let the flow state slow to a likely zone. Hold the frequency & freeze at middle end, end around & see how things turn out… Round & round, hovering at center — point within a point… the absolute core.
The fire pulls against leaves upstream as if it rips plant to blaze on to cusp all within filter paper, pre rolled class A… ash stumbling into custom ash tray, minds circling, drifting, returning — constant fall to peak to fall to peak… like autumn leaves swaying in wind.
They go back and forth, detaching… no longer feeling connected to tree & only feeling at rest once they touch down.
First, however, they float to the ground. They don’t slam down, they first float.
7
Merciless, scathing contentment… we surely must be happy enough just to be here… sounds flood in. I feel like I’m in an amphitheater.
Then the song just ends in a blur… onto a little more harmonious syncing. It all seems to be space within space. Cigarettes bestow time within time.
As you smoke them, you beg a few hours to be docked later off life at some point so that you can dose yourself a bit with a few head high inducing puffs at the current moment… lagging & sedated, deeply breathing in intoxicating nicotine & breathing out short lived relief.
It’s the ADHD in most of us that turns the experience into a mellow euphoria.
8
Sometimes you reach Nirvana. Sometimes you don’t know where to even contemplate beginning. Sometimes I guess you passed it, not fully aware you went too far.
But always, always, you can pivot, shift direction & realign once again with the elusive, fleeing & freely engaging state referred to as
Nirvana…
sublime oneness & a type of ecstasy, in relation to overall being, relative to all that matters in this universe — everyone & everything: one mutual, together, wholeness… a way to attain zen bliss realities.
Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls are on my mind.
Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls just seemed like a pressing topic I’d at some point need to address, either today or tomorrow or a year from now… or never.
Over here, I’m chain smoking whatever I could get, whenever at all possible — I’ll always find a way to stay chain smoking, whether I’m homeless or housed.
I’m reading a novel called Women by Bukowski. We both aren’t the best looking, but each of us has our ways & certain wisdom as pertaining to the opposite sex, the more divine one.
Damn, Bukowski always makes me laugh. Women & all of the girls in general always seem to put a smile on my face. They literally make the world go around.
Because, frankly, men are lazy & pathetic… even more so when they don’t have women around. But damn, men aren’t all bad.
Guess most of us are just simple minded. Hell, women sure do often complicate things… the whole process.
We try to impress each other, while acting like we’re not all that interested. It all seems like such a lousy way to live life… like we’re above it all?
Sometimes you got to be. Well, most of us have moved on from all of that crying-over-someone-you-love & fake-empathetic-sympathizing-and-nice bullshit. It’s played out.
Be cooler than that. I regret admitting it, but I’ve kind of turned into a so-called ‘playa’.
So my main three rules to the game are: playas gonna play; don’t hate the player, hate the game; and never get hung up on one girl (I used to do that… trust me, a miss only leads to a better next swing & there’s way more than just that girl down the block… there’s thousands, if not millions more, and girls like playing the game as much as the guys do, so it doesn’t hurt to play as much as you want, no matter how many losses you’ve racked up).
In the meantime, let’s be honest, I pretty much am up to nothing or jerking off as a matter of pure boredom or again up to nothing & could really care less about anything worth a damn besides maybe my writing & task of smoking 40 cigarettes & listening to the same songs everyday.
Really, my agenda 24/7 is: to smoke too many cigarettes, drink lots of coffee, read from time to time, write when the timing feels right, sometimes watch Narcos on Netflix or the saga about Wu Tang on Hulu & exclusively listen to Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep.
It’s a pretty good life. A lot could be said, though, about the fact that my last two book purchases were Naked Lunch (…by Burroughs about narcotics, filled with dark humor, witty banter & satire) & Bukowski’s Women.
Some fiend for dope & drugs in the slums & cities; some of the same people & others also fiend for women & sex.
Fuck love, really, but lots of us — on some base, animalistic & lustful level — crave sex… on an almost similar level, we crave women around us. Drugs go hand in hand, or sometimes offer a replacement to sex & women.
Lastly, really I’m chain smoking & simply binge listening to cloud rap lately simply due to (straight to the nitty gritty): my lack of success with both life in general & really attracting the perfect kind of girl.
Life & girls (which one is more important?) seem more & more hopeless as the years go by… the two ways I found of coping with inevitable lifelong heartbreak & becoming a deadbeat kind of guy — just like my dad (due to constant obstacles) — is through the relieving pick me up & sedation of nicotine in the form of a cigarette (I prefer natural tobacco over vapes… something about the high hits differently, almost rawer with cigarettes) as well as the equally relieving pick me up & sedation of music, more specifically cloud rap — even more specifically, Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep, who all feature better beats & flows than most artists these days.
I’ve heard just about enough Country & Indie & Jazz & Electronic, to be honest. All of that sappy shit grinds at & hurts my ears… even when it’s not sappy, rather almost endearing or heart aching, it still somehow seems so inauthentic & lacking in ingenuity.
I’d argue & say, instead, branching away from most mainstream music in today’s age, that the three artists I’m heavily rotating lately — Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep — are hands down the best hip hop artists & maybe artists in any genre.
This whole emo trap cloud rap trend started back in 2015, as three of them began trends, a whole new .wav & started coming up in their own way: Bones (rapper for TeamSesh: a collective of sorts that started up with producers like Cat Soup & Drew The Architect) & $uicideboy$ (two cousins who decided to either make it as artists in the music industry or kill themselves if all failed… a little pact Scrim & Ruby had) & Lil Peep (lead artist in Goth Boi Clique who was one of the dopest new emo kids in the game at the time & started a certain trend to the ‘crybaby’ & ‘sadboiszn’ type shit early on, singing about drugs & girls without caring whether it was cool or not to focus so much on the two like his life itself depended on both the drugs & girls… and it really did because it was found out that he had passed away in 2017 in November after 2 girls gave him Xanax laced in fentanyl before he went back on the tour bus)… They got the ball rolling.
The initial three artists in their respective groups came up, made a scene & switched up the game.
Although it seems almost cult-like or morose to listen to these kinds of artists — like Bones or $B or Lil Peep, who waver towards ideas of death & some darker themes — listening to them still brings on so much high energy in the intake of their potent sounds that conceivably anyone could become a captivated listener.
Every album of each of theirs carries heavy weight, with a remarkable amount of blunt truth found in all of their lyrics & well mixed soothing instrumentation that balances grimy & lush elements, incorporating everything from Memphis Drill, Long Beach Emo, New Orleans Trap & Detroit Boom-Bap influences to incredibly intricate mixtures of powerful 808s & aesthetic synthesizer melodies.
They also include splashes of humorous or candid or revealing little clips & skits & ad-libs thrown in at the intro or outro of some songs, or as stand-alone tracks.
No song by Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep is the same (as these artists switch things up here & there), but one can grow accustomed to a similar vibe on each of the artists’ tracks: music to smoke to that helps make sense of the idea of death & cope with the fact that most things in life are detrimental (we only really need, or should gravitate towards, a few more beneficial things).
i used to tug at my mom’s sweater sleeves when I felt a sense of fear towards God & those trying to rob me of everything I love & hold closely dear in my heart… so equally weak in its wishful tenderness & as strong as my ability to meditate on the miracle of existence & experience, reflecting with deep breaths, awareness of safe spaces & comfort zones — only smoking cigarettes when the time feels like it is slowly diminishing the spark in my soul, a way to light the way in the darkness & dwell on everything with gratitude & come back to self… once close to home & in my heart & head, I can finally escape from the tortures & torments of perception. Only what we perceive & focus on — either muddled in confusion or fully embraced with clarity — has any kind of bullheaded control of our fate… as I step aside to avoid experiencing exposure to a type of self imposed opposition by any task force member against one’s self, seeking to beam me up & extinguish the light within.
i don’t like the way you attempt to corrode my thoughts & invade my space kind sir…
c’est la vie monsieur, he replies…
je ne sais pas… ça va?
ça va, c’est la vie.
now, this emphatic man comes up to me — not even remotely sympathetically sensitive to the vulnerabilities of mental disabilities & trauma — & soon interrogates me about the thoughts that intrusively gnaw at the back of my head… thoughts that aren’t my own
he wants me to head some bad place far away with him & before i could hardly refuse, he’s whisking me off for no reason to somewhere I don’t want to go & had no intention of going to whatsoever.
This is all a search & rescue, but instead of rescue, it’s a search & abandon & abuse. I’m sensitive to people in positions of power taking advantage of the less fortunate.
the mind control by the current day & age’s government & law enforcement is at times relentless & uncomfortably unbearable & by no means should I subject myself to a subduing of sorts of my actually so wholeheartedly genuine & gently kind soul, as well as to a practice of data mining, manipulating & even controlling every little process of thoughts.
i am not a puppet with which you can literally place things on my hands & implicate that I did anything more than committing the sin of enjoying my vice of smoking cigarettes & sipping maybe too much coffee today, when maybe one could argue i should begin reading the Bible instead a tiny bit more.
A number pops in my head & a thousand thoughts flood in my inbox in a not too expected, undesirable fashion. Some of these thoughts are kindly aligned with the divinity I believe in my heart to truthfully paint vivid pictures of this universe we accept as something naturally inherited. But then again, other thoughts demean my very existence & crash into my head like a demonic Beamer driving too fast on the highway of my imperfect mind… not that any mind — including mine — is or isn’t perfect, so long as ego is kept naturally at a balance between high & low, just a touch of confident dignified self esteem & worth, but also grounded enough to see the perceived issues we deal with go way beyond us: an issue almost all of humanity deals with… issues we work through, thoughts & feelings we cope & respond gentle heartedly to…
finding time for both work & play, dealing with consequences & grinding enough to set aside time for self healing & decompression in response to any latent edginess we feel that we further must take care of & release this angst through chemically balancing substance, progress, motion & sensitivity & acceptance of the whole human condition relative to our own stance, mindfulness & perspective in our own corner niche of the world.
I graduated from a cute vigorously little Catholic high school around the OC area in San Juan Capistrano — living in infinity pool paradise & so too an infinitely costly & extra altogether rewarding, relieving & hustling & bustling crib funded by none other than my mom & step dad, living with the spouses & my amazing sis
— mom & sis both infinitely & forever my angels — as well as two of the dopest step brothers around… with my dad a few cities over, never too far away, an intelligently sincere & humorously wise man who would always show me what’s important: to just have fun… my whole family showed me that.
My stepdad showed me life requires a dose of responsibility & being accountable for actions… that actions speak louder than words — as I write & write & then write some more. My beautiful best friend soul-linked kind of ex of mine once asked me: what do great writers do? I had no idea.
She clued me in with a simple response which I never quite understood until a realization dawned on me a few months to half year or so ago: ‘great writers write’
— I’ve had two girlfriends… so far at least, my ride or dies in their own way, the first lasting just under 3 years of ups & downs & a little over 3 years so far as the other went: they helped to guide me to my next shot, next kiss, next miss & back for another shot & maybe sometimes I’d sink a basket.
I played Varsity Athletics — basketball & volleyball — and earned a 4.17 GPA, studying Cultural Geography, AP Biology, AP European History, AP Language, AP Literature, AP French & Trigonometry or Calculus or whatever (I was failing math… badly, falling asleep on my book, drooling & knocking my textbook materials over off of my desk after early morning rises, not wanting to hit the snooze on the alarm clock & clocking in to hit the gym with my fellow teammates & coach Tim before the classes, the girls, the home made snack & lunch, hydrating on plenty of water), always carrying my Nalgene bottle around so I’d be able to dash on the basketball court & run dive lines on the volleyball court
— all the same court… just a different day, different game. Who’s to say you won’t get a kiss from your first true, almost more infatuating kind of love on the way back home after asking her out to Homecoming with one rose & a cute little letter with a picture of two little kids on a swing & all of that… she was all I ever wanted on my sweet 16th, as well as a car & a good game out on the sand volleyball courts.
Catholic school definitely poses challenges & some restrictions & not a whole lot of lax & leisure to say the least, but the uniforms & outfits always were kind of cool — the routine of it all kind of constantly a sprint from class to class saying hi to the homies who you saw everyday with maybe a little nun like ruler wrist slap every now & then… the best was behind us… a lot was in the near future, but the story was really just starting to be written & come to fruition.
Life was opening a window with a key to so many new experiences in the future.
Alongside of my first GF, I got the acceptance letter to University of California, Davis & enrolled for the Fall Quarter of 2012… ensuing concerts & maybe diving in to this substance & that, being hazed & faking like I really actually wanted to be in a fraternity. I sipped coffee & dipped out of Greek Life so I could focus on the little things — coffee, quiet reads & little walks & wine on the grassy lawn & working as a barista of sorts at the ASUCD Coffee House. My GF & I went to a Halloween Costume Day Drinking Party with white t-shirts on that said ‘Extra Virgin Olive Oil’.
So funny and yes… you guessed it. I was still a virgin. She was Catholic after all. Whatever, it was never too much of a priority for me anyways.
But the girls come & the girls go, like similarly eventual cigarettes would always come, the pack would run low & there I was making my way over to the corner store to pick up some more… a little pick me up, a little score.
I’d watch sports at bars, drinking craft beers, hazy, stout, IPA, but really just liked light beer — Corona, Pacifico, Bud Light & things of that nature. I started collecting vinyl records, CDs & cassettes, going to all the coolest record stores & coffee shops & dive bars & hookah lounges & matcha shops & farmer’s markets, etc. with my second girlfriend (there’s been about four, but she was the last lasting so impactful in her way in the span of the last 31 years… just two that lasted any kind of expanded, extended, seemingly limitless & life altering imbued heartfelt & eventually heartbreaking kind of way).
Quarter Systems were quick, but it took me 6 years to graduate. Davis ended up being the best time in my life from Ski or Snowboard Club in 2016 to the SoundCloud era of 2017 to graduating… 4.17 to about a 3.0 with a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology. I had experimented with about 2 dozen majors — so many options from Brewing classes to Viticulture to Advanced Journalism courses on the ‘next .wav of the degenerate generation’ to Landscape Architecture & Sociology. My girlfriend — my best friend & love of my life — went along on adventures with me from Orange County to Yosemite to Bay Area nights & New York mornings & Marin homie hangouts.
The whole experience was so cool.
A couple years went by & I was living on my own again. She got married… for the best — definitely ended up working out alright because I got a three year job as a barista & sandwich artist & flatbread chef at a market on the West Shore of Tahoe.
I believe my ex Gabs may have semi recently received a PhD. I guess she went after her dream of being in the therapy or psychiatry field after getting her Masters & Bachelors of Science with similar, almost even more refined success than my first girlfriend. She really did that. I’m so stoked for her. She really made that happen. We both did.
I produced music on the digital audio workspace Ableton while with her from 2016-2020, utilizing looped samples & audio clips from popular TV shows & classic films. I love you LS. I love you Gabs. I love all of my exes. I love my fam first & foremost & God & all of the day one homies. And I also love all of you for checking this out, whether you dive into the extensive readings — a poetry collection & fiction novel — or you decide, instead to come back some other day.
Maybe you never get around to my little writings or a piece doesn’t strike a chord or a note… cute little sentiment; hopefully these reach you well & at peace internally relative to all of the external surroundings influencing our day to day in the Galaxy & Universe, Mother Nature & the eminent ecstasy in Afterlife… elusive Nirvana no longer elusive anymore, moments away.
Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read. As a creative artist, I love to create art. The more the merrier. So the more the merrier take in the experience of it all with me on this little side project — not really even a hustle…just the hobby I would do forever if I could, probably would, and yeah… I probably will forever do indefinitely.
You can find me in Reno, Nevada currently, writing, producing, envisioning filming some grunge hood rat skate inspired film on a camcorder one day & playing guitar… metaphorically kind of skating by, skirting out, sipping, smoking & vibing. To those I love, thank you for sticking around.
˚☽˚.⋆ 