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.
˚☽˚.⋆ 