Pensive

I just made a cup of coffee and I used cream, only the powdered kind, and a little bit of sugar.  That's how I used to drink it, seems like ages ago.  At some point I cut out the cream and went black with sugar but when I joined the army, there wasn't any fixing that shit.  It was always in the standard issue stainless steel pot which I think they never emptied, only added more the next day.  Additives only made it worse so I got used to drinking it black, and I eventually acquired the taste for just black coffee, as I get older my tastes change.  I somehow manage to remember these minute details about my life, like when and how I changed the way I drink my coffee.  And then I manage to relate it to something currently going on in my life, rather my head.  Just an observation.

I don't mind change or seeing things a different way, from a different perspective, it can make old things seem new once again.  A different angle can show us a facet we've never seen.  Some people ask me how I can let go of emotions so easily.  Emotions are an instinctual reaction to whatever is happening, but most people dwell on those and can't let go.  If I'm angry or sad, even happy, I know that there is a reason for it, there always is.  It has taken me a very long time to get to this point where I can allow myself to feel something, understand it for what it is and move along.  I'm no longer a flash flood of reactions, rather like molasses, the time to decide how to act doesn't pass me.  

I like to think I have a good understanding of people, sometimes I take advantage of it but I use it mostly for good, I say that with a devilish grin.  I'm an extroverted introvert by definition, I swear, look them up.  I concern myself with everything around me but I internalize most of it, I think about things and then I let go of em.    My thoughts are like dough, I roll then around and play with them with the intent to create something. I share ideas with people as if they were a valuable currency,to me ideas are priceless, and their worth is whatever we choose to make of them.  I always like to bring a post full circle in a short display of the crazy way everything is connected.  A dude at work today told me "I like working with you.  You're always down to chill and there's always coffee on."  I absolutely say this with every humble fiber in my body, it made me smile inside.  Naturally I acted like my normal self and brushed it off without being rude, but it was cool.  Haha, it probably helps that I'm always down to run the crane and help out, but that's how I was shown by the old timers.  We hang out and break first then we ALL go to work and get our shit done cuz when the shit hits the fan around here there's pretty much no more breaking for the day, haha.  Those old timers had their shit together, and they stuck together, anymore it's every man for themselves and it's a fucking shame.  I refuse though, I know I can be a stubborn motherfucker but it ain't in me to be a punk like that.  You have people with great paying jobs act like this place and everyone in it owes them something just for being here.  I don't get it, I can't forget where I come from and even though my dad has been an asshole he's always been a hard worker, and there's some pride in that.  I even think it's safe to say at this point I've forgiven the man, even if more for my own sanity.  Whatever he was when I was growing up isn't who he is now even if it is only circumstantial.  And by that I mean I don't know if he's actually changed or if it's only because he physically and mentally can't pick on me anymore.  It's doesn't even matter the reason, it is what it is.  Even though he's never told me he's proud of me I'd like to think that somewhere under the facade he is, I don't know.  Life goes on as I drift from topic to topic, it's all related.

Everything and nothing all at once.

My coffee's getting cold.

That's my number

It's cold, unnaturally so for this time of year.  A brisk, mile long walk after my midnight shift affords me the opportunity to get lost in my head while trying to block out the frigid air.  It works, but all I could think about was being hungry, and not only for a hot plate with some eggs, but I'm hungry to feel more...to feel more of everything.  I use my big words such as insatiable to say that what I crave basically ain't attainable, unsustainable, it makes me feel kinda disdainful.  It's ok though, to feel more is only a small aspect of the whole.  I now know that I can, when for a long time there I thought I was destined for a life void of all emotion.  There are oceans that don't run as deep as me, and that's a bold claim which means everything and nothing all at once.  I'm a talking oxymoron, and I'm more on an onslaught than a kick cuz that's what I do with bad habits.  I'm a million fragments that somehow come together in a philosophical manner.  And I definitely take myself way too serious sometimes, it's just fuckin life, we live and hopefully laugh a little then we die.  This is my complex simplicity.  Don't beg to differ with me cuz that shit don't do any good, haha.  Yea.

I'm Bad (and by that I mean good)

Sunday November 17, 2013

Two days earlier it was 19 degrees outside and today it hit the mid 60's, the sky opened up and just dumped massive amounts of rain.  Tornadoes touched down and I would have swore nothing could match the way I been feeling inside.  Emotions tumbling around clapping like thunder, the intensity been kinda shocking, lightning burns in my veins.  Tears wash it all away and when it's over suddenly you get a new perspective on the way reality reigns.  It goes with the territory, I swallowed the red pill a long time ago.  I've been unable to put it into words, staring at this blank page for next to 13 hours, I almost don't have enough of a vocabulary to describe what I'm saying.  Sometimes I hear what I'm saying and what I'm saying starts to sound a little crazy, but I hold onto that, it's a pinch so I know I'm still kickin.  On the way in to work this morning I saw this huge tumbleweed rolling along, and I made notice to the guy walking next to me.  "Hey, look, it's a fuckin tumbleweed." I blurted out.  I caught myself laughing at my unexpected excitement at seeing a big ball of weeds.  It can serve as a good metaphor, sometimes I feel lonely, like I'm roaming a dry desert floor.  Please don't resent my efforts to maintain some level of sanity, like I'm holding it all together with sticks and glue, the shit really isn't working out.  Sometimes I'm just a mess, cigarette stained fingers, and coffee drips on my t-shirt, a weed burning introvert lurks beneath the surface.  Absent mindedly I run my fingers through my messy hair, as if trying to pull thoughts from my head.  And when finally I've stopped trying, it all just comes to me and the words and the paper just sort themselves out.  And, by the way, I wrote this first by hand, it felt so God damn freeing, pen and pad.  Try it some time soon.

Untitled

The moon carries a hazy appearance tonight, serving as a backdrop for my twisted delight.  A couple vicodin might get me high, a useless plight, my life flickering like a wax candle dripping in the wind.  I'm mere inches from venturing over the edge, even though something's been telling me "it's an inevitable end."  There's no room for rational thought when it comes to emotional matters deeply inhabited, they tend not to make any sense.  I write rhymes with no reason and my secrets are written in between the lines if you can read them.  So this is a eulogy, proof of a new chapter exclusive to me and my ill habits.  This time I avoid catastrophic disaster, dreams combined like galaxies colliding, a poetic merging of star dusted souls.  No one knows, not even me.

Impeccable Defects

My coffee sloshed around my cup as I stumbled out the door this morning, and again when I sat in the car, burning my hand, because I'm careful with almost nothing I do yet I've found that I handle some things rather gracefully.  Perfectly adding words around the spaces to decorate blank pages with a symphony while smoking a cigarette, it's just what I do.  When I was younger I wondered with the same amazement that I do now, the only difference being that I have the words now to let it out.  I have a voice for the child that I never was, and a voice for the man that I am to become, and I wonder how other people see me.  Everybody catches pieces and only one has the whole, I'm truly vulnerable and it's interesting because I've never really been before.  I always keep myself guarded against people and ghosts, one I don't really want to find out about and the other will sap your soul.  Perhaps it's because I'm sensitive that I feel things like I do, winter has come quick and the cold always makes me feel kind of alone.  I feel better when the Sun's at play and my surroundings drown me out with the sounds of summer and the colors are embracing, I'll be waiting. I'm hoping the snow will come quickly, it's the only release from the gray days and dirty streets of the Midwest during the cold months of winter.  I feel it's abrasive touch, and it's cold breathe breathing down my neck and it makes me shiver, they get harder to prepare for.  

But I'm just being fuckin dramatic, and I can't imagine anybody would read my shit if I wrote like I talk with my haphazard use of four letter words and their various forms.  I'm a vulgar poet and I wouldn't change that shit if I could.  

Now I can exhale...

Just needed to get that out.

My lighter side

I'm not all deep thoughts and philosophical musings, obviously that's what you see here because it all makes for good writing.  I'm a heavy, intense person but I like to keep things light in general.  The world takes it all too seriously and that goes for me more so than anyone else.  I focus my energy on better things, I'm a joker, I like to get people to laugh, and snap them out of whatever serious shit they get lost in.  It's so much easier to get by in life getting along, and people feel comfortable talking to me.  I'd like to think it's because I'm trustworthy, and they will always get my honest opinion about everything.  I have fun wherever I'm at, it's just what I do.

Sitting in the kitchen with Gwendolyn making rhymes is one of my favorite pastimes.  She makes me smile with her blonde hair and cute little curls, she knows how to get ecstatic, and her enthusiasm for everything (save for naps) gives me a joy indescribable.  I hope for her that she never loses it, it's an attribute that more people could be imbued by.  She's on high all the time and it literally forces me to keep moving on those days I want to give in and lay down to it all, she gets into everything and can't be left alone for too long, but it keeps me grounded. 

Isaac is a 9 year old me, he gets the word play in the ways that I say things, by that I mean a lot of my witty remarks can have double meanings.  I can't bullshit him because he thinks rationally like I do and he'll call me on it even though sometimes I can see his trepidation in saying things, which only makes me proud because he does it even though he doesn't necessarily want to.  He doesn't bite his tongue around me, but I can see when he talks to others he pulls his punches, he gets the difference between people that want the truth and pretty much everyone else.  That is to say, his filter is better than mine, haha.  He's smart as hell too, and he loves science which is something I wished I could have explored more when I was younger.  Oh, and he beats my ass in chess.  We played exactly 5 games before our first stalemate and I have yet to put him in check since.  I was never very good anyway, but c'mon, he's 9!  It's all good, I love that shit.

After every storm the sun always eventually comes back and I utilize that same principle in life.  A Sun rising before my eyes ALWAYS makes me feel that everything is ok.  Endless beginnings whenever we choose to see it that way.  Recently I've seemed a little darker than usual and that's because I was feeling pretty shitty, but I write about it so I can see it in black and white right on front of me.  I let my anger, frustrations, joys and aspirations out so that I can see them and feel them and get through them.  If I write something angry and irrational I'm perfectly well aware of it and why.  The why is because it's my release.  I get mad and fuel it with profound words and witty sarcasm but it's ok because it's harmless and it isn't directed at anyone.  And then, usually sooner than later, I let it go.  I've been through the process many times and it seems to work for me.  Diligence is key in staying on top on of my natural feelings of melancholy.  I'm a misanthrope by nature due to the way I was raised but I can I see past these things which is just my old way of thinking trying to creep back.  I remove myself, and step back, so I can look at even me objectively, make better choices next time and just get on with life.  I always get by one way or another.

My disheveled existence

My silence is desperate, and if you listen closely you can almost hear its plea.  Boulders of heavy emotions hold me down so I can feel nothing but the emerging depression, my stomach tightens its knots.  I instinctively know it always gets better, and then worse again, and better still.  Normally I know the triggers, I can see it coming, but this time I was blindsided and my pride tells me "hurt every motherfucker in front of you."  It wasn't all that long ago I would act before I could really think, only now do I have enough self awareness to prevent myself from doing something stupid.  I'd like to think I played some part in my calming down, though I often wonder if it's simply a byproduct of growing up.  Most kids don't have the capacity to see how their actions directly affect them, and I sometimes feel like that kid still, inside.  The raw emotion that flourishes when adrenaline hits and the anger kicks in is almost like a sickness.  It slips in a backdoor and when you finally notice it's already too late, the damage is done.

So when you see me questioning everything about me and analyzing the fuck out of all that exists, know this: I do it because I have to.  The instant I let my guard down disaster crashes in and mayhem ensues.  I admit, I like a little chaos, but it's usually going on around me, not always in me.  In a strange way it makes me feel at home, comfortable, like an old friend I used to get drunk with.  It's ok to visit but I wouldn't want to stay too long, my inebriated brain might get stuck.

I play with fire and flirt with the boundaries most people shy away from.  It's in my nature to do things that are a little bit crazy, for if I don't I forget I'm alive, and I end up in a mundane existence. Half of the time I wind up regretting it, but even if I regret it I appreciate what it offers back in return which is some semblance of learning.  How much in life do we do without even knowing it?  My free flowing style of living leaves me brimming with experiences of every kind.  If I was only full of good and successful intentions my writing would be boring and untruthful.  

And all of this, it makes me a deviant philosophical heathen.  You've been warned.