Gloves

My dad bought me one.
My brother gave me the other.
I cherished these two.
Not for ascetic beauty,
or that they were intricate to my life.
But because they meant a lot to me.
Time elapsed around the simple act.
My dad teaching me, my brother helping me.
I can re buy a new one,
yet it would not be the same.
I have had them since high school,
and have spent incalculable time
of use with them.

Of all things that were lost,
these are some of the hardest for me.
I will miss the moments of connection.
The moments of enjoyment, even the back pain that was sure to follow.
The smell of leather and dirt, the feel of wear from years of use.

Almost as if part my childhood, adolescence and adulthood are now lost to me.
Times of one on one. Times of teams. Times of fun. Times less than fun.
They reminded me of mouthfuls of seeds, and spitting, rally caps, the smell of fresh cut grass, using cleats as a shovel, and inspiration.
All of which have impacted me in someway.
It will be different when the three us throw around now in something new.

Developing fire

I don't know where to begin. Last Thursday I experienced something I never would have thought that i would. I watched my world burn before my eyes. It's a bit surreal to be honest. almost as if it didn't happen, but the burns on my arm and the memories I cannot seem to shake hold me in my reality.

It was any other day. I was home alone and had to work later in the evening. I was on the phone and casually mentioned that I had smelt smoke, which I disregarded because I had just used the oven. I took a shower, and when I stepped out of the bathroom the air was permeated with smoke. It was all around. I searched for the source, but to my dismay I was unable to locate it. It was getting worse however, then I looked out the front window and saw a random lady stop her car and run to my garage, a strange occurrence. When I opened the garage door I was met with a wall of flame.

I immediately ran to the fire and frantically searched for something to extinguish it with, I tried a rake, but it burned off at the handle. I ran back into the house to fill a garbage can up with water-it was all I could think of. When I returned to the garage the fire had spread, and so had my overwhelming dread. The garage door began to close, I bent over almost spasming under the smoke in my lungs and the fire had reached the door. I exited as quickly as I could and my mind raced in every direction. I grabbed the phone and headed out the front door.

I threw myself into the snow in front of the garage, frantically trying to throw snow at the beast who destroying all before my eyes. It was a futile act. I watched in horror as the fire grew in spite of my efforts and I realized I could do nothing. I ran back to the house to get brownie out. I went inside to the stairs and found that she had hidden on the second floor, she came at the sound of my voice-she's an amazing dog-and we ran outside. I stood at the door, coughing, looking in as the darkness filled the house and shouted for the cats, they would not come and I could not go back in. I called and I called and my brother who has given me a life here, rushed over.

I waited in the snow watching as the fire destroyed. I cursed myself. I had the supreme feeling of helplessness, it was consuming everything. The heat burned my face, singed my hair...and I watched, where the fuck was the fire department, it will be too late, and I am to blame. How. How? Why? Why? my brother and his family?

I exposed my vulnerability to anyone there as I fell into a million pieces and wept, and cursed, and was angry and ashamed. I already felt like a blight on existence, now I had just cost my family-whom deserve so much-everything.

I was on my knees with no shoes, no socks and no shirt when the officer pulled up. He dragged me to his car and locked me in. It was here that I had truly lost what little composure I had left. i wanted to do more, to try more, and now I couldn't even see.

The moment I dreaded arrived, my brother found me. I didn't want him to see me the way I was. I didn't want him to know that I, his younger brother who he has always taken care of, just lost everything he had. I was afraid. How could I face him? How could I express how truly sorry I am, for everything. That's when he found me, at my lowest, and he was his best. He grabbed me, made me look him in the eye and expressed how he did not care about any of it, only me, his younger screw-up brother. I almost wished me punched me instead, but my brother is too amazing for that. He was what I needed and he was the strength for both of us.

The nightmare that destroyed our house and the items that held memories, has haunted me since that day. It's hard to shake it. I look at my brother and I know how lucky I am to have him and my sister-n-law, how strong they are and how they have held the family together. How they have lost everything and they are still so thankful and faithful. How even when it was thought it was my fault, that they didn't care, they still loved me and wanted me with them.

I know its weird but I can still feel the heat of the fire on my face. The odor of the smoke and the fire in my lungs. If I can sleep I dream about it, and when the dream is over, I know that reality is not. We have to face the charred remnants of our lives and forge a new one, together. For that I am thankful.

heart of darkness

My heart is a broken, tangled mess of a rock.
It has been damaged and it will bear the scars of times past;
Shame nor pity is felt.
I have lived. Just as you have lived.
We all carry the past as our burdens,
Not letting it get the better of us is the goal.
I have deluded myself into thinking I do not feel;
I do
My heart has felt the warmth of the moment, inviting the slightest touch to enter:
Thinking about knowing, realizing I do not.
Always more to learn, more to heal, more to hurt
Such is life, and life is worth living.
Even if it is only for the experiences of something stolen,
But there can be so much more.
Even where one has trod, to heal is reachable.
Thinking about knowing, and this I now do.

Masks

You see what I desire you to notice
It changes as my mood alters
Revolving masks
differing emotions, feelings, wants
So many,
The real is rarely seen, if at all
Would anyone recognize or care?
Glimpses-observed through the chips
An insight of what is actually there.
Few have seen, fewer more will.
Sour flavored, sweet tasting, brings a smile or distaste,
I am what you see I am, but not seeing what else.
Loquacious to a fault, serves purpose for the time.
The time that no one can escape from; too short in the end.
Long lasting smile, dripping the charm and humor, vanishes alone.
Stay awhile longer, this mask will prevail.

Tis the season

Ah, the end of Christmas. What a day.
This is the first year I have not spent Christmas with any family whatsoever. It is kind of a surreal experience.
It actually has been quite awful, this entire week.

I have virtually not left the bottle for days and I am foul at the moment.
Pent-up to explosion.

I wish I had a definitive answer.

I'm frustrated at not being able to have provided for myself, to rely on asking, and still no gain to make.

I don't like the charity.
I don't like the ever-ending circle.
I don't like the use for validation, and not realizing.
I don't like your demeaning texts, trying for a moment to think you understand me. You do not, and keep the jealousy.
I don't like the blame that was put on me, as if I did not feel bad enough.
I don't like playing anymore.
I don't like the typing that assumes something about me that I am incapable of doing.
I don't like you telling my boss that you are surprised that I am working out.
I don't like the feigned concern.
I don't like you wanting and not wanting something from me.
I don't like that everyone thinks that I can be labeled and that you know what it is.
Fuck you.

In a world where people presume and assume about all things they know nothing about, leave me out of it.

A story

His whole life Jack was afraid to take a chance.

If the rare occasion arose and he did, he was often left with his head in his hands.

Reaching the age of 30, he had found himself with nothing to call his own.

"If only," he would say; and he would focus on his past and never really faced what could be.

He would run, and curse his miserable existence.

He let his career never develop, he never faced love, and he sat at home watching old reruns of cheers while drinking a revolving door of various liquors.

His interests lied in classic art and music, but that was where it would end.

In Jack's own mind, his existence was one of nothingness, because that was what he felt.

Sometimes life is nothing without taking a chance on something...

am indeed

"She takes my breath away"
I would love to say this and mean it again.
To find the feeling of nervous excitement, just at the brush of a touch.
To want to sacrifice all I have and am, for a smile.
No. I loved that feeling. Now I enjoy who I have become.
I do not need long term, love, marriage, virus.
I need the moment.right now.
I don't need your words, but I want words.
My words, are fanciful. Charming. Oozing. Not bad.
They can be something special, no need to change for what.
I fell once. All it takes is once. I need no more, not from her...long lasting
From me. I am who I am becoming.No.looking, backwards.

You know I am not yet content, but I am finally on my way/without digressing.

and thanks to whoever said I was amazing.

No idea.

Stale tasting, bitter aftertaste. Time well spent in the moment.
Look to tomorrow-seeing something new. But is it intended?
Do you want it to be?
A long lasting decline, far from whence you began.
Burdening; you no longer.

Insufferable to attraction-mere words to adjectives.
Types too many words, words are a gateway into the soul.
or is that eyes. I can never recall. Why not two?
Pleasant surprise, a brush, a moment, an escape.
I find too many escapes, and ones that will not define me.
I need not another:
Smoke a little more. Have another drink. Spit into the bottle. Pop one more pill, before you twinge in pain. Reasons, not just. Just one more conversation-that never feels as long as it is.

Missing a presence, and abhorring for no reason.
One in many, no reason to stand out.
If I am the same, why is it all else are the same.
You fight, and I fight, to regain the definition of uniqueness.
Too wide a feeling to locate in one specific spot, it moves too much. Well, at least it seems.


I write too much, and I still love star wars.

I

I sit and I try. I have nothing else to offer. I am what I am.
I have made decidedly wrong choices, and I live them.
Afraid to to take a chance. I will lose what little pride I have.
What little self-respect I have that defines me.
Excuses overrun, and running to nowhere.
Pride becomes shame, on a one-way road where there is no destination.
Confusing writing, masking the haunting of discovery. Learn a little. Have.
Acrimonious feelings no longer have a grip, than a someway a finger hold is found.
Pushing away, those and myself, easy is the path most taken.
No more one more-but there is always just one more I hope.
Inadequacy reigns, in some form, in some life.

Wait a little longer, push a little more, expose just another minute.
Witt, humor, intelligence, amounts to...well, only time will tell.
Overcoming desire, but not sexually, desire without work. Then maybe sexually.
Whose voice is heard first, whose pride bends a little. Everyone I want.
I am what I am, no glory, no contentedness, not now, not yet, but maybe, you'll see, or you won't.

I make ebullient feelings, but is there more?
A word smith, fancy on himself, there is limitless potential you see.
What if he fails, what if he falls, then disappointment is felt universally. We should of seen.
Its easy to not try, then no one is let down. Perhaps the one whom desired a teacher, perhaps more.

I long to take care of, to provide, I have in my own limited way, but again disappointment, distaste, to foul a flavor to be savored.
I try, perhaps a bit more this time, to see what others see, to not be blinded by illusion, desire, contentedness, live up to what you are. Climb. Fall. Fail. Try again.
I am who I am, but can I be more?
Evasive writing makes sense only to the writer. I am content with elusively.

Standing Storms

Isn't life filled with its little ironies sometimes? Recently my fondness for writing reemerged in my life. It has been some time since I have even wanted to think about writing, including blogs. But Last month something awakened inside of me, and I feel better than I have in a very long while.

Ah, but there is always more. Just as I was getting into a groove again, an unfortunate accident came my way. It would appear that a beverage of some sorts, I'm not sure what kind, met gravity and the two conspired to ruin my laptop. So just as soon as I return to find my passion in writing, my legs get swept out from under me.

It occurs to me, that in life when you try to stand up, you can get knocked right back down. What matters though, is how many times you try to stand up, and how long you wait. I have been sitting for way too long, and it looks hard to stand up, and I can only imagine that I will get knocked down again...and again. That's OK. For some reason I don't mind.


"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man."