Friday, May 29, 2009

my shallow pool

i think my writing is shit.

But I must write in order to get all my thoughts out.

I've spent this whole week visiting and or swimming in the ocean.
Today, I picked up a lady friend of mines and we raced up to la jolla, I'd already been there this week, but I seem to never tired of that place. For I always discover new things, and I've never really grown tired of the place.

I feel as if summer has arrived in full heat and color.
Many things have changed, but there isn't an once in my blood that tells me things won't be normal.

I can almost feel myself slipping right now.
Despite having really nothing to worry about or slip into sorrow about, I feel as if it will change.
As if the tide will come in to sweep every living thing away in my shallow pool.
Don't know what kind of current it will bring me, but I have a feeling.

Or I might dry out, my shallow pool will become filled with sand.

But, I will do anything in my power to not let my shallow pool filled with creatures of large and small proportion die.
I will not.
It feels good have them alive, for they are what keeps me alive and happy.
But the tide has to change sometime, right?



Thursday, May 28, 2009

nature's contenedness

I could not contain myself,
as I ran down the limestone hills that were sprinkled with sand, the kind of sand in which would cause you to slide if you did not carefully plan your steps.
And if you fell you'd be falling a haunting 30 feet into the shore that contained rocks as sharp as knives.
I was in a hurry to arrive at my favorite spot, and I did not care about the over working of my lungs.
I just wanted to visit and observe the fascinating creatures that called this place home.
It always seems to be a bit cloudy there, but the clouds never held me back.

As my feet worked in fast forward motion, I could in vision the beautiful striped shore crabs as they scurried from one nook to the other,

As I leaped from rock to rock like a child discovering for it's first time,
I noticed something:

Every single organism that lives within those tide pools, has a certain way of showing us the beauty of nature.

We took a second to notice the individual cracks in the rocks, filled to the top with left over sea water just enough to allow the striped shore crabs to come out and tend to their everyday lives.
On a vertical slant, two crabs were wrestling over territory, I gazed into the crystal clear water to observe the two,
they displayed their own power, and it seemed as if they contained the most strength in all of the ocean themselves.
I dipped my hand into the water to see if I could pick one up, but they scurried off like mice.
I came back, only to see them wrestling again, while other crabs besides them there busy picking at the algae that they were so busy wrestling over.

That sight just opened my eyes into the contentedness of mother nature.
Viewing the different crabs that day made me realize that no matter where those crabs went that day, they were content.
Just going about life.
And it made me smile.

We walked on,

nature amazes me.


Wednesday, May 27, 2009

rope. trees.

"Now who is she
I am a river and I will take you to the sea"

I have a constant thought stuck in my head, one that twists and turns, and also tugs at my heart and stomach, much like a rope. And I'm starting to feel this ever so slight burn of tension and anger,
and it appears sometimes, but I'm sort of getting used to it, for these thoughts or situations have occurred many times in my life.
But, none the less, it happened once again.
And, I kind of get sick of it, but I just have to let that rope burn until I can get used to it.
But these things may pass.

Now, for a memory I have, that kind of deals with the situation stated above.
But this memory ended up really pleasant:

I ( as you may know) had been working seasonally at a summer camp for the last 2 summers, sad to say that I've made a decision to not travel up there this summer, but it has been great.
While working at this mountain, I have and had realized so many things about myself. So, it's quite an amazing place, and my co-workers I had grown to love and admire.
One in particular sticks into my mind, I rather not say her name, but she was a pretty young lady, with a good head resting on her shoulders.
One day, we both had the luck of not being scheduled for work on the same day, so we decided to hang out for the day.
We high tailed it up to the lake. While there we had a good talk about our past life.
And everyone knew she had a boyfriend, and in which they are still together this day, and I'm very happy for her.
Anywho, she told me about most things in her life, and so did I.
We sat with the breeze pushing against our backs, as we faced the lake watching the water skiers whiz by so gracefully as if it hadn't had taken so much effort to accomplish such feat.
As we high tailed it back to camp, I knew for a fact that the day was not over.

We listened to some good ol' delta spirit.
Stopped at this look out point, called the rim of the world.
The rim of the world is a look out point, in which you would be able to peer out and admire all of san bernardino, riverside, and if it's clear enough l.a.m but you'd be a lucky duck if you caught any trace of sight of l.a.
Anywho, there sits a large boulder, that's planted on the very end of a mountain, and if the bouder feels so inclined to do, it would plumit down a good thousand foot drop. And I'm kind of afraid of heights, but she wasn't.
I was amazed at her climbing skills, she darted up that rock like a cat climbs a fence. Insane.

So, I then took her back to the camp, but she wanted to hang out more, my feet were killing me,
so, as we parked at a ever so significantly familiar trailhead I mistakenly said:
"You ever been to Mama Oak?"
Now, Mama Oak is a destination for our night hikes and our weekly scheduled day hikes with the campers. From center camp it takes about 30 minutes to walk to. With many trail ends and turn offs, and as many forks as you hold in your silver ware cabinet...seriously.
Moma Oak, is a towering oak tree, that is planted by a tiny stream that flows every now and then, but when it does, Mama Oaks roots seems to suck up the crystal clear flowing water from the stream.
That's why Mama Oak is a good 2,000 years old.
She's the perfect deseination after a long (or long by the campers standards) hike in 90 degree weather.
Under her lay large boulders, as if they are Mama Oaks' eggs.

Now, just as I heard:
"No, but I want to go check it out",
laid down a crystal clear sign that I knew I could not diregard.
After I waited for her as she put on her hiking shoes, I fumbled though my car, searching for water bottles, none to be found.

We started hiking, it was amazing to see, because she was so excited to go on a hike she'd never been on before. I had been on this trail one too many times, but as we started walking, I had never thought I myself would see what was not seen as I hiked on the scheduled days we would hike.
As she ran ahead in excitement, I could help but be joyed by the presence of her excitement of what she was witnessing.
I clearly remember us walking by a dried up pond, that once contained dozens of frogs, like pennies in a fountain.
As we passed, we couldn't help but notice the beautifull rattling of a rattle snake, for it was under a rock, poised and ready to bite the hell out of our ankles, but we, being the go getters as we were, were so intruiged to play around with it. Trying to coax it out with a stick, or waving our hands back and forth, as if the snake knew that we wanted it to come out and play.

That day was filled with just fun. Fun.
That's really all I wanted. A good companion to discover more with, even though I had discovered it for 13 weeks of my life.
There was always something new.

As we reached Mama Oak we were interrupted by the vocalizations of a bear, that seemed to have been really close.
So, we got up.
And walked away.
That was our day.

with all this being said,
it would be better to just have fun.
and cut that rope loose.
because i don't want it to end up being a noose.



Tuesday, May 26, 2009

welcome back.

I can still feel it now, as my toes criss cross eachother, the griany sand makes an irratable sensation, or the salt that's left on my skin to dry, and it's eating me away.
The blank stare into the horizon.
The inevitable cascading waves.
The bearable temperature of the water, as it travels into my wetsuit, and brushes against my skin.
The never ending paddling and kicking to reach my spot.
The wait it takes for a towering wave to appear.

Like a gear perfectly switching to another, the wave takes me along with it.
I treat it as if it were mine.
Grab the sides of my board, tilt towards the face, and let her work her magic.
As the white bubbly wash follows behind me,
I can only feel the adrenaline and chemicals speeding throughout my body.

The wave took me back to the shore line, I felt it's energy die off, and then suck itself back in to return back to it's peaceful owner,
like a well trained dog, listening for his masters call.

Drained. I held my head up. Gave my self a chuckle.
Took my fins off, then my fin socks.
Stood up, faced the horizon, felt the suns rays scanning me as if i was the bar code and the sun was the laser,
I sat down for a bit.
I thought to myself, that I was content with this experience.

I glared to my right and my left, and noticed the ever so happy crowd minding their own business

and with all this i thought to myself:
"welcome back, the beach is whispering to me: welcome back."

and that was that.
walked back to the car with the grains of sand sticking to my feet like magnets,

we sailed inland.

and that was my first time in the water since december.


Monday, May 25, 2009

macaroni and cheese

" I get lost without your love,"
That lyric are somewhat stuck in my head.
But, as I rest my head on my fluffy pillow I can only think of a memory that just struck me,
it's one that was terrifying to me at the time:
I am pretty sure I was young, like around 6 or 7, haha, I think every memory of my extreme youth was around 6 0r 7, but you get the point.
it was the time my family was in more desperation than ever,
we could barely afford mcdonalds on 99 cent chiken nugget tuesdays, and I remember on the car rides home from mcdonalds, it seriously felt as if those nuggets of chicken were nuggets of gold, gold that steemed out of the bags, with a heavenly arroma, and our upset stomachs were telling us that they needed food.
Those are the days we went shopping at target, it seemed as if my brother and i were in the store forever,
minutes turned into slow moving molasses, and hours took the time it takes to freeze honey (in which honey takes a long time to frreze due to it's thick substance),
we'd follow behind mom as she pushed ever so full cart, that didn't squeel simply becuase my mom couldn't stand crappy carts.
we'd stick close behind her, as if we were little ducks following and mimiking what mother duck was doing,

it's always a trip to think about what happened that day,
they toy section was always a aile that my mom dreaded, she simply saw that a simple to would bring us happiness, but couldn't afford it, so i imagine it was somewhat heartbreaking to her. sorry mom.
Me, being the oldest, i had to look our for my brother, as A.D.D set in, i'd have to keep my eyes locked on him, and drag him back to the cart, like a leopard dragging his prey back up to his tree (excuse the nature metaphors)
This one day, I searched for him, not realizing he was following my mother,
I pretty much lost my mom,
The panic hit me as I searched through 3 ailes, and not a single hint that she was in sight,
it hit me like a speeding train, a cold sweat hit, my breathing spead up, the hairs on my neck up like skyscrapers,
she was gone.
"Mom!" i screamed louder and louder, but heard not a voice recognized.
I frantically ran up and down ailes, with the shelves standing so tall above me, I couldn't help but to spare a couple of tears.
Time went by slower.
And in my mind, I started to picture what it would be like to see myself with my mother again, feeling content, and warm.
I wonder what it must have been like to lose nemo, i think after watching that movie, people get sort of numb to the feeling of being lost.
It's probably one of the most confusing, and stimulating feelings ever.
I searched and searched, sorting through unfamiliar faces, I made eye conact with total strangers, I could tell as they peered into my eyes, that i was a lost duckling. And after every eye contact or exchange, my frown was more heavy, and grew heavier and heavier.

I then turned an aile to catch a tiny glimpse of a recognizable shoe, my brothers shoe, to be exact.
I ran, not noticing the phyical statire of my brother, I didn't care.
As I rand to catch up, I somehow noticed, it was the wrong person.
And it made everything even more terrible.

I felt like giving up, taking a seat, only for my mother to come find me.
I kept walking, for I realized the store was gigantic,
I was the small fish in the big wide broad ocean.

I can not exaclty recall what I did next, but I found my mom.
I recall, the face i made, like i hadn't been lost all of that time, i only kept that face for a seond, and then burst into tears, as i was relieved to see my mother again, kinda like the end of homeward bound. kinda.
The warm hug secured me, I got lost inside of the warmth.
I then felt scure again.
As we rode home in our grocery filled brown buik. i thought to myself, hoe relieved i was.

in all essence, this story is tied loosely around what i've felt recently.
just kind of lost,
wandering throughout the ailes that soared high above my head, those ailes were the things or obsticles in which blocked my view of comfort.
And it felt good to be secure again.
It feels amazing.

You know, i used t hate the term, "let's just be friends",
i used to get so caught up in that.
but you know, that means the world to me now, and it's better than saying: " i don't want to be friends".

I don't know where tat came from ,just had to say it.

But, that's really what i need right now,
just friends, just to get lost inside of love,
for i'd be nowhere without it.

i get lonely, but i have myself, a dog and some great friends, a guitar, songs stuck in my head that never get old.
and the last thing i need is complication, but inevetably face that in life.

so, it feels good to be back in that secure place.
place of warmth, under the sun.
of being on the good company of my loving family,
or being in the presence of great friends,
or in the rythm with the band,
or a stroke of grace and miracles,

let's be content, live life, and be merry.
and don't let time get in the way of whatever it is that's holding us back.

i love doing what makes others happy.

i swear i never want to get lost again.
it'll happen but next time it shouldn't be too bad.


Wednesday, May 20, 2009

the giving tree and love

As I inhaled the last puffs of my cigarette tonight, I watched the smoke dance in all of it's beauty. Then I watched it disapear, and thought to myself that no other magician could ever pull off that illusion.
I concentrated on how I've been feeling lately, and the words that have been said to me, or the words I have said to others.
I'm not happy with myself at all.
And then I questioned myself about what I really wanted, or what made me happy.

A good friend of mine gave me a good piece of advice that dealt with a metaphor that had something to do with the giving tree:
she said that
we all are giving trees,
and in a way,
i have given too much to some people,
and they are just going to keep taking without even a slight acknowledgment.
and i just have to learn to say no.

those words hit me so hard.
after i read them and questioned their meaning,
it was if i had been punched in the stomach, and had lost my breath.
as i caught my breath, i realized this:
i love giving,
i never hope to receive much back,
all i ask for is some love back.

i just don't feel loved that much anymore.

i just feel alone.
nobody really knows what i'm going through.
i get phone calls from friends and comments from family basically saying:
brad, quit being a little bitch.

as far as i know it,
that is not love.

i know i have friends, some may not all be that close,
but the ones that have sat with me in my sorrow, the ones that have offered to pray, the ones that have given me advice, i do thank them for it.

but i often find myself surrounded with those people, and just feel completely and utterly alone.
like a lonely cactus,
or that lonely giving tree.

i guess that's enough for me then.

it's sad.

i often question when i'll climb out of this deep hole that i've dug myself into.

and it's hard to say no, or stop giving.

but is it ever possible to stop giving?

Monday, May 18, 2009

charlottes web and a carpet that stings

I can clearly remember all of the times I've moved away, either for leaving for a job, school or just leaving to forget.
I can also recall returning home crystal clear.

I often think of how there is no greater metaphor for the way we impact people.
I thought about it tonight as I took my nightly trip outside. While inhaling the smoke into my lungs, I couldn't help but to stare into the ever so beautifully woven spider web, that hung loosely from the trunk of the tree to a branch.
I walked over to take a look at the loose connections. I pondered off into the thought of how this web was woven.
I then remembered that movie, charlotte's web, or at least tried my best to.
I don't exactly remember what the significance of the movie was.
But what I do remember is the impacting scene, that takes place in the darkness of the night, while charlotte is weaving her web ever so gracefully.

I often think of the impact that that in particular movie has on many people.
We often don't realize the power of what we do or our sometimes rash decisions.

As I contemplated the thought of someone leaving or walking out of my life, I thought out loud to my friend:
"I don't think it's necessarily that we are OVER someone, we are never over someone, it's just the numbing of the feeling of them not being there with us"
Then I thought to myself, that Wilbur will be forever impacted by that web.

So, then I come to a conclusion,
that as people, where ever we are in life, our relationships, decisions, discussions, actions, and thoughts will forever impact anybody and everybody.
Kind of like that spider web.
Even though we may not see it, the web of your life is very present.
My good friend once told me:
"You may not understand what going on in your life right now,
but think of your life as a giant carpet, and your underneath it,
you feel the needles poke through, they may sting, and you may wonder why it hurts,
but when it's all over,
you'll stand and look at the intricately woven side,
and say
"damn, it was worth it""

and that's all he said.

and that's all i can think about.

it's been a week.
a horrible week.
i haven't heard a word.
and i don't know if it's good or bad.



Sunday, May 17, 2009

something that i could not shake

"Such a strange vine wrapped around my neckbone, twisted up between my step"
I sang, off key, while roasting hamburger buns over a pan.
The heat seemed to singe my arm hairs off, I had anticipated the awful aroma of burnt hair to arise and tingle my nose hair, but it never showed.
My friends happily splashed around in the pools like ever so graceful sea otters, working their appetite up for the delicious hamburgers that were about to be served.
I love matt's house, one could literally sit there for hours on end, his backyard is filled with heavenly white noise, the kind of noise that seems to cancel out disturbing noises, such as the speeding semi-truck, or the annoying car alarms that go off every ten minutes.
His backyard contains a pool, that catches the most amount of sunlight, and heats up during the day time, like a jacuzzi.
He has two beautiful dogs though, their characters balance out however, one's a complete (well, maybe not so complete) ass hole, and the other one is just straight up chill.

I hang around his house so much, I most often refer to it as my second home, I've stepped foot in that house with complete happiness, and stumbled in that house with complete sorrow, and almost always his family addresses with warm hugs and hellos.
Wonderful absolutely heaven sent people. Like a second family.

Hanging around their place almost most always tends to make me forget about things in life that bring me down, and it's a good feeling. I'm always refreshed when I leave. Sometimes it's as if there's a burden lightly lifted off of my shoulders.

Today there was a barbecue, and as I somewhat casually crept outside, I heard the over so familiar sounds of laughing and good conversing. I seemed to walk into the house with just too much on my shoulders,
the burden couldn't be lifted.
I tried, as we sat on the diving board, my hands filled with the slimy sticky ketchup and mustard, as I stained my pants, and I drank a beer and smoked a couple of cigarettes, and as I attempted to play guitar.

I tried to shoo the pain away,
I tired to forget.
I tried to laugh it off.

But somewhere in the back of my mind (or should I say the front of my mind), it lingered, lingered like the smoke of a cigarette, or the taste of bitter beer on my tongue.
It lingered like a dog that has a certain sense that there was still food present on the table.
It lingered like the way beatles songs get caught in your head.

I drove away without saying goodbye, I regret that now and look back to why I did that.
I didn't want to say goodbye, because in a sense, I never wanted to say goodbye in the first place.
I've always just wanted to be happy.
But there's a strange vine, one that's stuck on me and will not shake loose.

to my second family:
sorry I didn't say goodbye this time.
I really appreciate your love towards me.
There was still a tad of a burden lifted off of my shoulders which is this:
It's better I was with you, because the time i spent with you, I could have spent alone.

So, thank you.

And i want to thank those of you who are reading this and have sat with me, and talked with me about it.

Maybe i'll look back on this one day and laugh my ass off.

But as for now,
it's just a stange vine.


I gazed out from a friend of mines porch over looking the city scape, with my eyes concentrating as the cars as they pass by like worker ants. I thought to myslef what it would be like if I lived in the apartment. I questioned myself about what I would do, if i would go out, and so on and so forth.
As i came upon these thoughts she said:
"See, that intersection down there?"
I looked to where she was pointing, a brightly lit intersection, that was the collector of cars that had come from the freeway, it displayed many signs, like the signs you see when you know that there's a camera waiting to take your picture as you ran the red light.
A gas station was near by with gas prices that soared above the limits like hawks waiting to catch their next prey.
I peered out and couldn't help but to think if she witnessed many accidents.
"Yes, I see it" I claimed.
"there are accidents that happen everyday there"
As she just explained, the crunching of metal sounded off like a warning shot or a pistol, it was a good sound though.
It's vibrations carried throughout the city streets, so a clean and crisp sound, it registered in my ear as something so beautiful, but oh so deathly.
I watched as the two drivers involved in the collision crept into the parking lot of the gas station.

The drivers both got out of their cars, screaming and fighting about who's fault it was.
We could hear them from where we were.

As the argument got heated the police came to the rescue to figure everything out.

As I drove home in awe of what I had just seen,
I realized that someday, if Iever return to that apartment, it would become a normality, the sound of metal crumbling like paper, the screaming and the yelling, the gas station sign, the emergency lights flashing.

I don't know exactly why I'm writing this,

But I do have something to say:
Maybe I could get used to the broken-heartedness
Maybe I could get used to it.
It's awlays been that way.
So, maybe, I'll stick around that apartment for a little longer.
Just maybe.

I don't want to become numb.


Friday, May 15, 2009

no place like home

"I still don't like it, I will never be satisfied with it."
I thought to myself, very selfishly as if I had built it, and it was very obvious that I had not.

The rusty nails stuck out of the torn down walls, the dusty dirty sinks, the pipes as they stuck out from the walls as if they were vines that had frailty grown out of place.
I walked into this somewhat homey atmosphere, I new we were going to build a home for all of us.
I guess some people don't know how it feels. How it feels to walk through a house that contains nothing but skinny 2 by 4's and spray paint on the floor. You know you will be one day resting your head in this room, but all you can see is something that is just blue prints, and thoughts contained in someone else's head.
It's quite beautiful when it all starts to piece together though.

As my mom and I walked up the dirty dusty driveway that had shown evidence that it hadn't been treaded upon in years.
We ducked under the scaffolding that contained white stucco that reminded me of cottage cheese, we discussed the living situation,
"You'd be in this room"
As I peered through the somewhat recognizable doorway, I couldn't help but to notice the lingering sun light as it peeked through the beams of the ceiling.
I coulnd't picture myself waking up for school everyday, taking a shower and playing my drum-set in this room.

As we walked slowly through the kitchen, pausing everytime the nail gun went off, while saw dust sprayed me in the face, leaving a recognizable familiarity of dandruff on my shoulders.
My mom, stopped in mid conversation and said:
"Brad, this home is not for us,"
I questioned her, "What do you mean?"
The nial gun went off, and more saw dust pelted my face
"It's for everyone, you may like to think of it as just your home, but in all reality hunny, it's for everyone."
I paused, assuming that the nail gun was going to shoot off again. it didn't.
We stopped the conversation there, she had to go help out with something.

But, as time flew by, being absent from the house, I realized how important it was to have a home.
I had been gone for the whole summer, I shared a house with some of my co-workers at a summer camp.
As I raced home on the last day of work to grab a california burrito I thought to myself that I really needed a change in thought.
As my car, full of all my clothes and left over detergent, I turned the corner to find the house complete.
I cautiously walked up to the front door, and opened it not knowing what to expect.
I came to find my mom standing 10 feet away with open arms and a slice of pizza for me.

I then found out what heavy meaning of what it is to have a home.
She then, gave me a tour of what I had missed out on.
I was somewhat enthused.

As time went on again, I started to feel the annoying feeling of the average mundane life.
One late night, I crept up to my porch. but did not feel like entering and sitting on my warm bed, I thought to myself:
"bradley, you do not know exactly what it feels like to have a home."

And then, I realized I was making my home in the feelings of insecurity, and mundaness.

A friend of mine found out that he was being kicked out of his home, and while I arouse from the thought that he could indeed stay with us, I pictured what it was like to give him a tour of the place.
And as we were walking through the house, he claimed:
"Dude, brad, this house is amazing!"
I stopped in my foot steps. and in the back of my mind replied, yes, yes it is.

no matter who you are, where your from, your past life, your present life, your hunger, your age, your character:
You are more than welcome to take your place in our home here.

So, please,
if your looking for a place to be for the night, or are bored, please come over,
have a seat, we'll fix you some lemade with welcoming talks and open arms.

So, in essence,
there is indeed no place like home.
And your always welcomed to take your place here.


Thursday, May 14, 2009

my dad

I pedeled down the shoreline with low tire pressure. I constantly had to look back and check my tire to see if it wasn't too low, i felt as if i was riding on a flat.
That's lately how I've been feeling, i get pumped up, and start to lose what filled me up in the first place.
As I road along the ever so beautiful bayside, passing by bums as they roll their shopping carts filled with bags and nik-nacks, I couldn't help but to notice the foul aroma that tingles your nose.
The water was warm, the fishers were out casting their lines with their cigarettes that danced as they peered out into the crystal clear waters, and holding their poles in their hands as if they knew that it was destiny that they'd catch their fish on this day.

I passed by dozens of docks, tiny row boats tied to it's sides reminded me of wildebeests at a watering hole. I decided to stop and take a rest on a rusty bench, that contained polka dotted bird shit. I watched the other joggers and walkers pass by with their shiny shorts that glistened in the sun as the joggers up and down motions give way to a pattern that I could help but to realize.

I rode on.
When I ride bikes for leisure I usually ride slower, and take time to notice the beautiful scenery around me.
But, as i rode today past one of the docks, i saw something that really caught my eye:
A man, tall, tan, thin hair, oakly sunglasses, standing tall, just looking into the water or aat a row boat.

This man looked strangly familiar to my dad.
Once this registered in my head, I couldn't help but to skid to a haulting stop.
I had to take a second look or maybe even a third.
My legs went numb, I stood in the middle of the pathway, I didn't care.
I wanted to utterly yell "DAD!" and run up into his arms, give him a hug and told him how much I loved him.
We could have talked about the beatles or lance armstrong, or about his past life, or just about what i'm doing in life.
Anything would have been fine.
All of these thoughts were running through my head, chemical inbalances, synapses... I felt like blood was running through my body at 300 mph.
I felt lke fainting.

I get so sick and tired of the feeling, like everytime I see someone that looks even similar to him, I just go through those feelings and motions.

I have no clue why I'm writing this.

But dad, I know you left my life about 13 years ago, and I know you pop in to say hello.

I don't know what it's like to have a dad.
I sit at the park sometimes, and watch fathers play with their kids and ponder off about what it's like or what it could have been like.
I hug older men with kids, and sometimes embrace them thinking if they hug their kids the same way.

I'm wierd.

So, if you are reading this and have a father who loves you so much.
Do me a favor:
Spend some time with him, tell him you love him, go to a football game with him.

I don't know the fatherly kinf of love.

But one day I hope to be a father,
And One day i hope I give my child the love I never received.


Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I'm just tired of dying.
Let me live this time.
Let me caption my pictures with smileys.
Let me try it out.
Just this one time.
That's all I'm asking.
I need that sweet taste of Love in my mouth once more.
Please don't let me down this time.

But if you don't want me to,
I'll suck in my gut,
and never say a single word.


Tuesday, May 12, 2009

i don't even know

It's like 11:36 right now.
I have school tomorrow.

I feel as if God is some how washing my torn and dirty hands and hair clean of all the specks of sorrow and hurt,
if feels amazing.
But I also feel this:
He's just helping me grow my own garden,
"What?!, dude this is like the billionth time i had to wash you clean!, I know you can not stay clean forever!, but I'm getting a little tired of your complaining, do the right thing, and you'll be okay for now"

I pretty much have to suck in my gut, take life's punches as they're thrown at me,
and get up, and keep going.

I know YOU (you know who you are) are reading this:

I'm hurting so damn much.
I put a posture bow on my back,
but underneath it, my posture is horrible.
It's the only way I can cope....

Besides smoking cigarettes....

tomorrow will be hell.
but, i can pick myself up.

I'm going to go smoke like a...smoldering fire


Monday, May 11, 2009

growing us a garden

As I sputtered 'round aimlessly in hopes that I might catch my stride once more, I realized what tripped me up.
I was running as a child from flower to flower, plant to plant, my knees were dirtied, and carrots as orange as orange juice filled my arms, tomatoes that could literally be thrown as grenades filled my brothers arms, and my cousins just sat there like hawks or parrots ready to squawk at any moment in which my neighbor would come out only to disbelieve what he saw.
I had picked and ruined his garden.
I was about 6 or 7.

That day will forever stick in my mind as the day I had ruined someone's harvest.
He was ticked.
While washing the fruits and vegetables I hadn't had the slightest clue he had found out so soon.
I had just turned around from washing my hands that were oh so pitifully contained and displayed my guilt.

He was an old guy, probably in his late 70's.
When he yelled his veins popped out, as if you were watching a 3-D movie. yeah, just like that.
I had never been so traumatized in my life before that.

I hung my head low as I handed over what I thought I had gotten away with.
I was sent to my room, as I sat in disbelief, I couldn't help but to peer out the window into my neighbors yard.
He was standing tall like the Eiffel Tower, with his hands on his hips. He was mumbling something to himself, I couldn't read lips at the time.
But I bet you anything that man was in more pain than I was.
He kneeled down to attempt to re-plant the flowers and plants that we'd dug up.
Come to think of it, it looked as if a tornado came by and whirled it's 100 mph winds in his garden and left only but the clumps of soil that had once contained the beautiful stemming buds of flowers and ripe vegetables.

In all my days of living at that house, I had not seen or spoken to that man since.

And it seems in my life, I have ruined many gardens.
Gardens that may have displayed one's passion, one's hopes and dreams.
I have planted many gardens myself.
But, it seems easier to tear them apart than to build them up.
The only thing that I can wrap my head around now, is the fact that I want to keep m garden alive.
I want to help others plant gardens,
I want to see their flowers and vegetables grow.
I want to see others display passion, and hopes towards their own gardens.

Maybe one day, You and I could grow a garden in which there's so much abundance, that we don't need to worry about young kids (such as myself) or clumsy people, or ravens and gophers tearing up our garden.

I hope that day comes soon.

What the hell did I just write?


Sunday, May 10, 2009

she is not old

As I parked my brothers car in the ever so familiar neighborhood, I couldn't help but to think that one day this all might be gone.
I walked up the tattered steps, passed by a slip and slide that looked as if it had been scorched by the sun, and contemplated very quickly on whether I was going to ring the doorbell or just walk straight in.
I walked straight in.
And the ever so recognizable decibel of the chit chattering and the small talk hit me like a storm.
I wasn't feeling like I belonged.
But, as I turned the corner smiling at familiar faces and while hugging family members going through my routine of greeting:
"Hey! How are you?"
"Nice to see you!"
I felt as if it was old as stones.
But, I couldn't help to feel loved as I was greeted with warm hugs, and invites to eat and drink and be merry.

I took a couple of chips and dipped them into the freshly made green guacamole, and salsa, that, in fact, never gets old.
I sat down in the sun for a while striking up small talk,
Observing the family members as they mingled and swam in the pool that's reflection of the sun could in fact give you a sun burn.

I sat there for a while, tired, and very much worn out. I'm guessing my heart wasn't in the place for family.
But, as I think of it, I really do take them for granite.

As my 90 year old grandma, loose on the knees, walked up to the door, I couldn't help to give her the warmest greeting of all.
Very much heart-felt.
I love her to death.
If it was anybody in the family who knew me and what was going on in my life as well as my mom did, it was her.
I visit her every Thursday, we sit and chat, sometimes I even feel so compelled to share the bible with her.
And I can tell that she very much enjoys it.
She has some really weak knees, it's sad to see her once so fit to be tied, going on walks with us, taking us to the park, buying us endless meals at taco bell, baby sitting us, and doing things that grandmothers know how to do best: Love.

A couple issues have sparkled on her health record though, and this isn't a good sparkle either.
She's been having more and more health issues,
the family does what they can to make sure she's taken care of though.

On this particular day, she felt so eager to show the family the pictures of her recent trip to texas however,
the only thing that held her back from showing us was the flight of stairs she had to battle in order for us to show us.

As we brought up the flight of stairs, and our concerns for her weak knees, she quickly reacted:
"I can do it, but I'll have to take a nap after"
So, half of the family stood up, at least five people helped her walk to the stairs.
Might as well just picked her up.
As fragile as my grandmother's physical ailment is, she's got the world to conquer with her mind and experiences.
As everyone gathered around to view this somewhat daunting secene, I backed off, and sat by the pool, not wanting to see her get hurt.
I guess I underestimated my Grandma.
After she had made it up the stairs, I decided to go take a look at the pictures.
When we were all finished we headed to the stairs.
I didn't have confidence that I could help her down, in which I kinda looked back and wish I could have been there.
But this time I watched.
My mother warned me Aunt:
"careful Tracy, keep an eye on heer feet, she sometimes misses the thresholds."
Not a word was spoken after that.
She made it down safe in sound.

It didn't seem like that big of a task to her.
We sat by the pool after that.
Just her and I.
I sat in silence.
I must have forgotten.
I'm pretty sure she never forgets.

I left early.
Came home.
Talked to a beautiful young lady.
Played guitar.
Took a nap.
Should have taken a walk.

I seem to be forgetting things these days.
Don't know whats up with me.

That guacamole was killer though.


in tune

"hands in my pockets and down on my knees,
i beg for will to change
i'll sputter round from this wheel that i'm in
and in one week i'll be the same"

as i sang those notes off key,
staring at a lamp that was so carefully made
i started to feel my palms get sweaty,
and then i took a look down at my stained jeans.

i strummed the last chord.
and gave the guitar to a beautiful young lady so eagerly awaiting to strum her own song.
and as i sat there,
i thought to myself:

we could in fact sing the same song together.
in tune and all.
i felt some sort of awakening.
i felt alive.
never felt so great in my life.


Friday, May 8, 2009


its 1:30 in the a.m.
i finally realized what i need to do.
and its going to hurt,
it's going to hurt real bad.

i'm foolish.

i can't deal with this no longer.

i don't even know right now.

it all comes crashing down right about now

Thursday, May 7, 2009


dear friend:
it's been a year to the day
i wish i could have seen you before
i can tell you've changed for the better
and seems like things...

no stupid poetry.
i wish i knew what you were like before everything went down.
i can't picture it fully in my head,
but i know for a fact your life has changed in a good way.
i thank you for being my friend through the ups and downs.
and i hope there's more years to come of our friendship.

alright man,

Sunday, May 3, 2009

i've always had someone tell me that where i was now is okay, and that wherever we are, is where ever we are.

and i've had someone tell me different.

but, all i want right now,
well fuck,
i want everything.
that's not reality.
i want a cigarette, and the joy of being young.

that's all for tonight.
i need to step out for a cigarette.