The Resting Chin of an Exhausting Search.

And in an instant, hanging from the edge of eternal sleep a voice called, "write as if you will never wake" and so instead of seeing fear or seeking death I saw your eyes, so much more than brown or bright, a place I found myself eternally warm inside the glimpse of an instant, a split second into your soul and through the beaten path of the kind heart I used to know.

It's haunting to know I will never feel so alive, an addiction that cannot be appeased by the touch of a flame, only the remembrance of love in it's purest form, without brush of the body or explanation from a tortured soul, a wordless understanding gone unrealized so many times, for what makes us whole, and what will never fade, or gather dust, or age, or see pain, or need to be soothed.

In a glimpse of perfection I found God and eternity, and I saw fear subside, for the first time since I rolled in the bosom of youth I found the safety of you.

Before it ever happened, without fate, or lust, or love, it was gone...and with the lingering yearn I understood all to be nothing more than dirt and broken wants of what will never be found outside of that instant.

It cannot be described and it will not, for there is no writer or orator majestic enough to describe the moment you let me inside; you looked into me and you knew who I was. I'll turn the page a thousand times in hopes it will say what laid on my mind, and the more I search the more ink will fade from the fragile leaflets of wood that will rot and decompose back into nothing.

In your eyes I found more than your soul, or your heart, your mind or your hurt; I found you. As insane as it may seem, I know myself to be lost, and in that instant I gave myself to you. Though we may never be, and though this may go unheard, I know you saw the reflection of feeling I did in that moment, and in that instant you found what I will spend my entire life searching for...me.

This One's For You Babe.

Your face is gleaming brighter tonight than it has in some time. I know the mundane and seemingly repetitive days wear down perception, but tonight baby, you shine through the fog and my doubts. Tonight I want to let go of the world babe, I want to dance across it all. Luna, that birthmark drives an appetite for your lips, as the glow that bestows us is too glorious for permanence, and I know the time to act is winding down.

You were always too elegant for glass slippers, you deserve the comfort of silk mosses beneath bare feet, and tonight it's yours, anything you cast your gaze on is yours babe, it's always been that way, even if I don't express it as often as I should.

I know you'll follow me to the end, and disappear every morning before I wake, but if days are for anything, they're for creating distance that only warms the nights when you tap on my window. Doll, can't you see? It's your world, all of it, just a show and a gesture, anything to get your attention, all of us actors in whatever play you want us to perform.

I try to wipe away your tears, but some days they wipe away villages and move Earth, nothing my reserved touch can do to stop the flow.

They're all looking at you baby, at your slender dress and your twinkling eye, but you're only looking at me, and I'm not going to let go of you or that smile, because I know this dance will last forever.

Our One So[u]l[e] Possession

In life the individual is only given one true guarantee, death. It is something we constantly wish to avoid, something we create laws and medicines to deter, and follow religions or readings to ease, but death is a true unknown we can never escape, it is an unopened gift which cannot be returned.

Though we are constantly reminded of our expiration, and quiver in fear of what is inevitable, we seldom as a people enjoy the freedom life offers by merely existing, and the endless possibilities our temporary playground offers. We waste our days building walls, bombs and prisons, defending a fragile existence at the sacrifice of lives of others, in massacres we do not witness, horrors we cannot imagine, and an unnatural battle, seemingly endless which guarantees us safety from an enemy undefined.

Americans constantly argue over the freedom of press, religion, speech or of arms, of wealth and medical treatment, of consumption. The numbers don't lie, people kill each other, guns kill people, cars kill people, wars kill people, police and unhealthy food, defunct cures and the act of procreation itself kills. Neighbors kill and so does the sun, and the water, and harsh winds, unstable bridges and cigarettes, alcohol, heaters, and dogs, and etc. and etc. We are told information is dangerous, that politicians are dangerous, that Muslims and Christians, Jews and spies are dangerous. We are always kept aware of the dangers of homelessness and malnutrition, of cold weather and colder hearts.

If we are not to be blown up by extremism, we will surely starve or be invaded, or oppressed or beheaded, disappeared or questioned, or poisoned by under cooked meats. If the world will not end in 2000 it will in 2012, and if not by then, surely it will end at some point, so prepare, warn those around, and be afraid, because in an end of the world scenario, the world will end.

Freedom is the right of an individual to exist, and experience the shortcomings and small glories life offers, to not just be alive, but to be a part of life, to learn and to witness, to question and explore, to do anything desired in a place nothing is owed, nothing is permanent, and nothing can be truly controlled except for the self by the self.

People tend to chain themselves, to fear freedom, to mock the oddities and curiosities of random events beyond comprehension to those contained. It is truly a bubble, a false bubble of protection, the thought of saving something which will not survive. The only rationale in life is to be irrational, to be random, to follow desires and beliefs, groomed through individual successes and failures, tears and joy, because all of it will some day be gone, because everything we strive so hard to obtain and hold, can never be secured.

Land exists thousands of years beyond it's multiple "rightful owners", homes and property can be seized or destroyed, but the individual follows itself, it will not be claimed and cannot by anyone or anything beside self, and though people and government, laws and social restraints make every attempt possible to keep this power from being understood or self-controlled, each passing moment is a chance for the mind to be free, to explore the world our best scholars and scientists can only pretend to comprehend or explain, and do so from our own perspective. Freedom is not a light word, it is not offered in halves or sections, because if it is restrained, than it is by definition not freedom. We are given the opportunity to be free every day of life, and still it is fleeting.

I understand what freedom is, (existing without external control) and I know both the bad and good things which can spring from freedom, I also see this theme constantly playing-out in life. I see there is both good and bad, there is both life and death, and there are both tears and smiles in life, and I have no doubt both will exist in a free world. I hope to reach the peace of mind that comes with a life unfiltered, where I can experience my existence while I'm breathing, and not cower from it's dangers as a spectator from the outside. Freedom will never be guaranteed or given by government or by other people, it can only be given to the individual from the individual, and while mankind tries it's best to curtail and restrain that God-given power, I see many things out of my control, but I do know one thing, I know what freedom is, and I will aspire to achieve it, even if only for a gasp, before my last breath dissipates.

Did You Read The Fucking Thing?!?!?

What glories would ring if all at once, every. single. fucking. Person. who made follies of the mouth, truly foul, ill-informed descriptions and definitions of words, could define themselves as mutes. The end of bastardizing language, and the beginning of God's pure tampon inserted deep into Earth, clogging the bleeding pit of ridiculosity that exists within the mind of a dullard. Tears of politically correct retards and fagots would fill the streets, as the circus of lawyers would abruptly pack their mobile homes and scurry from mob-beatings delayed by progressive mothers and the politically correct muzzles of justice. Oh no! It reads as arrogant and insensitive to generalize a mass of human as such!

Oh whoa is me, and whoa is the world. Yes, Mrs. Brown some people are morons, and yes, it could be their environments or upbringing to blame, but this does not change the importance of reminding morons how dull their wits and how many shits (none) are given about their attempts to decipher reality. With censorship of the idiot, reality itself would be a little more real, and for the sake of arguing existence is a good thing, it would make the world better.

Can you see it now? The day pundits and politicians opened their collagen lips and collaborative schemes to reality, or the correct use of words, would be the day skies would open and Jesus Christ himself would return to the world, slaughtering and saving the tongue all at once, choosing syllables over antonyms, leaving parenthesis behind to perish as meaning ascended. Oh! Just one day! Just one, when the phrase “shut up” was adhered to, and all the bitching and bickering and whining and hissing turned off with the right tightening of a hose's handle! It would be a stroll through the neighborhood without Bill or Martha telling you where to put the newspaper or the exclamation point! Can you imagine how this day would be? It's excites me to think what would or could happen without rules and the critics of writing and of cynics, an open discussion celebrated in the assumption of education!

Oh, glorious day we have found you! For there are no more fucks given about who is offended and who will need mended, because the faces of pussies, and cowards, and wimps, and those who want to just hear themselves speak...or argue, will be sown shut. Say what you want tomorrow, but for just one day, let every person say what they mean and mean what they say, for just one day, lets open the lines of human interaction and actually be able to handle it.

War would be taboo instead of being called nappy-headed hos, and television without commercials would discuss human rights more than race, people could speak of violent Muslims and not have their heads cut off by advanced sand monkeys, or indicted by advanced “civilized” pale monkeys, all of them, “hoo-hooing and caw-cawing” about insensitive remarks as they sentence another cracker Swede or Netherlander to a death sentence.

Every fucktard who complains about art, every person hired by a company to make bad things seem PR-friendly, every marketing whore bore deep within the bukkake of sales and every person who uses a word to misinterpret things purposefully can just shut. the. fuck. up.

--------.......................................

The Greek Tower

Red beams burnt 1:00 into Lukas' eyes; fate's silent alarm reverberated through his bones, deaf yawns and high-pitched buzzards in his ears faded into numbing buzzes...familiar to those who take trips outside the realm of Parental Guidance, but Lukas had not traveled in just over a dozen years. Greece was restless. Elders paced across nights, searching for ways to raise their children, who grew into nightmares for abandoned tourists, spending wasted bills and hours on unfamiliar phones canceling cards and numbers that create a stolen identity.

Outside Lukas' cottage, ancient tongues sprayed from the mouth of Hades as rip-tides battered Cape Tenaro. Bottles shattered against rock, messages within disintegrated into nothing more than wounded words. As Lukas emerged from the warmth of blanketed mounds, an irrepressible gust kicked in his front door, uninvited dirt and unwarranted papers rushed inside, knocking over Lukas' dresser, shattering mirrors and tearing through screens.

A path unveiled itself to Lukas, from the foot of his bed into the pit of the storm. He toed the line carefully barefoot, across splintered wood planks then course and battered stone stairs. Once in the yard, Lukas felt soothing moss under his heels, until he looked to the light-tower and witnessed torrents so fierce, the light within had extinguished. As caretaker, Lukas knew it was his duty and his alone to replace the light, so he solemnly climbed the summit he feared to be his grave.

Winds penetrated what he thought was impermeable stone, whistling in dull and ominous tone as the handrail creaked and conducted the chills of the dead surrounding the cape, swirling in foam and cast into the unknown of a frigid December night. Shards of broken windows sliced into Lukas' cold feet, causing feeling and blood to return.

Lukas fumbled in the dark, searching for tools to fix the light, as howls from the world swirled around the point and demanded attention. He finally viewed the clouds above, and for the first time saw the Mediterranean from his world without glass casing below. In the distance, fishing vessels toppled and collided, as changing waves swallowed lives and turned over from every corner of his fear, Death greeted Greece in this New Year.

A Western Suicide

Look around, there is nothing here for you dilapidated cowboy, your boots are caked with cow shit, and the dip in your lip makes your breath smell the same as your soles. You don't farm, you don't produce, you have a big truck you can't drive, and you are as on point as your pointless bumper sticker.

You act tough and drink hard, so hard you kiss your toilet at the end of the night, and hug it in the same pathetic manner you hug your opponent to the ground. Go spend some more money cowboy, get those new boots, get the designer jeans all of the urban cowgirls like to much, as they sing terrible songs by men as feminine as they and sway back and forth like denim dipshits with developmental retardation, cackling and laughing at red faces that pray for them to take a wrong turn into a ditch.

Go on and rant about freedom cowboy, talk about the niggers and the fags, in soliloquies of Jack Daniels and dur-d-durs, because God knows driving a forklift horse is so difficult, only a white man can pull it off. Go on cowboy, get-R-done, tell hunting tales to city kids who had guns and knives pulled on them by real animals, convince them how soft they are, how rugged you are cowboy. Get a new tat about it and flex it off in public, tanned in December, because real men act like superficial women.

How's the cattle in Columbus? Or the corn around the corner? Did you till it, did you bail it? I'm sure you did, and I'm sure the free housing and everything else momma and pop give you along with the $200 dollars under the table is a flat rate for all real farmers. Go on cowboy, ride your bicycle, I mean motorcycle, because every hard ass has a leather jacket and 25 grand between their legs.

We've all tried to understand you cowboy, you are as American as they come, as American as American cheese or cellophane, microwaves and cheap plastic imports. Bright lights and mud wrestling, tent cities and coolers in open fields, caked in shit. Just like a stable aren't you cowboy?

Drink up cowboy, because the cowgirls love a man who can piss himself in public then run his lip to a stranger, laughing through rotted teeth and dull wit, always ready to fight and even more ready to be held back. Size is scary, bigger is better, just like the truck, with a bed full of cow shit, parked in two spots when it isn't driving in two lanes or hitting curbs when it turns. Here's a loaded revolver cowboy, do the one trick, where you spin it around back and forth, as the barrel points inward to your face and gut over and over, take another shot like a real cowboy, bottle of whiskey in one hand and hand cannon in the other. We're all waiting to see.

Smoking Out The Rabbit Hole

Modern political debate since the 1960's circles around the violent clash of philosophies, sinew, and tidal waves of upheaval, sweeping Revolutions throughout Latin America, The Middle East, and all of Africa signaled a time to many that the world was going to change.

Unions and empires crumbled as fists of children around the world raised, and proud cultures and neighborhoods defiantly stood their ground, protecting their ways of life against outside forces and nations seeking land, labor, and resources to exploit, this is nothing new; human History has shown us how terribly wrong the experiment of teaching the concept of sharing is to infants. In two generations, the face of the world has changed, there are the living and breathing who have seen it all, the Depression, death, war, Polio, drug cultures, shootings, attacks on the country, attacks on civilians, Communism, Socialism, McCarthyism, internment camps, terrorism, media blackouts, repressed expressions, assassinated leaders, rotted through politicians, Madison Avenue swindlers and a loose bundle of problems rolled out over time.

The entire world was at war, and in that peace came the most destructive weapon created, Crippling Fear. People feared to live in a nation where their beloved President was murdered in cold blood, as he promised to change the world, he seemed to be the last who executed in a positive light. Fear of nuclear war, has turned us into a nation willing to destroy any country seeking nuclear power. We break their economies, we starve their children, their scientists are killed, their leaders are threatened, their lands become infested with spies, we carpet bomb their cities...because we have to.We created a demon we battle everyday, and the battlefield has been in the backyards of farmers, seen through the show windows of markets, waiting inside piles of limp bodies and skin turned cold.

In today's world, units can sweep into a palace, silently silencing guards and a target within minutes, a missile could be intercepted in the split second of a button pressed on the keypad, and acts of war can be stored on a USB file double-clicked. Forget days of untrained pilots manning million dollar projects, we live in an age where unmanned planes can be armed and driven, over your families and your friends by a power source. It is for our protection, just as cameras are just monitoring our streets for our safety, as the war on Terror was for our safety, and the thousands of young men we sacrificed for revenge, not a cause, to make a statement, not a difference, were to keep us safe from cavemen.

The world had more color before, everything wasn't charcoal or pewter, black or metallic, sleek and fogged, by empty promises of eternal safety for America and for steel. Our kids don't play in the yards, they sit and play video games, eat McDonald's for their safety, from perverts and pedophiles, who are everywhere, like underground spiders waiting to crawl to the surface and smother the Earth. Every breath of fresh air in this country is followed by a look over the shoulder, flashing lights and a fine, fine executor.

We must be protected from drug lords from Mexico invading our land like the cockroaches and people they are, refugees of a business deal and a handshake called free, and a trade that changed it all. The world is in upheaval all around, buildings burn, people are hungry, they are poor, they are desperate, everywhere. Money is tight, people are rioting for money, killing for their money, rampaging in the streets, stomping out highway projects and public offices, and we are here, in America, safe from it all.

We cannot fail, we are a machine, we are the greatest Democracy in humankind, look at George Bush and Al Gore, George Bush and John Kerry, John McCain and Sara Palin, Mitt Romney and Barack Obama, we built faces that emerge from mountains, and points highest in the world, the best place to look down on those all over. We rant and rave, and debate and we change things, we change how people think, we change how people understand us, we give them Democracy, we give them freedom, they feel it when they see assault rifles and flack jackets. We have the greatest economy the world has ever seen, where useless baskets can turn into million dollar machines, and buildings are rebuilt every twenty years, our fuel is our great craftsman ship and our drive to better the world, with apps and bright lights, plastic computers that create illustrious worlds of endless possibilities and falsity.

Things have progressed so much since the times of our fathers and grandfathers, we would never fall back into times of despotism or torture, debtors prison or coercion. Sure there is the IRS and Guantanamo and free speech suppression, but this is America, so love it or leave it, hippies don't belong in the street, cargo does, and it's your own fault you didn't pay someone to do the paperwork right, because after being taxed on food, gas, cigarettes, beer, inheritance, for social security, medicare, property and schools, in cities and state funded projects and federal projects, and sure you were taxed for the clothes on your back, and there was a tax for shipping the finest goods and services to this country, but who doesn't do their taxes every year? You deserve to go to jail if you don't pay income tax, because we are broke and need more, and we need to borrow more, because if we don't spend more we can't grow or prosper, or spend enough money on military and defense contracts to keep us safe.

Because our grandparents survived the depression and the war and the disease and the heartache and hardship, and they survived boat rides across distances and worked hard in coal dust and fiberglass threads, they were safe, they survived, but for some reason they always remind me it is their last Christmas or their last 4th of July, always talking about how they are lonely or blind, but I just ignore them because old people do that.