good

There is so much strength in saying the words - "he's a good man." As simple as those words sound they bring a sort of humbleness to your psyche when you hear them. Although good can be as subjective as you like we know when the phrase is stated it has amazing intentions.

highway blues

Shifted like a heartbeat lovestruck and confused. Moving fast while staring intently into the window of a car, there's this beautiful woman in which I only see a side profile of, but the side must be her good side. In fact, I just realized it was half of her face, and if it is as identical as I assume then she's the elegance I've waited to change lanes for. As I casually cruise my eyes in the direction that my car is traveling I tug my car in the momentum to dodge a large truck. (WTF!?) Why does everything have to stop me from pursing an interest? The windows of this car mute the conversation that is dying to exist, yet in my mind it doesn't go over so well, so I fancy her with a charged smile, and her response- still a side profile. So then I wonder, am I under the impression that she's not feeling me? I drive on waiting to grasp a glance, then a 1/4 mile passes and I lost my chance, she's on the off ramp.

Life's too short to dance with ugly chicks

Married or not, she's a helluva woman. There's not a woman that I've crossed passed with that I haven't fell in love with, whether it's 10 minutes or 10 years. Is that fair? Men love cars, men love sports, fishing, drawing, reading and writing. Hell some even love drinking. I love women. A woman, I do love, but as a collective noun women are the love of my life. How sad. It's as sad as how lonely I'll be if I chased that love over the one that loves me back.

I know it hurts

I've got to be one f*#%@d up person if my volatile temperament has the capacity to mutate a once sweet and kind hearted person to someone who can hold the cold reigns of my persona. It should be illegal to transfer vices, and loathsome thoughts, yet it crosses the threshold on a plate grease up with olive oil. I am trying to find the please in my voice, or at least in the blue sky, and maybe the chemical imbalance will bring me back to happiness. It seems I'm getting it together in a mindstate that keeps saying "you got it." I do love her, and her love is strong, or else I wouldn't have made it this long, but she won't always "love me no matter what."

Cheerios parachute on to a soccer field

I lost track of time in the middle refereeing interview, I didn't get the job. I've been distracted by how often I blink and it's synchronization to the flickering l.e.d. light in the corner of the room. A room stained with white walls, where shadows seem to be intimidated by their welcome.

Artistic Refuge

There no need for a whole speech on this when the image can speak for itself.

Thank you mother nature

Yesterday was my favorite day. I was singing, "I hope tomorrow is like today!" Well, it's supposed to be, but nothing seemed to revel my insides more than the astonishing splash the clouds painted on the background. The sky was full of depth, the shades of blue really made my summer come alive. This is a proper farewell. And so, yesterday I lived happily ever after. Today you can say it's the afterlife. Spirits dance around vividly like wishing stars, which we all know are seeds, and we hope to catch them so they can root into our dreams. Does beauty always feel this good? Where it can over the look the cold feel of tarp on a five hour cold body? It must. Homeless people even look chipper. I'm in the middle of the city and for the first time this summer I wish I was surrounded by more plants than concrete. I want to feel the coolness of the vegetation and the wind that swept across the land just to touch me in the face. I want to feel that.

Insane in the membrane

It's crazy out there...
that's the title of a very good friend of mine's poem. It's also a true statement.
It's so crazy you'll soon hearing about how a one year old stabbed a their new born sibling. People seem to carry this demented or insane characteristic in their bloodline. It also seems that people are being pushed to their limits and hitting a threshold that causes nothing but calamity to the outside world. "They" say pray for these people. I say pray for the future because as much as the media cherishes on running a headline (negative) into our society's brainwaves all we will see is a dissenting destiny. I mean weather we have extremist holding employees at gunpoint because of what they see on the discovery channel or a former coworker blasting people away because he was fired (racial tension). Then there are political figures and their scandals, corrupt people taking dollars amounts that could run a small country and killers with such a devious way of going about a crime. I just say it's all going to hell, everyone and all of it. There's always hope, but I say have fun then get on the sled because its all coming down.

Hey Hey Hey goodbye!

So goodbye August, it is truly and irrevocably the final lap for summer. The gruesome, sweltering summer that made me curse and despise heat, sun, people, driving, thinking and daytime hours all in one sentence. (This literally happened.) I welcome the fall, I've written several pieces as an ode to my beloved season. The season of minimal extremities. It's the Switzerland (2nd oldest neutral country in the world) of the seasons.

Now with my time I push hard into a school year. See fall is when my new year begins, therefore, now I feel rejuvenated. What's best about the season is it will change, because like all things they succumb to redundant and monotonous characteristics. So farewell summer, and hello fall, massage my thoughts until I become sore and need the cool nurture of winter to heal my ailing mind.

In Mourning

"Well, it was a good life my friend. Our lives were very different and obviously on different paths, but as I see you lying here, I would rightfully exchange my soul for yours. In your departure my tears flow down these rocks and into the shallow waters in which you thrived. You will always be alive in my heart. It is because of this divide that no one ever really lives, not like you and I. And because of this I am now dead.
~Love the lamented butterfly"

The elements

a kiss in the wind
long tasted
just as much desired
burning like the fire that warms a cold heart
kiss that connects and flows like the water
molding over mind and heart and soul and psyche
a kiss that just might be salvation from everything inept
strong like the ground yet, soft like damp cotton balls
a kiss in the wind
just left blowing by
as i stream line my hand past its capabilities...
i missed that kiss.

Bring on September

So the other day I joined some friends in a random Saturday night adventure (adventure~an unusual, thrilling and exciting undertaking). Well if you could hear my tone or see my face you'd experience the sarcasm laced in the first sentence. Hardly and adventure, but it was great to escape the misery that (my home team) put on (my favorite team). Although I do enjoy football, I usually avoid the "good ol ass whipping" games, especially when my team is on that end of pointed heel that those SONS OF B&%^&*... *sigh* it's just football. However, with man's greatest creation I will devote static hours in front of my television in the upcoming Sundays. Not only will I be immobile on Sundays thanks to (not going to promote for "the man" even though they tailored "man's greatest invention" to watching man's greatest sport creation attuned to a platform only a true fan of the art (of sports) can appreciate. I will be a diligent football fanatic because I have succumbs to the ever so addictive "fantasy football league." I know what you're doing, rolling your eyes, sighing, or grumbling, but who cares?! This is my chance to delve into the life of a real sports fan. Why not join in this rarity?

I was going to write this blog about a totally different subject then, well you can read the irony above.

Take it seriously

I overheard a coworker today complaining about my boss' speech. The particulars of the speech I will not delve into, but there was a remark made about being on time and the tightening on absenteeism. Now, for a bit of preface, I work in a school, therefore my boss is the principal. My principal, as with any working professional, doesn't want to see her employees come into the school when the students are walking in the building. I believe that is reasonable, but with reason there is opposition and with accordance there is resistance. So my peer/coworker believed that her [principal] remarks were a bit unfair and she didn't feel that it was just.

Now, my take on the situation is: We are working professionals. In the classroom we [should] act professionally, in our district meetings we act professionally, we dress professional, we desire respect and professional treatment. Well as a professional, you need to take into consideration that walking in late is not professional at all. In fact, if you worked retail, or wholesale or some kind of other (ale) sounding occupation, the employer would probably fire you for repeating this behavior.

Remedy?

Stop coming in late. Arrange your schedule and take your job seriously. Act like a professional.

"The way she moves"

Ever wonder why a guy (or why we guys) sometimes find themselves bemused in the presence of certain women? Pure outright physical beauty does has an affect, hair, eyes, whatever the preference, BUT sometimes...just sometimes us men are in a trance and it is based off subtleties that sometimes go unspoken.

Confidence! I've almost crashed my car because this woman walked up the block with so much confidence. She lacked promiscuous clothes, cleavage, or flowing hair (usual criterion)but what she possessed was a walk that shifted the solid pavement she touched. She had First Lady presence, and this was not the first lady I've seen do this. This confidence is nothing you can instruct someone to imitate or portray (unless you're an actor); for the most part you just have to own it, and I think that is what makes a confident walk so alluring. Of course this is not ever man's thought, but I can tell you that some men don't "think" she's owning the room/block/store we just become drawn. I personally know some women who own confidence like an accessory on their wrist, meaning it is second nature. For all of you wondering about their confidence and appeal... there in lies the problem, but I say if you think confident you will be confident.

Jonathan - Age 38 -

Just before I left I drank the half empty (half full) bottle of whiskey. Now it's true: nothing remains in this house that I want to be apart of. There's a letter on the stool plainly addressed: "Adrian," but this time there are no hearts, no smiley faces, not even so much as an underline.

Then I depart.

A lie. That's what I've been living. Every time I say "I love you" and every moment I touched her hand, it was false. Now this mask melted off and what remains is a person that I no longer know. One that knows no love. It's amazing how much negativity can be cherished. Rather than looking "over the rainbow," one can stand in the rain and scream toward the sky as tiny drops of pity fill a wide open mouth. The messages pile up on my phone and one swipe erases part of a life I wish to call a revised chapter. Now that freedom seems to be the only thing calling me and leaving messages...

The biggest question is where do I go?

"Honestly, I can say that I never have made a big mistake in my life."

What a way to go. Not that I am into these dreadful pageants, but Miss Philippines??? You've never had a regret. You've never committed to an act and considered it a mistake. Well I'm sure that's not the case anymore considering that was her self induced wrist slit in the competition.
It just brings me to other thoughts, instead of talking about a pageant for 300 words or less, wondering what if I took the blue pill, or was it the red pill? Either way my life is on a different course because I was given the option to choose it's destiny. (A destiny unforeseen) I have chosen red pill, blue pill, and multicolored vitamin and it has brought me here. A here which encompasses thoughts of "there" and where, but who cares? If we wallow in our mistakes, or our fruitless decisions, has a positive outcome ever resulted?

*Damn country was taken to hellish numbers and horrible policies and yet whining about Bush didn't make him go away, wondering about wasted vote and what I could have done to help change, won't make the change...so take some proactive steps. (but what happened?? He was voted back into office oops)*

I've got some good friends, not many on the dark end of the tube. They know life is full of trials, mistrials, and tribulations, yet they have a positive bearing. They right their wrongs and move to a self loving beat. I'll be like that one day, when I grow up.

What do I have to give

I'm finding out that you don't learn about your true self until you start giving that away to someone else. Being the way that I was, I found that I kept many things to myself, more than your usual secrets and personal belongings. So now that I've transitioned to a position where "giving" is the quality of the relationship I feel almost immature in this aspect.

{Yes stingy by nature may have something to do with it}

Baltimore the City that...wait what's the slogan?

It's so good to writing again.

Initially I presumed my rambling was going to be centered around my mindless destruction of my fair city (ode to Baltimore.) Yet her "attitude" has been so cavalier I hardly can connect this to my childhood disliking. Baltimore has charmed me. She has stroked her soft hand on my shoulder and slid gently down to my elbow. Not turned on yet, but I'm intrigued. From first sight she was not all that attractive, in fact it's one of those if I were drunk you would look better to me situations, but just like an unattractive woman with a nice personality she too has fallen victim to my love. One moment I'm repulsed and the moment next I'm strolling her long legs down to her many appealing features.

Art is sexy. Dancers, singers, poets, artists, ...art is sexy.

Baltimore is drenched with art culture and I find her sexiness surrounding me. This small city, where her proclaimed skyscrapers equal the same size at New York City's parking garages, has a dense art beauty and I for one have become won-over by her sexiness.

Thanks for the warning

Good luck.

That's all I heard in a silent room, full of staring furniture wishing me goodbye with their decaying smiles. It''s unfortunate that as I enter this new realm of living, living sanely that is, there was no surgeon generals warning, no prescribed method, no wiki answers. Just good luck. As if luck had anything to do cohabitation, premarital bonding or just plain grown up stuff. The quandary of the circumstance benefits those who not really master this ordeal, but find a way to tolerate the unforeseen.

Rest assure, if there was some "guide" to getting to be with your future spouse it wouldn't be very good. Many would find it's traditional measures to be quite mindless considering how everyone's desires are different. I just find it quite amazing how living closer can somehow push people further away. Instead of phone conversations there are text, instead of dinners together there are dinners to go, sex...uh no porn. The acts seem to dwindle down to rooming with a friend versus living with a lover.

They say money doesn't bring you happiness but after how broke we've been I believe our morale is a bit low. It's time for a pep rally (vacation) or some sort of jump start (a night on the town.) Reluctantly I've turned to a bottle more so for salvation then sweet recreational drinking, feel as if I'm just a drew hundred sips before becoming "that guy" and diminishing my purpose of loving another person.

It's just so silent that the comfortableness has dissolved. Silence, which once was enjoyable, was reading time, writing time, thinking time, but now I think too much. Think about what she's thinking or if she's upset, or what did I do to tick her off. Shouldn't there be a "honeymoon" stage first? One with fucking up walls and headboards, laughter and silly spoofs that derrange our perception of one another just for a brief moment. I hear the rain fall so much I wonder if the clouds have more to say to me than anyone else. I used to talk to God, now I'm wondering he's taking this silence to talk back.

The return

Point-set-match

So I have returned, skipping down this cobblestone road of life, glad that I have been given a moment to write, even if it is the condescending sour notes you only expect to see in small-time carnival clowns. The air doesn't smell much sweeter, the sun does seem to be a bit hotter and the rain has yet to sing a melody this summer. Therefore, I'm glad to see her derriere and welcome the cool season back... and in that comes the school year. Why not bring back the thing I have been so reluctant to do. Write.

What kept me away? Maybe, I feared that I may actually enjoy and seemingly create somewhat of an occupation out of this hobby of mine. Maybe I really was "busy" like I said.

All the talk is about marriage, all the action is about children and life as a bachelor seems to look delicious. (Until tasted) Yet, no one actually has a prescription. Can't we satisfy our curiosity by just saying "to each is own?" Vividly living chasing other peoples' dreams searching for a purpose when the purpose has nothing to do with searching for anything. I long to see a day when a complaint is never uttered by me or in my presence. Only then will I believe in the mind's capacity to indulge itself on its surroundings.

Five Minutes

As I watch hefty dance disproportionately on my television

I take a gander into my deep thoughts and internally I sit and cry for those who lost their way at age, whatever teen number it could be.

Not that sitting around on a Friday night drinking happy juice is the cure all,

I have no halo, in fact my horns have halos around them, so I scowl in the sunlight and cringe in the dark.

I just wish that everyone could smile like my dog does, then again she looks depressed the rest of the time no one walks through the door.

Swirling my liquor, creating an enthusiastic tornado funnel, which serves as a vacuum for my conscious.

Then I think…

How vapid I have been by allowing materials to tattoo my life when I could merely disperse the connection within the click of a button

How satisfying my dissatisfaction has been by new forms of technology when I ultimately feel the terminator will occur and we’ll look at James Cameron like some sort of prodigy.

Then again, he did write avatar and maybe blue jungle cats do exists but his imagination may be a bit too vast for my own gunslinger demeanor.

Well, drink, live, lust, love and smoke things that make you happy in between the boring moments in life. And if all else fails, go to sleep because a wasted dream is like blue balls.

S n o w in February

Thirty-five minutes later there I was, feeling and looking fresh, until I received a displeasing voicemail. Angela must have called while I was narcissistically attending to myself in the portal called my bathroom.
“Hey Edward, it’s Angie. I can’t make it out of work early enough to hang out tonight. Don’t be mad with me, can we rain check? Call me back, bye.”
Damn, I thought to myself. I know I was not inclined to see her, but I also do not like being turned down, rescheduled or stood up. Angela now had two strikes; her scent was strike one, and this moment, strike two.
I could not let the situation result in a “wasted look” for the evening, so I chose to head out. The direction I pursued, mainly because of the population of women, was Side Pocket. It was a popular billiards and bowling alley. It was rare to actually go and play pool or bowl; that was primarily a group setting. I had full intention of perusing the women and carousing until it was almost too much.
I decided not to sit around the house and wait until primetime, and I left for happy hour at Side Pocket.

Snow in February

Times have changed.
Time enables us to learn from our past, mistake or not we gain a recorded understanding of what has been so we can determine what will be. For the last decade or so the human race has made its claim to countdown time. Ultimately foreseeing the end of days for the short span mankind has made its impact upon this earth. What will become of this? As dust and dirt marginalize life day by day.
The so-called countdown sends no rifts through mankind’s concern for less-important matters. Pop stars, musicians and movie stars seem to continue to grace media, but I think someone finally realized that it just isn’t that important. So the parading continues, no one watches anymore.