Coffee shop sits.

Time to take a break from the poem blog posts and write something else. I guess I could perhaps update you on my life? But why? It's still as mundane and as organized since the last time we spoke. I've been working on a pen name for when I publish. I have some controversial poetry under my sleeve and pen names are a protection from out of hand ridicule or praise.

It's the weirdest feeling at times knowing exactly what I want to do. I wonder often if school is in my way of fulfilling my true purpose. How is stressing over economics homework really helping me become a better writer?

I guess the challenge and the laughs are what I should get out of it.

I've been pretty reserved lately. Preferring to not spend a lot of time with other people. I love just sitting in a coffee shop studying, writing, and reading. There isn't anything more fun to me, sometimes. I also have been having these surges of wanting to be more adventurous. Doing things like rock climbing, canoeing, camping, pretty much anything that is outdoors.

My trip to LA brought the life back into me so to speak, really boosted my confidence, and just made me so grateful for my life.

I've been freed from the chains so to speak, and God has really shown me time and time again I have nothing to worry about. Odd little things like MASSIVE harvest moons at 5 am while driving to work. Sometimes those are the best things in life. Not to be cliche' which I'm already kind of dwindling down that path, but that moon was probably one of the best moments in my life. I have always had an appreciation for nature, and being older and more mature has allowed me to appreciate it beyond a physical level. I can see sometimes the romanticism of being a transcendentalist. Listening to 'Walden' By Henry David Thoreau has more than made me want to build a house with my own hands, grow my own food, and just enjoy the simple pleasures. All the extravagance people boast are petty shallow endeavors in which their hype will pass very quickly, and boredom will set in till the next 'exciting' thing presents itself.

My patience is starting to go thin in anticipation for UNT this fall. I'm praying I'll finally meet the people I need to meet. No one is perfect and I'm fully aware, but I need people with my same interests. The basis of a human relationship is relate-ability. This isn't you like bikes and I like bikes thing. That's very trivial it something more with relate-ability within your mind. Flowing is the key to a relationship. You could be opposites in pretty much all (besides religion and politics) and if you flow your relationship has more potential for success. That's a theory I have that continually is proven right. As long as sensible well-rounded people are the subjects. Which are the only people I care for.

The subject of people bores me though, so many people discuss it over and over again. It becomes tedious. I like talking about books and movies.

But, lately, I have not a whole lot to say, mostly a lot to think about.

Hmmm.

Well, my biggest concern in my poetry at the moment. I hope to be successful with it. Or have people find me successful because I love it so much and want respect for it.

I need to start going to poetry readings more...

At night.

I like it best when it's dark and there is no one on the road

Every trip, scuff and call out of insanity

Is ignored, because I love myself too much

I have a soft spot for those kind-hearted folk

The ones who tip their hats, and smile at you

Even when they don't know your name

Or the score you got on that last test.

It's so nice.

My weakness goes as deep as my love

for white wine on a sunny morning

Allowing the alcohol to take over my

Body and evolve me into a higher species

One that doesn't take no for an answer

And always gets up for mothers who have no seat

I like it best at night

When the moon seems to be full

But isn't because the slightest sliver is missing

The desire to paint in that portion becomes

So overwhelming I run home so I can write this

Hoping to salvage the last bits of the memory

Before all the dimly lit street lamps steal them away

Blaming the moon shadows for my fits of sadness

And Rage

If I can't blame them who else will I blame?

I can't blame the people or my circumstances

So I just mail off my demise to a random address

Hoping the recipient can't read between the lines.

Or at least doesn't speak English.

Flattery.

Disgusting repulsive gluttony

Reeks the voices of the American people

We reek of our demise

Rotten carcasses of the flesh

Yellow veins and black eyes

What do you think of us

Green, green earth?

The soil in our hair

Our mouths filled with dirt

Motherland, I am your Captain

Your devoted demise

We are here to possible

Recognize

The stench

That is awaiting at Capitol Hill

Please, Mr. President

Pass another bill.

untitled #15

There's a screen door in my mind
Where all the great things
Get caught in the mesh
Weeding through the vibrant words
That loop through my eyes
Allowing only calculations
And logical problems
Disguised as something
Aesthetically pleasing
Beautiful, perhaps
But nothing more
Then why the San Andreas Fault
won't allow California to collapse
But we can say farewell to San Francisco
Farewell, to every golden bridge
Knowing that maybe the slightest gravitational pull
Might be the defining moment
Where we all bury ourselves under our sheets
Hoping these thin pages
With the blots of ink
Which were pulled from the Amazon rainforest
Which allows the seasons to change
We can all draw stars
We can all from memory draw lines
Why can't we create worlds?
For I am always feeling as if a combustion of artful thought
might flow from my veins when the slightest cut happens
But what am I anyway?
Immortal.
We don't die.
We can't die.
Who else will take you away
to beyond what wonderland conveys
to every soul that hoped
Prayed
or at least shouted at every red light
that lasted more than a second
Knowing what we were wasting
What we could waste
I might stumble to Istanbul and Timbuktu
Pour the knowledge of the east
Allow the oceans to nourish
My ever dry mouth
If only I could hold onto this
This perplexing energy that for some reason
Never ceases to stop
Stop holding me up
Letting me touch those fiery spheres in the sky
Why?
It's a trip worth the taking
A step worth the making
Of what we might suddenly all stumble upon
Realizing
It's all about the drop off the edge of a cliff
When every element is within your sight
Even though the Ferris wheel never runs at night.
But wouldn't you agree the man made lights are so bright?

Untitled #14

I feel inspired.

Beyond the knowledge that my life is merely a glimpse

Of what is more than nothing.

Beyond the fact that the stars are deceptive bulbs of light

That died six years ago.

Beyond the time in which America is crushed by those

She said she helped.

Beyond the mere conversation on whether I should believe

Because believing means I might have to stop.

I am inspired.

Every mountain top is my tabernacle.

Every home is my foundation.

Every dream is my possibility.

Every death is my soul.

No longer am I a faint whisper

Nor am I the brief breeze

Destroyer, how I long to be the destroyer

The villain only present

in the recesses of your mind

The dusty corners that no one visits

I wait

In the shadows I wait

So that when you pass by

I'll shout

Shouting louder than before

Quieter than before

The simple elegance

That has been ignored.

Wondering.

How do I know if I'm crazy?
Is it a mental illness, or merely not adhering to whatever one else is doing.

Exquisite

I have often thought the only answer could be

That these recurring expenditures

Were the killers of me

Blaming the society

The man of the hour

If I had a better chance

A better life

A better time

That if someone hadn't existed

This world would be mine

With these selfish notions

Eroding away my head

I often thought

My haven would be amongst the dead

Would this environment ever be able

To handle me?

Is it possible for me to inhabit a world

That can't provide the things I need

In my upward position I sit thinking in my grave

For the coffin is the only realm

Where my dreams aren't in a state

of dismay

Life is an abundant pleasure and a reckless sin

Doing my absolute best to not give in

Giving in to the notion that no one will notice

Or no one will care

That the transparency of my whims

Won't cause people to care

Because too many opinions

Means to many lives

That need protecting

Best be silent and prepare to die.