My Nightmare

Three times shot in the side without a sound. We go out the front door quickly, careful not to spill a drop of blood. The day is suspended and played slowly, viewed with a filter of remorse blue.

I want to cry. I want my tears to make you better. I want this lump in my throat to choke me completely. But I must go on and fix what I made wrong.

You hang onto me as I drag you to a motorcycle, keys in and ready. My hands are trembling to the point I cannot turn the key. I hear you breathing softer. With the weight of your lungs and lame body, I must go. I must make it right.

A quick breath of consciousness allows me to start the bike. Although this is my first time, I know how to ride, I must. First to second to third in jolts and sprints as you, pail and pained, hold fragilely. The wet trees blur down the dark black back road. I feel my heart pulsing on the throttle. The bike tires roll along the road as the world turns, taking me closer to my destination, to my desperation.

Like second nature, my hand grips the brake. We have made it to the hospital with the yellow lights. All my anxiety is bled out through a murderous scream for help. The nurses come running to take you, my young brother, away. Like fire from my eyes, and rain from the skies, tears pour out leaving me nothing to disguise. I fall on the ground, soaking in the water from a puddle, dripping from the blood of your ribs, crying out to wake up from this pain, guilt, and bloody nightmare.

My Puzzle

I wonder how my puzzle will be pieced together. Glimpse's of a bigger picture scattered across the floor and when it's time to assemble the art, how many parts will be missing? How many pieces will not fit, how many will be fabricated or jammed in to fit? Will the task be taken slowly and maturely or rushed to blur any flaws?

There are pieces for miles headed West on that black top home. There are pieces down by the creek with the ole' bamboo fishing pole. They're in dorms, bottles, beds, down Lavaca, outside donut shops, behind liquor stores, and beneath the ever present stars. Some friends hold more pieces than they realize, others have thrown out what I've entrusted to them.

Unless all the pieces are found, can you see the picture clearly? Clear enough? Can the puzzle be solved even if pieces are missing? Will you ever fully see or understand? I hope.

Amateur

Twenty-one years pass and yet I say, "amateur," -- to love, to wisdom, to brotherhood, all the same.

Beginnings never seem to cease and success never to ensue. No experience can take away the pain of the never ending, ever refining love. An owl who knows is an owl who sows into the knowledge of the elder; for those are the ones with experience in beginnings. They perform, they foresee not like magicians but mathematicians, calculating vain with sane.

Oh my brother. I see you over there. I say "hello," but the static noise is too loud, I say "come over," but the people are too proud. Inexperienced, I will continue to love.

infinitus

I Thought About What You Said

I've decided to leave it all behind, as a testament. I will still capture these moments in life for history, as you said we are to do, I will just do it with other tools.

I am leaving this behind to show that this is not being done selfishly. It is being done as everyone has a time to move and a time to settle. Inside you will find many hidden and well kept secrets. Some will be secret gardens, others will be limbo. I am who I am.

I have scars and I have beauty marks, all imperfections, all perceived differently. I ask that you listen for a moment. Explore what I have left for you to find. I hope you find much more than what you see.

These Two Are Not The Same

Not the same as when I first was introduced. Not the same as when I first loved, cared, and belonged.

I am an oddly placed plastic mannequin in the room of two lonely statues. They are grey and brittle. What is to be done of a statue, so familiar, when cracked and shaken? Plastic is only tolerant to so much weight. 

I must leave now but timid to leave such a quiet ruin. Not for its beauty, but for its pain I must let it rest and let time heal the wounds.

Sharing

I finally realized why it is that I enjoy blogging. If I am honest with myself, I am living many different lives. I have lived these lives for quite some time. These alternative life styles aren't bad, but I guess it is all in ones perspective. I feel at peace with my life and the decisions I make, however, I know that some of those surrounding me would not agree if they knew exactly how I lived.

It is liberating to know that I have exposed my deepest thoughts into the open. I have, in a sense, tied my secrets to a balloon and set it free. Someone may some day read my inner struggles and might, for a second, sympathize. Sharing human emotions may be all we have in this life.

Most of the time I feel I am protecting them from needless despondency. Other times I challenge myself with a looming thought of self artifice. "With years of evil wear, has my mind given in to the indulgent pleasures of this world?" This is a question I would ask myself at the genesis of my independence. A sense of searching has always been encompassed in me. I just often wonder what the odds are for me to be born into the "right" religion. After the birth of my carte blanche, I felt more real than I ever had before. I felt that my blank piece of paper finally needed color and understood why. This was the start of my discord. I was raised to keep a pure white paper.

As a child I was taught and saw battles of good and evil. I was taught the value of children's eyes and minds, only now to be told that those same eyes and minds are naive. This makes me wonder who is truly naive. How do I know, if I know nothing else?

For now, I will live. For as long as I live, I will love. That is all I know for certain.

Thanksgiving

In a family of 8 (including myself) it's usually never lonely around holiday times! And we have a lot of relatives from both sides of the family that live within 20 minutes away. So Thanksgiving is actually pretty chaotic.

But I wouldn't have it any other way. I love my family... and it gets too quiet without them.

My favorite dishes are green-bean casserole, cheesy potato slices, hot buttery rolls with some chilled white wine to wash it down. Oh, and I'm a dark meat/crispy skin  kind of guy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A "Love" Story

So I have this friend who never really dated before. In fact, the word "dating" was almost never heard in his house. He never had a valentine, never had a high school sweet heart, and now that i think of it... he'd never had a girl friend at all. Then one summer he meets a woman. An amazing woman. He likes this woman. This is a good thing. The woman likes him. This, also is a good thing. The woman finds out that he is almost 5 years younger than her. This is not a good thing. So at the beginning he just befriended her and things were cool.

But before long, their attraction was undeniable. They had gotten so close to each other that they were practically dating. Things actually moved pretty fast, but my friend was fully aware of what he was doing. He opted not to tell his family and most of his friends because he was unsure just how to tell them, how they might treat him afterwards. And besides that, he finally felt that he wasn't obligated to do or tell anyone anything. So he kept it a secret. Like wise with the woman and her family, in fear of what other might think. They were... secret lovers.

For the very first time in his life he felt free. Independent. The life he wanted to live was finally his choice to make. He was in control of his life with no one to tell him different. Ironicly enough, she wouldn't let him buy even his own food when they went out. He felt humbled to say the least. She felt like she needed to take care of him. When they talked about their future together, she would jokingly call him her "man wife" because she didn't want him to work.

Long story short, 4 months later he confidently felt he was absolutely in love with this woman. At which point she decided to stop things between them. He was completely crushed. She said it would never work because they were both in different phases in life.
"If you were only older," she says. He simply can not believe that she would let age stop their love. "It's not love," she says. Each time she speaks... his heart sinks deeper into darkness. Wounded and after months of rebutting... he walks away into the silence that is loneliness once more. The end.