fug it

As I study
the world's bloody
mess of messes
it blatantly confesses
to me personally
truthfully and honestly
a certain degree
while maintaining validity
of absolute despair
miles beyond repair

It reveals to me
our greatest faulty struggle
we have corrupted the
grounds of the earth
with our great buildings
and wires and wires and wires.
The chemicals and medicines
and great forest fires
with technology and satellites
and NASA and NAFTA

I see myself causing the world an immense
I see myself causing the world immense amount of grief
I have been causing

With others,
I have
created a
terrible mess
of the
beautiful world
that I
live in.

(,,,,,,,,,,,..........)

What happened
Oh, what happened
To my mind
I figured
Oh, I figured
I would find
Yet I pondered
Yes, I pondered
My decisions were in a bind

(At night, his mind ran far from him. In the morning, he had trouble finding it. This happened for days, weeks, yet.)

New Occupation

With all of my ideas,

I think I'll be a preacher.

Two Poems (Published in Temple's literary magazine- The Parable)

An Immediate Way To Self-Destruct
If I could only store all of the small moments
Of my life in a jar, I would be able to cherish
The tiniest of joys, the tiniest of laughs, and more
Importantly, I could hold segments of my life
In my hand and in a jar, small segments
In my hand and in a jar, small fragments,
Sentiments, remnants, pieces and memories,
If I could remember all of the small things,
My mind would expand to its fullest potential,
The rate of its expansion would be as quick
As the explosion of a ticking time bomb,
Relentless to complete its one and only job,
Which is to destroy, and that is what it would
Certainly do, it would certainly destroy me.


Singular and Plural Forms of an Individual
Does the smartest man in the world
Simply recognize the smallest nuances
That go unnoticed by many, but occur
So clearly and honestly, so clearly that
Most other men overlook these things
And see through a blurred lens which disallows
Remembrance of these things on a daily
Basis, they create their own life around
The things which they are blind to
But those smarter than they create
And see a microscopic world through
Telescope eyes, with a brain that can
Remember all of these things on a daily
Basis, likely enlarged but most importantly
Expanded, worked, tested and true
In the sense that they can not be taught
To others, only inherited or given to by
Those with greater minds than even his?

blabber

When I reach the church floor, I argue with myself about the mere showing of my face among the crowd. I contemplate my existence, only as I can, and I fail to listen to the words being spoken. Even if I do open my ears to the things of preachers, am I only following another man's beliefs? Does this not disprove my philosophy? For each individual, life is something fresh and new unable to be tampered with by others. I comfort myself speaking these words continuously...

Bodies

I walked down the dreary, wooded path that day with no expectation of anything abnormal or unfamiliar to me, as I knew the route I took with great familiarity. The trees were still dead from the long winter and only few had begun to show sprouts of life. My feet were covered in mud and as I watched the stream flow besides me, I knew its waters had flooded the wet ground I walked upon a day prior. Certainly, this is why I walked the path alone, not seeing another person for miles until him.

When reaching a large bridge which separated a highway from the path I walked, atop of the hill were three large, white plastic bags, each of similar size. Tired, I continued walking wishing I had brought a friend along or at least a bottle of water. Since I had expected to take the shorter path back to my house that day, I did not wear shoes properly equipped for the length of my walk. My feet, too, were tired and I wanted to get home immediately. As I grew further and further from the sight of the large white bags, my wonder of what the plastic hid continued to grow. 

Forgetting the aches of my feet and body, I turned back deciding to look once again at the bags. There were three, or maybe four of them, I thought, but I did not catch a proper glance at them disallowing myself to begin to guess what was inside. Slightly excited by what I may have found, I began to walk faster which further irritated my feet and made me wish I had worn my walking shoes.

After a few moments, I again reached the plastic bags and realized there was, in fact, four. From my distant viewpoint, the bags took the shape of bodies. To save myself the title of a cowardice, I dismissed this notion and tried to get a different perspective. Being across the stream from the scene, the only way possible to better identify what I had been seeing was to cross the water. Here, the water was slightly deep, but I knew no bridges, aside from the one created by the highway, were anywhere near. Accepting this fact, I crossed the water cautiously. 

The water was frigid but I managed to only get my feet wet finding enough rocks to help me cross the water safely. Almost forgetting why I had crossed the water, I suddenly looked up to where the bags were and nearly screamed right there in the lonely forest. From this view, the thin plastic bags were identical to the shape of four bodies. I contemplated running home but knowing I had come this far in my journey, I now had to see what was resting peacefully on top of the hill.

I will quickly climb the hill, peak into one of the bags and laugh at myself for creating such a gruesome scare, I thought. As I started up the hill, my feet slipped in the deep mud keeping me from making any forward progress. Standing at the bottom of the hill made me comprehend the difficulty of climbing snow and ice covered mountains. I had always been interested in mountaineering but knew nothing of how people successfully climbed such steep slopes. It was hard enough for me to make a few steps upward on this muddy hill. 

Grabbing hold of trees and propelling myself forward would be the only way for me to successfully conquer the incline. I did so carefully, trying not to slip. Nearly half way up the hill, I took another glance at my destination. I jumped at the sight. My heart was pumping at an extremely fast rate, and I nearly gave up in my quest right then and there. Scared out of my mind, I reached out taking hold of the next tree and pulled myself closer to the top. I made a few more steps promising myself not to look at the bags and tried focusing my thoughts on other things. Looking down the hill, I saw a middle-aged man staring right in my direction. I wondered if the man had been searching for the bags. His path was the only one I had crossed that day and I still wonder why this was the case.

I decided to ignore the man; although, it was clear he was watching my every motion. The bearded man of about forty-five looked fierce, even from far away. The climb became even more difficult as it was nearly complete. At the steepest point of the hill, no trees were close enough to take hold of. The thought of giving up my journey again crossed my mind but even if I had, I would still have to face the man at the bottom of the hill.

Finally, reaching out, my hand touched one of the bags. Suddenly, I began to slip slowly down the hill at a fast rate. The man still watched me and seemed to be waiting for my arrival to the bottom. From merely a single touch, I realized what had been in all four bags. I wondered how to detach myself from the current situation not wanting to face the man who now seemed angry. Having to accept the situation I had created for myself, I quickly made my way to the bottom of the hill, slipping on my final step causing me to fall right before the man’s feet. Unexpectedly, the man spoke. “You saw nothing on top of that hill.” His voice rang fiercely, and he startled me greatly just from his mere presence.

The man grabbed me by the shirt’s collar and repeated, “You saw nothing on top of that hill.” His voice with greater intensity and his words a bit slower this time. He pushed me down and took the path eastward, which was, thankfully, opposite of my home. I still remember the stench of his breath and the yellowness in his teeth from the, I am guessing, years of smoking cigarettes. I stood up, brushed some of the mud from my face and ran all the way back to my house reaffirming to myself that I saw nothing on top of that hill as my feet were pained from the blisters my shoes had given me.

Memo:

Forget me not

Or 

I'll rot

"Feelings pt. 1"

I can’t remember anything anymore. The words I said to my girlfriend earlier, yeah, I wish I could recall. I was trying to think about what I did today, but my mind literally could not wrap itself around it. It was too clouded with visions of my future. That honestly is all I think about anymore, and I keep wondering, “Maybe I should focus on the here and now.”

Memories of myself forgetting things in the past become vivid when I think about them. Does this simple fact reveal a flaw in my theory? Personally, I don’t think it does because I cannot remember the present. I always used to forget simple things: where I put my keys, my social security number, my mom’s birthday. Now, I not only forget my memories, I forget what I am doing while I am doing it. 

Reading... “Stand thee close, then, under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.” I am amazed at his words but more so with the author’s. Suddenly, I forget who was speaking and cannot remember the very words I just read. Sadly, I put the book down because I know I will fail to comprehend the story’s complexity. I want to understand badly. Which story am I talking about?

Sometimes my forgetfulness depresses me. I become a menace on those days, failing to get back to my friends with whom I had made important scheduled plans as the grown man I claim I am. Unfortunately, my manliness is lost there when I bail on those closest to me due to my startled state of mind. My state of mind is clear as the sky was at the baseball game the other night when under the lights I still swore I saw stars.

It is not as though I am worried for my future self and the worsening of my current state. My thoughts cannot help but think of my girlfriend, hopefully my wife by then, in twenty years trying to help me remember all of the things I should not be forgetting. This alone makes me want to change my ways immediately, but disproves Point 2810 which states, “I am not the problem. It is something else that is making me feel this way.” 

Who?

When I am unable to understand my thoughts, when I cannot attach reason to my feelings
Realization of reality becomes present, all other things diminished to nothing
Friends, oh friends, are you here still? Admittance of my lost perception of the senses is revealed.
Quickly forgetting what I have just learned, or perhaps just saving space in my mind for the important.

The relation between you and him is ever so present, the same problems without the same outcome
Unfortunately, I cannot put my finger on supernatural suspicions of the future
This leaves me with questions and regrets that I mask, just as we always do
A mask over the real thing simply because we are afraid of who we truly are.

For Jeremy

Tell me some of the things you know on the other side of the wall so great I will never be able to climb its bricks. I wonder if it is all they make it out to be. I can call you to make it easier, but I know you probably will not pick up. Tell me, is it better here or there? I have certainly thought about joining you.

Striking something inside of me I ran from immediately. I needed to sleep off the thought of your absence for a long while. Dreams slipping in the rain covered roads just as the cars did colliding behind me while driving home. My apologies to those who witnessed the near shedding of tears, but I feel uncomfortable showing my emotions. 

You left quickly, midterm, revealing how great you despaired. I remember the things you told me, and I will never forget them. Encouragement to progress, encouragement to persevere. Knowledge of yourself and those around you, knowledge of the things we read. I watched you that day understanding your grief, wishing I could help but knowing I could not.

Here is my goodbye to the lost. I know you are finally truly found, friend, peeking at the words I write, a little too impacted by the day’s events to really communicate what I would like to.