Doing It Right

        ‘The blank of the page eats you up. It swallows you whole. Digests you. Shits you out.’

She said this with a far-off look in her eyes like she was gazing upon a reverie. 

‘You have to learn how to accept the process, don’t fight it. That will only make it harder. You want to know the trick? There isn’t one. It’s just the process. Pick up the pen and start slashing. Open up the tab and start typing. It’s the simplest things that are always the most difficult.’ She finished with her eyes on mine. They were mostly green—her eyes.  

‘You gotta have a routine. Every writer has one. For example: I write best when I’m in my room with a fresh cup of coffee and an incense burning somewhere close by. There just must be some type of background noise going on too, whether it be rainstorm noises or just plain old jazz. Nothing with words though, that would throw me off. Unless it was The Office or something.’ She’s wearing a white wife-beater that’s too small for her. Her shorts look ready to burst and her hair begs for a comb. She’s pretty though. Not “shit yourself pretty” mind you, but pretty enough to turn some heads. 

‘The easiest way to build a routine is to simply start writing every day. It doesn’t matter if it’s for two minutes or two hours. Just get some words down on paper or up on a screen or whatever. Get that shit outa your head! I’m telling you, that’s the only way you’ll get any better. Wanna know why I’m telling you this? Because I can tell you’re not a writer. I can tell by the way you type. You go too slow. When you do try to go fast every other key you press is the backspace. I can tell by the way you hold your pencil, by the way you shape your letters. I can tell by the way you sit. Shit dude, I can even smell it on you. I can tell you’re not a writer. Not yet anyway.’ 

She was right. Who was I back then anyway? Objectively, I was a loser. At the time I was smoking too much, drinking too much, eating too much. I spent most of my time watching anime and movies based on ‘true stories’. I lived on campus but try asking about me and the only response you’d get back is “Who?”. I wasn’t an ugly kid but I wasn’t going to the gym religiously just yet. All around, let’s just say I had a lot of room for improvement and I knew it. 

See, that’s arguably the best and worst aspect of my whole situation. Best because I knew I needed to change. Worst because there’s a change that is needed and every minute I spent not changed is a minute spent on bullshit that I knew was bullshit. If you think about it too much the time gets away from you. 

I wasn’t always on my bullshit though. Throughout my latter years of adolescence there were moments of productivity, short little spouts of growth here and there. I know the difference between spending and saving. I know how it feels to live with a healthy body. I understand what it means to do things right. This knowledge makes it all the worse for me whenever I find myself doing wrong. But on the flip side, it makes it all the better whenever I happen to find myself doing right. 

I did it

     It's cold again. Staying warm is tougher alone. My breath is a cloud. It's cold again yet the fan is on 3. I do it to myself. I claim to like the cold even though I know warm is better. I almost forgot what it meant to be lonely- then it got cold again. It's cold again and the window is not closed. I opened it myself. 

Tall Boy

     His moves were wild. To his credit he did literally the best anyone could do at this here job. He wore a red morph suit with the top cut out so his locks could go wild with the rest of him. He caught attention like a magnet. It was a Tuesday evening, a day like any other, when John happened to fall victim to this wild man’s pull. He watched the man work, arms flailing, spine twisting, hands waving, shoulders shaking, head bobbing. His bending was at the waist. John felt the urge to talk to this man. 

The way the wild man moved made it obvious that his body would require ever so many breaks here and there throughout the shift, however many depending on how long the shift. John knew this and decided to stay until such a break. He waited longer than expected. Finally the wild man stopped, face dripping, chest heaving. John walked closer. 

“Is this your job?”

“Yes. I’ve just been promoted.”

The wild man was proud of his promotion. He didn’t know his boss couldn’t afford to repair the skydancer they’ve been using, that this “promotion” was his way of pinching pennies. But that didn’t matter. The wild man loves his job. 

“I didn’t know someone could actually do this as a job.”

“Me neither.”

“How do you do it?”

The wild man looked at John who saw no eyes. 

“The suit hides the needle marks.”

Not Even Fall

 It's cold in my room. The fan blows around air conditioned to be ever so. Covering my frame is a green sweat suit. I'm a Champion as I type. It's cold in my room. This isn't what one would call simply chilly. I shiver in my sweats. Neither side of the pillow is warm. There's frost on my window. It's cold in my room. I remember a time when it was warm, here in my room. There was laughter and spilt coffee. You wore my blanket over your hoodie. We were warm as we sat in the screen's glow. Now you're gone. You're gone and it's cold in my room. It's so cold.

Reaper

 As a master of death I relish the process. Simple swatting doesn't quite do it for me. I like to watch the suffering, the last twitches as life leaves the body. I'd snip the wings first if I could. There's this one method I prize above all others when it comes to Reds. It's date of origin should be a global holiday. It's called Terro's Liquid Ant Bait. The active ingredient in the bait interferes with the ants' digestive systems, eventually killing the ants within 24-48 hours after consumption. This slow kill gives the worker ants enough time to get back and share the bait with the whole colony. This method of genocide is ingenious if nothing else. If you look closely enough, you may see the clear liquid translucently through the abdomen. Give it time. After a while, you see these fuckers moving slower. Soon the container in which the bait is held becomes littered with bodies- what a beautiful sight. The ants come no more. 

It Burns Slowly

 He lives with the light at the end of his square- with the end of his cigarette. He thinks with the fire at the tip of his cigarette. His thoughts are of her only. Over her he has no power- her whims, her thoughts are her own. She's leaving here to go to her own home. He lights another cigarette. This fire he knows he can control. He smokes the leaf that kills it's soil- it soaks up all that's around. It's a weed in its own home. He longs for something more than what he has. He lights another square. He wont let the flame go out. The flame is his life- the closest thing to life he has. The ash floats. The butt burns. His thoughts are of her. He waits for her shift to end as the tip of his cigarette burns. He yearns. He yearns for something more, for something he does not have- something he cannot control. His thoughts are of her. He's on his last cigarette. The butt burns. 

He’s by Himself

That girl will be the death of me. Definitely. An island unto himself, this is me. A planet with no orbit, a drop in the sea. I figured it be like this, similar to swing and miss. A goodbye without a kiss. What’s a friend anyway? I thought I knew. She did too. Sunsets over the lake. A heart destined to break. Who’s feelings were fake? His were real. Hers were too. What’s a friend anyway? Damn, I thought I knew.

Friendly Advice

Hey, friend. I see you’re thinking hard. Let me give you some advice. I’m sure it’ll help. It might help you forget to remember. It may help you remember to forget. I see you’re thinking hard. It may abolish your worries. Can I give you some advice? Don’t thank me. I just want to help. Friend, what’s on your mind? Stop thinking so hard. Mountains and moll hills, that’s what it is. Hey, friend, take it easy. No worries. Hey, friend. Let me give you some advice. Listen. 

Sort

I know her name. She knows mine. I cannot tell a lie, this woman is cute- as cute as cute can be. Her hug’s grip was that of a vice. Her hug’s grip was tight. Is it too much to say I love her? I think I have a crush. Married with children - that’s her alright. Married with children. Love her? I just might. It’s night and it’s her I’m thinking of. Her hair is straight. She’s awfully skinny, but this works for her. Her hug was like a vice. I had to catch my breath. I know she felt it. Right? She’s a friend- a friend of mine. She’s awfully cute. I wish I could see her, even just for one more time. I know her name and she knows mine. I know her name. Her name is fine. 

Forgiven?

She asked me to come, so I did. She did not ask me to stay. I did not. Who is at fault? Is there anyone to blame? The answer to that depends on who you ask. She said it was natural, so natural for me. She was telling the truth. Maybe I'm not the one for you. Maybe I'm not. Can we go back to being friends? Can we? Go back? We were too forward. We were in like. We acted as though it was love we were in. Was it? Is it? I hope there's no hard feelings. It was only a cigarette- a cigarette from a girl with blonde hair. Blame me for being natural. I am to blame. Forgive me for being natural. I pray it doesn't hurt. 

Welcome Home. Hello?

  Allow me to be the first to say "Hello and welcome." Welcome to the land of milk and honey and syrup- maple and corn. Welcome to the land of bottled water and chlorine. Welcome to the land of plenty, the land of percent. Here resides the hungry. Here resides the strong. Welcome I tell you- welcome. Welcome to the land of real-estate, to premium property. Welcome to the land of the homeless. Welcome to the land of McDonald's, to Subway. Welcome to the land of plus-sized women in plus-sized clothing. Welcome. Welcome to the land of the transient, the land of the vagabond. Welcome to the land of the free, to the land of bondage and debt. Welcome to the land of capitol, to the land of endless liability. Welcome to the land of the instant message ignored. Welcome to the land of the divorced. Welcome to the land of the happy couple- happy for now. Welcome to the land of children aged twenty and up. Welcome to the land of abundance, to the land of never enough. Welcome to the land of the damned, to the land of the blessed. Welcome to the land of melatonin gummies, of coffee. Welcome to the land of moving stars, of idling cars. Welcome to the land of the clean, of the dirty. Welcome to the land of choice. Welcome to the land of litter. Welcome to the land of cigarette butts and cigarillo packs. Welcome to the land of saggy flesh in bikinis. Welcome to the land of one night stands, of never and forever. Welcome to the land where the only contradiction is you. Welcome.. Hello?  

Absolutely

  I do not feel bad for what I did. It's really that simple. I do not feel any remorse whatsoever. Is this wrong? Is it wrong that I choose to work on myself, to better myself? Is it wrong that I refuse to be a part of something that is wrong? Is it wrong for me to have a desire to become something better than what I am now, for me to grow? Is it wrong that I am an adult? Is it wrong to believe happiness is overrated? Is it wrong to choose who or what I let influence my actions? Is it wrong to manipulate my environment to achieve success? Is it wrong to love and let go? Is it wrong to make the right choice? Is it wrong to listen to God? Is it wrong to be strong? Absolutely not.

Viral

  Some wear masks. Others do not. What's the difference? Is it fear? Is it caution? What's the difference? Standing in line. The lady behind me just coughed. That should be illegal now-a-days. She's closer than six feet. Someone should arrest her. At least medicate. I don't wear a mask. Call it recklessness. Call it fearlessness. I just like to breath.
  The mall was a bleak affair. There were certain arrows, messages on the ground. They told you where to walk. Most did not obey. They're walking on the wrong side. Is this criminal? If not, it should be. This is emergency. I should be allowed to call someone. Make these people walk on the right side of the hall, even if that means the left. Why don't I say anything?
  Is this even a big deal? I'm sure it is to some. I personally care not. I just want them to put the chairs back in Barnes and Noble.

Super?

    It’s a sunny Tuesday in the city of New York. There is a man hanging on for dear life from the window of a building seventy-eight floors from the ground. A concerned crowd watches from below.      Firefighters have arrived but unfortunately their ladders are not tall enough to reach the man in danger. Suddenly a mild cheer can be heard from the onlooking crowd. Super-woman has come to the rescue! “Have no fear,” she says, “for Super-woman is here! Grab my hand so I can fly you to safety.” “No thanks,” replies the man, “I’d rather wait for Super-Man.” While she looks at him with an expression of disbelief, a cheer- louder than the one before- resounds off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Super-Man has arrived! The man gratefully grabs a hold of Super-Man and they both head down to join the celebrating mass of spectators. Upon their decent, the man looks over at the second Super and yells “THIS IS A MAN’S WORLD, BABY!” She then walks home, head hanging low. Never again does she dawn her cape.

Page by Page

She’s a book with missing pages. What I need is not there. What she is is not. She’s a book with missing pages, the remaining are left singed and frayed. Most of the damage self-inflicted. She’s a book with missing pages. This book is not good. She’s a book with missing pages. What’s missing is bright. I gave her some pages but she tore out the light. 

Be Healthy

I’ve been a healthy person. I’ve been an unhealthy person. I choose to be healthy. Healthy is better. 

Doing It’s Job

  There is a reason suicide rates have never been as high as they are right now. There is also a reason why we all don’t know about it nor how to “fix” it. The reason is this- the world is doing its job and doing it well. 

Anger

  The anger he feels is a burning one. The cause matters not. The anger is here and ever present- it courses through his veins. The life-blood of a beast in the body of a man. How futile it is for his anger to be dissipated with a shout and a punch. He can do better. Concentrate that anger, make it into something. Use that blood.
  Friend and foe beware. Woe is here for us all.

Ever So

  The death of a boy in America is slow, incremental. It starts with the boredom- the idleness. Then come the thoughts, like rain coming to relieve the thirst of tares, not wheat. Feed it darkness and it shall grow- flourish. When the harvest comes, it comes early or late- not on time. What is time but interim? The death of a 20-year-old boy in America is ever so slow- ever so incremental.

A Ramble

We do not live in a world of our own design. What does this mean? It means that in order for you to aquire what you desire, what you desire has to be self-evident. It means that we cannot interfere with matters out of our range or scope. It means people will eat dinner when they choose to eat dinner. It means in order for one to be content one must be content. What's the use of chasing something that is not there? Could something not there have the capability to pull? Gravity without matter? Counterintuitive, sure, but a question all the same. Is there a wrong answer? I have no idea, you tell me. On second thought, don't. I no longer care. I'll go back to who I was before. What is a thought but a drop in the ocean? I'll sail to distant shores. Never does a ship pass through the same ocean. Willingly I change course. It's cold outside, something Fahrenheit, a cool delight, if pleasure you find in temperature divine. Malign.
Who was she even? Is she even real? She felt real.. Who is she anyway? Where did she come from? Whever it was she must have flown back, or slithered- who am I to say? No response. How fitting. I have no batteries for my keyboard. I have too many books to read. My arms are sore. There's no one here with whom to be bored. How I wish to play a lonely chord! But again, there are no batteries for my keyboard. We do not live in a world of our own design.