Trust Like Mirrors

I'm already dialed into a runway in Chicago. How can I maintain this altitude for 10 more days? Where will the fuel come from?

I found incredible amounts of greatness on Friday, with a girl that seems to see through me just enough to pull out my smile every time we're alone. I love the way she doesn't wave it above her head in victory like so many others do with other parts of my life. She just points out it's simplicity and places it back on my face where it belongs, and seals it into place with various kisses that would cause the normal 4th grade boy with a crush in the back of the bus, to explode.

I guess I've found my fuel. How appropriate it's scheduled for a departing flight.

The designs for Clandestine are in place and if promises live up to intent, every kid in your neighborhood will be sporting the latest creation from this very laptop. I'm excited, but not enough to lose the cryptic vibe.

ilikethewayyoudriveaway

Nails for Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks

Don't call the papers... although I'm sure this one would eat up the front page. I found Chicago on my radar! Gonna hook up with some friends and enemies at the "Plain White T's" show at The Metro on the 12th. I can't wait to be caught in the firing line of great moods and free spirits. The change will be much needed. In fact I really wish I could arrive before these letters that I'm sending.

You are my tattoo; memorable, regretful, artistic, meaningful, and a part of me forever. By the way, every other word in every other song reminds me of you. Goonies never say die.

I know this isn't poetic, cryptic, clever or cool. but sometimes you've just got to type.

imthisclosetoneverlookingback

Trueblue sounds like Trouble. It's What I'm Going For These Days

Is being afraid of a ringing cellphone an irrational fear or just a comment on the current state of my place in this world?

Summer secrets, they say just keep it... locked behind my lips. "Don't speak a word of it."

So we bury it and think that it's dead just because it's 6 feet beneath where it sleeps. Best friends talking bad because they know what they both could have. Now I've got roses at my feet and what used to be an army I used to march with right behind me has disappeared like some magic trick. And I'm just clinging to your conversation because your the only one touch works with anymore. I'm sick of walking in when everybody just starts leaving.

My favorite part is the way you fumble through the sweet parts. Your sincerity in the imperfections. Don't worry I'm still going to make a mark, leave a scar, and tell a good story. In the mean time I'll sit here in my bedroom in the company of my dog and another book by Kerouac. Because Kerouac is the only long term relationship I've been in.

dontgiveuponmeyet.imabouttoturnitallaround.

Champagne for my Real Friends..... Real Pain for my Sham Friends

I'm currently thinking about trying to trick a Doctor into giving me an MRI and framing it so you can have my insides... just because it would be less painful and easier on the cleanup process for you. Think about it and get back to (at) me.

I should have called Kate and asked her to build me a model scale version of New York City because I sure had one helluva great idea for a disaster.

Let's play this game amongst friends called brutal honesty and find out where we stand. Just to remind them that I maintain a razor sharp tongue and won't hesitate to use it on myself... after all I've been a starving vampire these past few months, toasting to the blood of my enemies.

I found myself on the street out in front of your house trying to catch you kissing safe thoughts goodbye. I was fighting back the urge to scream "I'm coming up to break your heart" when I saw that you were sleeping with the light on... like you were dying to be found out. I'm so adorable in the rain.

This thing ain't beating in my chest, its counting down. Red pills make my heart speed up. The two of you have that in common.

Okay kids, If you want to know the truth...Here it is (Ages 9 and younger don't try this at home)

For this lab experiment you will need a stolen quarter with a slight loss of hope

1) Throw a quarter up in the air
2) Count the seconds until it hits the ground

That's how much time is left before this all falls apart...

My speech isn't so slurred now is it?

Let's make some mistakes and be proud of them... Because right now I've got the sickest stomach and a mind that gives it competition.

Now get on out there and break dance not hearts.

Photographs and Nervous Laughs

This is a warm up class for the plane crash that I call my self-esteem. Soon I will return to a life where I'll under eat and fail to meet my potential, but for now I'll admire this fast food pile up that's starting to appear "art-like."

I love my new entourage of camouflage. We crash parties with pastries and daisies. My best friends are: my laptop, my hoodies, my medication, and my dog. Together we lead lavish lifestyles. I only seek sanity within this tight knit group... and though they may lack human qualities, they keep me from falling to my false alter-ego.

I am on the fence when it comes to reality and sickness. If it weren’t for them I’d be a shit talker with a sluts sex drive. But the skin that wraps around me is putting up a good fight. I can feel myself slipping and this isn’t exactly the blast that I wanted. This isn’t the path that I wanted.

I have been under this cloud before and I'm shaking with fear of a relapse. A record I helped write is helping people and giving them hope... but now I need to write another one just so I can have some to...

I am calling all cars once again, but I don't even have their new numbers. I know I'll make it out of this, but my body just might not make it.

This is me... reminding you to apologize for the things you can’t always help... because you never know who you are letting down.

Dining With The Enemy

I've been dining with the enemy

Stopped in Detroit. Spent most of my time there wandering in thoughts of "why can't the rest of this city be as progressive as their airport?"

So I'm back "home?" (*1) in KC marveling at the realization that I've evolved into quite the dastardly fighter, disguised as a lover

In disguise... My parents hold it all together as I stand back in envy.

I still miss my dog K.C. (I woke him one August evening after a 15 hour road trip "home"(*1)... he was an older dog, I startled him and he bit the end of my nose off... no lie. My parents decided to put him to sleep after I left. I found out that he was "gone" in an email 2 months later from an ex-girlfriend that had heard the news second hand from a friend of a co-worker of my sister. I guess First to leave is always the last to know...)

but I did notice that they've replaced the carpet that I stained that evening, and that he's not buried where they said he was. I know what they did to him. In High School I worked as a Veterinary assistant at the Animal Hospital where his journey ended. Ironically it's where ours began.

He was found in downtown Kansas City (hence the name K.C.) in a tub of water with 6 other chocolate labs. They all had rubber bands tied around their snouts. Someone had left them to drown. "Someone" was successful in all but 1 attempt. That attempt became my best friend K.C. They brought him into our Animal Hospital and I was the only one that he would allow to "dress" his wounds. (The rubber bands had cut so deep into his skin that the skin itself had begun to grow over the rubber band in places.. this would leave him with lifelong scars that I could only see as beautiful.)

Anyway... long story short, K.C. came home with me to live. He was and always will be my only best friend. I hate that I didn't bring him out to North Carolina with me. I didn't have a yard and didn't think it would be fare to leave him all couped up in a condo. I was wrong.

Daily, I feel every painful ounce of irony in the fact that he has left me with the same scars on my nose that he lived with. It's almost poetic. I'm sure a lot of you will laugh at that, but I'm just one of those kids that loves his dog more than the world and I won't blush at that fact.

Now I'm just a kid with friends in high places... but cell phone reception is a big problem when you're that high off the ground... Now sometimes I realize that I've got friends standing right next to me that couldn't tell you a thing about me, and I've got friends underneath me, not by status... by 6 feet... and they're the ones I miss the most when I come "home."(*1)...

* 1 - "place that I technically did some growing up, yet rarely visit. Also see "church."

NYC get your bat... you're up next kid!

Subtlety Is The Best Lesson I Ever Learned In School

I'm not remembering much of the last few nights but apparently at some point I made a conscious decision to collect empty pizza boxes and bottles... To make matters worse my only memory is of a pretty brunette whispering in my ear this now famous line.. "just because I'm standing next to you, doesn't mean I have to." and from the sound of running water and the sight of a steamed mirror, I realize that I must have started collecting girls who have mastered the art of subtlety as well.

So like the rest of you, I'll be chasing fireworks, spraying out like spiderwebs amonst the skyline, much like we are doing with our own lives this week. .

Kerouac was right. The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awwww!"

I'll be hopping a tin-can with wings to Detroit for a few, then stopping in KC to see the family.... NYC... get your bat kid, you're up next!!

Stay

I Wish I Was Your Hotmail Password

I wish I was your hotmail password so when you signed in, a checked box would get you to remember me.

Pick up the phone and let me know you've got the butterflies. Stomach twist, stitches stitched. My tongue has lost it's stutter. I bet you've wondered if I've touched her with the tips of these fingers. Upside down and the pills fall out. This one can make you crazy... this is the one who finally changed me and for that she will always be my addiction.

I wear my sex life like a T-shirt. Even Tide couldn't clean me up. I'm just a good fuck with a word choice that gets stuck inside your head. Go to bed and put your hands over your chest and tell yourself to breathe, it's probably twice as bad as you think.

My Landscape

The danger in us all being artists is that our collective canvas is so massive, very few of us have mastered the art of blending. Even worse, is when we decide to paint each other.

See.. it's so easy to take one critical, or cause-effecting action of an individual and use that action to paint them with or in, that color.

The true artist knows that we are all made up of the full spectrum. I've been blue, I've been yellow, I've been green with envy. It is only when we hold a prism before the eye of judgement that we clearly define whether someone is of the spectrum, or if they have just been washed away in a collection of every color, bringing them back to shear whiteness. That is, their colors are so non-defined that they have no borders. Individually mixing together into each other to create the vast whiteness, often refered to as the lost.

Rum, NYC, Her, And Other 3 Letter Words

A scholar's ink lasts longer than a martyr's blood. So tell me if you see the spark in my eye going off like a firework....glowing like a firefly.

It's not good enough for me amidst a smile like the setting sun,
red sequined dress that could kill anyone.
The music moves you like good poetry,
I wish I lacked this anonymity.

She met me in the darkness,
reached out for my hand and said goodnight.
Shes the New York City skyline,
here to catch the heavens if they fall.

She's Friday night when Sunday's almost done
She's a million simple answers, awaiting my drunken midnight fun
If she is not the truth I'll take the lie.
She's the reason I'm writing Carolina, this letter of goodbye.
She's the New York City skyline,
and I'll never turn the light out for the moon.

All of this surviving has made me miss my own point.
I'll just draw another one, and connect the dots to get a better picture
so you can frame that too.

This knife that I pulled out of my back
Isn't it the one I used to cut you some slack?

On the edge of the world, you'd rather jump than just look down.

Fighting The Bar

Come trap yourself again in piles of sheets beneath the fan on high with me.

Sometimes when I lay on my stomach I think about how much better it would feel if the weight of the world would just take a few seconds to find it's way from my shoulders, all of the way down towards my lower back, where I really could use the pressure.

So this is what it's like... staying home on a weeknight. What happened to TV? Nothing to watch. Makes me stare more at myself in the mirror than I have in the past few months combined.... leading me to curse the networks more and more.

I set the table for1, but all of my regrets showed up for a drink. now we're all blurred in our own senses and chastising a non-existent waiter.

My dog just climbed on my bed, peed on my sheets and my cell phone.... should i read into this?

I'm living in fear of being replaced by my apprentice. The thousands spent in his name will be spent to bury mine. I'll be painted paranoid and placed in a bottle. But trust in the fact that once the truth is uncorked, my prior sobriety will spray in celebration, and be that which saves me.

Stay....

Random 1st Post

The keyboard is at the very least, unforgiving. It doesn't have much give at all. In fact hates the life inside your fingertips, it is jealous. If you're not careful you're gonna write yourself into a corner...

Her mother had a heart that served as a trophy case for award winning meth addicts. I couldn't blame her for how she turned out but I sure would love to shoot the scientist that figured out the connection between genealogy and behavioral patterns. Her trust fund is nothing more than a series of amateur nights in Florida strip clubs and an alcohol tolerance like you wouldn't believe. She is a prizefighter past her prime who just wont get out of the ring because its the only thing shes ever known.

You're the young buck in fuck me red gloves laced tight, grinning just before the bell in the first round. Because you know how the odds stack up. because you know that its just a matter of being faster and hitting harder. You are a word smith- imagine the bedside manner of this spin doctor. "Sometimes if things are going right you just need to lower your standards". Its last call for a shot of conscience...

You remind me of the way things went before all of this.

My wrists are black and blue from bumping the edge of the table next to the keyboard like a punching bag. I'm sorry just that’s the only way I know how to get this out. consider it closer to preheating the oven for when I drag the pen across my skin and spill the ink. My eyes black and trembling, sinking like stones.

Her hands hold my head back once an hour as I throw up in the sink. The front of the stereo lights up “hello” when it turns on, it’s the only conversation in the room. Every night the alarm goes off at last call reminding me. I leave the house just in time to meet her out in front of the closed bar. Neon lights set free as they are shut off, they now go to sleep without a purpose.

We own the edge of the street. I had concerns but they’re wearing off in the moonlight. I tell her I love the angle her hair takes in the shadows stretched across the street, cars plowing through the silhouettes of our torsos. Shes not impressed. I follow it up by telling her how she seems so L.A., she thanks me, though I never meant it to be a compliment.

Her eyelashes are black and long- they seem to be the stitching around her eyes, holding all the fabric that is her together. I fight the urge to pull one and watch her unravel like an old sweater. I chew swallowables just to get them in my bloodstream faster. I skip the cell phone and just knock on her door just to get her in my bloodstream faster. I apologize for remembering everything out of order but my mind never was too linear. My head feels full of perfumed air and disinfectant spray. It feels like its been blown up with air but not floating more with an air heavier than the earth’s atmosphere and rolling slowly down the street.

My head is swimming in milligram doses. Detached, maybe this is what it feels like to be her, thinking of me. My last thoughts are of leaves floating in an abandoned pool in autumn. Strange. The way their stems move like fish. My pupils are fucking collossal, and if you could read them they’d be like the sign on a storefront “I’m sorry I have stepped away for awhile”.

Close the lid of the computer and lay back my head on the pillow blackened by your mascara. There’s people on TV a half a world away that are being blown up for trying to vote and I am complaining when we have diet soda instead of regular at the Brickhouse. You probably don’t even remember what the Brickhouse is, or thinking to yourself.."when did he switch to regular coke," but that’s just proof that you’re focusing on the wrong part of that sentence. I'm skidding my shoe along the sidewalk, you’re telling me about your day- only I stopped caring about your days about a month ago.

I'm wearing your scarf cause I love the way it smells, the weather definitely isn’t calling for it, but it makes my memory feel comfortable. I'm always trying to please my memory lately so it stops running off on me. Stop at the corner. We both have our hoods up, I tug yours towards my face. our eyes should always be this close(d), to this day I have never written a word about your lips just because I could never find ones that they are deserving of.... and I'm not one for breaking habits, so I wont now.

And we both know that this isn’t gonna make any sense when I read it in the morning anyway.