Waterboard of Directors

water can

They place the cot in my office

It is so comfortable, here try it out

I’m lowered into place

The blanket is heavy and made of unobtainable goals

I’m tucked in and told to feel the security of it

I’m bound by expectations

Standing squarely in the middle of my sandbox

They hold meetings I’m not invited to

They place the cloth over my face

They talk of personal development plans

We’ll water your face value so it grows long

The water erodes my approbations

I must walk the gauntlet, formed by the waterboard of directors

Chivalry is not dead, as they hold the door open for me

I walk out on my own accord, not…one…shove.

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Breakthrough

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Tabula rasa

Bone white paper

Hand glides across gently

The bumps may divine portent

Eyes squeezed tight

Searching

Hand spiders across the splintered ivory table

Fingers find the instrument

Cold to the touch

Almost too heavy to bear

Steel-tipped calligrapher’s pen

Dipped in last life’s losses

Blind scry from the third eye

Tip touches paper

Paper screams out like nails on slate

Eyes squeezed shut

Strokes are light at first

Like the gentle flicking of an imbedded sliver

The words will not be coaxed this night

They must be ripped out

Exhumed

Cause of death questions linger

Bear down

The nib bends beneath the pressure

Back and forth, back and forth

The planchette rides the infinity

Eyes squeezed shut

The nib chudders against the surface

Inspiration oozes from the gaping wound

Moments long lost in the ethereal

Blink in and out of awareness

You’ve found your groove

Paper is wood, the pen a chisel

The floor is littered with the useless bits

A breakthrough made

Callused fingers wipe away the detritus

Trace the jagged edges of the worm hole

The dura mater exposed

The demons released

The nib bent beyond repair

A new trephine needed for tomorrow’s work

Now is the time for healing

No one said writing would be easy

Eyes squeezed tight

Soapbox

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Your very perception of yourself can be fallible. To see faults where none exist. To magnify the smallest of imperfections to caricature extremes. Body dysmorphia becomes your own personal hell. Powerful insecurities astigmatize the minds eye. The same can be said about the content of ones character. The villain is the hero in their own book. The asshole feels justified. The you, that you share with the world, is rarely the real you. Your public you is based on the faulty perception of what society deems acceptable. Who is society? A bunch of other insecure, distorted reality viewing, pretenders. All of us falling prey to the shiny objects that are meant to fill the void. The latest cellphone, the MK purse, the new car. We work longer hours, missing the ones we love, so we can buy these diversions. Keep your eye on the prize. In this way you won’t notice your deteriorating spiritual connection to Mother Earth and your fellow man. Love. Compassion. Empathy. Not just for everyone else or the natural world, but for yourself. For me there is one undeniable fact…we are ALL ONE. NOT…we are ALL ALONE. We are all one.

House on the corner


The house on the corner

An empty shell

Devoid of family warmth

No tv glow

No snuggling on the couch

No home-cooked meal aromas carried on the breeze

You haven’t had family in you for years

A for sale sign, a cry of loneliness

Uncut grass, like an unkempt beard

I feel your depression like a burlap cloak

Where are the little children’s feet, padding across your hardwood floors?

The peals of laughter, do they still echo in your empty rooms?

You still feel the vibrations, the resonance, don’t you?

Oh, I see…life breathes in you still…

Groundhogs have made your front porch their home

Pigeons roost in your attic, cooing out their greetings to you

Is this consolation?

Are you happy?

When we grow old, solitary, with wild hair and wilder ideas, mumbling to ourselves…

with only our thoughts, our pigeons in the attic, to keep us company…are we you?

Are you labeled crazy by the other houses for not wanting to be inhabited?

Are we, humans, crazy for the same reasons?

Or…are we both just waiting for someone to turn the key?

One

One is the onliest number that you’re ever due

Too can be hard won

It’s the lowliest numb-er since the slumber won

Now is the sadist’s experiment you’ll ever know

Yes, it’s the sadist’s experiment you’ll ever know

‘Cause one is the onliest number that you’re ever due

One is the onliest number, whoa-oh, worse than too

It’s just no good anymore, sense, you went away

Now I spend high tide just making climbs to a hideaway

One is the onliest number

One is the onliest numb-er

One is the onliest numb-er that you’re ever due

One is the onliest

One is the onliest

One is the onliest numb-er that you’re ever due

It’s just no good anymore, sense, you went away

(numb-er)

Gravity

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Mass warps the space time continuum

The emitted light off beauty’s veneer

The eye is drawn like ear to siren

But it’s the heady weight of your soul

That pulls me in

Some wear their intellect—a white dwarf

Your orbit inevitably slows in the passing

Some exude their knowing in silence

The black dwarf has a mesmerizing pull

Some emit no light whatsoever

But have an inescapable pull

Their beautiful tragedy a black hole

That stretches you out to a single thread

Over the course of eons

Immortality

Ankh

Most of us, if not all, are afraid of what comes next…the big next.  Now, I’m not going to get mired down in a philosophical treatise on the afterworld or reincarnation, rather I am going to center on the simple act of leaving the life you know behind.  Death waits for us all, whether we want it to or not.  We worry about the state of our affairs, “who’s gonna support my loved ones, who’s gonna take out the garbage on Monday night,” and so forth.  The question that burns the deepest is, “how long before I am completely forgotten?”  At least if I am remembered, in some way, then I live on.

Those of us that blog, do so for certain reasons, like catharsis, or sharing beautiful moments, or introspection and trying to understand what it is to be human…reaching out with this to say that we are not alone.  We read the words of others to experience their human condition and to see not only what makes us different, but what unifies us as well.  Beneath all that, I think, that we yearn for immortality through our words.  Many of the bloggers I see have already published books, and in that alone deserve our respect and gratitude for adding to the chronicles, while some of us (yes me) are still finding our voice with hopes of one day writing the next Great American Novel.  Is that too much to ask?  If I can string the right words together, in the right sequence, I can live forever.  It’s wizardry.  We are trying to cast a spell, but if we do it wrong we could find ourselves lost in the oblivion.

This carries a lot of weight.  I have always allowed fear, more specifically the fear of failure, to paralyze me into inaction.  If I do nothing then I haven’t failed yet and the possibility of success is still there, but if I try and fail then the dream dies.  Now with age comes wisdom and I have learned at the intellectual level that this is false, that we learn from our failures and can always try again, but at the subconscious level I am still scared shitless.  A prime example of this fear induced paralysis was, for me, going to college.  I didn’t go right out of high school.  I went to work through temp agencies, at warehouses and factories and found myself having nervous breakdowns that bubbled up when I would think, “is this my life, am I stuck?”  I had always wanted to go to college, but the fear told me that if I go and I flunk out, then factories and warehouses will be all that’s left for me.  It took every ounce of my resolve to fill out the paperwork, but in the end…I flourished.  I loved it.  I wish I could be a career student to this day.  Now I won’t get into the irony that I am now employed at a factory in a managerial position, as it would change the tone of this entirely.  Rather, I am going to talk about hope.

As most of you know, I am now the proud father of a beautiful almost-five-month-old son.  Now, as much as he can serve as a wondrous distraction, he has also given me my immortality (at least that’s how I see it).  He looks so much like me that it’s like having a window into my own infancy.  I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of my future self sending my current self a letter that not only explains what’s coming, but the right decisions to make to get there…perhaps this’ll be a future post.  Now I know this concept seemed a fantasy, but it will happen…not for me, but for my son.  I am the letter from his future and hopefully with my help he can make the right decisions and avoid certain pitfalls.  Okay end of tangent.  This newfound immortality means that it isn’t all riding on me becoming the next Stephen King.  I can begin to write with a sense of insouciance.  The weight has been lifted, by the hands of a 17 pound, almost-five-month-old mini-me.

So, watch out world…here I come!  Right after I change his diaper and I figure out a new way to  make him smile and laugh.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I started a new job about a month ago and I’m really enjoying the change of pace, the learning/growth opportunities and having moved out of the food manufacturing sector and into electrical component manufacturing sector. I’m on 1st shift, which is great, but would be better if my wife wasn’t working 2nd, as I don’t see her all week. 

Today I erased a handful of social media apps off my phone, including Facebook. I truly feel giddy with liberation or, perhaps, it’s low level anxiety at losing that outlet/connection. I’m not entirely sure. 

I quit those apps to be more present when spending time with my son and to hopefully spur more creativity. The only social apps I kept are writing/creativity related. I’m keeping this short, so raise your glasses for a toast to change and to creativity! 

If anyone has done the same or similar…don’t hesitate to comment on how it went!