Tagged: dreams

Monotony – A Story – Part 3

I slowly (and hesitantly) approached that prisoner of war camp on the daily, that Chernobyl-esque monument to Eastern Bloc deterioration, that shit stained hell that seemingly owned my life. I say seemingly, because at the time, it defined who and how I was. You’ve got to feel the monotony; you’ve got to feel it in order to truly understand it. Up the steps I went, through the door, and with that, each day (and the story) begins. The warehouse itself was pretty damned massive; a deep, cavernous structure stacked to the gills with weathered boxes, bags, makeshift shelving, and various pallet loads of goods for sale. It was an older building, crammed tight with little sold products, all of them well coated with a thick blanket of dust. In any case, the structure was well lit, as the many skylights provided good light where the fluorescents didn’t reach. What a joint to be in, though. Under the rusty tin roof, the place became Congo crotch hot in the summer; guaranteed and absolute sweat drenched bayou balls for all who dared to enter, and winters that would make you feel like you were setting up base camp in Antarctica. The towering shelf walls were lined with various crude drawings, and were peppered with random graffiti of tits, asses, cocks, explicit acts of sex, violence and a sprinkling of cuss words. Don’t ask why. We brandished the humor of a bunch of giggle infested twelve year olds, and we wore that childishness with pride. Our debauched state of mind was a direct product of the boredom that we faced head on, like warriors facing a great foe. Yes, it was very much like middle school all over again. And we reveled in it.

Monotony – A Story – Part 2

Do you feel the monotony? Can you hear the annoying scrape of my feet dragging themselves to the bathroom? The stabbing numbness of my slowly adjusting eyes as I try in vain to shield them from the blinding solar glare of the bathroom light? Or how about the pungently aromatic stale air produced by 8 hours of backed up bowels? I stood at the toilet, graciously releasing at least four hours-worth of slightly yellow urine, and let out a long bear growl of relief. One of the few breaths of relief that I get to look forward to over the coming day. Feel that monotony as I clamber into the shower, only to realize that I forgot to buy soap and toothpaste? Ever wash a tired body with dish soap? Feel the monotony.

The sky that day was a deep overcast grey, with thick, overfed clouds spewing their liquid lunch all over the city, making for a slow and sloppy morning commute. I arrived at my gig thirty minutes late (not giving half a shit), and slowly crept into a parking space. It was a lonely, bleak, deserted lot, strewn with unattractively enterprising weeds tangoing out of deep cracks that resembled California fault lines, and year old garbage bleached bone white by a harsh sun. I carelessly swerved into a parking space, which I created myself due to the fading of the yellow dividing lines. It’s a sight you would have expected to see in the former Soviet Union, not twenty first century USA; an aged, crudely built exterior, its walls cleverly stained brown by the rust that rained down from the aluminum roof. It reminded me of coffee stained dentures, or a distasteful hotel room watercolor.

3-30-15

Meet me where the blue sky ends,
where the tree line tumbles into the arms
of tomorrow-
meet me where the citrus sun kisses the
earth on its slow retreat,
the blue place where the moon yawns and
rises each night from its slumber-
meet me at the point of imagination,
the spot where wonder blends with
awe,
where there is no beginning,
no end…
meet me at the point where all things
are possible,
those beautiful coordinates that
tie all paths together-
lose yourself with me on those roads-
meet me where the sky ends…
walk beside me on that trail,
and let us tumble together into the
arms of tomorrow*

3-23-15

The old man lay there, nearly unconscious,
awake, but absorbing the sounds and emotions
spent nearby-
a failure to thrive, they said it was,
a failure to adapt,
a failure to grow,
to reinvent-
he always felt as if he’d walked along the beach
wearing dense rubber boots,
so close to beauty but unable to touch it-
so close…yet just out of reach-
he felt the minutes slip away into the
vastness of eternity,
tick by tick, just as they’d always gone,
and he felt sleepy…
tired,
threadbare-
he lay there…conscious but unconscious,
present, but absent,
one foot planted in this world, and yet one
stepping into the next,
he lay there alone with his thoughts,
without the strength to don his mask once more-
he breathed deeply, quietly, awake but absorbing the sounds
and emotions spent nearby,
and with silent eyes watched as the dawn absorbed the stars,
until the blue made way for the reds and yellows
and greens of the new-
a failure to thrive, they said it was,
to adapt, to grow, to reinvent-
the smell of the ocean crept in like a vine
and clung to him then..
how he longed to walk along the beach without his boots,
sand beneath his feet and the cool waves crashing against his skin…
the smell of the ocean crept in and clung to him,
as did a buoyant hope and promise that his
failure to thrive would be enveloped by his strength
to overcome*

3-5-15

I can’t help but drift off into daydream when I 

spot a plane in the sky-

maybe it’s the child in me,

still stuffed full of wonder and awe as it glints off the

sun like an afternoon star-

I wonder then, of the lives above us,

bound for the winds of everywhere…

some eager, 

some pained,

many excited, nervous, or afraid,

journeys and endings, departures and destinations…

I wonder what they’re thinking as they’re looking down upon us,

or if they’re wondering what I’m thinking while looking up,

and if our thoughts ever somehow intersect in the middle*