Young World Stay True

And we crash like cars
We crow like bars
Smash like hammers
As bright as stars

We love like first
Urgent like thirst
Strong like Arm
Binding as curse

We scream like ice
We're skilled like nice
Buzzed like bees
Unpredictable as dice

And we hurt like gigs
Snap like twigs
Rebound like balls
And serious as cigs

So laugh like sits
Blow like hits
Grow like western trees
But stay true as shit

My Offical End of Summer Blog

The yellow leaves crunching on the paved sidewalk give me that monster-like quality as I destroy them as if they were buildings to a densely populated city. I catch the sun light through the branches and realized without a doubt that fall had arrived. I inhale the smell of new through my nose; the air a little more chill; my heart a little more whole and I knew this day would come. There are many inevitable moments in this unpredictable life and here I stand in one. Indeed the leaves will fall; as surely as it is not a good idea to play leap frog with a unicorn; as surely as it is for the mucho-est of men to look like nothing more than retarded when rollerblading; and as surely as the fact that nothing is forever. Although for most of that list, it is a matter of opinion, the final holds true every time. As pessimistic as it sounds, one can also look to it as indifferent or even uplifting. Here are some examples.



A few months ago, I thought it was hilarious to imitate the tune that plays on the Price is Right when the contestant fails on their guess. You know, the one that sounds like a sad little tuba that ends up falling down the stairs. If you don’t know, I attached a youtube video of that very sound. Oh did I have fun. Possibly the time of my life. Picture me walking down the office hallway at work when sweet little Gillian comes over with her hot coffee, happy to be starting off the day with the sun shining. Suddenly, her 3 inch heels slips from under her causing her knees to give way resulting in Gillian, flat on her face with hot coffee everywhere, including her new white blouse. Holly Golightly would have shouted “timber!” but not me. I kneeled down to Gillian and look into her embarrassed and shaken eyes and I say * press play on the youtube video *. Classic right? I know! Or how about when I was walking home and a single mother of 3 found a parking ticket on her car windshield? * press play on the youtube video *. I would have even said it when Misty, my friend’s girlfriend came over crying and screaming, “Oh my god, Rich Cronin from Lyte Funky Ones died today of Lukemia!” but nothing last forever. And for those of you who pressed play on the youtube video after reading that, shame on you. Just joking. * High five *

Recently, I’ve been finding it very satisfying to call people assholes through my teeth; under my breath as they are walking away from me, almost loud enough for them to hear. Sure, it would be equally, if not more, satisfying to say it in front of their face. But for this moment, I’ma go with the under my breath technique. Like Carl, the guy that took my coffee order at Second Cup yesterday morning.

“Yes?”

“Good morning Carl, can I get a black coffee please. Oh and the bagel in the middle.”

“Sigh. Which bagel? They are all in the middle, relatively.”

“Oh. This one,” I pointed.

“God! Can you just describe it? Your finger is all crooked!”

“uh, sure, the one that looks like a donut.” And then, I turn my head about 82…no no, 84 degrees to my right and 75 degrees downward and let it out, “ASSHOLE!”

“Hey, I heard that! You’ve been doing that to me all week buddy. When are you going to give it a rest and get a life??”

“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing is forever Carl.” And then, I turn my head about 82…no, 84 degrees to my right and 75 degrees downward and let it out, “ASSHOLE!”

So you see, nothing is forever. Some things will linger longer than others. But rest assure things will change. Yeah, maybe great relationships will end and maybe that successful up and coming intern will make one mistake and plummet down the hierarchy but maybe not. Cause maybe things get better. The leaves fall differently in the eyes of many who walk this sidewalk with me. One lady can’t seem to stop the leaves from falling right into her mouth, gagging and spitting as frequent as a crack head scratches. Another lady can’t seem to keep from shivering at the climate change, wrapping herself in scarves and leg warmers. Me? All I see is a gorgeous field of yellow beyond recreation. Summer is gone, yes. But let’s take this as an opportunity for new perspectives. Nothing is forever. Good times will get better and then it might go away, but you know what? Pain isn’t forever either. Take care.

Faces of Another Time

Residue of dreams linger
Hand in hand with my wandering mind
Although new topics have surfaced now
Indeed there was a time
But their meaning here, I do not know
Faces that have faded
Gone
Revisits in the dead of night
And leave unfinished by the dawn
With hints of my pillow,
I awake sound yet perplex
The day brings me nothing
To build on or connect
So I wait for the shift, the moon’s watch
Falling deep into blanket plains
And there I wait for a form of progress
As the faces appear once again

For Lack of Better Motivation

For lack of better, I recall that sweater
That complimented an eager heart
While seasons changed, reasons range
Now calmly vented, received through art

So with eyes closed, and lies exposed
Come feel this life overflow
An expression dares repression there
To try and close down low

A product, oddest , is a product regardless
Hold back no more than fear
Of a common truth, of the ominous youth
Which surely falls on the deftness of ears

But more than ears, these words are for tears
Like a gust to a falling feather
And the aspiration to ask for motivation
I inhale as I recall that sweater

Let Song Save Us

By chance, in our trance
We define our core
Through the songs that belongs
With us forever more

But despite our fight
And victorious walk
Them all that fall
We shall not mock

And that too with tattoos
Will mark this time
When height and sight
Is achieved through rhyme

The heartache we partake
Is just a means
And this sorrow is borrowed
No more than a scene

For sooner than lunar
Will the sun light come
Grip neck, and reflect
Give the guitar a strum

Bitter vs. Sweet

*Note, this is a demo of a song I wrote. There's relations to the blog below. Enjoy.


I take a sip from my tin travel mug as my truck comes to a halt at red lit intersection, fighting the bitterness that attacks my mouth. I’ve always had a thing for drinking hot water (no, I’m not 65 years old.) and for as long as I’ve had this mug it’s been a coffee virgin; all until a couple of months ago when possessed with the demons of a failed relationship and a desperation to keep from sleeping (to prevent dreaming of her – The Starting Line reference. You’re welcome) I impulsively poured some 7eleven coffee into the pure, clean container. Ever since then, regardless of the thorough cleaning jobs, my hot water has been coming out contaminated with that corroded, dark drug that is caffeine.

Now I cringe as I carry on the task of cleaning out my truck, which had began to resemble a bottle depot with all the empty water bottles and what not scattered anywhere and everywhere. I also found a glass bottle of jalapeno wine to which I’m declining to speak about at this moment. The rain pitter patters on my truck’s cracked windshield and reminds me of how crappy the weather has been. It seems like it hasn’t stopped raining since she left. I reach into the darkness of the passenger seat, pulling out the odd hair clip – fossils of that brief affair, horrible in its final stretch. Maybe it was her only option to provoke the dialogue that would end it all, but for the last few weeks of our relationship, she did not treat me very well. A hug from me could cause her great irritation. I remember taking a picture with a tree by myself on our holiday because she did not want to be in it. But whatever. I looked good. Sad though. I would lay there on our hotel bed silently as she watched the television, refusing to have a conversation with me. She took my photo off her cell phone wall paper. And it worked. I ended up confronting her 1000 km away from home and she ended it right then and there. In the days that followed, I could immediately tell that she was happier than she ever was in my arms. I can’t help but think about those times with such bitterness.



In the last stretch of my cleaning I discovered a zip lock bag filled with cookies; a book mark from that trip 2 months ago. She had packed it for the drive and they were damn good cookies. It brought me back to that night on the hotel bed, while those heavy words dropped out of her mouth I was screaming inside, “Don’t do this! Why can’t you remember all the great times we’ve had? You’ll change your mind if you would just remember! Like that time on your momma’s porch. The sun was shining and we lingered there before I had to go home. I told you that you were stuck with me and you smiled and said you had no problem with it! Why don’t you just remember??” Literally though, that was one of the best moments of my life (not the break up, the summer on her momma’s porch). Just like the lyrics in Bryan Adam’s Summer of 69. Sigh. Point is, I had forgotten that moment up until these cookies, which is ironic because there I was screaming for her to remember it, and now here I am just remembering it myself.

Does bitterness consume us to a point where good memories are lost? Were these cookies that I found a sign that I need to let go of the things that have upset me for the sake of preserving the great moments that I deserve to remember? Is it bad to eat 2 month old cookies? I think about these important questions as I bite into the hard dry dessert which still has the same sweetness that I remembered. And with that, all the laughter and great times flooded back to me. The touch of her hand in mine at the art gallery; the conversations over hot chocolate; the LRT rides; the John Mayer concert; my strange kisses that made her giggle; introducing her to my friends at a wedding; the walks. We had great times together regardless of the break up. It’ll be a shame to forget them, no? And another thing ab-- *choke*

I reach for the mug to wash down the sweet dry cookie, apparently a little harder to swallow than anticipated (see what I’m doing here?) but I stop. Maybe this cookie discovery is trying to teach me something. Maybe it's the last chance for me to leave the past on a sweet note or in this case a sweet tooth. I don’t need that bitterness in my mouth again. Have you swallowed your cookies yet?