No, If You Think Twice

Pass on the passive
And rock it, so blast off
The aggression of depression
Is a lesson
To pull casts off

And if that’s soft
Cover it with loud coughs
And imitate the appropriate
That will create
Sudden stops

Listen, give and take
Wishing, live and break
Chuckle over white knuckles
And buckle
For goodness sake

Cause life is so funny
We miss darkness when it’s sunny
All slaves of the graves
Trying to save
All that money

So, words of advice
No, if you think twice
And older is not colder
If the molder
Is out of sight

Now Supersedes

And my smile is refreshed
With unannounced lips on my cheek
Chilled from foreign atmosphere
Prepared by a timid tongue

An armless embrace
Wanted in the best way
So cheers to being interesting
Maybe never again but now

And we can be what time allows!
Mysterious, if only for a moment
Excited, if only from anticipation
Apprehensive, if only from mistakes

But as heart race, I'll risk another
Raise the stakes so to not regret
Raise a glass to potentials for security
For validations of pre-sleep wishes

For stories to tell
and to life as we know it
And in the rush of the good times
Let history be history

Complexity Between Needle and The Record

As I am typing these words the understanding of how this computer works comes so naturally. My brain articulates the sentences and then simplifies it one word at a time. These words are then filtered down to letters that my finger tip identifies on the keyboard; simple circuits then make their way to the computer tower which processes the information and puts everything back together again; projecting it on the monitor. Justin Timberlake's Ayo Technology is playing through the speakers while I type and I explain this simply as the result of a laser that scans the digital information that was printed onto the plastic disc, sending that data to an application that translates it into sounds. Advanced, are we, the generation of the iPod.

I often laugh at my parents when they fail to understand the concept behind the above. I shake my head at them when I am asked to burn them a CD. And I sit back and think, this is a good thing. As an offspring of these two individuals who met when they were in their early twenties back in the dinosaur ages, I’m doing right by outgrowing them. I mean, my comprehension of the world as we know it far surpasses theirs. God help them when they are out there having to deal with email bank transfers and skyping! And I feel good about it; I feel superior, in a sense.

Earlier, in my "single's chair", I listen as my parents talk about how they met; my father trying to be attentive with his newspaper open and my momma reminiscing on the love seat with him. “Did you know that your father is my first boyfriend? And I’m his first girlfriend? And we’ve been in love ever since?” BARF.

I put Ray LaMontagne’s Trouble record into the record player and let the needle feel the grooves in the black disc, hoping to drown out this corny romance story of theirs; an explosion of guitars, violin, vocals, harmonicas and drums flow through the speakers into my ears. Now, if you ever listen to a vinyl record you’ll notice how organic and true it is. Honestly, it is the next best thing from listening to the artist live. Why is that? I guess it has to do with a little connection between the needle and the record. Apparently, as the record spins, microscopic bumps and grooves on the surface of the disc initiate a vibration that resonates into a symphony of sounds. As tangible as that may seem, I always have a hard time understanding how bass and synthesizers, electric guitars and a human voice can come from bumps and groves and one simple needle. So as the record plays I glance over at my parents, hand in hand laughing at some fossil memories that they dug up together and I shuffle in my "single's chair". I retract my earlier statement. I’m not superior at all.

Last night I was asked, “How many times in your life have you fallen in love?”

To which I replied, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I know how many times I think I’ve been in love," I think about what I just said, "It’s funny because you don’t really know that you’re in love until you’re there. Then you question on whether you were really there, when you’re not anymore. Truly, I don’t know. Maybe twice?”

Funny. Ask me about the inner workings of the latest modern hand held devices or theories of why time travel to the past is impossible and I can explain it to some degree but ask me about love and I can't give a straight answer.

My parents are still holding hands. I guess it has to do with a little connection between the needle and the record.

Balancing What We Call Life

The cold fall weather flows through my truck like a tornado in Kansas City robbing the tip of my nose of any heat that it may have had. I crank up the heater to its maximum level and open the vents that would deliver hot fire air, counter attacking this cold front. I reach for the wool tuque equipped with ear flaps and tie it tight to my head as if it were a motorcycle helmet and I was Evel Knievel sitting at the top of the grand canyon. The warm tea in my right hand delivers rations of blanket-like warmth down my throat, causing the chills to scatter, if only for a moment. I turn to my brother in the passenger seat to see how he’s making out.

“You are fucking retarded?” He screams. “Let’s just roll up the windows!”

“But I like the fresh air, stupid!”

Ah, life is complicated isn’t it?

Dear Sigh The Sign,

She texts me at 11:11, truly this is a sign.
So naturally I sigh when I see my mind at the picket line
holding up stop signs. And as my motto goes,
"barriers will bury you," and I step forth
with my left foot as a sign of good faith,
truthful or not, it's effort that will go rewarded.
For I can look back with regret but I will not forget
the feeling of control and accountability. And I construct a sign
reading "errors permitted." Surely, where I stand
years from now will be paved
from the mistakes and great choices I make now.
And I can wonder about the various stories
that I can never tell
but I'll realize that this is me, mistakes and all.

Signed,
Me

Repeated Offender of Mistakes

Today I grab one of many pens out of my stationary holder only to realize that it was out of ink. No, it wasn’t the manufacture’s fault. I actually remember using up all the ink and putting it back into the holder. My bad. Out of shear laziness I scribble blanks onto my paper pad hoping to unclog something that will release more ink, but I knew deep down inside that it was empty. I put the pen back into the holder and grab a fresh one.

How many times do we have to repeat our mistakes before we grow up?

To You, It Don't Concern, Stop

My heart beats like morse code
Desperate to send a message, stop
The way you smile like you use to
Is pulling my attention, stop
Tap tap tap on my chest it goes
Hoping for translation, stop
So obtuse to this truth
That I dare not say it, stop
And to be transparent is foolish
So let's put on this act, stop
Watch these stars in the night
Until my heart beat stops

Sincerely, etc etc. Stop