The Time Alone

This is about the time alone
A need to think without exterior suggestions
Confession of sort
A lead from last resort.
Or is it first instincts?
Without retort

This is Cameron Crowe movies
Of the lost-their-ways
And the good old days
And how we find ourselves
In the thickness of haze

This is the exhale that never stops
Distracted by inspiration
Until we're blue
And true
And ready to drop

And the inhale that follows
As pride is swallowed
A humbleness
A stumble's best
Features
Is that it's a teacher, yes

This is about the tones of Caitlin Rose
The reverb of guitars
Organs tell who we are
To a point where we imitate
A starting point to recreate
What we want to be
Who we need to see
In that mirror
We give graciously

Yes, This is about what most can't condone
That subtle tone
Of disapproving groans
The absence of love ones so we can define our own
This is about the growth within
This is about the time alone

In The Course...

Soft skin on sheets
Often on beat
With hearts with heat
Coffins obsolete

Cause air is plenty
In hair that's scenty
I stare relentlessly
Oh dear helpless me

Fires flare flame-less
Love dares aimless
Parts introduced, nameless
Evil calls, tame it

And curves shift, tangent
Spirits lift, and then
Losing grip but manage
Til the moment, advent

Me With Rome

Like Michael Learns to Rock standing in front of that church, except I’m 9 days too late, I present to you my birthday entry. I have to admit this entry is being written with a lack of confidence that I’ve never felt before, mainly because of the 2010 edition. If you haven’t had a chance to read “Blame it all on Being Older Now” article written on November 6, 2010, now is not the time to do so. In fact, if you wish for this article to be amazing, I advise that you never read earlier said article ever.

Has my career as a self proclaimed writer washed up like Danish pop-soft rock-late 80’s early 90’s band, MLTR? Are my brilliant pieces of word play behind me? And why couldn’t I reference a cooler band than Michael Learns to Rock??? Do I need to change my metaphoric strategy? If my articles were music, and my creativity was Bradley Nowell, would my maturity be the heroine that ended it all? Would that make me just a bass player and drummer, struggling to move on with their careers, looking for that new singer to lead me? I ask myself these very questions as I stroll through the newly snow blanketed ground, choked that I use to write almost every single day and now I’m 9 days late on my birthday entry. And I don’t remember it being this cold last year!

My iPod plays the new Sublime with Rome album, a project that I was reluctant to listen to since its release in July of this year, as I tread towards my truck. I mean, really, how can you recreate the passion that Bradley brought through those lyrics? And why the hell did I park so far from my work?? That voice was so raw and truthful. It angers me to hear when a band carries on, sans any original key members, and Sublime with Rome is was no different…because now they are with Rome. It also angers me that I declined the underground parking offered to me this summer. I slept on both opportunities. In fact, I don’t even think I was aware of the Yours Truly album’s release date . My ears stayed loyal to Santeria and What I Got and I let a great artist from Long Beach rest soundly in his grave. Until today.

Many people use the phrase, “when in Rome,” but when you are talking about a man with the same name, some will think twice. In this case, I thought twice and decided to go a different direction. Rome Ramirez is a brave soul, standing in the spot of a artist that was loved by so many. His voice hauntingly resembles Bradley’s as I youtube some live performances, which are tagged with harsh comments about the change in line up. “You’ll never replace Bradley!” commented one viewer; “Rome is delusional if he thinks he has more talent than Bradley’s pinky finger!” said others; “If you want a larger penis GUARANTEED, go to this site!” fibbed some more. And then I started to think, “hey that last comment just took me to a website that sells pills that will cost me $199.00. I don’t think this is safe.” And I also thought, “Can loyalty to great things cause bias judgment on DIFFERENT things?”

I mean, with Rome, it’s different. And I don’t think the band intended it to be anything but. Things are always changing. I even stated this in my 2010 entry. So why are we comparing now to a time long gone? Because Yours Truly is a really good album and Rome really is a talented artist. Had he been in a different band, I think that the comments on the youtube video would have been much different, except maybe for the penis enlargement spam.

So in closing, for those of you who are saying that this article is crap and that you don’t even know who I am anymore, I got one thing to say to you. I’m still that same person, just with a little bit of Rome in me. Wait, let’s do that again. What I’m saying is things don’t have to be better to be good. So take Bradley’s voice out of your head and enjoy the new album. Because remembering the past is one thing, but being stuck in it is unfortunately, another.

Damn you Scully

I make the last left turn before the spot, turning my headlights off as we slowly pull up. She sits in the passenger seat, eyes searching for the scene that would go along with my claim of corruption and injustice. It feels like we’re in an X-file episode, which if you don’t know of, please educate yourself. But here is the Coles note. You got this believer by the name of Mulder, running around searching for the truth while this annoying doctor, Scully, tags along, set out to disprove all his discoveries. “Look! See, I found an alien,” Mulder would say and Scully would reply, “no, that’s a deformed old lady that escaped the nursing home.” Doctor? More like your average party pooper to me. But as the show progresses you realize that Mulder needs that skepticism. I mean, you can’t go through life too far on one side or else everything will look like aliens to you, you know what I mean? You got to face each situation with an understanding of both side before making judgment.

“Ok, keep your eyes peeled for a police cruiser just casually parked in front of this abandoned building.” I direct. She sees it. “See! Why the hell would 5.0 be parked outside a “for lease” building? Am I right? Am I right? Every day for the last 3 months, I’ve been driving by this place and the police are either entering or exiting this building. But why? I’ll tell you why. They got something illegal going on in there. The “for lease” thing is without a doubt a front. They probably got prostitutes in there or millions and millions of dollars worth of drugs that they have been “confiscating” from the “bad guys”.”

I’m sure to use only one hand when making the quotations signs to emphasize my sarcasm, seeing as driving safe requires at least one hand on the wheel. “Oh it’s on now. I’m going to blow this thing wide open, send a letter to the mayor and everything! I’m going Serpico on their asses! This corruption has gone too far! Too far I tell you. Just thinking about all the tax dollars that go towards their salary makes me sick. Literally. I just puked in my mouth a little. Actually, can you pass me that water bottle? I need to wash --”

“Edmonton Police Services”

“I know honey, now can I have that water bottle. I ate some spaghetti and it isn’t tasting that good coming up --”

“No you idiot. It says, “Edmonton Police Services” right there above the door. I’m pretty sure the “For lease” sign is for the space beside this one.”

“Impossible. I’ve driven pass this place a hundred times and I’ve never seen – oh there it is…”

Damn you Scully. Damn you.

Days of Different Shades

It takes a shade of lipstick
To acknowledge me
That we are unknowing now
Unknowingly
It gets stranger
We're stranger, once a danger
To my identity
I'm counting inventory
Just to maintain 
Some sensory
Once natural, elementary
Once a wonder from your company
Now more cumbersome to a degree
Searching for the sound of your voice
By choice
That was fully equipped
Fully enriched
Words that lay
Behind that new shade of lips

Just, If I

This is me, in the heart of fall
Coldness lurks, death’s frantic call
And this stillness shakes me
Reflecting on things that break me
Crushing the spirit, but in the end
It makes me
And I don’t even know it
Like a true spoken poet
Stumbling since I was born
Clothes worn get so worn
Torn
By the sacrifices for greater good
Sometimes unaccepting yet always understood
And if I could
I’d choose a path well justified
If not at the time, then at the end
Besides,
It’s just, if I
Could be aware, well then
I’d feel spared
Broken,
Or rather, temporarily impaired
But is it not so?
Amidst all my woes,
I’m here, with less fear
And all my fingers and toes
And in turn, all my paths Undeniable
Justifiable
Through and through
Sweet tragedies, renewed
And regret is but a debt
That is way over due
Respectively
I’m repressed free
Earning my yearnings
War wounds of stories
And as I’ve written before
Nothing less, nothing more
To the core
Extensively
Expense free
This is me. This is me.

The Best When Depressed

Although this sentence is being read seamlessly by your eyes right now, the time it took for me to put it together was frustratingly long. No, I’m not a slow typer but I’m at a place in my life where I can’t seem to write; more accurately, I can’t seem to finish any piece that I start. Call it writer’s block if you will but I think there’s more to it. So after countless unfinished sentences I’ve decided to force myself to write about something. Anything. Take it back to elementary school, you know? Book report style.

I read an article recently about a theory surrounding depression and how it may not be an illness. In fact, the author, who’s name I can’t recall anymore, stated that he actually would categorize depression as a skill for survival; a tool for evolution. He goes on to say that when someone is depressed, they dwell on their problems. They analyze it. The focus alone will eventually lead to ways of resolving the problem. Which makes sense. I can definitely see a homeless man inventing something beneficial to society, like a cardboard waterproof vest as oppose to some rich spoiled Hollywood kid. Which would also explain how cave men invited fire and such. I can picture it now.

“Hey Larry, wanna go hunting?”

“No…”

“What is up with you man? Seems like you never want to do anything in the winter!”

“What is up with me? What is up with me!? I’ll tell you what the fuck is up with me, Travis! Unfortunately, I wasn’t born with chest hair like you! Which means that I get bad coughs every fucking time I go out hunting in the snow! And my teeth! Look at them! They aren’t as sharp as yours either so I don’t need to hunt! I can’t even chew that raw meat! I just pick these damn berries all day long! Which doesn’t do much for my ego and I just cry myself to sleep at night, which actually works out because thanks to the exhaustion from crying, the freezing nights can’t wake me!”

“What are those words you’re using. foock-ing? What is that?”

“Fucking? I don’t know man. I’m so angry lately and that sound seems to help. Nothing else does.”

“Wow, that’s depressing.”

“Yeah…I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We need to invent fire, sweaters and cough syrup.”

“Ok man….Hey, on another note, can you help me write a poem about how I’m feeling. Lately, I haven’t been able to write anything. And you’ve got like a whole novel over there on your wall. Love the stick figure that’s stabbing himself, by the way.”

“Thanks. It’s because you’re happy Travis. She was a good catch.”

“Who? That bear I killed the other day?”

“No, your new girlfriend.”

“Yeah, we are definitely not fucking.”

“….doesn’t sound as good in that context for some reason.”

“Yeah, true. We’ll work on that one.”