You Can't Go Home Again

The OLD SKOOL....ahhh, nostalgia.

I borrowed mom's car and kicked it out today to some much-needed freedom. Where, oh where, did I go? Taco Mac.
This place used to be my drinking hole, and much worse. Why did I go there? It was part of my life, a major part. A huge area of my life where the line between good and bad blurred to a drunken haze. I hadn't been there in over a year.

Walking into the dimly lit place, I flashed so many memories. A few semi-conscious drunks turned and recognized me. Not much had changed at all. I was bear-hugged, high-fived, and back-slapped too many times to count. The resounding opinion was that I was either dead or married, one in the same to this crew of slurpers. I bought a beer, lit a smoke, and absorbed the atmosphere of the hole. So many days, both wasted and entertained, flooded back to me across the wooden bar under my slouchful elbows.

The usuals bought the rest of the drinks. I shook so many hands that I felt like I was at a funeral, or maybe a wake. I wandered giddy to the bathroom, avoiding the routine cluster of the sniffers. I heard someone shout "suck MEEEEEE!" from the bar and thought of my life in hindsight.

You know drunks--no one leaves until someone pukes. I cajoled, pointed out various random sights of entertainment (mainly the waitress' butts), and shimmied out of there. Being the day before T'giving, I took it easy on the way home.

Freedom. To be away from there was freedom. To not need that place any more, or really even miss anyone, well that's freedom. I drove home and helped mom set up the Christmas tree. And I felt wiser, and safer. Thanks for the memories.

When You Travel

When apart from you I am filled with the empty air of a cold, lonely night. The hollowness of my bones squall mournful noises like the shrieks of ghosts caught between the living and the hereafter. I can't contain you; I cannot bear your distance. I see you now through my thoughts as you wind into dark valleys and over hidden mountains. I feel your departure and seek desperately a way to reach out to you, to touch you through voice or thoughts or even resigned dreams.

I know to not interfere in your departure. You are on the path to make your life better and I am involved in the mending of my lost and torn paths. The closeness of your soul sometimes feels like hot breath on my neck, and other times like the cold wind seeping through cracks of my bundled clothing. Light is so much warmer with you near and darkness never seemed so tangible as in your absence. I bid you the best wishes in your journey.

Finality

I've thrown the fucking ring into the fire. Be gone, evil!

Mark to Kelly: When will you find happiness?

I will find happiness when I find inner peace. Until I am happy with me and in my "world" or environment I can't make anyone happy. And I think true happiness is sharing that feeling with the one you love. Making that person smile is my happiness.

Kelly to Mark: Explain your idea of a soulmate?

A soulmate is a person that literally shares your thoughts, that feels your happiness and shine, that relates to you through all the differences between one another. A soulmate is someone who you dream about in the actuality and reality of waking life. A soulmate can support you, change you, surprise you, complete you, love you deeper than a ring or a vow, and helps life to have purpose beyond the horizon your human eyes strain to see.

Mark to Kelly: What makes you feel positive (either activities, things, or sensory things)?

Being able to exercise the passion I have for rhinos that results in a successful outcome that directly improves their future or enriches their current existance.

Kelly to Mark: What inspires you to write? And would you change that?

Pain, fear, loss, glee, insight, desperation are among the first indicators that trigger my feeling to write. Some writings come to me complete, some just a sentence or thought or even just a word. I would not change my writing based on feelings as inputs but I would like to change my writings habits to be more dedicated to writing everyday and not just every now and then.

Mark to Kelly: Do you know who your future holds for you?

I know God has already recorded the data of my future and he is the one who is in control. But only I can make that happen. So I guess I hold my future but God is in control of that future. And its up to me to make it happen.


Kelly to Mark: What do you feel is your greatest flaw?

Not following through to complete big projects. Fulfilling the ideas I have motivation for, but not enough time for because I don't make the time. Not giving myself enough credit.

Mark to Kelly: How will you change yourself tomorrow based on the feelings you had today?

After spending time with you I feel I have the same feelings about what I would like to see in the future. When I say same feelings I mean same as when I am at home and lonely. I know the feelings and emotions I have are real.

Kelly to Mark: If we are in control of our future Where will you be on November 6, 2006?

A question I pondered last night and still have no definite idea. I'd like to be signing my book in City Lights bookstore in San Fran. I'd like to be happy, on a good path, and wiser.



Thanks Kelly, you rule.

The current truth

Well the roller coaster of the day has malfunctioned and is currently in park. And this is the fuel that keeps this coaster at the bottom of the loop. Parental discretion advised:


Fuck your world and fuck your kind Go fuck yourself Youre fucking barely alive I used to think of what you meant to me I think of you every fucking day Why the fuck did i let you into my heart Now where do i begin Today is my last fucking chance Erase it all and kill my past Fuck what we fucking said The memories dont mean shit Dont give a fuck about what youll say The memories dont mean shit, anymore Youre societys whore Anymore Ill walk through this wasteland before ill ever fucking hold your hand again Ill burn forever before i ever fucking see your face again, in hell Anymore And youre societys whore Anymore Fuck you forever Ill despise you for the rest of these days Fuck you forever Ill fucking hate you for the rest of my life Why the fuck did i let you into my heart Now where do i begin Today is my last fucking chance Erase it all and kill my past Fuck what we fucking said The memories dont mean shit Dont give a fuck about what youll say


I'm tired now

Advice......I'm a hag!!

So I wrote this on the way to Jacksonville-

Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there... to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson or help figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never know who these people may be... your neighbor, child, long lost friend, lover, or even a complete stranger who, when you lock eyes with them you know that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way. And sometimes things happen to you at the time that may seem horrible, painful and unfair, but in reflection you realize that without overcoming those obstacles you would have never realized your potential strength, will power or heart. Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck. Illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without these small tests, whether they be events, illnesses or relationships, life would be like a smoothly paved, straight, flat road to nowhere... safe and comfortable but dull and utterly pointless. The people you meet affect your life. The successes and downfalls that you experience can create who you are, and the bad experiences can be learned from. In fact, they are probably the most poignant and important ones. If someone hurts you, betrays you or breaks your heart, forgive them because they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious to whom you open your heart. If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not only because they love you, but because they are teaching you to love and open your heart and eyes to little things. Make every day count. Appreciate every moment and take from it everything that you possibly can, for you may never be able to experience it again. Talk to people you have never talked to before, and actually listen. Let yourself fall in love, break free and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are a great individual and believe in yourself, for if you don't believe in yourself, no one else will believe in you. You can make of your life anything you wish. Create your own life and then go out and live it, with absolutely no regrets. Learn a lesson in life each day you live. And most importantly, if you love someone tell them, for you never know what tomorrow may have in store.

Why can't I trust me?

Grammar and Fear

I don't like hearing noises outside my house at night, especially strange noises. Why? It reminds me of my ex and her unending paranoia. I don't ever want to think or fear or react like her sketched-out form did, never. Endless anxiety driven questions about totally nutty stuff like "who is out there?" and "You can't hear them??? OH, you're just one of them too." It nearly drove me crazy trying to help her find the ground, you know, reality.
So, when I hear weird sounds outside of my house I think of my ex and make damn sure that they are real, actual sounds...and they are, of course. So then the discussion of "what WAS that noise?" begins and either I'm nervous, annoyed, or so curious I have to investigate it. Tonight was a nervous investigation.
I pinpointed the noise origin from the following insightful data:
A. I was inside, and I wasn't hearing it. It must be outside.
B. It was coming from the street, which certainly does not run through my house.
C. It was a very loud noise (no amplification was necessary) so it was actually pretty easy to locate.

It was time to face the noise and deal with it. I needed a cigarette by now anyway.

As I walked outside the noise grew in proximity. I stepped into the shadows of my unlit carport and sat in a squeaky lawn chair obscured from sight by the car. I listened and held my breath like a deer hunter. Their approach began...

"HEY! Sing that old Compton shit man." Much wooohooing and such. Drunks, in a gaggle of 3 to be accurate. Loudly bleating old-school Westcoast Compton NWA rap to be exact. And I'll hand it to them, they did remember most of the words.
My cigarette was extinguished and curiosity was satisfied, even bored, by the source of the questionable "out of place" noise. I went back into my room, stopping by the restroom on the way. I caught myself in the mirror mumbling along to "Straight Out Of Compton." I couldn't help but wonder if those drunk dudes got home.

"Blame it on Ice Cube... Because he says it gets funky/When you got a subject and a predicate"-NWA Express Yourself.

I'm listening to country music right now. Before you start egging me let me explain. I just broke off an engagement and if you ever, EVER need to relate to some sad-ass sappy music then go country. I worked on my friend's house and the foreman there blasted the glow-draining drivel from 7 to 7 every-honkin'-day. Eventually a couple of songs wormed their way into my brain and I am disgusted to admit that I even downloaded a couple of them for my Itunes. One of them is on right now, and as sappy as it is...I'm prompted to write in da' blog.

This morning me and my buddy pdaddy took his van and picked up some stuff from my old townhouse. Ahhh, the townhouse. The routine of the place filled me with nostalgia. The Tuesday landscaping crew and its cacophonic entourage blanketed the entire neighborhood. I came for the back patio furniture so I had no need to enter the place. We walked around back and there was some punk talking on the phone sitting on my chair. I told him I came for the furniture and he moved, never dropping the phone. A bullet lay in the ashtray. The backdoor was open and I looked in and saw her sitting on a chair in the living room. She didn't get up, just sat there and stared at me and pdaddy moving the stuff. The punk just nodded as we walked off but mumbled that he is "starting to see my point of view". Pdaddy and I exchanged glances and carried the patio stuff on to the van.

I feel different, altered. I have almost all of my stuff back--the important stuff is with me--and it is like the whole engagement/relationship is so finally over that it is almost like it was all just a very long, very bad nightmare. On the way home, Pdaddy and I swapped silly stories and commented on traffic. I finally feel normal again, thank God. Pdaddy, I sure appreciate the help. Stay cool.