So there it is, up in the air, movements for the currency. I’m just a dude with mad problems or no problem at all, the why and the how – a fixated thing commingling with strength – a new face with armor for amour and what not. You see, I’m just a dude raised by that which makes me individual. I – N – D – I – vidual.

“Did you think too much today?”

“Yeah man, I did, shed a few tears as my car rolled through to see ya”

“What’s it mean?”

“Don’t know… I asked God in my note app for help, felt things pouring off me”

“You believe in God?!”

“I want to, I cry for God, I yearn to feel its universe take me over and set me free”

You see, we just people, without much true definable balances. We just people, fractions and experiences giving us the bumps and gold that we are ourselves asking for.

‘What do you want?”

“Want? Hmmm,..to feel this weight in something other than anger, to accept everything I cannot change, to punch a city block with my fist and watch it explode…to hug my cat outside for the first time. To stand up in a crowded space and yell “what are you really thinking?” I want a lot of things, but I already have so much of what I wanted the last time we spoke”

“Yeah its been a minute. What’s next if you don’t really want anything? You should def stand up and yell that sometime”

“I might…No clue really, maybe just some clearing for my head, for a day, maybe,… I need some new shoes fella, maybe a rich older women who will let me be a house cat”

You see, no matter what the differing languages or narratives that are fiction…Its all just a game. Others around us feed off our contemplation, life being life, an excitable risk but a hurtful immediacy for the ones living it. Although the very art of living it, means you are experiencing the major gift afforded to a human being – to know you’re alive means to feel being alive. To know you feel means you are being yourself…the rest is the rest, and the low frequencies of communications don’t stick, hell, they don’t even register a wave of any kind. So forget’m

“Are you down?”

“Yeah man, I’m down, exposed, and raw, ready to be vulnerable and tough, so I guess I’m not all the way as you said, down”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to put one foot in front of the other, and keep walking through doors dude, one day at a time”

“Ha, that sounds like a self help mantra”

“Right…I mean, everything out here is some form of “Self Help”, even the shit we do that doesn’t help, it all goes back to that place,  either way you swing it.”

“Good point”

You see, I’m a man who is still, but inside me is a current that gives, and loves, and works. Its the ocean, its the animal vibrations, the camp fire rumination, and the words I stutter when they make me nervous. And I get nervous, and I’m still here. Thats effort, that who is me, and me who is him – a complicated pulsing body of energy just waiting for the next story, in this book that has absolutely no dust on it, because its used, a favorite, A “I can’t put it down” top ten, favorite – existence, full bodied expression, a sun a moon, and the damn dirt to burry the bullshit. Don’t forget your shovel.

“You believe in Flow?”

“Like what…if it flows, then it goes?… yeah man, thats how I’m out here now, flow, or bye in all directions, but nervous, def nervous, or i was taught to be”

“How do you know though?”

“You don’t, its about listening to the awareness you’ve worked for up until now, and testing it, learning, failing, creating a remedy to improve”

“That seems like it could get too passive, or hell, even lonely”

“Well, as applied to being with girls or friends in gerneral, yeah man, it can be tricky, but you just feel it, you know, a sense of it, if its too hard, or nerve racking, then its just not happening…ha, I say that but its complicated, I’m open to all suggestions, I have no clue what you do once you step out of the philistine cage”

You see, the faces are planted in time I cannot reach anymore, no reasons, no rhymes, just bankrupt old news that fuels the epiphany curriculums for these new pathways. Give me an edge and I’ll  put it on a sword, place it into a stone, then watch it shoot out colors of imagination. Your storms are not negotiable. I am I-N-D-I VIDUAL, all the  thrills, highly original. Turn the page please.

“You ever regret things, surely you regret something, right?”

“Regret?, yeah man, I regret talking to you right now, no but for real…yeah, I regret things. I mean, I’m alive and thats gonna come with a lot of regret, a lot of contemplations, so much wonder about the “what if,” and the “should not”, but its too late for any of that. The regrets aren’t real, they don’t exist. I can be anyone I want to be, at any moment. Now that doesn’t mean I don’t feel for those situations I could regret. When we regret it means a part of ourselves is out in the world and that narrative we fear belongs to the mind of someone else, we fear those versions of ourselves that no longer belong to us, and will never be us again.”

“I think I know what you mean, like…opinion, or reputation?”

“Sure, or anything really, that moments you regret is frozen, and frankly they are gifts to others who need them to feel better about their regrets, we have to be the villain as much as we have to be the victim, or the hero, we owe debts for each”

“Now I’m lost”

“Good, because you’re too young not to be lost”

You see, its all moving and changing and circling back to a different you in this point in time. Nothing matters anymore but the next step forward, the ego is dead, so redundant in its exposure, its lack of care, its general sense of black hole dispositions, just dead. The prancing taps of your feet can pull you up from the grown swirl, then you can shoulder that shit, let it dip, push it with the hip, then brush it off with your newest versions, tighten up your fancy for the next episode in what is sure to be a regret or a win, or the story you feed yourself for your future. We just change, nothing more. We just are now, nothing more. Next phase please.

“Good seeing you man”

Yeah, it was, thanks for letting me express things, I needed it today buddy”

“Don’t thank me, Its fun to see you passionate about something” 

“I love ya”

“Love you too”

“No matter what”

After The Before

after the before

There use to be a simple idea in my head about creating fantasy to obtain reality. When in actual reality, you are in the moment you are in, not without control of actions, but without certainty. A life unfolds in the ether, it shifts and moves with an abundance of thoughts, materials, shuttering within itself. There is nothing wrong with hope, or “manifesting” your directions to see how much of your future you can control, it’s a technique to surviving through this giant mess of existence. I’m learning over these past months, there is no control. You like things, you project a persona to hold onto what you like. Yeah, be real, be authentic, but the world is gonna be the world, and you are in it, without much control. You have your moments, and a developing philosophy on how to get through them, but ultimately you just have yourself. Yes, other people are important. I’m not saying your alone so be alone, I’m saying OWN YOURSELF, then be in the world.

I certainly believe in energy. There is a force you give and take from. This field gives it back to you, I believe that. I have no answers to any questions beyond myself, and in that self, is an endless line of more questions, so what do I really know? A person, if they’re connected to who they are, knows what to do, how to trust their intuition, right? Many times the fantasy we create will confuse that instinct, it will blurry the lines, shade the colors, and put you out there slightly different from what you might realize. I don’t know if it’s a bad thing. I figure “fantasy” creates ambition, which creates purpose, and brings forth new lights, and education? All those things are good. It’s easy to see how quickly we can get swept up in a faith or perspective that’s not really ours, but brought back to us from transferring our fears, or ideals in self, onto someone else, or a new experience.

Lets be clear here. Life is already hard without spending the moments in it hoping to gain even the slightest grasp on what it is you’re trying to accomplish. Do we really ever know what we’re doing? Or do we spend our whole life trying to figure it out, so we’re sheltered from the true blue reality that its gonna be over, poof, we’re gone? I most certainly want to live a full life, free to myself, within a community of like-minded or differing people. But it’s fantasy. It’s not so far off that it won’t happen, but I can’t help but think the idea of it keeps me from truly living right now. All we are is now, whats behind a door, or a curtain, doesn’t matter, you’re always going to have to go straight through it, not around it. I’m gonna hopefully stop trying to predict, or know whats after, the before. I can go straight through anything, taking and giving, sponging for art, building up myself so I can live as an example in boldness, or simply stated, truly being who I am, not who I am supposed to be, or who I think I can become through remedy.

There is no riddle to solve. Sure, learn from what you do. You better be open to that part, but there is no answers, just more and more questions. You pick up little pieces and build fictional houses in your mind of what you believe gives you the sense that you are on top of everything. But in reality, you’re in the wind, blowing around, landing, then up and away you go again, to a new place. All along you’ve had the only answer you’ll ever need, which is to say, you are always right there. No control on time, or others. It’s just you out here. Keep your things to get through all of this, you need them. But they’re not the saving forces of any outcome (maybe sanity). You have no control, and in that, there’s  real freedom.

The tricky part is understanding how to really feel that space. Which brings us back to the “more questions” part of this piece. I think too much “self-care” is dangerous. Not because its harmful in the immediate sense of the word, but its possible that ritual brings repression in a person. Not everything you’re looking for is in the earth, or in a book someone else wrote teaching you how to read signs, or dissect some cool philosophy.  Yeah, if it makes you feel better, go for it. But how much are you missing b/c you read somewhere the elemental signs in a day reveal a clear path?  And whats really going on if you’re always having to find a place that “feels” better, is it better? So I guess this is the part I take a deep breath and feel everything, let emotions be my guide? Maybe even a scarier place. Emotional response can be as fickle as a chemical reaction in your body from lunch. I’ve spent plenty of time in this world. Not all bad, and gifts come from it, but intensity can be a real curse. That shit will pass and there you’ll be, again, and again, with different perspectives. It’s not wrong to feel, or work on yourself, but you have to let go and be where you are, this might be the most important step I’m thinking. Balance is important, but forced balanced isn’t real balance. So what do we know then? Haha!

The hope is you can experience enough, not to spend all your time focusing on who you are, but just enjoying, that you are someone at all. If you’re lucky, you’re a creative person, a kind person. If you’re unlucky, I have no idea what you are. I don’t know if I even believe in luck. Maybe the real answer is to not believe in anything at all? Nah, for me, creativity is where I find the most joy and comfort and whats close to some understanding of who I might be today, and maybe that’ll be tomorrow? It’s not the thing you hang on a wall mind you. It’s the governing philosophy that to create is to live. This comes in all forms. You can be creative without a product to sell, or a fashion to hitch yourself to. The mind is imagination, not sheltered by walls, but open, wild, and becoming. There is an endless river of fear in the idea of malleability. But in that there is hope, there is a place of peace. That I, the human being living with this blood, this matter, am a walking, talking, thinking, endlessly searching individual, and its ok that’s not forever. Its ok I don’t know what it means, or how I relate to the signs. I’m open to it all, thats how I know I am alive.  There’s different ways to obtain it, none of us know, or have the right remedy. And we never will. That has to be the gateway to happiness. Otherwise, we’ll just waste our time looking, instead of standing still in the ever-present reality of, right now. That stillness is the most powerful thing I have ever felt in my life. Its the core, the soil, the palm of a hand. Its where it all feels the most real. And its where I’m sending off all my hangers on, all my fleeting moments. They belong to that space now, and I belong to nothing but myself, in that space.

NOTE: I easily meet people and get lost in them (if there’s something to it), almost like a mechanism to take what I need for my imagination in order to produce art. Like a vessel that goes undercover, collecting data and new inspiration so the ghost will come and feed the muse. I’m not sure this is healthy, but its real, and I’m honest about it. But I also find I deny it so I can believe the experience is worth more than it is. Do I write poetry and express raw emotion to others because it’s for them, or do I do it because the “idea” of it is intoxicating? Are they the drug, and I’m the addict? It’s interesting to think about. I’ll give that to the stillness as well. Bye Now!



Contrast Killers

Acres writing image

The invisible lines connect to the wrinkles on my face. An everlasting urge to hate, living with a fantastical dream that falls endlessly down the seconds of life. I don’t want to look at you and feel this way. I want to feel love for what you do. I see so much in the world on my phone. The exhaustion of success, self-propelled stardom, beautiful images of lust, and creative overflow, all should make me better. And in part they do, but the other half of it feels an edge, feels the blues, encourages a demise of confidence in myself. Life is short, but you also have to be patient? What a fucking bummer.

There might not be a way out of it. For decades I’ve turned my head away from taking some sort of mood stabilizer. Have you ever looked in the eyes of a person under that influence, or mixed the silence in the air with their tone of voice and body language? Not everyone is easy to see, but plenty are obvious if you honestly listen to them, and see passed yourself.

Before I moved from Michigan, I visited a Psychiatrist for an “introduction” session. We spoke for thirty minutes about my current vibe. He gave me a sense of his version of who I was, how I was behind the normal progress for “standards” at mid twenty, but he could help. He explained that his wife, who was an Artist, struggled for years with indecision and an inability to complete tasks. He prescribed her a magic pill, one that changed her life, set her free, and killed the contrast.

I was only 24, dumb as shit, and confused about everything. The days seemed endless, the beauty not pretty, the sun did nothing for me. I ran from companionship, in part from a sexual insecurity, but also as a game I could play where I controlled what I deserved. Here I was trying to grasp why I was running through the peaks and valleys of my mind. My head was a forest for getting lost, sitting in a depression bucket of fear, while writing bad poetry. I’d sometimes look at my plate of food, I’m satiated, I know I can’t eat another bite. Then the voice in my head says “you always complete 95% of what you”re doing, then quit” so I clean my plate. Not because I don’t want to waste the food out of guilt that children are starving in Africa, or down the street. I just think somehow it makes me better to finish something, anything. In some odd way it’ll help me complete a project, or fulfill a task thats important for me down the line. It could be practice for doing better, or an example that the crazy continues to win small battles, and my rationale self is in the corner crying like a little bitch. So I asked the dude in the office, If I take these “contrast killers” won’t it change everything else about me? Won’t it change the areas I believe make me who I am?

The psychiatrist was what you’d expect, the classic stereotypical male shrink, right out of Robin William’s portrayal in Good Will Hunting, except not so philosophical or interesting. He was bearded, wearing a cardigan, glasses, and casual enough to chat with me from a cluttered desk that suffered minutes of  nervously shuffling paper. I dressed like a psychiatrist for a while once, another way for me to pretend, or try on a career without all the hard work, or I just like cardigans and beards. The irony of our conversation was my ability to recognize my own issues, and explain how to solve them. He laughed a little, and said “You already know what you need to do, so whats keeping you from doing it?” But did I?

Early in my college years (a ten year period of dropping out, until I finally finished) I took an art class. I was about to get my first critique on this ugly cornucopia drawing we were required to do (on the first day I thought the class and teacher lacked creativity). Each person got to talk about their work first, then the class could expand. I spent five minutes analyzing (it sucks) this pile of shit, and the response from everyone was “he pretty much said everything there is to say about it.” Two weeks later I quit going to that class, and the whole “quitter” ethos continued to grow in my subconscious. I guess I just kept eating all my eggs, hoping it would change.

I wasn’t going to take any pills though, he wasn’t my first go with getting treatment. I went regularly as a child (no pills) when my parents divorced. I used to role play with stuffed animals, which was fun as hell, I ‘d do it right now in fact. “The teddy bear is my father, and the mouse is me. The teddy bear is getting beaten to death, and the mouse if full of glee.” I’m not sure if it works, but kicking that bear’s ass, in front of an old lady, certainly moved some kind of marker for me to let it go and begin again.

The point to this gets lost among the other general blurry ideas, and layer pealing. But I know that I can get pretty salty, and I regret who I am half the time. Do we have to accept who we are? Or learn how to fight against settling on that notion? The things that define me, keep me from making progress. Its my hope that realizing the contrast, and being willing to feel the burden of existence, even when its tiresome. Ultimately, it will make me feel whole, if only for a few seconds. The jealousy, the insecurity, body shaming, a general sense of failure, I need those things in order to become nothing.

Too often I hear from people, “I’m trying to focus on the positive.” Thats great, but how do you define that? How do you discern between the two sides of emotion? Its through contrast we exist. The relationship between the two is as important as you believe the “positive” is to yourself. What positive is to you, most likely is all about you, and not anything more than self serving the demon to gratify your own consciousness. The positive (all the time) is another way of saying you’re really not feeling anything. I want to feel pain, so I can figure out how to cure it, how to establish a grit in myself to come out of it spinning invisible love colors to everyone around me.

If I walk up to you and call you a “motherfucker” I’ve created a negative circumstance, right? I’ve also created an opportunity for us to shake our existence to its bone, kill off the stagnation, so we can become new again, refresh a sense of why we like one another. It creates a wrinkle that poses the question, why are we talking in the first place or why are we friends? I might be a loner most of the time, but thats a choice because most people don’t want real relationships, they want someone to justify the corner they’ve been shitting in for decades.

My core pals are still tight because its not all surface, all the time. We talk trash, we open up, we put each other back down to a level when one of us gets too big for ourselves. I just think thats beautiful, and I want more of that in people if I’m going to expand my circle and get close. Otherwise, just look down at your phone, and live someone else’s life. I’ll be around eating all the food on my plate.





RS.6 A Mind For Infinity


The words, a wisdom from their mouth you could care less about. Now radicalized in new color, some which are unearthed each time you progress toward the stillness of simple things. Like that random sound mixing in the hood with other sounds. How those multiple sounds create a symphonic bliss in your head as they track with the natural symphony you’ve curated since birth. They can’t understand the rapid way in which your blood pushes it and makes you even less confused. I can’t either, but I’m going to be different. I wish you could all come with me, but you can’t. I have to sail away in this state with my young family. We have to be willing to continue on in love and color. Continue in poetry of the littlest things we see in a day. Adhere to the most silent voices, the silent ones that whisper in the dark to believe in yourself, to believe in the heart of what you are becoming, regardless if “they” understand how willing you actually can be in becoming who you are.  I hear it and I’m here.