Category: Quotidian

-“Everyone has an opinion, everyone has an opinion,” he says, “everyone has an opinion.” And let’s just leave it at that, he doesn’t have to say it, it’s in the words. “If you haven’t been there, you can’t say. Marines, ten year,” he says I’m trying to see the bigger picture, and maybe it’s a little arrogant, and maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t not, I have to and I do. I do try. People dying and we’re worried about Christmas, Nike, New Year and the EGR valve on a Saturn. Thinking about plasma TVs, a television world without worries. […]

-Poetry always comes from my thoughts and I think I’m learning. We don’t possess anything in this world. If it comes to us then it’s a blessing, and if it stays it’s only greater.

-What is it? You come into the aura of her, of someone like her perhaps. There’s something thriving there, something inside you that makes you feel, not physically, but you feel. There’s nothing left but to smile. Almost an awareness that here, you could be happy. There’s this magical and wonderful possibility, like an almost but not quite, but just maybe. You smile and you walk away and wait to see if it is magic and if life allows for second chances, or a new chance for what may have been before you walked away.

-Perhaps, it is like one of those moments, on a faded Sunday. When the choir sings and you would never know, if not for your friend, calling you immediately after service, to tell you how uplifting it was to be there and have the soul worship. And you can’t help but start to wonder how a soul worships and you play the mute for the remainder of the conversation, which ends with a high pitched note from ‘Hallelujah’, the choir’s gotten into him. You think about religion and it seems this fuzzy notion, even when you were a follower of […]

-The last time I drove to Vegas, I did so with the radio off and the windows down. There’s a certain rhythm that develops with the tires scratching the pavement and the echoes bouncing through the canyons and center dividers. For the duration of that trip, all the little sounds of travelling reminded me of a symphony, one I could not identify, but it played during that trip, in my mind.

-Sometimes there’s this feeling, this yearning to find this secret path that takes you to the place of dreams, the one that was stuck in your dreams in your infancy, when you believed the world itself was a magical kingdom. And I’ll lie there and escape my predicament, escape myself, if only for a momentary lapse of consciousness. And I can go no further. There’s that threshold I dare not cross, to be enamored too completely with your dreams is to be enamored with fantasy and to eschew reality, and to eschew reality is at long last in twenty some […]

-The question whispers its monosyllabic presence, an inaudible sound, but it is there. In the night I enter my dreams as the armed poet who can turn the tides of emotion within a heart, but at sunrise my ability is latent, weakened, and the relentlessness of words is a truth only held in my mind. I float through life with that dreamy look of desperation or the frightened look of fatigue and there is in the genesis of my soul, that, unresolved conflict of self. I build a tower to words and of words and end up wrapped in a […]

-You tell yourself, you’ve come so far and overcome much but then you close your eyes and when you open them you find yourself a retrograde. In a shell you sometimes overcome, but only in brief instances. Each time it’s like an awakening. A new breath. When your lungs collapse upon themselves, you’re once again crushed within the small confines of that shell. You ask yourself, why each breath is so short, why each awakening is only momentary. In the haze of smoke, you start thinking about the blue pill, the one you took in college. The one that didn’t […]

-The letters H and M have become important they both have something to do with something a psychic told me. Well, not really a psychic but a seer of some sort. She read my coffee. Not the coffee of the soul, but I’m sure there’s some correlation between the two. It was a shot of espresso, dark and not very flavorful, but in order for her to read my coffee I needed to drink her “Turkish coffee”, is what she called it. Since then these letters have a special significance as she said they would. I find myself thinking of […]

-I’ve been preparing myself for today. Not in the way that people prepare for a special occasion, by making invitations and planning the cordialities of a night, but in a different way than most. And I do expect to receive several congratulatory phone calls, but even now, I remind myself not to count them. The secret is, in simply seeing it as what it is, one more day gone by.