Intersections of Life

Something stirs in my soul
The suppression of a restless spirit
Screaming inside I whisper
Listen closely can you hear it
From the darkest depths
I've risen yet again
Taking no moment for granted
I'll carry these memories until the end

The frown has been replaced
By a lingering smile
A glimpse of happiness is back
After missing for quite a while
Funny how our lives pass
Like cars in the night
Rushing in different directions
Trying to beat the timing of the light
We sit at these intersections of life
Staring at one another through the glass
Oblivious at times
When we might pass

My thoughts will always follow you
As I'm left here behind
Your memories will always carry me
To a better place and time
A part of me will always be yours
You know this is true
For I hope to have a little place
In your heart always too

Something stirs in my soul
The suppression of a restless spirit
Screaming inside I whisper
Listen closely can you hear it
From the darkest depths
I've risen yet again
Taking no moment for granted
I'll carry these memories until the end

Life Is Music

I wish I had a soundtrack for my life. I don't mean a few mixed Cd's or an ipod mix. I want my own theme music. I want music to follow me. I want it to play in the background from some unseen composer. Music is my therapy, it is my release, in a sense, it is my life. Life without it would be unbearable, period. I wake to music, work to music, come home to music, relax to music, and play it up until the moment I fall asleep. When my wheels start turning too quickly in my head I just turn the music up to find my balance. I identify parts of my life with music as if I've tagged certain moments with certain songs. When hearing them it always takes me back to that moment, like a snapshot in time.

Music awakens my soul as well as my imagination. Since MTV no longer plays music videos and I hardly watch TV, my imagination has crept out of darkness. TV fills the mind with so many images and sounds, it's beatdown is constant, suppressing any moment when the imagination can flourish. When listening to music I can construct vivid short films rolling from the projector that is my mind. Sometimes I'm the star of these images with my own eyes like the lens of the camera, recording each moment for what it is. No scripts, no make up, no cuts, just human drama, humors, and tragedy. Each moment catalogued with a verse or a song within my mind's own hard drive.

Sometimes I want to share these moments with people. I'm not quite sure they'd understand. For all I know they might do the same. I guess it's one of my secrets, one that I share with you now. My soul is sometimes captured in the keys from a piano, the wails from a lone saxophone, thuds from a kick drum, well timed like a crisp cymbals, eerily captivating like a violin, smooth as a strum of a guitar, and sometimes coarse like a soulful harmonica. Music is my life and in certain ways, my life is music. Let it play on...

Defeated

I STAND HERE DEFIANT
SILENT
YET DEFEATED
I PULLED YOU IN
PUSHED YOU OUT
FOUND THAT YOU WERE THE ONE I NEEDED
THE TIME PASSES
BECOMING HOURS IN ONLY A BLUR
DAYS FALL AWAY
A MONTH NOW EVEN MORE
THE MIRROR LAUGHS AT MY HAUNTED FACE
VISIONS LIKE GHOSTS
NOW LINGER IN ITS PLACE
MEMORIES LIKE PARACHUTES
ONCE SEEMED SO HIGH
FALLING TO THE EARTH BY GRAVITY
WITH WHICH ITS ETERNALLY TIED
A CHANCE OF REDEMPTION
IS WHAT THIS CROOKED MAN BEGS
A SWELLING IN MY CHEST
A KNOCKING IN MY LEGS
I WALK ALONE TODAY
BUT AGAIN NOT BY CHOICE
I DREAM DISTORTED COLOR AND SOUND
AWAITING YOUR SWEET VOICE
THE MORNING COMES FAST
TAKING ME BY SURPRISE
HERE ALONE AGAIN
A TEAR SWELLS IN MY EYES
HOPE IS AN OLD CROSS
THAT I MUST NOW BARE
TO GIVE YOU UP
I WANT NEVER TO DARE
YOU WERE THE ONE I ALWAYS NEEDED
YET I STAND HERE
DEFIANT
SILENT
NOW DEFEATED

Tightrope Walker

LIKE THE TIGHTROPE WALKER
I TAKE CAREFUL STEPS
SO SURE FOOTED
ALWAYS KNOWING WHICH STEP I TAKE NEXT
CAREFUL BREATHING
AND AN ACUTE ATTENTION SPAN
MY MOVEMENTS ARE REPETITIVE
LIKE THE CONSTANT SPIN OF A FAN
HIGH ABOVE
I STAND HERE TODAY
LIKE A CRUEL JOKE
FATE WILL HAVE ITS WAY
A SHRIEK
A BIRDS WINGS BLISTER MY FACE
I SLIP I FALL
DISTANCE THE ONLY THING THAT STANDS
BETWEEN ME AND GRACE
MY HEART TWISTS
IT THUNDERS IT POUNDS
BLURRING SPACE TIME AND DISTANCE
RAPIDLY APPROACHING THE GROUND
A PECULIAR THOUGHT
RATTLES IN MY HEAD
IS THIS FEAR THE ONLY REAL DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE DEAD
HAVE I BEEN DEAD ALL ALONG
HAS THE LIFE I'VE BEEN LIVING
BEEN ALL SO WRONG
RACING TOWARD MY IMPENDING DOOM
I HEAR A FAMILIAR RING
I AWAKE SAFE IN MY ROOM
COVERED WITH SWEAT
I FEEL THE SWEET RELIEF
MY LIFE CHANGES FROM HERE
IT IS MY FIRM BELIEF
LIKE THE TIGHTROPE WALKER
I WILL TAKE CAREFUL STEPS
NOT ALWAYS SURE FOOTED
BUT NOT AFRAID
OF WHAT COMES NEXT

Hemingway's Afterthought

LIKE THE TALE OF THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA
I DRIFT THESE BARREN WATERS
ENDLESSLY
WAVES CRASHING IN
ALWAYS RECEDING
WHATS BEHIND ME OFTEN RESEMBLES
WHAT LAYS BEFORE ME
SOLITUDE AND THESE OLD WOODEN PADDLES
IS ALL MY TIRED HANDS CAN HOLD
EMOTIONS AND MEMORIES
SWIM IN LIKE PHANTOM SHARKS
THEY CAN BE SO BOLD
THE SUN BLISTERS
BURNS MY EGO TO THE CORE
FIGHTING THE RIPTIDE OF A HARDENED LIFE
CONSTANTLY FIGHTING
TO REACH THE SHORE
DARK CLOUDS ROLL IN
FORESHADOWING THE GLOOM AHEAD
MAKING ME ACUTELY AWARE
OF ALL THOSE THINGS
I SHOULD HAVE SAID
I FIGHT I STRUGGLE
I WEATHER ANOTHER STORM
IT IS HERE ON THESE OPEN WATERS
WHERE I MUST ROAM
WHEN MY JOURNEY HERE IS OVER
THE WATERS WILL TAKE ME HOME
LIKE THE TALE OF THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA
I FEAR I DRIFT THESE BARREN WATERS
ENDLESSLY

Battered And Torn

HERE I SIT
CROOKED SMILE CROOKED TEETH
WARS RAGING WITHIN
I HARDLY SLEEP
A TUG OF WAR
BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE ONE ABOVE
CONSTANTLY TORN BETWEEN TEMPTATION
AND THE IDEA OF LOVE
ALL SMILES
AN APPEARANCE MISTAKEN TO BE SO KIND
NO SIGN OF THE DARKNESS
BEHIND THESE EYES OF MINE
A DEPTH BROUGHT BY MISERY
FOLLOWED BY PAIN
ALWAYS FALLING ON THE LOSING END
NEVER TO GAIN
WEARING MY STITCHED UP HEART
HANGING TO MY SLEEVE UNPROTECTED
ALWAYS PRONE TO CUT
TO BLEED
I CARRY THIS SMILE NEVERTHELESS
I HIDE THESE INSECURITIES DEEP WITHIN
THE WINCE FROM THE PAIN
I CAREFULLY SUPPRESS
I STILL CARRY AN OPEN HEART
BUT WATCH WITH CAUTIOUS EYES
I STILL LISTEN FOR YOUR VOICE
THOUGH ITS MEMORY SLOWLY DIES
I WAIT FOR YOU
LIKE THE CLEARING OF A STORM
MY SMILE MY HEART REMAINS HERE
BATTERED AND TORN

Black Lung Serenade

BLACK LUNG SERENADE
CAN BE BITTER
CAN BE COURSE
I SING IT OFTEN TO THESE WALLS
EMPTY
BUT YET FULL OF REMORSE
SMOKE POURS FROM MY LIPS
AND LINGERS IN THE AIR
CRASHING AND SWIRLING
REMINDING ME OF YOUR HAIR
MY VOICE CRACKS
LIKE LIGHTNING IN A SUMMER SKY
IT IS HERE ALONE
THAT THESE FEELINGS MUST DIE
AS I LOOK INTO THE MIRROR
I SEE A STRANGER STANDING BEFORE ME
HE OFFERS SOME RESEMBLANCE
BUT YET THE FIGURE IS AN EMPTY SHELL
IT IS NOW THAT I MUST SHAPE AND MOLD MYSELF
DO I SING ANOTHER BLACK LUNG SERENADE
OR BECOME SOMTHING ELSE
LESSONS FROM YOU I WILL TAKE
AND BUILD SOMETHING MUCH STRONGER
THESE FEELINGS
ILL PUSH DEEP
LOCKED AWAY
BEHIND MY ARMOUR

Still But A Girl

I SEE THE LAYERS YOU HAVE HIDDEN
FAR FROM THIS WORLD
IN SPITE OF YOUR ARMOUR
YOU ARE STILL BUT A GIRL
PAIN FROM YOUR PAST
IS WHAT YOU HIDE FROM NOW
YOU'VE BUILT AN ELABORATE DISQUISE
JUST MANAGED SOMEHOW
IN MOMENTS OF SILENCE
YOU PANIC
SOMETIMES SHOOK TO THE CORE
BEFORE ANYONE KNOCKED
YOU'VE LOCKED YOUR HEART'S ONLY DOOR
I SEE THE LAYERS YOU HAVE HIDDEN
FAR FROM THIS WORLD
IN SPITE OF YOUR ARMOUR
YOU ARE STILL BUT A GIRL
I LINGER HERE CONFUSED
AS I STARE
I SEE THE WORLDS YOU DANCE IN
TO GET CLOSER DO I DARE
IN MANY WAYS
WE ARE THE SAME
OUR INSECURITIES OUR DAMAGED HEARTS
WE SCRAMBLE TO HIDE
WE SCRAMBLE TO TAME
IT IS HERE THAT I CAUTIOUSLY WATCH
BECAUSE OF YOUR ARMOUR
I FEAR ONLY TO BE A NOTCH
I'LL WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE WEARY
FROM CARRYING YOUR HEAVY LOAD
WAITING UNTIL YOU'RE MINE
ONLY MINE TO HOLD
I SEE THE LAYERS YOU HAVE HIDDEN
FAR FROM THIS WORLD
IN SPITE OF YOUR ARMOUR
YOU ARE STILL BUT A GIRL

Tattoos and Scars

LIKE TATTOOS AND SCARS
THESE MARKS RUN DEEP
VISIONS OF YOU CANT ESCAPE ME
HAUNTS ME EVEN IN SLEEP
REPLAYING OUR LAST MOMENTS
AGAIN AND AGAIN
MY FAILURES AND SHORTCOMINGS
I NOW COMPREHEND
IVE BEGGED FOR FORGIVENESS
IVE BEGGED FOR A SECOND CHANCE
BEING PATIENT OR PUSHING ON
ITS A DELICATE DANCE
I HATE THIS PLACE WHERE I FIND MYSELF
NOW SURROUNDED BY STRANGERS
WISH THEY KNEW ME SOMEHOW
WISH THEY KNEW ME LIKE I KNEW YOU
WISHED THEY LOVED ME
LIKE FOR YOU I STILL DO
ITS A BITTER PILL THAT MUST BE TAKEN
MY TIME WITH YOU ENDS
EVERYTIME I AWAKEN
LIKE TATTOOS AND SCARS
THESE MARKS RUN DEEP
I LONG TO SEE YOUR RETURN
SADLY ONLY IN MY SLEEP

One By One

Smiling faces stare at me night and day
Motionless, careless, and free of mistake
Faces from a different time and place
Free of guilt but full of grace
One by one
I take these photos down
Love, smiles, and never a frown
Like the walls left bare
Too in my soul it seems
The memories chase me in the day
Haunt in my dreams
Moving on is the hardest part
When the finish line resembles the start
I dare to move wanting to return
Only to notice my bridge has burned
I struck the match
I forgot it seems
Only to destroy both our dreams
One by one
I take these photos down
Wear my smile but upside down
Days turn to weeks
Months too they shall pass
Yet a single photo remains
Beautiful smile suspended in glass

Lightning

Does lightning strike twice
If so then does it breed new life
Life to a lost love
Or a broken heart
Will it mend wounds
Reassemble all the parts
Can you answer this question of mine
Or will the solution come only
In due time
For a change is what I need somehow
Something to come along
Can you be that now
I ponder as I push
Through this crowded earth
Sometimes thinking
Oh, whats the worth
At the very moment
Right before I quit
I see that second bolt of lightning
The sky is lit
My heartbeat quickens
Just for a second or two
For it falls back in pace
Until I'm graced
By the sight of you

Mating Call?

I'm running on fumes from the night before but I wanted to share an odd experience before it slipped my mind. Went to Courtyard 280 last night to meet a friend to shoot some pool. We played until about 1am and decided to grab a table to talk and get a look around the place. I saw it lurking at the bar, sitting next to her friend. I looked away as you would do when you witness a bad accident, scared that the next look might embed an image that would haunt me for years to come. By doing something so natural as looking away, I created a window of opportunity for it to move and lurk somewhere behind me. As we were sitting there talking I felt something hit my foot. I thought at the moment it could be a stray cue ball from a table not far from where we were sitting. When I looked down I saw not a cue ball, but a lighter. This wasn't my lighter so where did it come from? As I turned around to look for the owner I made eye contact with the wild beast. When confronted with such a situation its best to look away, move slowly away, or just play dead. Since it would look odd, me lying on the floor of the bar, I decided to look away. I then heard it shriek "HEY." This must be a joke, right was the thought that crossed my mind. I turned and dared look again and she did the finger motion, come here. What the hell did I do? How did it focus on me? I then looked to my buddy who's eyes were equally dilated and in horror. I said "she must be talking to you." He replied "bullshit." So like the nice guy I was I tried to look last him in the crowd for maybe someone she wanted all along but with no such luck. After a few odd exchanges I gave in and decided to return her lighter. She told me to sit down which I quickly winged an excuse that my buddy and I were having a serious conversation, that I'd love to, but just can't. I walked back to my table in one piece, afraid to look back. I felt safe again at the table until I felt something strike my leg. This time I was in no doubt where the object had come from and why. I looked down by reflex to see what it was this time and discovered it was the metal top of a salt shaker, nice. This time I braved the beast and walked over and asked why she had thrown something again. She then went on a drunken ramble about how she thought I was hot, that she liked my "style", wanted to see my tattoos (thanks ole' wise decisions), and again, wanted me to sit. I said no thank you again and made my way quickly to my table. After twenty minutes or so my friend said, "dude, she's about to throw a fry." Now normally you would never hear such a statement, in a bar, in your 30th year of your life, and not outside the scope of a TV show that might air on Nickelodeon. I turn to see her with her arm extended back like she's about to lob the longest hail mary pass in history and I know she's got receiver written all over me. I quickly put my hand up and tell her stop, like you would do if a puppy were about to pee in the floor. This time the game has grown weary on me and my fear has resided. I approach her yet again, tell her to stop throwing shit, and ask what her deal is. I lie, I tell her I have a girlfriend. I hate to lie but sometimes in rare moments its necessary. History will be the judge of that and I've lived long enough to tell this story. She doesn't buy it or doesn't want to hear it. I point out guys hanging around, lurking for their closing time beauty queen and say "how about that one or this one." She reads my response well because she then issues a "get the fuck out of here, go, go on back to where you came from." Mission accomplished. The beast didn't get up and start thrashing away like a bull in the china shop. It actually only hissed a few times and crawled away. So case in point...when you're at the bar and you see a woman (or thing) with pants on where her butt looks like she might be wearing a diaper, tight shirt revealing her gut and awesome enough to be too short so that it hangs over the belt and hangs out of the shirt about three inches for all to see, lurching through the crowd with a drink in hand, holding it like a security blanket from her evil existence she calls life...just look away. Don't, I repeat, don't look into it's eyes and run like hell if you hear the dreaded mating call "Hey!" bellow from it's raspy mouth. Run anywhere, regardless of what or who's around you. You can gather yourself later when you get away, just run, run like hell!

Moving Time Is Here

So, this week I get to move...oh boy. I think I'd much rather put my junk, and when I say junk, I say the twigs and berries, into a meat grinder. I hate to move. It reminds me how much shit I actually acquire through the years. I'm not a hoarder by any means. In fact I will throw out perfectly good stuff or give it to goodwill just to unclutter my life. I hate clutter. I like organization, I like clean. During the past year I've kinda let that go a bit. Depression or a small resemblance to it can make you do some things you normally wouldn't do. I don't suggest it.

Anyway, so I have clutter now. This weekend I began packing things away. I'm saying goodbye to many of my old shirts. Kristi used to call them my tight shirts. True, they were a little tight and for some reason I thought they looked good. How embarrassing for me to walk around wearing those. What the hell was she thinking letting me? I've moved beyond the tight shirts and stepped up one size to offset it. My world is right now. I can move and breathe with a little more comfort. Half my wardrobe has been retired to the goodwill pile.

Aside from clothes there is the matter of furniture. I have couches devastated from my dog. Seems he loved the leather couch more than me and I surrendered it to him years ago. No lie, his couch, his couch only. Bet it was the most expensive dog bed in Shelby County, maybe even Alabama. Glass tables...don't get me started. Sure, they look nice, even have an industrial look to them but the damn things attract dust and fingerprints quicker than Tiger Woods attracts hookers. You see that? Yeah I just dated this post with a Tiger Woods reference. Another mammoth of the dinosaur age would be my computer desk. Its a desk designed to fill the corner of the room. It's nice...but BIG. I have a laptop, it sits on my lap. The desk looks lonely and empty now. Maybe I should use it as a drawing table, maybe someplace to paint...Then there's the drafting table. Funny how I don't draft for a living but have the real deal when it comes to such things. Goodwill will be proud to help an aspiring drafter or architect one day. Too bad they're doomed to fail when they learn its all computer based these days. Bet they wish they had my computer desk...suckers. One item in particular need not go to goodwill or along for my move...my bed. It's just sad. So much abuse has withered the solid oak head and foot boards. The metal frame is tired and weak. It looks like it could implode at any minute, sending me to the floor like cars toward icy water if the San Fran bridge decided to collapse. Besides, if I donated it, they would have to bring in a priest to perform an exorcism to cast all the evil spirits its carried through it's life.

Then there's the little things in life that we acquire. Little things hiding in different areas of the house that you never really think of and they never really seem odd until you put them all together in a pile and see just how random they are. I'll give you an example: new unopened pack of playing cards, sewing kit, condoms, razor blades for a box cutter, tea cup candles, camo beer huggie, a sliver dollar, a zippo lighter, pain meds for a dog, compass, a masterlock, etc. It's random stuff but I'm pretty sure if the police were to get a search warrant and find it altogether in one place, I'm sure they'd put me on the sex offenders' list thinking I was involved in something kinky and weird. Oh, the clutter, it must now go!

I'm thinking of living life as a minimalist. It would be nice to rid my life of distraction and unnecessary junk. I look across the room and see not one, but two brand new mountain bikes. What a waste. One in fairness was for Kristi when she and I were dating so it's not like I just got bored with one and wanted another. She rode it twice, I rode mine maybe five times...that's just sad. I have various paintings on the wall that I no longer look at. Two sets of dishes, weird articles like a bean bag, stacks of books that I've read, DVDs that I've seen already, clothes that I never wear, shoes that I never wear. All of it consuming me, begging to take over my life, to bury me, cover me until I decompose and blow away. I hate it. It's got to go. I always wanted to live life like if I had to pack up and move on tomorrow it would be no problem. I envisioned myself as a drifter, moving city to city, rarely living there long enough for anyone to know my name. Funny how that changes and your belongings begin to weigh you down. At least I'm home and they're not keeping me from the ones I love. I will say however the things will have to go. If I'm ever to marry then I will let the wife collect the junk and I will make sure she has plenty of space. Space I'm sure she will run out of and make me reorganize ;)

The Beginning of the End?

Why do I ask myself this you may wonder? Well, Saturday I start a project in building a garage at my parents house. This garage is intended of storing everything their basement contains at the moment. Everything that will be in the way when I soon begin to finish the basement into a separate apartment for my parents. Seems that life has a funny way of throwing you a curve ball and more times than not, hits a person where it counts as they get older, their health. The victim in this matter would be my dad.

My dad learned years ago that his diabetes were affecting his kidneys. Nothing he could do would delay or reverse this. It would slowly wreak havoc on his body through the years. I watched my "superman" as I saw him as a child, grow to be a weary man he is today. Your body will fail you. If we're lucky, we'll live to an old age without problems, and die peacefully in our sleep after our work is done. Some people get the short end of the stick with tragic accidents, others, cancer. Kidney failure is almost as bad. Through the years I've watched my dad go in and out of the hospital, sometimes the ICU for massive amounts of fluid that would build up on his body and lungs. The sad part is that there's little you can do for him. I hate seeing him in pain. Even more, I hate knowing what thoughts must be running through his head. The hardest moment was one day watching him break down in tears worried that he would be a burden on our family. No matter how much reassurance you can give someone that its okay, that you'll fight through this together, deep down I know his fear resides. I can see it in his stumbles, I can see it in his struggles getting up from a chair, or climbing stairs. I know those doubts linger and play games with his spirit. He's passed the torch on to me to be the man of the family, even if he didn't want to let go of the helm.

I'm not sure how many years he has left on this earth. I hope he has many. I hope in his mind, he wishes for many more. While his kidneys are failing him, he still has time. He hasn't started dialysis yet. For anyone unfamiliar to dialysis, he would be required to go to the hospital three times a week, and have his blood cleaned by a machine for six hours at a time. That's the basic explanation. The pain, trouble, and depletion of energy are kindly left out of the story. At this time, he goes to the doctor ever three weeks to have his blood checked in order to learn what his percentage his kidneys are working. Most times he is required to have a shot which boosts his creactin levels in his blood, to help with the cleansing and to postpone dialysis for as long as possible. This and iron infusions are essential in buying my dad more time before he has to start that awful process of dialysis.

Another toll I see it taking is on my mother. I can see her nerves stretched thin. I can see the agony in her eyes, for she knows if she were to crack, all hope would be lost. My parents have been married for over forty years. Of my twenty-eight living with and around them (I was adopted at the age of two) I've never witnessed them fight or overheard an argument. That's not saying it didn't happen, they just never let me witness it. They remind me of the old time shows like Leave It To Beaver in a sense because they seem like they're from a much different era, one where divorce and today's problems with the foundation of marriage never touched. They rarely go anywhere without the other and when watching them from afar, they look as one instead of two separate beings. My mother is weary of doctors, weary of new medicines prescribed to my dad, for she is very protective of him, his health, and their precious time they have left together. I'm very fortunate to have parents like them to base my ideals on what marriage should be like and how my actions should be if I should find myself married one day.

This brings me to something that I always dwelled on. What if one or both of my parents pass before I am married and have kids. I hate to think of that. I feel like a failure in some way being thirty and not married. I envisioned being married and having kids so my parents would have grandchildren to spoil. I get the kick out of the idea of seeing my child or children sitting in their grandparents' laps, listening to stories, talking, and just bringing smiles to my parents' faces. I feel as though I'm running out of time for this but hang onto the words that I've heard them say often, "love is not to be rushed, when you find the right one, you will know." What happens if I don't know when I find it? What happens if I let it slip away before realizing it? How did they know? After all, my father was from California and my mother Alabama. What's the chances of that? They met when my father was helping a friend move from California to Tennessee. After helping, he stayed around for a few months helping with their business and happened to be in Birmingham, Alabama. He and his friend attended a race at the old Birmingham International Speedway, where the old Birmingham Fair was located. It is there where my mother and three sisters were out with my uncle, about the only time they could go out under his watchful eye. My dad approached her and after sneaking away for a few dates over the next couple of months my dad returned to California. After a few months and many phone calls, he came back for my mother, ran away together, and got married in California. Over forty years later, still humming along...

Back to the title of this entry. I ask this question not of my dad's life, for I know it's in God's hands, not mine. I will stand by his side until the end, whenever that may be. He's my father, my hero, my best friend. We're alot alike, he and I. We're both quite, independent, try to be humorous, hard headed....the list goes on. I ask the question in regards of moving back home. Out of all this I ask because of my own selfishness. Moving back home....it's a lot to handle. I love my parents but can I live with them again? Well, it wont be actually living with them but above them. I'm finishing their basement into an apartment for them and taking over the rest of the house. My fathers health has greatly impacted his ability to climb stairs and even with a ramp on the back deck of the house, its still trouble for him to walk the long length of it now, even more so later. This idea was posed to me when I started looking into apartments to rent. My mother posed it too me first and gave me the spill about the house being mine someday anyway. At first I didn't want to hear it but after a few more proposals from my mother and father I thought to myself, am I being selfish here? After all, they fought hard to adopt me, made sure I had everything I ever wanted, my dreams became their dreams...

So I've decided to pull the trigger. Due to my recent breakup I have nobody else to consider. The only one's to consider are my parents and myself. I put them, especially with the circumstances, above myself. That's not to say that ground rules haven't been established and that heavy, heavy insulation wont be used in between floors so I can't hear them, they can't hear me. I like my sense of privacy, although I have nothing to hide, I like my quite moments, my solitude at times. Its not the living there that will bother me. Its the perception from others, mainly the opposite sex that scare me. What would they think about it? Will they hear this fact and run away? Will they think that since I live under the same roof as my family, I must be a "titty baby," that I'm not secure enough to get something of my own? All these misconceptions, will I have time to explain? How hard will it be to meet my "one and only?" How would I break this to her? Would she be accepting of the fact or would I have to move back out and meet her in the middle? I had this issue in the back of my mind with my last relationship. She didn't want to live in Chelsea because of the traffic on Hwy 280 and in a way I didn't want to be far from home. Part of me liked my short drive to work but the other part was seeing my parents almost daily and watching them struggle with the small things in life like trying to change a light bulb just out of their reach or moving something that was heavy to them but nothing to me.

I want to be there for them as they get older. If I'm judged for this by someone, to hell with them. If they wouldn't do it for their own parents, then maybe they should've been a miscarriage. We owe the people of our lives that we love more than that, more of ourselves. I've taken away more than I can ever give back, not in money value, but I intend to balance the scales as much as I can. I love my parents and I'll cherish what little time I have left in this world with them. How can that be so wrong? So when I ask if by moving back home is the beginning of the end, the end to my dating life, I think it may slow it down with the wrong kind but help find the right one...I hope.

Ok, I feel a little guilty about the last post...

So after a little time I've come back to my last post and decided I feel guilty about some of the questions for the big man above. Why is that? It seems that with the more time I spend coming back to religion, the more guilt I feel for saying the things that often cross my mind. I'm new to this. I'm trying to gain understanding but at the same time I don't want to feel like a headcase, always second guessing my words or thoughts. Is that the dilemma we face, the struggle between right and wrong? Oh its just too much to think about at times. I live my life relatively sin free aside from a little lusting now and then. After all, I am a male. I keep it in check. We can't all be perfect you know? I think the big man will let my troubled mind slip from time to time. I guess I'll continue my journey with this new area of my life while walking the tightrope with my own self identity but you can always count on me saying what is on my mind, both right and wrong. Its the only way to walk in the light and be seen for who you are.

Loud Pipes Save Lives

I was driving down the road today and my mind flashed back to an accident that I drove by last week. It was then that I saw countless police cars sitting in the median, along with all the dumbass rubbernecks slowing down to get a peek. As I inched closer, I myself, transformed into one of those said rubbernecks because lying in the middle of Hwy 280 was a man, motionless, with a motorcycle fifty foot away. What struck me as odd is that the firetruck had just arrived on scene but the police officers were huddled up a good twenty to thirty feet away from the man. The man was alone. Was he alive? Was he dead? I looked closer to see if I could see breathing but couldn't tell. There was no blood pooled around the man. He just layed there, motionless, and in a pose that a ragdoll might resemble like some snotty nose kid dropped on the playground and left while playing. There he was, laying face up. His helmet tilted forward over his eyes and brow like he was just trying to take a nap and block the light from his eyelids.

Upon further said rubbernecking, I discovered two old ladies standing beside their car, a police officer talking to them. My very first thought was those bitches don't need to be driving. A knee jerk reaction but damn, after a certain age, shouldn't we all be tested occasionally? They had obviously pulled out in front of the coming motorcycle. What were those last few seconds like for that guy? He knew he was fucked. I didn't see any tire marks to indicate he had hammered down on the brakes. The shear terror of those few seconds right before impact and flying through the air...damn. Will it haunt the old ladies for the rest of their remaining lives? Will they feel remorse or with all the confusion will they know what actually happened and know the man's fate?

Speaking of fate, why do we identify everything that happens to us with a four letter word named fate? Fate is defined by: that which is inevitably predetermined; destiny. WTF, is that?! Predetermined, destiny? So his "fate" was that he was going to get up in the morning and possibly die by running into the side of a car driven by two old ladies that never saw his motorcycle coming? It was destiny that he die this way? Destiny? I don't know about you but when it comes to me the only destiny that I want associated with my death would A. die while trying to accomplish the impossible, B. die while in my sleep at a ripe old age, or for the adolescent in me C. die while engaged in wild relations with a woman/women. Destiny is not to die riding a Honda, mind you, down Hwy 280 and go for a short flight.

Was he still alive? Did he die on impact? Was he religious and had time to ask for forgiveness? Did he curse the sky? If alive but maybe in shock so that pain isn't a factor, what runs through your head at a moment like that? Did he open his eyes just to see the inside of his helmet? Thats gotta be a shitty view, the inside of a sweaty helmet. At least if I was gonna die, I'd like to spy out a few shapes in the clouds before I kicked it. Oh, over there....it's a rabbit....it's a shark...it's a........Speaking of fate, if there is truly a God, and I struggle with this one from time to time, is the saying "everything happens for a reason" his saying? You think maybe he's pissed because somebody assigned him the copyright to a statement that maybe Adam was saying in the Garden of Eden to make Eve feel better about eating that damn apple? If there is a God and we're given free will then doesn't the phrase "shit happens" apply to our untimely demise since we're free to run around doing anything that gets our rocks off? I can't see a scroll with my name and exact time of death written for the future to reveal. That doesn't make sense. "God has a plan" I think might be a cop out for people who need an explanation. God doesn't plan on little children to get cancer, to suffer, to die at the hands of abuse. There is no plan for unjust homicide, rape, and mutilation. Are we not taught that our God is the God of mercy? What was the plan for the man laying like a ragdoll, alone, in the middle of the street? I know religion is paved with good intentions. At times though I see it as a crutch to explain life's all too often miseries. Is God a casual observer? I sure hope not but I would like to one day know the reasoning behind some of this all.

I've seen the bumperstickers on peoples cars, "Loud Pipes Save Lives." I wonder in this case if loud pipes would've made a difference being that it was two old ladies in the car? I wonder about the man's fate and if today he is dead or alive? Guess I'll never know. I said a silent prayer for him anyway. The first question might be pointless though, afterall, he was riding a Honda.

And here I breathe new life...

I was inspired, if you will, by a friend to write my own blog. My writing could never be compared to hers but as the saying goes "different strokes for different folks." With this I'm going to attempt to remove the filter, to uncensor my thoughts, my views, my emotions, and my ego. I'll strip myself to bare bone at times as well as others, not in an attempt to hurt, only to relate.

"The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride. "