A use

   looking for construction sites in the middle of the night, just to use the "porter potty" and collecting water from a broken sprinkler on the way..

the rain is colder,
the cars pass faster,
the night is more lonely
/than it's ever been.

   I see the trash bags hanging from the chain linked fences, and wonder if there's any food in them, wonder how many people waste their money, on things they don't need.  And shopping at the best grocery stores, how their egos must be stroked when they swipe their gold card, and fall asleep to the thought of their frequent flyer miles, and insurance premiums.

   and sometimes i get mad at myself, and remind myself how badly I want to write the best work ive ever done, and wonder if every word reflects that desire.

and sometimes I lay back on this new blanket I got, in my cold weather field jacket, and laugh to myself.. examining all the connections that come and go with the cars, the connections here on my laptop's WIFI, and I think about all my friends... Dave hood, who's on the streets, bankrupt because of a brain surgery he had.. waiting for a social security check that never comes, and how differently each of our individual lives have turned out, and the piano playing in low octave and the hella reggae music I hear, coming from the walkie talkie of the security guard that unknowingly guards me, and the stains in my work pants, and the uncombed status of my impending hair tomorrow, and how it's falling out, and how I only have one shot at success in this life, and how I must be blowing it, sober.  how I must be blowing it by not forwarding some sort of violence, and some sort of irresolution with the people that piss me off and how funny the music sounds from other peoples laptops at the library, and how they must think that i cant hear the poor musical choices they decide, and the dance beats coming from the headphones, and the super high vibrato notes and the awkward eye contact they make with me when i walk by with my tucked in shirt, and even though I don't at you in my passengers seat, doesnt mean I don't care, and maybe at my job I get into people's heads too much, and maybe i invest alot in all people i meet, and how strange i must look taking long-ass gulps from the public water fountains, because i dont know when my next drink of water will come, because i don't know the schedule of the sprinklers (yet) because life has taught me that there are no guarantee's  that there are no promises, that the people who meet success aren't necessarily the ones that wanted it, that if you lose sleep over something you love, it might just end up hating you more.. life hasn't promised us anything, so we shouldn't hound ourselves, so we should give it our best and hope for the right outcome, that the dice will roll in our favor, that the rack will break and we'll pocket a few, that life is drunk, and that one day, it and it's smile, laughter, and mystery will fall on us like clouds on a mountaintop..

a memory

I was shooting pool, and my hand -flat on the table, stick on top of the backside of my palm.. between my middle, and ring finger, pointed at the target, with only 5 balls left on the table.. it felt like I was alone, on my favorite table at a bar I used to frequent..

   wake up, on the trailer floor, and im back here.. far from my job, far from Corona, my hometown.  It was just a dream, this thing I used to do, this game I used to play, and was pretty good at.  I have dreams about it now, and haven't played anymore, since.  I hear that back by my old house the bar shut down, that no-one I know is there anymore, that the place isn't (obviously) the same, and that it's a different name, total different staff, and no more billiard tables inside.  I miss playing.  I miss spending time with ten racks all to myself and a few pitchers to drink solo, alternating between going outside and coming back in to continue.. I miss those days of no time, just me, my beer and a skill being developed..  

arenas

so I started this blog to kinda "live-blog" the creation of my latest book 'Polyester Paradigm'

but, quite obviously.. that's not how its gone down, at all.  This has become its own little monster, it's own little project, and I think what I like the most about Polyester is just how "grown-up".. or "mature" it is.  I've broken away from the Bastard format, and the whole Mark Twain thing, and just really tried to push myself, and re-invent how I write, how I describe things, and in the same message... deliver my note.  It's really juist a statement of being, or mindset, and half how I see myself.. both now, and in the future.. and in case the future never comes, I have something that opens a window to how the world should be perceived... without fear, without hunger, without needs.. a sort of shared experience, and beginning from what life means to the peace of death.. I think Paradigm could very well open up new doors for me, and my readers.. in their own creative life, and in their own goals.. painting a sort of hero, and how-to guide for owning and operating a transatlantic company and all the necessities for such.. I think of it as a handbook to technology, death, and prosperity.. not a BOOK like in the biblical sense, but more of a guide.. this monster im taming.  It (just like this blog) is rearing its ugly head, and showing me it's own direction, but like a matador and a bull, intelligence over instinct, im following it -where it leads me.. and this piece I did back in july.. just a representation of an image you might see.. working at PELICAN, developing the software and seeing into the WINDOW... looking at your PRINT, your RIP.. guiding them beyond BLUELIGHT.
 

a ways ago

    waking up with people staring at you, from a dream about someone you used to like, have a
relationship with, someone -in this dream, that seems perfect, that seems like they really
had it all -inside.  water tilting from the sprinkler, flying above the grass, a patch to
mow of perfect proportion without wondering why you are where you're at..

why you are where you're at,

    missing limbs, and SSI.. walking, just continue to be that dog hanging out the window, with
a family in front, a family of different colors and backrounds, and distant relatives
and beliefs.. No one will look, trust me.  No one will see, and you shouldnt care to begin
with, because boundaries can be pushed, and perspectives could be given, if you try, and
lives can change, and she could discover herself, if you try.

    and in my dream she wrote the kindest words, and didnt stop, and took up all the room on
the card, she wrote it in the most careful cursive, the contrast of the bright chalk on
this dark board, a mashup of scenes of her writing, to me -in this card, and on this board
in front of a room, the scene was a collage, of her hair flowing, and blowing in imaginary,
temperatureless wind.. her smile, wide and showing all her teeth..

"tell me what i did, i cant find where the moment went wrong at all.."

    I take back what I did, I take back neglecting you, but I poured over myself, for a year
and a half, I mulled over how lonely i felt, sitting on my couch with my dog, by myself,
and thinking about the notes you wrote that I trashed, and pictures you took of us
together and the room we used to sleep in, and the borrowed sweaters you'd wear.

   dogs sitting on recliners, and Taco Bell with a movie.  Silent walks on a cold night,
gloves, and hoodies.. our way of life and bubbler snorkled cartoons.. just remembering
what I used to have..

local craziness known as the 91 freeway eastbound to some 'beach cities'...

edit: and i know, and understand the resolution of my cell phone camera isn't the greatest megapixel or whatever, but theres more than 200 cars lined up in this frame, and this is just a sliver of the onramp.

atop

   catch a bus, and sleep on it.  all that matters: Full stomach.  Work, and
exit doors left open, and people that don't look.  People that "know better", and
security guards who like you.  Public bathrooms with power outlets, and microwaves at 711,
and bugs who become your friends.  Spiders bless with the flies they catch, keeping your open
canned food clean.

   my hand slides down, unbuttons her pants..

   hide so many things in your pocket, and after being through all the crying and tears, regrets
and shortcomings -standards too high... All the hurt goes both ways, so don't blame
yourself for it.  All the days weren't wasted, your choices have value.  Part of the poster,
the screen, youre on the front cover.  Dream.  Lay back and let your thoughts guide you,
build where you want to be.

   i kiss her forehead as i slide myself in..

   and when you curl up, to go to sleep, take the socks off, but cover your feet.. remember
the few that know you, who care where you eat..

   pull my head back and look into her eyes, we stroke each other's shoulder blades, we kiss
and grab hands...