an old bridge and her spiders

i’ve always felt like dying is just giving the universe exactly what it wants.

it all feels a bit chaotic, anyways; existing. the mere coincidence that every cell, bits of star dust, all the molecules came together and made this conglomerate of consciousness.

in the ugliest sense, it feels like my existence is just a big middle finger to the galaxy sometimes. by sheer luck the pieces came together against the will of the order and stability that it all craves.

or maybe i’m a bit of a reclusive spider. wrong place, wrong time. hard to reach out for help when you have this feeling. like the single mere existence of asking for help isn’t something i seem to have collected.

maybe i’m part of the old bridge that’s fallen to disrepair. can’t help but hang on to it, it was vital for so long. the rust that falls off feels like a piece of my own.

this sounds like the rambling of a mad man. just not sure what to think, if anything at all. just don’t feel the heat like i used to, or the air so swimmingly through the window sill.

i swear it wasn’t always so heavy.

antonym for hell on earth

hmph.

it’s so strange that i used to sit in front of this blank expanse and i could feel the air swirling around me.

sometimes i’ll be walking in the breezeway and the spring air has a particular scent of rain and wildflowers that makes time stand still.

the dry heat still swelters my pores and sings my favorite tunes.

i used to be so angry at the expanse. now i just find it brings peace.

things have changed. chemically.

this is age

the gears are still turning in my brain; in fact, they’ve been writing a lot more recently.

not sure when i’ll be back on here to write, as i’ve gone back to get my masters in education and i begin teaching this fall.

just know i’m still thinking about this place. i still sum up some drafts to write. in my brain or on this blank expanse.

dad

just something that’s been in my head all day.
hasn’t been the best day mentally, but here’s to hoping tomorrow is better. it will be. it has to be.

just miss my dad really. it’s been a month or two since i blocked him completely. all he would ever do is message me with bad news or just to remind us he didn’t forget a birthday or holiday.

i just miss him so much. and i don’t know why. i wasn’t ever his favorite. but for some reason i really only hang on to the good memories i have with him.

hunting with him. i had this strange love/hate relationship with hunting, because while i had to get up extremely early on a saturday, i got mcdonalds breakfast courtesy of my father. once we would get settled into the ground blind/tree stand/whatever it was (one time i remember just sitting underneath a tree with just a strip of clearing ahead of us), i always appreciated the serenity of being in the middle of the woods with just my dad, listening for every twig break, watching for any leaves rustle. sometimes he would give me his cell phone if we were out for a while and he always had one or two games on it for me to play. there were a lot of great lessons taught by my father in the woods; having respect for the animals we hunted, making clean and efficient shots that wouldn’t cause harm, patience. and obviously, a love for nature and the silence it brings. i never liked actually killing the animals, nor will i ever forget when my dad cleaned a deer he had killed while out on one of our hunts.

i remember he used to help me practice for soccer. he never really understood the sport i don’t think, but i’ll never forget the summers he took an old tire and tied straps around it in a way that i could hook it to myself. he showed me and pointed towards the slanted field next to our house at the time, and off i went. up and down, down and back up, over and over and over and over. and he sat there by his shed and watched. and when i’d slow down he would yell. my dad never let me quit or give up, at least not easily. it was something small, but it meant so much to me.

i could sit here and go on for hours. riding four wheelers, coaching my basketball teams, listening to beastie boys and KISS on his burnt CDs (lol.)

i dunno, it felt good to type that out. i have been thinking about those things for a long time now. miss that guy so much. i dont think he really misses me though. oh well.

the way things have been

i’ve been listening closer to the steady beats of the earth
in the early hours, before her majesty has risen and blanketed the soil with gold

you can feel the exhale of the planet
the leaves tremble at the porous gusts
the rolling plains crest,

sink like waves in the sea
the trees dance once more at their mother waking

oh, but
the winter silences her breath,
mute by snow, replaced by the gales of her wisps

and the gleam of summer brings a beauty
one, i selfishly wish forever
nature is cyclic
older trees, indurate and ringed

it’s been more important
to pay attention to the way things have been
they begin to explain why i am
or what we are

unfortunately, it’s hard not to question what we’re doing
i don’t think anyone pays enough attention to the sounds of mother earth

note to self

oh man it has been QUITE a while since i have seen this great expanse of blank area just waiting for me to write. it’s a daunting task, more than i ever thought as time goes on. i have been so mentally busy that it doesn’t ever really feel like there’s any “room” left for me to write. i think about writing all the time; sometimes when i’m at work ill just write down a couple of lines that i just cant stop repeating to myself.

it’s not to say that because i’m “mentally busy” that i’m necessarily anxious or unhappy. i’m quite happy, actually, with a lot of things and the way they’re going in my life. i am very grateful for those things. i have found the love of my life, and we are working on building a life together. we have a dog that i cherish like he was my own flesh and blood (i tell people he is my son. he is.) my family is healthy and happy, safe and sound, i have food in the fridge and the lights are on. my work career isn’t where i want it to be right now, and it’s put quite a damper on my mental outlook but i let my bad days get to me too easily; i’m my own worst enemy, 99.9% of the time. i’m gonna continue on with where i’m at anyways and see what happens.

i want to write so badly but i don’t think i’m any good at it anymore. i just kept putting it off, and i would get an idea and play with it and jot down notes wherever i was and they’d just be another page i’d turn when i got to work the next day. it’s honestly incredibly hard doing this right now. each sentence feels like i’m just spilling out, not even thinking about what key to hit. there are a couple of drafts that i have saved. i remember a good buddy of mine at my previous job saying that i had to stop posting that i would be writing soon because it looked like i never did anyways; he was not incorrect. so i stopped doing that too. i don’t think many people actually read my website, and that’s fine, that’s not why it’s here. it was just for me to keep all these writings here. i don’t know why i did it in the first place. in some ways, it feels like i was talking to myself. making a note for later.

and every time i came to check the site, whether it be to work on a draft or actually post something, just stare at the stats, or clear out bot comments, i would always see those skeletal posts. and it would just remind me that i wasn’t writing, and i hadn’t been on soon.

i think i’m just beating the hell out of myself. i have this expectation of myself to be some great everything and its not realistic in the slightest. im not really sure how to stop, because i’m afraid that if i don’t act this way i won’t get anything done. and i barely feel like im getting anything done as it is now. not really sure where any of this came from either.

i’m getting to my wits end on what i have left to say. it felt good to at least type and it is nice to see a chunk of text above me.

t

sticks and stones

two baby birds were squabbling over a crumb this morning on my way into work.

tweeting ferociously and pecking at each other, one would grab ahold of the morsel and skip across the pavement, almost waiting for their partner to catch up and continue the fight.

i stood and watched them for a minute or two as they tangled and squawked and the crumb tumbled around, losing bits and pieces along the way.

hard to find any semblance of motivation when you watch two little birds ignore the hustle and bustle around them. it’s difficult to put yourself in a place on the globe when it seems like they’ve all been taken up.

there are little times when windows of the world open up to me. when the words that overflow in my brain simply reach their limit, only the sight exists. it feels like everything i say just spills out and creates a toxin in the air.

i simply wish to focus on the birds squabbling in the streets.

pickin’ teeth with a pocket knife

the earth is so cold,
you can feel the frost traveling upwards
through the soil and to the rigid blades of grass

slicing at my ankles,
dew mixed with blood
the moonlight shines down
hard to believe it’s night

my father used to pick his teeth with a knife at the dinner table
i remember watching him do it
the sharp edge of a blade dancing around soft gum
what for?

sweet menthol is the heir of death
i tried it once just to see what it’d feel like
it kind of grips around the gums in a similar fashion
and just dissipates into thin air

the sun is so warm,
you can feel the rays brushing off the branches
trees basking and dancing
hard not to live in the moment
hard not to live at all

t