Sweets

Sweets

He arrived on time to work for the first time in over a month. Their leniency made him chuckle, although he often wished they’d lay him off so he could get away from there and collect unemployment for a while. Placing his lunch in the office refrigerator, he noticed an aluminum container on the counter. He lifted the lid out of curiosity and found an array of baked pastries. Being as he had decided to swear off of sweets, he closed the lid and walked out of the office toward his shop to do a day’s worth of nothing.

Around 11 a.m. he decided to head back over to the office to grab a snack to keep him until lunchtime. Glancing at the bakery tray on the counter, he noticed that all but three cookies had been devoured. “The people here are SUCH gluttons!” he thought judgmentally. After he quickly imbibed his snack in the break room, he realized it was about time to “hit the train station” because “the train was coming through”. He and his buddy used these phrases to describe going into the bathroom and everything that generally happened while in there.

Walking down the hall, the office seemed awfully quiet. He went into the bathroom, did his business, and decided to swing over to his buddy’s cubicle for a quick chat. On the way, he noticed that the I.T. lady was not at her desk. “How typical”, he mused scornfully. “She’s never actually doing anything.” He turned the corner to the right and then again at the end of the faux-walls that imprisoned every wage slave in the place. He walked into Jim’s cube.

It took him a second to process the fact that Jim was slumped over in his chair. “Wake up, asshole!” he said in a soft voice so as not to alert everyone in the surrounding cubes to his presence. Jim did not respond. He leaned over the desk and gently slapped Jim’s buzz-cut head. No response. “Jim? Jim? Oh shit! Jim!” he spouted frantically.

He sprinted out of the cubicle to find help. Mike did not appear to be in his office on the left, but Dana, in the office next to him, was slumped over her desk. He wondered aloud, “what the fuck is happening!?” Two of the customer service ladies were lying on the floor next to their chairs. There was no blood.

In the next five offices in a row he saw John motionless in his chair, two vacancies, the president half hanging out of his, and the clownish head-of-sales with his forehead down on the particle board. The secretary had fallen out of her chair, which was neatly positioned on top of her. As seconds passed, his panic began to increase. He pushed the button for the elevator, but when it opened he was greeted by Lindsay the marketing woman’s lifeless body on the floor.

Having no idea what to do, he ran outside, jumped in his truck and left the premises until the end of his shift. Returning at 5, he jumped in his car and sped home. He thought himself an obvious suspect in the apparent murders of his co-workers, even though he had not the slightest idea what had just happened that day. Walking through the door of his home, he took his shoes and pants off and lay down upon the couch with the t.v. remote. The media had already gotten wind of what had happened and the story was all over the television. He assumed he would not be expected to report to work tomorrow, the thought of which made him smile ever-so-slightly.

I See Anarchy

Drawing parallels between intangible tangerines,

stick walking, walking stick, pass me some water please.

Quick, quick, quick 'cuz I'm on fire and I'm not sure why.

And I look at the sky and wish I could fly,

defy,

deny

gravity...

...the ultimate oppressor that holds

these buildings, buses, streets,

and stupid people in place,

anchoring them soundly.

YOUR SHACKLE'S A WAGE.

So I spend lots of time these daze getting high as could be,

tramping up flights of steps just to see what you'll see

at the tops of these buildings and mountains and trees;

and reflected at distance away from the city,

it's me that I see,

and I'm clutching a dream.

The Blocks Ahead

So here we go. It's hard not to take the "if-you're-not-for-us-then-you're-against-us" attitude these daze. However, I'm trying not to. For the folks who are ignorant though they know better, from me they receive the root of the adjective by which I've described them.

I'm a night person who has trouble finding others like me. I'm a watchman. I stay up late hoping I'll be given the opportunity to help the world. Most times I simply reflect upon the pursuit of peace. It's a lonely job, but I'm an unyielding optimist about it. I realize even when I complain that things could be worse.

I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I really am courageous. As so many people are lost to the day from the night, as so many people see the light and take it as an indicator that truth has fled the darkness, I insist on being awake when no one else is. Because the truth is these daze, that truth is hidden in darkness. Maybe that's the signal people need to embrace the night.

There is an entire continent's worth of love inside me that I'm just waiting to pass on to anyone with a minute to spare. Maybe I've looked at you in the past from the perspective of stranger to stranger and thought you looked like the perfect recipient of what I've got to give. Chances are though, we never wound up interacting and I wound up feeling like it was a shame we didn't. Even if it isn't with each other, do you think we could make a deal right here to reach out to someone sometime somewhere?

Ben and I rode trains together and spoke of isolation and wishing we could pack each other in suitcases to be taken home and enjoyed. We are physical miles apart, but aware that this is not strong enough to stifle our shared goals. Riding on trains and wishing for courage to reach out, or that someone would teach us courage by example, we met Nancy.

She taught us at least some of the courage we sought to learn. Mere seconds after our lonely bitching was interrupted by the train's halt at our destination, she approached us and asked if her eyes looked messed up. She was young, and shared so quickly a snapshot of her life and dreams. Nancy worried about her strict Mexican mother discovering that she had been drinking and told us she thought her chauvinistic co-workers had drugged one of her drinks.

Then, she told Ben that his eyes were pretty, that she worked at a Mexican restaurant, and that she planned on going to college. She repeated the question of whether her eyes looked messed up and we told her again that only the one did. We learned that she loved her culture and wants to one day marry a "hot Latino boy". As she said this, she was simultaneously worrying what her repressive mother would think of her messed up eyes, and we suggested she feign sickness and head straight to her room.

She thanked us and told us how cool and nice we were and we said the same about her. We talked with her for only a short while and in that time she embodied and displayed what we were both searching for. She was courage and strength. She was a walking dream and a waiting slice of compassion. She was honorable as she struggled to remain awake, actively combatting some substance that she may or may not have desired to imbibe.

This young woman was an answer to our secular prayer and we knew it at once. After we exchanged a friendly farewell, as she walked slowly away from us, it was difficult to determine whether she was real or a necessary illusion like some kind of wraith or mirage, a subtle trick of our minds that, rather than frustrating us, gave us power to press onward. Yes, I wanted to be the way Nancy invited us to perceive her: possibly a bit lost, but open-eyed and ready, primed for new experiences and undaunted by the city blocks that lay ahead.

*Note: This was written in greater Detroit and based on an experience that a friend and I had with a woman on an El train in Chicago.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 1: "Entrance Antiphon"

Here is the lead track. It is a spoken word I performed for the album, and it reads similarly to a prayer or a creed. In a Catholic mass, the entrance antiphon is essentially the introduction to following set of rituals that are to occur. I view this as a secular prayer directed at the people in my life worth fighting for.

1.) Entrance Antiphon

I will not succumb to the fears of my father’s generation, nor continue to dwell on those of my own. I will walk down paths on which the fearful will not tread and steer clear of the shadows of history’s ghosts. When I come to the end of the journey through this place I will not shed a tear or regret. I will have no excuse to feel anything but joy, for at the end I know I will see your face.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 2: "Change in the Air, Change on the Wing"

An a'cappella track from the EP. Also written in and around Fostoria/Arcadia, Ohio while driving around (as was "On Guard Til the End").

2.) Opening Hymn: Change in the Air, Change on the Wing

You see the time is come. You feel that change is near. Take comfort. Don’t fear.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 3: "Just Like You"

One of my favorite lyrics/songs that I've written without question. It's very simple and to the point, and the music carries the song by and large because the lyrics are short. As I said when I posted "Streetcorner", if there is any song off this EP that you listen to, please listen to this one.

3.) Just Like You

I laughed aloud when you caught on fire and did nothing to put you out because watching you burn is a far better sight than the feeling of being a hero. I felt no fear when I coughed up blood, I only kept on walking because risking my life is a far better venture than giving in to the same fears. I screamed in joy when the buildings crumbled, my head just went blank with the joy I felt because witnessing chaos is far from the horror of living my life just like you.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 4: "First Reading: As in the Void"

My friend Sam, who writes and performs trip-hop music as "The Revisitor", performed this spoken word for me on the EP. He has a style all his own, and while you may not agree with me I have to assert that I'm not kidding when I say that he makes some of the best and most interesting music I think I've ever heard and I've heard so much. Please check him out when you get the chance at www.myspace.com/madvisuals4u ; I can't wait for his album to drop!

4.) First Reading: As in the Void

I sit looking down on myself, observing behavior in ritual. I come to the realization that something massive has escaped me: my soul, my soul. I no longer have one. I’m living in a spiritual void, spiritual void. And everything seems empty all around me: spiritual void. And everyone is singing but it’s hollow, resonating not on tired ears. Everyone is trying to pile together, all into the void. They’re paranoid, paranoid. Into the void, paranoid. I am the void. Irreconcilable.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 5: "Alone on a Streetcorner"

I think the subject matter of this one is open for interpretation. I guess I'll let you decide. This is one of my favorite songs that I've ever written, and the actual process of doing so began when I was about 16. Most of the music was written then, and bits and pieces of the lyrics, but it finally all came together last year while recording the guitar. If you listen to anything on the EP, make it this song or "Just Like You".

5.) Alone on a Streetcorner

Play a song on the corner in the blistering cold. There’s a man all alone now because he’s got nowhere to go. Play a song on the corner, honor what you love. He’s gone away now. They decided where he’d go. I hate everyone because they all hate me, and it’s blocking out the sun and you won’t let me be. Play a song on the corner in the blistering heat. There’s a man at your feet now as you’re walking down the street. Play a song on the corner as the nation dies. Watch the scene unfolding. It burns your weary eyes. I hate everyone because they all hate me, and it’s blocking out the sun and you won’t let me be. He sings a song on the corner while he dies alone. So many walked by him, all going to some home. Play a song on the corner through your blistering hate. You’re all alone now, to this you can relate. Everyone hates me because I all hate them. The sun is blocking out me, and I won’t let it be.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 6: "In Pieces"

Another spoken word from the EP performed by Soda, one of my great friends and the vocalist in Deaf By Arms. He is an inspiring wordsmith, as well as one of the most subtly strong and overtly kind people ever conceived. As a man who has known and overcome struggle, strife, and the often convoluted opinions of the people who "know best", his style of living is an exercise in real, palpable freedom.

6.) 2^nd Reading: In Pieces

As I crumble, I know that I’m stronger than what I’ve become: a shell of a man, not much more than an atom. As I walk and I curse in the night as I search I can taste the remnants of what I’m no longer able to: victory, sweet victory. If only I had not stepped back. But there is always one more game to build my name or bring me shame, the latter not an option. I must rise above through my love and my passion like a dove. I can soar once more to the victory that is my freedom. The time is come, no not to run, but to piece myself back together.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 7: "Cincinnati"

This is a folk song about driving the north/south length of the state of Ohio from Cleveland to Cincinnati. During the course of this drive, you will pass through every major city in the state, and you will also find yourself doing alot of thinking because while there is quite a bit of interesting Americana located off of the exits of I-71, there's hardly anything to look at while driving on the freeway itself. Take a drive sometime for no reason other than discovering something new about yourself and your surroundings. I'm certain that you'll find the experience worthwhile after all is said and done.

7.) Cincinnati

Take 71 South for 250 miles. Take 71 South past the capital of Ohio. It’s a lonely drive, nothing to look at but fields and farms. It’s a lonely drive, nothing to think about but what’s been gone. Cincinnati, I’m coming today. Cincinnati, I’m not coming to stay. Cincinnati, wash my troubles away. In the river, I’ll drown today. Take the highway, roll the windows down. Take the highway, listen to the sounds of the engine humming, the wind rushing through you. Take the highway and drive toward what you’re trying to leave behind. Cincinnati, I don’t think that we’ll ever get over this. Cincinnati, you took something away. Cincinnati, wash my troubles away. Cincinnati, drown me in the river today. Cincinnati, don’t think we can ever get over this. Burning River, I’ll come back to you in a bit. Cincinnati, you took something away from me. Burning River, burn my troubles away.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 8: "Gospel/Homily: Walking Our Path"

This is a spoken word I wrote that is performed on the album by one of my favorite people, my cousin Chris a.k.a. Sleazy C a.k.a. the bassist in Deaf By Arms. He's more like a brother to me than anything, and also one of the most creatively inspiring people I've ever met. This EP is structured similarly to a Catholic mass as it is primarily an exploration of faith and the loss thereof. I believe very strongly in my own capacity to impact the world to a positive degree, and if you do as well, it's possible we could do it together. I have met many amazing people in my life, both religious and non-religious, and it seems like both sides butt heads all too often due to focusing on the differences between them rather than the glaringly obvious similarities like compassion, empathy, understanding, kindness, selflessness, etc. As much as I do not think it is fair to label someone "morally corrupt" because of a lack of faith in a deity, I think it is equally unfair to write someone off as "delusional" or "unrealistic" because of the presence and usage of faith as a guide in their life. With respect to my own faith, it rests within myself and the people I care the most about. Despite his misleading, tongue-in-cheek nickname, my cousin is someone in whom I have immense faith because he possesses the qualities mentioned above and more. His face mirrors mine and I believe we can lead. "Together, together! Defend our yesterdays! Defend our tomorrows! Together, together!" (Thomas Barnett of Strike Anywhere in "Sunset on 32nd Street")

8.) Gospel/Homily: Walking Our Path

They preached, I listened. They pushed, I reacted. Shoved against a wall and presented with a fight, you and I we will not bend, no not tonight. We are not masters of each other, although we counterbalance. At the end of the day, our patience is our strength. Your face is now my faith. It mirrors mine, a face that I believe in. A face that I believe can lead. A face that can reject this world’s greed and hate and self-absorption. A face that will join symbiotic, walk together til the end as we believe in each other. Sister and sister, brother and brother, friend and his other half. The end. Your face, a most beautiful sight. And in your eyes, a triumph. My faith has been affirmed.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 9: "Undeserving"

These are the sappiest lyrics I think I've ever written, or at least that I've publicly admitted to having written. I hate this song and will never play it live, mostly because I'm disgusted that I actually wrote it for the person whom it is about. That doesn't mean that I thought it wasn't musically good enough to put on the EP though. I do enjoy playing the music to it, especially the last couple of minutes.

9.) Undeserving

I’m so guarded, you’re so lovely. I’m so temperamental, you’re so perfect. Met you one fine day, moving out of your apartment. We started out just friends, never thought I’d want you so damn bad. Afraid to say these words, feels like I’m giving in. I’m falling for you. Afraid to say these words, feels like I’m giving in, I’m falling for you. I can be negative, but you inspire me. I see the good in life when I look into your (those) eyes. Your voice is heartening, your smile melts me. Your spirit moves my soul, your voice can heal me. Afraid to say these words, feels like I’m giving in. I’m falling for you. Afraid to say these words, feels like I’m giving in. I love you.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 10: "Floating with You"

This is about someone who used to be pretty special in my life. We've long since parted and I wish her nothing but the best. It's about walking down the beach on the shore of Lake Erie and feeling particularly alive. I love water, and this is only one of numerous pieces I've written about my fondness for lounging river-, lake-, and/or sea-side. It's even better when you have someone to share it with. This is also a very old song, and yes, I used to be a very lame romantic at heart. I'm definitely not anymore... ;)

10.) Floating with You

Stepped outside today and everything was different. Everything had changed. I felt something new. On the moonlit summer nights, walking the beaches and climbing the heights. Hand-in-hand we strolled along just floating away. With the waves that crashed upon the sand that we called Avalon, I wanted to experience this day after day. We float on the tide, catching clouds to ride. Feel all warm inside, and then we arise. When I’m all alone lonely by the telephone, you’re always the first thing on my mind. Everything you do for me makes me feel like somebody. I need to stay with you and my life will be complete. We float on the tide, catching clouds to ride. Feel all warm inside, and then we arise!

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 11: "Closing Hymn: On Guard Til the End"

I wrote this one day while driving through and around Fostoria and Arcadia, Ohio. The a' cappella track "Change in the Air, Change on the Wing" was also written that day. When I'm driving through places as depressing as these towns I tend to sing alot and make up my own songs if I get tired of what's playing on my stereo. Most of the time, it's way more interesting than what they force upon you through the radio. I suppose that day was destined to be a productive one, since I saw it coming early that morning. To make a long and not really that interesting story short, I woke up early that morning and thought to myself "damn my circadian rhythms are all messed up". Because of this, I started trying to figure out what that town out in Northwestern Ohio that sounds like "Circadian" was called. I remembered that it was Arcadia. When I arrived at work, I found out that I was to be sent out to Arcadia to make a delivery. Weird.

11.) Closing Hymn: On Guard Til the End

Asleep inside my room to rest your tired eyes, I’ll protect you with my life. I’ll stand here by your side, tough times we can abide. We aren’t running, we won’t hide.

Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate, Track 12: "You All Around"

This is the last song from my debut EP "Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate". It was recorded on a tape a few summers ago so the recording quality isn't dynamite, but I have always liked it because the lyrics were improvised as I strummed some chords. At the time I was going through a rough patch in a relationship and that theme dominated the ramblings spewing forth from my mouth that night. I particularly dig the line(s) about Suburbia. It's part my feelings on the institution that is Suburban living, and part a subtle homage to my friends in the now-defunct Willoughby, Ohio punk band "The Disgustings", who penned a song entitled "Suburbia" that was definitely my favorite. Even though it was improvised during a rough time, it still brings back great memories every time I hear it.

12.) You All Around

You think that this was gonna be a happy song. You were wrong, you were wrong. Think our ending would turn out for the…the better. Settle down somewhere in the woods, just you and me. Listen to the howling of the wolves, and walk down and look at the sea of stars. Sometimes I feel like I’m falling apart, you’re so far away. Do your goals really line up with true happiness? This is not a time for you to be indecisive. Once you let it go, you never know. It might be gone for good, the wounds might be too deep to repair. So think twice, think hard. Make sure you don’t want me anymore. Before you close this chapter in your life, I’ll close it for you. It’s hard to reduce this hate I feel, not towards you, and not towards me. It’s about the way we’ve set our dreams all up bounded by the fences of Suburbia. This is not what I want for you. This is not what I want for me. This is never what I wanted myself to turn out to be. I don’t know where to go, where I’ll find you next. When I look around, that’s where you’ll be. But probably not. Just go away.

"Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate" is Dropping Very Soon!!!!

Not that I actually think that anyone reads anything I put on here, but if you do, you probably know a thing or two about me. I'm in a couple of bands here in Cleveland, both of which are about to release albums. I play solo under the name Soapbox Prophet, and my debut solo EP, entitled "Sermons on the Subtleties of Love and Hate" will be available at the beginning of August. It will feature 6 songs, a few a' cappella tracks, and some poetry/spoken words that I have written that some of my best friends (Soda and Sleazy C from Deaf By Arms, and independent hip-hopper The Revisitor) performed on the album for me.

For anyone paying attention to that project, I am going to begin posting the lyrics/poems up here for people to read if they happen to want to sing along. I'll be doing it in reverse order from 12 to 1 and I should have them all up here before I leave for the small mini-tour I'm doing between August 7 and August 15 with my good friends Presque Vu, Mush Mouth, and MC Homeless & Jinx. Keep your eyes open for them and leave me some love somewhere in the comments if you care to do so. And if you're actually reading any of this stuff, thanks for contributing to my therapy. The arts seem to be all I care about, and I'll argue with anyone that they're all that should ever be cared about. Peace, love, and liberation from the societal chains that bind us!

~Ray

Suntitled

Suntitled

In the summer that was already fall, the 5 a.m. drive to take Mary home made me feel like we were driving through a cool Montreal summer, or possibly New York, or somewhere in Vermont, or one of those other places close to the edge of the earth that have the ability to remain cool during this season. Admittedly tired, we cruised along concocting stories about what we were doing out so late in the event that we should be pulled over by everyone’s unwelcome babysitters. I remembered the way back to Mary’s without any prompting and I got her back home safely. I headed back toward the freeway, missing the entrance the first time and having to u-turn to get on heading north. Driving north makes me feel like I am heading toward the end of dry land, to fall off into space like some 15^th century exploration vessel. Maybe it’s because I live near a lake.

Today, driving east made me feel like I was headed for the edge of the earth. I’m watching the sun rise as I head east (sun rises in the east, sun sets in the west as the old melody tells us). The tops of gray clouds look like a cliff as they morph into the real horizon stealing thunder and purpose like butterfly mimicry. Above the horizon clouds comes a light gray sending sunrays I can’t see but know are there off toward the west so some other insomniac in California or Washington can speculate as to where those rays are going a few hours from now. This patch of carelessly illuminated sky is bordered at its top by more of those clouds forming a sort of stripe heading north to south. These clouds blend with others in the north and south to surround me and create a tunnel in space as I drive toward the light.

The road is angled slightly uphill. I am climbing up toward the sky in a rocket car shuttle car flying car chasing smoldering dreams in circles for years within ages not caring one single bit that I’m not catching them because the pursuit is so beautiful. I am reaching the edge of the takeoff strip that will send me over the edge of the earth and into the faux-horizon’s elastic, waiting body. As I collide with the clouds I am redirected back to the west, this time flying upside down. Somehow I’ve seen this before and it’s like an instinct how I turn my rocket car shuttle car flying car right-side up and merge onto a sunray that’s moving just faster than my spinning tires pointlessly thrashing morning air. I’m heading out west to bring light to that insomniac. I’m heading out west to be for someone that joy I wish to feel. When I remind them that they still aren’t asleep they’ll realize that at least they’re alive and just as I’m hoping they’ll realize this, that sunray I’m riding will crash into their pupils and become their own hope. This is the only way I want to live.

Traffic

Here's a new short story I just wrote the other day. If you're paying attention to this page, please let me know what you think of it in the comment section. Peace!

Traffic

John hated his job. Everything about it was spiritually oppressive and because of this, his arrival home each night brought to mind thoughts of a massive weight being lifted off of his shoulders. Lately though, he had continued to be on edge long after arriving home and it was starting to bother him. He kept thinking about that traffic that stole still more of his time away from him as he sat in it after having 8 hours thieved from him every Monday through Friday. John thought about the cruelty of a society that, all ethical and moral advances aside, continued to rape its members of two-thirds of the time of most of their days through 8 hour workdays and 8 hour sleep recommendations. He’d been making a point of staying up as late as possible each night to reduce the degree to which this societal time-plundering affected him.

The doctors told John that should he stop taking his medication, it might result in instability that could turn violent. When on his medication however, John often felt lethargic and drowsy, which made being at work that much more unbearable. Recently, in addition to ceasing his “medicinal” regiment, he’d been sleeping even less than usual. Despite the fatigue that inevitably plagued him at work, the adrenaline rush of walking through those doors at the end of the day after flipping his boss’s door and the time clock off seemed to be keeping his gears clicking on all cylinders outside of work.

On the route he took home from work, they had recently closed the far-right of four lanes at an exit roughly 2 to 3 miles from where he entered the freeway, slowing rush hour traffic to a stop-and-go charade of frustration and even panic depending on how poorly the work day had closed. John could not for the life of him understand why all these thousands of people who took the same route home every day just as he did could not figure out that if they all treated the situation as a three-lane highway instead of a four-lane until the construction, they could all drive at a reasonable pace and thus reduce the evening commute time drastically. Every day he would merge into one of the 2 far left lanes immediately to avoid the melee of merging automobiles to his right vainly trying to advance themselves toward suburban destinations, and every day the jerks around him would continue using the rightmost lane to fly up as far as they could before the lane closed and cut people in the 3 left lanes off, further slowing down traffic.

One Friday night after having been reamed out by his boss for another co-worker’s mistake, John left the office with a feeling of absolute dread in his stomach. Nothing had been going right for him of late, and his lack of sleep was starting to take its toll on his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was navigate through the sea of painfully slow cattle that awaited him on the Shoreway. Incredibly, he was able to make it through the construction zone in no time, a feat he presumed was made possible by other “slackers” like himself leaving their paid prisons early to get a head start on the weekend, which came and went in less than a blink of John’s sleep deprived eyes.

The following Wednesday, John was stuck in stop-and-go traffic in the middlemost of the three open lanes on the Shoreway. He found himself behind a space cadet in an overpriced, undersized, environmentally soul-sucking SUV who had slammed on his brakes with no one in front of him just before the freeway entrance to let a semi-truck turn out of a driveway. Infuriated, John screamed out the window, “Oh come on!,” an exclamation he was sure the driver in front of him had heard. Sitting in line, traffic began to pick up once again, and he thought that he was about to spring free and be able to drive at a decent pace. Then, the driver in front of him misjudging the actual speed of the flow of traffic, slammed on his brakes again forcing John to do the same once again.

Stopping short of the car in front of him, John felt an unfamiliar pressure in his temples that seemed to intensify-and-burst, intensify-and-burst numerous times in a matter of seconds. Before he knew it, he had jerked the steering wheel to the right while slamming on the accelerator. He sideswiped the front of a car to his right gunning his engine for the guard wall at the right hand side of the road. John felt himself screaming angrily at the top of his lungs as he slammed into the guard wall. Taking a second to recover from the shock of the collision, he reached in the center console of his compact car and grabbed the Swiss Army knife his father had given to him years ago that he kept in the car for emergencies and protective purposes. Stepping outside of the car and onto the concrete of the highway’s berm, he screamed a nonsensical barrage of curses into the amorphous blotch of automobiles lazily idling away from the scene of his wreck, and then took one good rip across his throat with the knife. As blood spilled from the severed veins in his neck, he calmly stumbled to the other side of the car and lay down on the scorching ground. As the heat from the pavement surrounded his fading body, he thought to himself “never again will this traffic steal from me; never again will it hold down my soul”.

Thought Suppression/Thought Contraception

Careful not to asexually reproduce and create a mind-baby! Wear mind-condoms always!

Details coming soon.

Wanderlust

Wind sweeps across a desolate beach. On an island? No. In an equatorial resort community? Still no. Euclid, Ohio. Desolate is descriptive in more of the private sense. Not devoid of life, no; devoid of intrusion. We are smelling the aftermath of a day's rain emptying into a basin that has, for years, been beseiged.

Unfamiliar for one, like second nature for the other. Unity as wings joined with an updraft; difference of perspective. A chilly day has mellowed into the mild night before us. Aside from "civilized" water joining with its "savage" brethren, stillness is the rule of the night.

Grey over gray over gray over grey in the distance and tide over time and in time and with time creates unity. Separation cannot be achieved, not in this light. Speculation regarding changes in shade ignores the fact. Walk on, walk on.

We are bombardiers of creatures unseen, speculators of terrain already charted, yet this makes no difference. For no reason would we question why we are here. As statues of flesh we are still as the material we sit upon, that from which we would have been carved. Motion is our option, motion is our solace, and motion has brought us to rest. The wind drives through us, chipping pieces of our spirits to carry with it on its own lonely journey.

We know we will meet the wind once again, far from here, and we will never be lonely. The wind may question why it has come here and where it may go. But we will never question why we are here.