Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Midnight Sessions

Once young and full hope, now complacent and smoking too much dope. Seems like all these big life dreams are about to go up in smoke. 
We've choked on the smoke from pouring water over our burning ones. Wondering if it's better to let it burn or wash out and drown away. Still we can't leave till we've tried. We would do the same for you - the shirt off my back and to the last breath of air on this dying space mission -  we'll give it all to you. Would you? 

This world seems to be tearing at the seems. We can't keep fighting for these dreams. Things are not what they seem. We tell ourselves things are right, but we're all too self-satisfying to put in towards the fight. 
I grew up living in a world that never existed. There's no glass ceiling. It's crashed in from the storm, shattering where the rest of us held it up. Our mothers fed us soft fictional  to keep our hope ignited and fed it till we became brighter than stars over mountain peaks. They knew there would be those who would add fuel to the flames when our fire was just right. They knew there would be those who pledged a sip of water only to douse the whole thing with no hope of respsarking. 

Some come to water the flowers and some stay, and then there are the boys who taken them anyway. Picked for a moment and gone forever. Tell me awful one don you think all flowers go to heaven? Do weeds go to hell? Let's plant this new garden and see. We'll plant seeds of our own and hope they grow. Once we figure this out, feed them to the rabbits, the birds, the bees. Nothing left for you or me. We'll burn the ground and leave it behind. 

Running off with no where in mind. Staying complacent but always in our minds. This ones grown and died too many times over. Here is where we'll be. Come find us and see. 

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Bees Knees

My mind is lost in the forest and my feet are taking me towards the Skye. I'm staying here, just trying to get by. By and by we all get by.
I don't want to fly, I don't need to fight. Let me be here and rest.
One more cup of coffee, just another cup or my life will stay in standby.
All these thoughts are buzzing around where my mind use to be. I can't seem to get them out. I just want the bees knees, not up here where it's too tight of a squeeze between what's left and all those mindless thoughts. My mind is gone and my soul can't fill space where it needs to be.
I've lost my keys and tried to replace them luck but I'm bound to lose that just as fast as the rest.
I'm falling behind, or was I just too far ahead from the rest? Do I catch up or just play dead? I don't know.
No, we do know. I know. We've played dead long enough. I don't need to catch up. We need to get lost together instead. Time to get lost in the sea. This swirling sea of pine and birch with blue skies overhead. This time I promise to keep my feet on the ground and my head in clouds. I'll be making wishes until I'm found. Then I'll be gone again, moving to a new ground.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Midnight Session #2

She woke up in a room full of people she somewhat knew. She’d be alive before then but then the lights and music actually set in. She looked around and it was the eve of 2017. There were streamers and balloons galore littered all about the floor and from shiny strings on the ceiling. Surrounded by a group of strangers in the middle of a popular but forgettable often regrettable place.

-weeks later-

You know what happened last night? I stretched. I stretched myself long and tall. Let the blood rush upside down back through my veins. My vision was blurry for twenty of thirty while I stopped the flow upwards into my my brain. Instead I lowered it down to the ground. Or at least what this laminate hardwood floor suffices as. It’s the middle of Winter in Alaska and I haven’t felt the Earth between my feet or the wind on my heels since autumn came. Only the rigid long nail of weather moving about. There’s been furred and covered, at least ankle high boots, since end of October.

Apparently there is a man down south, a man so vile the history books foretold of in its repeated rhymes and lore. But nobody reads much of anything anymore. He breathes everything I’ve held my breathe in hope for. He is the breath against mine. Against every fake-told lore of freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness I once was told how the world was. Those wacky sci-fi books and shows aren’t so far off base anymore. Everything feels upside down. There’s monsters about. Monsters we created from our own fascination. This all feels apart of a world I thought was old told fiction or over whispered histories.

I don’t want to be poetic. I don’t want to write my fancy fuck feelings and thoughts about what is going on. I have nothing to say. Any words just feed into the divisive slicing machine drenched in oil that sits in a ‘cost effective’ factory that is fed with lead streaked water. Good thing there is bottled water for sale. A man only makes so much when he spends all his time working through the grind.


 I just want to sing, dance, and drink under the moonlight day light until the sunlit nightlight.

This is not the world I was sang into it. She always sings me to sleep. We’re all just a phone call away in this day and age.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry.
One of these mornings you’re going to rise up singing.
Then you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take the sky.
But till the morning, there is a nothing that can harm you.”

Feels like she’s spelling out my name.

Driving down the Alaskan highway half past 5pm, hour and a half past twilight, nightlight. Snow and ice covered trees and swamps rest easy. It’s not so dark with the radio up high and our bad singing voices to light the star lit skies. If we’re lucky we’ll see the sky cry colors of red, blue and green tonight. We’re not the only ones looking up to the skies thinking, ‘what the fuck is going on?’

Have spine. Stand up. No matter how far away you feel. No matter how small you know you are.  Reach for the tops of mountains. ‘The only man who doesn’t make it to the top of the mountains is the man who stands in another paths telling him which was to go.’ We can do better. Listen to the words in what your favorite Sunday alone with wine song says. ‘Rock out like the mangoes are in season,’ Anis Mojgani directs me to.

It’s been too cold even for fires. Today the sun hit my face for just a few seconds and it made all the difference in the world. Just two days ago it felt like the new year was beginning. Just yesterday it was the Chinese New Year. Today is a day from the late night of yesterday. Don’t let tomorrow be just another night. Goodnight. 

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

I never thought I'd realize how much I could miss the sun. No fan of hot weather desert parties, beaches, or anything much above 80 degrees. Tonight is Solstice, the darkest night of the year. We've made it this far and it's not been to bad. It snowed all day. For a moment the skies and earth all turned a spring pale pink like rose'd flush skin. That was the last minute of day light.


Monday, December 19, 2016

Are we too afraid to do anything?

Or are they not afraid to do anything?

Midnight Sessions


There are those moments where you realize where you are. The oil paintings are released from their prisons and surround around us. The mountains aren’t so far away anymore. We feel not so far away from each other, despite the the tress encompassed in every direction before the nearest town. We entertain ourselves. Things to take up the time. Charades until sometime in the morning. No sleeping just because it’s cold. There are the large rivers that winter can’t stop. No matter the river it’s never stronger than the salmon on its way home.

One of our new favorite songs plays in the background. You are living in the middle of Alaska during winter. It doesn’t feel as vacant as it appears before true sight. Only far away lessons of gold mines lost in inversiouness sight. The pits of the caves reach too deep beyond sight. A reflection of a show-side gimmick resort nestles at the very end of a long windy road. The fact that even wifi exists here at all is an anomaly to few. This anomaly is often not thought or or taken advantage of by most of the paying crew. But that wifi is what we all rely on to maintain our connections with all the places except here. The rest of Alaska seems far from here. Alaska seems far from the country it belongs to. Far from the whole world. It’s a place where winter shuts you in. The mind becomes a telescope as distant between here and there grows as wide as can be; hoping that continents might crack.

Summer rages in summer knowing no bounds. But we should only sleep when the day is done. Then so it does up here. The light falls and everything besides the land has to continue on. The light of the moon shines bright again from early in the four o’clock nightfall, then again in the late ten o’clock morning dawn. Time balances itself. Always.

Then finally I see it is time to die down. Lets the winter fall in. The sun always rises again.


Sunday, December 11, 2016

30 Days of Reflection - December 11th

 How does my living space reflect my inner world?

Doing seasonal work has caused me to think about how I make my room a home. A room that's been a home to many others in the past. A room that will continue to be a home to others in the future. A room with four walls and a ceiling, and if you're lucky some furniture to put your clothes in and to put your computer on.

I pack my tapestries up small, my blankets from home up tight, and my laptop with all my photos, music, and memories with me. I bring my small stones and knickknacks that don't take up much space with me wherever I go. I always bring my journals and my few small books.

These are the things that bring me home wherever I am.