when will you ever let go?

Lynn,

So I have this strong urge to come clean, to let it all out on this frigid late March monday Chi Town morning, although if I were to truly let it all out, it would take an entire novel. A novel set at the turn of the new millenium in a Chicago suburb. A novel not about a young man and his struggle with sanity after ________ rips _________ from his mind simultaneously replacing it with a perpetual state of confusion. No, this is a novel of two star crossed lovers who meet serendipitously, fall in love in the short course of a few weeks, and are then torn from eachother in a process as slow and excruciating as Chinese water torture, the young man eventually left to ponder the "Why" for years after.

The reason I'm writing, or rather feel so compelled to write you, is that you've been on my mind so much lately that the moment I lay my head down to sleep, I know I'm going to be "graced by your presence" in my lucid dreams. Last night it was the last moment I saw you, about a year ago, the night you walked out of my life for good as I blew up in a fit of self hatred and rage for allowing such a disaster to ever have occurred in the first place. Dreams are usually so much more intense than real life, but I have to admit, the actual scenario played out near verbatim to that evening, only with a rather joyous twist. You had walked out of the bathroom, looking as radiant and beautiful as the evening I met you. Your hair was blondish and long again, your eyes shining as bright as the hot caribbean sun off crystal blue water, you smile catching my heart in a moment of tender warmth as a hot shower on a cold winter morning lights every nerve ending of your body, reminding your subconscious of the long forgotten days cradled in your mothers womb. This moment played in repeat in various ways, all with positive outcomes, a practical, "and they lived happily ever after."

Instead, as I remember it, though, that instant of intense warmth was shocked, frozen by a mist of liquid nitrogen. When you walked right past me and out of my life, I felt every single time I had wronged you verbally, physically, mentally, all combined into one and shot directly at my heart. I understood the pain of losing someone you love on a level I wish no one could or would ever have to feel.

So since that moment, I've been stuck. Stuck searching for you, only the you that's single, the you that doesn't know the madness that once consumed my entire being. I've dated and compared every single woman to the innocent, passionate, yet cosmic connection I felt with your gaze locked deep with mine. An entire year and how every many failed dates and broken hearted girls later I've yet to find YOU. Maybe, just maybe, I should write a book about it. Title to be determined at a later date.

I want you to know Lynn that I will never forget you....you had an impact on me that not only allowed me to make it through the darkest of days, but left me with an intense vision of what I'd like out of the relationship that will eventually breed another being into this amazing daily routine we refer to as the "Real World".

a pimp looking for his juice

Elm and State St.
Chicago
11:30 PM....Wednesday, Indy Rock Night at Elm St Liquors
about 59 degrees a slight breeze, the sound of an ambulance in the distance
as I exit the club I had been waiting in for 2 hours with hopes of bidding a friend, a fashionista, bon voyage as she begins the next phase of her life, chasing her dreams to california...Los Angeles..

thinking about her being late and my leaving and most likely not seeing her again for a long long time, I'm distracted

"you best give me my fucking money bitch," he's crowding visciously close to her face......is he going to slap her, "you aint give me my money, who you think you is you worthless bitch, thaz right, im talkin to you...fucking bitch think she just play a man for a fool, i show you the foo...." i can see the terror in her eyes although it stikes me more as the look a depraved dog might give to a passer by, unsure whether to bark and bite or beg for food...caught in an instant unable to escape it's own cruel fate..

a poorly dressed slightly overweight bar manager from the neighboring disaster, also known as bachelorette hq, offers his two cents....."That's what happens when you don't give your pimp his money," followed by a snicker, a twirl of the toothpick and an I'm too cool yet I'm Irish not italian shrug of the shoulders.....(as if to say woah, eh...marrone.)

i allow his two cents to sink in for two seconds before coming to the realization that he's as big a fool as the pimp. i feel shame inside, shame and rage...unsure how to react to such a poor showing of humanity. A woman being further degraded by half a man....a man whose career path is glorified by the likes of Snoop Dogg or 50 Cent, perpetuated to our nations youth....my sister and her friends exposed to such insipid crap pawned by money hungry record execs as street life glamourized to a funky fresh beat, the kids love it...let's cross market with Mountain Dew.

The harsh reality of the Chicago streets sets my mind on a path towards sin....understanding how it is that man can truly be absolved of all his sins without atonement, without penitence, without exhibiting a desire to change? Why should this low life have the same place in heaven as a schoolteacher who works for low pay, endures years of stress and torment, smiling all the while and inspiring our nation's youth? Where's the incentive to be a good person in this world if we're all destined to be forgiven for our sins?

these thoughts circulate through my mind for a bit right before I open my car door, step inside, and realize that there's nothing I can do about it. Ignorance is all around me. Ignorance prevails on Earth....majority rules.

explanation

this is not art.. indecision

nor is it a start… uncertainty about my abilities to go anywhere with writing

or a glimpse into anything of consequence… self criticism

shallow thoughts from a lost soul…self deprecation/doubt

cascading from a mind…. erratic poetic thoughts

completely out of sync with sequence….what I’ve yet to harness, illness

frequently reading…..my vehicle towards truth

words misleading…or are they

to an abrubt conclusion
that life is merely an optical illusion…these two lines have many meanings, the perils of materialism, why one shouldn’t hesitate in chasing their dreams, the beauty within everyday life

distracted by fiery passions of a fleeting youth… ironically this could be expanded, in my case, to an entire novel as one sometimes need to search beyond the surface of their misconceptions

perpetually chasing ends to make amends……the path towards happiness is not easy and can involve incessant repeating of untying and tying, tying and untying, running and jumping and stepping back to marvel at the confusion

stumbling towards the inevitable……I call it stumbling as I’m destined to do if I have no grasp on spirit and only on mind and body

inevitably destined to discover truth…unless of course life leads towards an understanding of its meaning

am I a cry baby or what?

I just want to scream as loud as I fcking can….look at me, listen to me, hear what I have to say, see what I’ve endured, the turmoil I’ve put upon those who’ve loved me, know all the times I’ve tried to end my life, fizzling and fading into the distance with one drink too many one puff over the top one more pill to saturate an oversaturated mind…listen to me, I’m here….nevermind all the pain and suffering around me, nevermind the fear which others endure, the strength they summon in silence from depths unknown to my fragile mind….all I want to do is love self loathing….to justify my delusional behavior, to take the easy route out as soon as possible, leaving this world of responsibility and hope, perpetual fear and lost love, terror and triumph and helplessness, too much debt, too little sleep, too fatigued to fight for future generations spawned of my seed a seed of madness, a seed of sadness, a seed fed by the tears of solemn silence….fight the desire to scream….scream through accomplishment, through faith in a greater god, a greater good, faith in an act of kindness to another less fortunate, head towards chaos and chaos will be found, lose myself in a book or a workout, a mass, pass on some grass as I penetrate deep into…….the fog…it’s always here and all I ever do is whine and moan and write, right?

how many cups is it going to take?

I’m not in the best of moods and I can’t truly explain why….I slept well last night, I ran five miles this morning, I’m going on vacation in three days, I’m healthy, I haven’t smoked weed in a week, consistently in a month…..and yet I’m extremely angry about nothing. I’m brooding and I’m hoarding negative emotion. Maybe I just want life to begin to reveal itself. Maybe I’m sick of the daily routine, the lack of love, the preponderance of ignorance surrounding me, the stagnation and the realization that life is an arduous battle filled with emotions that change as often and as haphazardly as Chicago weather. Whether or not I can get out of this funk remains to be seen. I suppose if I keep writing nonsense I might actually read the words materializing on a screen in front of me and realize how truly ridiculous remaining in such a mood would be, maybe then I’d be able to laugh it all off, file it under a funk and move on. There has to be more to life than this daily submission to monotony. There has to be more to life. There’s got to be.

Tired. Cranky. Lonely? Cry Baby!

blowing 10g's in a night of debauchery

yet he believed his delusions of gradeur would open a door to a world of riches and fame, of no longer viewing his life as a lame attempt at chasing the american dream of corporate mergers and lattes, jetsetting across the globe, interacting with high powered movers and shakers, candle stick makers, those in the know and those who could blow 10,000 in a night partying till the early moring light. " The american public would just eat this shit up…."

Although the ideas were there, the gumption to chase the strings of a thousand colored balloons to the heights of the heavens above (skies his Mother had always reffered to as "the limit") was non-existent. Typing away comfortably in the glow of a flat screen Dell monitor required little energy and sustained his imagination long enough to bill the time to a "character building task".

reasons why moving from Lincoln Sq would be a monumental mistake

I fell stumbling face first into the earth
begging for answers from a god I never understood, a history I was self forbidden
a past I feared to unearth
that the future and the present, the past and the stars align
in measure in rhythm and rhyme
wait for the answers and run out of time
fresh out of luck
forbidden by the king a freedom to fcuk with peoples perceptions, misleading their minds
ten million varieties, one man kinda
nd women as well
a soft and tender rose for breakfast
light years away from any type of hell
are you shocked that I’m willing to tell
my life in plain view for all to see
to judge and ogle in awe at me
that I am a case study for freedom of expression
once unleashed from the bonds of depression: deep dark, full of despair
fighting and running, tugging and pulling at an entire head of hair
A head that loved to be rubbed, "It's okay honey, I love you",
forever wishing to be dubbed to the soundtrack of the experience that is his life
a lyrical dj, an artist of sorts
working his ass of to visit and enjoy the luxury of resorts
as he resorts to the sorts of behaviors expanding the distance between US
and OUR SAVIOR (jesus?)
the lord of the land, in heaven and earth
from conception on through birth and rebirth
dig and unearth
potential "locked" deep withinwe all indulge and enjoy freedom through sin when understanding the power of a sex filled hour with another we weren't sure we could carry, marry, and hold until death do us part,
“but, my lord, sex with her is a perpetual start”,
a beginning leading lust towards love, from here to heaven gliding with freedom through democracy on the wings of a celestial dove.........
inside another about to discover
a rapidly melting mind dissolving of the spine
humanity turning and returning fromnow until the end of time....I'm going to fcuking come
...Ohgod.....
falling to the knees, begging for more, please, please may I
do it again, and again, departing from distraction through physical
attraction impassioned from conception lost and dropped in the right
direction my new home, 2142 berteau, where is my mind going, these
lines have shown, fading and grading with rules well known....guides
to transition, guides to learn, disillusioned, a heart seared and
burned, the marks of the devil on a positive heart, today, not tomorrow, it's time to....to rebegin.

sin?

dig within?

these are trite statements......
fuck you, you don't know where I've been
look around
people suffer
help another learn to discover
and uncover
god within life delivering, departing from strife
my guide, my muse, my loving wife......focus on the present quit being a fool
these are not the answers, your habits develop cancers
one day attached to a defibrillator, cleaning up drool, unable to rise
from a stool, take a stance
here, now, this very second,
a second chance
to dance and enjoy,express my sexuality
no longer a 25 year old boy.

i'm late, i'm late, today's a very important date.

this is not art
nor is it a start
or a glimpse into anything of consequence
shallow thoughts from a lost soul
cascading from a mind
completely out of sync with sequence
frequently reading
words misleading
to an abrubt conclusion
that life is merely an optical illusion
distracted by fiery passions of a fleeting youth
perpetually chasing ends to make amends
stumbling towards the inevitable
inevitably destined to discover truth.

a sad hump day glimpse into a

A breif hesitation,a slight pain emmanating from his throat, eyes fill with the lightest hint of a tear….."I'm sorry Jobe," an incredulous and stern voice alienating a lost soul even further, "Things are really busy around here, you're going to have to deal with your problems…."Ok, sure…..uhmmm, just tell mom I called,"…the left eye begins to tear as the weight of his heart drops ten feet below the asphalt, the void filling with the frigid emptiness of alienation from one's own family….."Click"….nowhere to go, time takes so long to pass, tell me my fucking car window is fixed.

caught in a lie

"Cigarette; my ass! When have you ever been addicted to nicotine? I understand the message conveyed, but can you preach the truth for once? Just a thought from a fan."


True true my friend....I would have said weed but feared my relatives might get wind of this boring site. Truth be told, all I wanted at the moment I was writing cigarette was another puff of a joint..........but I quit that stuff, clouds the mind and destroys the lungs. I was fooled to believe it opens anything other than an acute pathway to manic delusional thoughts, or even an animalistic urge to procreate as it surreptitiously sterilized testicular virility.

anywho. I know that cigarette addiction can be beaten....none of my friends truly want to quit....so many people I know refuse to quit...maybe they started out of a need for something to do with their hands at the bars and clubs, or maybe out of rebellion, or maybe cause it calms their nerves, or maybe they even enjoy the taste. One claim by Glaxo Smith and Klein is that Wellbutrin (generically referred to as Buproprin) can and does aid in smoking cessation. What they don't mention as often as they should is the fact that it also has a tendency to increase the sex drive. Imagine, quit smoking, feel the benefits of an antidepressant, and have an increased desire to procreate. Side effects include.......anixety, delusional thoughts, restlessness, slight risk of seizure, etc etc.....oddly enough, side effects don't include dying a premature death from having destroyed god given lungs by years and years of calming addicted nerves.

there is hope. it just really fcuking sucks to draw it out from under the burden of habit.

uh-BLOO-shun: aka le mot du jour May 17 2K5

ablution \uh-BLOO-shun\, noun: 1. The act of washing or cleansing; specifically, the washing of the body, or some part of it (as in a religious rite). 2. The water used in cleansing

In fact, writing -- more exactly, composing in your head -- formal poetry may be recommended in solitary confinement as a kind of therapy, alongside pushups and cold ablutions. --Joseph Brodsky, "The Writer in Prison," [4]New York Times, October 13, 1996

who gives a fcuk.

I'm so confused about my life right now....(the answers are RIGHT in front of you)....I believe in the concept of literary artist as a profession...I believe my words, my voice, and my presence could have the power to inspire at least one person out there to BELIEVE they can and WILL make it through pain, through the fires and out of the depths of mental hell, a daily war, a perpetual pounding on a wide open door, answers lay forever within our grasp yet intwined by an asp of depression, Satan corrupting the utopia that could be earth with depression and anxiety as his two strongest weapons....disillusioned terrorists determined to destroy the infrastructure of an entire world....3 billion people at the mercy of individuals so corrupt with bullshit theological belief that they will strap 10 lbs of explosives to their chest in the name of Allah. Their reward, 21 Virgins...in a hell that truly exists. Forgive them their sins for they are misled..........

Legions of teenagers and middle aged men, housewives and grandparents suffer from fear, hurt and shed thousands of tears for years until it consumes them. Has a revolution already begun? Yes. Elisabeth Wurtzel, Rick Solomon, Hemmingway, Silvia Plath, Vincent Van Gogh......artists suffer from these dieases for a reason. I've suffered through this disease and an addiction to drugs and booze for a reason. The exponential growth of modern medicine can destroy the reasons by providing answers, destroying cancers, changing the shape of lives one by one as 10,000 or 10 million turn over a new stone, gain an understaning of the power of LOVE and FAITH and HOPE, the keys to positive change in a world suffering the grip of terror...

Words are my steel and my concrete, my message and my source of hope for a movement greater than I. Through writing I achieve boldly wearing my heart on my sleeve, escaping the grips of the machine through a benefactor's grant of permanent leave, entering a world in which an artist may explore, expose, and explain.......traveling the globe on a plane, out of my pen a deluge of creative rain to fill the days and hours of curious clients with unknown powers, powers to change and rearrange, powers to explore the depths of their soul, to release the chains that unknowingly bound them to the selves others mistook them to be.....

and as they're allowed to roam free.

hope emmanating with every beat of an impenetrable heart

opening blind eyes to see

a clearing through the dense fog of terror

a grant from a benevolent angel

at life, not death......self-discovery.

mathematics for a broken soul

And as the soft sound of Diana Krall’s voice resonated through the dimly lit office, his anxiety began to surge and fall surge and fall, following an undpredictable sine curve of emotion. She said goodbye time and time again and yet this time it seemed as if it was real, proper, and timed perfectly to coincide with something or nothing, in either case, tangible, able to be harnessed and held close in realization that the end was ok, that allowing someone to finally fall gracefully out of the scope of his life was healthy, that he could turn obsession into compassion for her having moved on. And yet the days and minutes that ticked by were still filled with masochistic behavior, with wallowing, with missed deadlines and lost opportunities, with an affection for depression, with an attachment to medicine as the only beacon of light out of the present, not realizing that a shortcut lay slightly ahead and to the left of comfortable. The signs were mislabeled, west was in fact the way he needed to veer, east was the way he’d always traveled, east of eden, east of normal, east of love and east of the way……west….west…west.

Tu me manquerais toujours mademoiselle…..je vous aimerais toujours!

And as he longed inside for the day that serendipity would allow their paths to cross at a time far from now, the realization that he was writing a path which he should actually follow registered for an instant before impending deadlines born of the chase for the corporate dream grabbed hold of his perpetually distracted attention…….one day I’ll be free to play and explore to learn and write and no longer hope for more, four more years, no more tears” he thought to himself, “who knows what the future may bring.”

i'm am neither a preacher or a teacher, I'm merely a man without much of a plan.....

And again and again, I write to right the wrongs I see staring 10 feet in front of me…a vision of serenity, the calm salty sea….dusk falls from the sky, just a regular guy with a voice and a choice…a hope and a trust….lusting for a future in which the answers and the questions rearrange until I understand the world in all its mysterious shapes and forms, refusing to conform., wishing she was here or that she would hear, that my mind could be clear and I wouldn’t have to wait another year, that humanity wouldn’t have to cry another tear….fright destroyed by the bright yellow rays of sunlight striking and illuminating a path towards righteousness and glory……open your minds and discover a story….you’re not alone………we’re all in this together…..depending on one another, my brothers and sisters, relatives of another mother…and yet nothing I say makes any sense, reverberates or resonates, breaking through barriers, destroying pretense, a misunderstanding that there’s only one certain truth, a mistake and a flaw easily blamed on the fiery passions of youth....so I’ll write and I’ll right, I’ll choose to stand tall, hide behind a keyboard and fight for that in which I believe for that which the sweat blood and tears of my foremothers has produced and boldly achieved, conceived in an instant of passionate pleasure, writing and inspiring and longing for days of leisure, buried treasure is not a method to measure the mental state of a man…….ending at the beginning, running and searching without much of a plan.

i'm a voodo child

I am a voracious reader. I am a visual person. I’m extremely opinionated. I am 25. I have plenty to learn. Although I’ve been lost in and perused many a museum, I can’t say that I’ve truly understand what it means to interpret another’s work. I have my own interpretations of whether or not I’m drawn to the piece. I know how to form a legible sentence. At times I can even put together a paragraph. But to claim that I have any ability to critique the “hard work” of another would be blasphemy. Art is my refuge, my path out of monotony, my journey into the mind of another. Visual interpretation is a task I’m faced with on a daily basis. “Do these jeans accentuate my figure,” “does this vase clash with yellow flowers,” “does the lighting really do this room any justice.” I’m plagued with questions about everything, anything, and nothing. Supposedly writing is an art in which I have an innate ability to express emotions, thoughts are an entirely different story altogether. I’m a literal mess. Maybe a workshop might help me learn a thing or two?

i'm not sure what you want from me

this is a joke

a puff on my cigarette, deeply inhaling carcinogenic smoke

laughing and wondering why it is that I've joined the "revolution"

convoluted steps to post my thoughts on an intricate web of waste...of thoughts expressed and never read

of a life lived by the seat of my pants, unzipping slowly my zipper as she leans over
and begins to give me

a sign or a signal that such great heights have no reason to induce fright in an overstimulated mind

I'm expressing my thoughts and my feelings,

this is private

please stop reading

welcome to the beginning

the
entrance
to
an otherwise
fcuked up
mind.

ciao bella

whoisjobe?

spiders are filling out tax returns

and yet I've filled out nothing.....the man is holding me down leaving a perpetual frown on an otherwise happy face....embrace the fact that you can dream and learn and grow and know the path out of fear isn't far from here...hear the call and fear not the fall for a leap of faith is all it takes to launch your life from pain and strife to a path left of center a not so comfortable journey you're about to enter....press enter and see
the lines
materializing
on
a screen
on
a
cold May's Thursday night

a light and a puff
I'm never going to be able to quit this stuff

or maybe I will
if God blessed me with a life of free will

I'll quit
you'll see.

Just one more cigarette.
Tomorrow.
Trust me.