Another tape job.

At night between the cries
of late summer forest glory
Cicadas amass the sound
is home but now
he feels the words
shrapnel to his being.
Said with intention to hurt, an end
for which they excelled.
His heart lay before him, once more
battered and amiss he found the tape he carried in his bag
wrapped it with too much practice, gathered it up and continued.



A poem in progress!
Poetry is so hard for me to access either reading or writing it. I am improving slowly but the sensory impact of it is rather difficult for me to pull together but I can't help but view it as the finest of all the literary arts. It's interesting that poetry is also most children's entry into the language. The rythem imprints rather well.
The world is still on fire and there is an idiot at the wheel. How did we get to this point is insanity. Does it matter… I had a story of a visit from one of those prankster gods. It was not long ago. You never know when it may happen but something will clue you in down the road. The presence of a person you have never known and never really see again is familiar to all but difficult to say beyond stranger but these individuals are something more.

Finding energy.

You know what, that's the story for me.

She wasn't there and then she was. Sitting at the left end of the bar. Details are foggy for time and all manner of reasons but she was wearing a blue (maybe violet) short sleeved sweater top that gave enough of a glimpse, bright blonde crinkley hair, and a presence that I wanted to be near.
Paul must have noticed so he started talking to her and she moved down next to him and we all talked and drank beer and at some point he switched seats with her so she would be closer to me and I knew as we sat there and the sun came up outside that I had met someone who accepted me for who I am and I didn't see any way that there was most anyone else like her on the planet.
Time got short and we had to leave, as we discussed how high and bright the sun was for it was midmorning, I got her number and I, despite the huge fear involved, called her. We had some fantastic times that summer and nothing then or now seems realer to me than who she is or what she means to me.  

---This all used to be in the front of the above part, that I like. 

There has been a lot or not a lot going on, guess it depends what side of the water you see the duck from.

I have found that I need to express myself in all manner of ways all of the time. Pretty much figured that but people think the cool dude I am around means I am at peace. That person is very likely not. It is a shell, everyone has them. I hid my emotions and their motivations and stuffed those away except for the ones I thought people liked. Doing so is very silly but we start out with ignorance and then get heavily influenced by stupidity as we somehow grow and survive. Writing is a place for expression that I super way underutilize. I don't have access to big equipment to make cool shit all of the time, I can always write, express, create. Even the last part is a stick in my logical mud. It's far easier for me to tell stories that actually happened. I am no good at creating the world that fiction lives in. I'll keep trying and get something a little right out of stubbornness but they are enormously difficult for me but I feel like the easier task of documenting my thoughts, experience, and perceptions then it is cheap. I waste a lot of time reading mostly pointless writing and the wandering musings of folks who talk about pick and roll defense. It's a little relaxing in this madhouse we live in. There is a point and I cant get to it through natural progression so I will jump there.

I've been doing a lot of self examination and my role with who I am and who I care about. My family is my everything and that's a given for anyone who knows me. My job is very important to me. Part of what I was realizing this summer that I place so much energy and care into my family and teaching and neglected myself. It takes a long time to get past the recklessness of being me. A big part of taking care of myself is expressing myself. Well, I failed at doing so in a decent way for so long that it came out all over but one thing I tried to do was show or tell people that they are loved and special, at least to me. This is important. We are all stuck within our bodies navigating a world unique in its own particular way from everyone else; when someone is appreciated, he or she doesn't feel alone. If that is for a positive and good reason, then he or she feels better his/her impact on the world. We need all of the love and genuine caring we have to see us through the shitstorm we are in. Hate will never die, at best it will smolder in a cesspool mixed through all other things. It will carry on and we will either get caught in its violent fits or suffocated by the planet adjusting for our greed.

I can't get around to the point...all this is going on and I was thinking about my wife, which I do all of the time, and started writing down the story of how we met. It was a nice strong start with a good flow and I decided it would be good to finish and make really good with some editing. I don't keep anything in one spot but everything goes in its spot. I have three different journaling programs on this computer and a different on my phone and various notebooks, folded pieces of paper, car manuals, etcetera. Can't find this really good start to the most important love I know and the mother of my son. Guess I will start anew and perhaps stumble on what there was before.