Arrival

Glossy eyed he looks to the window where daylight spangles the green growth of leaves across the parking lot. The early morning birds mock him and he rolls over to go to sleep, waiting for relief from the troubles of his life, waiting for the right moment to hit the big time in a world where everyone else has done what’s already done.

The sunshine has been extolled, the games have been made, the thoughts already thunk, nothing remains for him. His hobbies remain as augmented jewels in his crown, the sweat on his forehead is for his garden alone and his misplaced dreams stalk the fields of his mind like whistling stone titans in the dark rain.

Were they dreams or expectations?

All the while a calm voice eternally tells him, too softly to surmount the churning wash of intricate internet data and jabbering movies and maddening music, and fear. It is too soft to hear until he quiets his mind, faces his feelings like a stalwart rock in the ocean surf. Only when he lets the ride play out can he hear her in his mind…

And he finds a kind of peace. A small kernel of what cannot be touched, cannot be beaten down, will not yield to the pounding waves, the moving birds, the thunk thoughts. Each day he finds it harder to find, each day the weeds grow taller and he forgets to make the journey to the place of purity where the titans never walked. And in clarity like a gong, his body relaxes and he gets out of bed and makes coffee.

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Nono’s Store

We were all living at Aunt Nono’s store at the time: My Father Kevin and Mother Nancy as well as my Younger brother Ryan. Aunt Nono was in California when it all started so we had no idea where she might have been. The electricity was out for a few months and so we were still getting used to making fires and lighting the old oil lamps Nono kept around the antique store. It had a cozy back room with a fireplace, all wood paneled walls. The front room was about as boring as any store front, and it’s big front windows saw through to the strip mall enclave outside.

I was never a big user of technology and my parents grew up in the 80’s so I don’t think the internet crashes really hit us as bad. Their big thing was the lack of comforts. It took hours to boil the course rice from the bag we salvaged and our clothes stank from lack of any running water to clean them. It bothered me too, but I could see it bothered them more.

But my brother, he never lived in a world without phones and the internet. Even as we sat by the fireplace with the pot boiling rice and the low firelight flickering across our downtrodden faces, he would take out his precious phone and the foreign blue-white LED light would splatter into the dark. His eyes wide and grasping for hope that he would get a connection again. Each time, it became worse to see; I just wanted to take it from him and throw it into the fire, but I could see it gave him hope and that was the resource that could afford any cost.

“Why don’t you just throw that damn thing away!” my mother said. Her face twisted with frustration as she huddled under Aunt Nono’s blanket.

My brother said nothing but clicked refresh on the unopened web page.

“Didn’t you hear your mother!” my Dad said by the firelight. He threw in a leg to an antique chair and the smoke smelled like varnish.

“Maybe it came back up! The government was trying to bring it back in places.”

He clicked refresh again and I could see tears in his eyes. I reached over and put a hand on his. He looked over suddenly with wide eyes.

“You’ll waste the battery.” I said

Slowly he clicked away the screen and put it back in his pocket.

“We’ll try again when we can move.”

The first month or so we had to live this way, sitting by the fire waiting for the rice was full of conversation. We’d reminisce over things and the places we went and how things might get closer to how they were. I always knew that things would never go back to how they were. I didn’t say anything, but I think they knew.

Now we just sat by the fire, watching the flames like the enigma of life. The only sound now the lapping of its magic tenderals on the pot, the snapping of ancient wood, and the occasional bolt of thunder beyond the thin confines of the house. There was no telling if it was natural thunder or not. The silence with each other was a fearful and tense comfort.

We had to find things to occupy ourselves. Nono’s store had a collection of strange knives and I learned pretty well how to throw them and a series of marks embedded into the far wood panels of the wall showed practice. My favorite was a sort of curved knife with a curved handle of bone with a large pommel at the end. I would idly learn how to spin it between my fingers. I taught my brother as well.

“I’m gonna look outside.” I said, standing.

My family looked at me.

“Be careful.” My mom said.

“I’ll look too.” My brother said and got up.

Beyond the thin wooden door was the storefront, still full of junk and antiques which were now of little value except to burn. An old globe, the kind you’d see in old movies in some rich guy’s study, stuck out among brass poles to a disassembled trundle bed. Coffee tables and handcrafted chairs with floral patterns on their cushions from a bygone but not a dissimilar era.

The big glass windows that looked out to the big parking lot showed the rubble and deep holes gouged into the tarmac. The other stores in the old strip mall plaza were dark. Old cars, either smashed into twisted metal or burned to a solemn husk littered the cracked and jaunted pavement. In the distance, a tall building was engulfed in flame. It had been burning for two days.

The sky was clouded with a low overcast that had been present for nearly a month, and tiny speckles of rain formed on the glass panes. Under my poncho and my brother under his blanket, we moved to the window and looked up. Beyond the clouds flashes of orange light could be seen and their mystery was terrifying and out of our control.

The two of us just looked and said nothing for a long moment.

“What do you think is going on?” My brother finally said as booms and rumbles reached our feet.

“I don’t know. The government could be trying to fight them.”

Suddenly an object burst from the clouds far away. Behind it carried a streamer of blue flame and debris broke away and spiraled in streaks of blue.

“look!” My brother said.

The object became more clear, and it seemed to be nearing us. An aircraft of some strange design. I couldn’t see any wings and my brother adjusted his old rayban glasses to see better.

“Get back.” I said as the craft broke apart further, it’s hulk rocketing down.

The craft struck the burning building and the largest part skipped off of it in a shower of fire and rubble. It moved very fast now in our direction and crashed against the smashed pavement at the edge of the parking lot. The sound was a tumult and the ground shuddered under our feet as it came to rest at the far end of the plaza.

From what I could see, it was not a government plane or design at all. Wordlessly we watched it as blue flames rose up to the heavens.

From the side a door could be seen opening and we pressed up to the glass to see. Several small blue humanoid creatures exited it and milled about the wreck, they had weapons of some kind and red spines flaring off of their heads. At the distance we were, it was hard to tell what they were doing, but they were the survivors.

“It’s them.” I said, and the primal fear took hold. We looked at each other and both bolted back to our parents.

“We NEED to go.” I said

Mom and Dad both looked up at us, breathing heavy.

“What is it?” My dad said standing.

“A ship or something just fell and some of them  are out there in the plaza.”

We took no time to hurry our things together. The hunger was what lead my dad to strain the half cooked rice, pouring the water over the fire and make for the door last with the pot in his hand. We left the embers for whomever might find it.

The four of us moved swiftly as we could out into the woods next to the highway and we did not stop moving until dawn rose the world into a grey.

Bigger things on my mind.

Okay, so lets say that I find someone who I love, whatever love really means, and lets say I spend my time with that person and we hold hands and laugh and carry on with fulfilling each others’ sexual fantasies  and all that jazz. I know eventually what that leads to is having some kind of offspring, and that involves creating a new person, and that person makes more people, and more people keep making more people and that keeps fucking over the earth until there are no resources left and everything dies.

I guess there is adoption, but that’s like the same thing.

I mean it’s a selfish thing to say that what genes i put in are gonna lead to the kid who grows up to solve all the fuckn’ problems. most people don’t try to solve any problems.

No, it;s better off that I just don’t get involved, if I just don’t look for anyone, I’ll just devote my time to my work, writing things and traveling, and writing about traveling. making up stories and commenting on the status quo with my own observation and ending up poor homeless and broke, but maybe somewhere cool where they still respect hobos.. maybe Australia, or Iceland.

I’ll just devote myself to something, and even if it changes nothing at least I can say, “hey I did that stuff at least”

Maybe when I’m dead people will see some stuff in something somewhere. After the internet is gone and some some scrap of paper with something I scribbled on when I felt the pangs of loneliness and the crushing embrace of the voidy aspects of existence, maybe someone will find that and suddenly the conundrum of their life is made clear and they have some kind of zen style enlightenment and that person goes on to lead what remains of humanity back to a civilization but without the folly of our ways and that awesome civilization, inspired by a poem I wrote, goes on to create technology and culture that our primitive, unenlightened minds could never comprehend like…fuckn…mind..wave…power, or maybe they discover the latent powers humanity has that we just forgot.

Maybe they go on to space  somehow and create new planets with different evolutionary timelines that lead to all wonderment of fantastical species of plants and animals, like talking dogs or sentient daises, and all the people aren’t ashamed of themselves and run around the grass all naked in the sun and shit because no one is sexualized or unsightly in the awesome culture of people and sentient daisy-dogs, but like all the people still get it on (consensually) however they want because they can all tell eachothers’ thoughts. Stuff we would think is really weird and taboo would be totally cool because we are all just temporary beings in a fluctuating world…and..

well that’s why I think we should be seeing other people.

Grey

Grey is my heart and grey is my mind,

grey is my view on days gone by.

A mist of vapid mystery.

Each moment is a grey droplet swirling around me

grey  in color, grey in emotion, grey in impact

I age like a tree among them.

Lines and creases deepening into my animal form

Growths and hair sprouting

The pain and joy mixing in like scars.

I am a concoction, a chemical, a mist among mist.

All that I can grasp is grey, all I am is grey

the mist disperses me.

Yet just beyond my reach, in the next hour, in the next day

is the phantasm of all simple color and vibrancy

I am chasing it like childhood across the vapid land

And as the mist grows heavier

Like a tree I will stand.

And reach my fading arms towards

the sky beyond the clouds.

.

http://bit.ly/1JGYDfE <—scifi serial story.

http://bit.ly/1HcO7yX <—-Maybe another poem.

Mind’s fire.

Circulating Spirals of uncertainty rise and retreat.

Dark forms burn in my brain, casting secret shadows from clear flame,

releasing Angels and Demons, both pure and profane.

Coals burn hot with life filling my soul

And yet the darkened logs weigh heavy as all toil.

flames in my head grope at the sky

like a hornet’s nest, swirling fears and lies

biting notions of a burning will

to fight, what love, and who to kill.

It all seems useless.

The pressure strains in multitudes

smoke of all lost and ash of all dead

only substance, white-orange and lapping

is the fire in my whirling world

destined to disperse.

Yet feed the flames again and again,

I catch onto new worlds whether living or dead.

strength.

Life is not a process of getting to some plateau where everything is fine and every objective is completed. Society isn’t some entity that will solve all of our problems. Once a problem in the past is dealt with a new one arises. A triumph in the moment becomes the watermark of your trajectory and you wonder if that really was a triumph or something that makes you worse off in the end.  You are constantly battling the forces around you, who these other people are and what’s expected of you while at the same time you battle yourself  in whether you’re making the right decisions. What type of person  you are becoming, who have you become takes on a dark beast inside of you. In the moment you feel that you are exactly who you want to be and are comfortable, there is always lingering that something might be missing.

At the same time all those around you try to pick apart what you really are.

Maybe the ancient Nords had the right mentality. Not necessarily going off and killing people, but sallying forth into the world with your armor and sword just for the joy of playing the game of life.  I sometimes wish I could just detach myself a bit more or take on a more concrete philosophy.

The High points come with the low and vice Versa. perspective is everything, but when things don’t line up, and the world is all around you and you know it could just continue on without you just fine. When love is beyond your grasp and your looking for something better than all the bullshit rules of engagement. Or when the place you’re in grows stale and those ideas and theories that were full of passion have become something else. When you look back at times in your life with regret and fear for the future. That is when the enduring spirit must come through you.

Words have meaning, and even though people exaggerate now more than ever, when someone is sad, they are in a low place. If things feel as though they are falling apart around you, or that no one cares, or that you can never become anything greater than where you think you are.

Remember that there is greatness within you. You hold all the potential of the universe to make things happen. Even the sick and dying have more effect on the world than those who live in their neat little spheres of life. Life is not always a high point and whether it is others or yourself that you are battling, you are the hero of your own saga.

And you have the strength.

 

Live on and fight!