Smoke in the Sun/ Talking Trees and Drugs

Smoke in the Sun

There is darkness on every edge of town.

Its closing in, making us drown.

These great big buildings, these great big walls.

Their time will come when they to will fall.

The Earth is young and we are so old.

We are bacteria to this planet. We are mold.

Soon plants will again take over these cities.

Some will cry, but there is no need for pity.

Until then lets try and keep it green.

It's pretty hard hiding behind our TV screens.

I cry because there is smoke in my lungs.

No. I cry because there is smoke in my sun.

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Talking Trees and Drugs

One more swig of this amber liquid

One more taste of this chalky stone

One more drag of this crystal rock

One more go

One more trip

Don't worry

I have been down this road before

The trees spoke to me

They said everything will be fine

They became my friends

And I miss them now that I am clean

So here I come

Open your branches because

I need a hug

more than 

I need these drugs

So it goes...

Tough as Nails

We were born Jack, Tommy, and Will. But everyone knew us as Shorty, T, and Stretch. Shorty was youngest of are gang. He stole newspapers and sold them back to different drug stores. He always was the one who bought us the smokes. T was the tough guy. If you looked at us funny T was ready to start a fight. And me, Stretch, was always finding some way for us to get into trouble. We called ourselves the Main Street gang. No one fucked with us.

These 2 guys, they were my family. They were all I had. And I know I was all they had. We all had parents that worked the factories for 12 plus hours a day, and when they came home we were the last thing on their minds. We had each other so we did not care. Fuck um'.

 We always ran together. None of us had any desire to pick up new friends. We were to tight to let any outsiders in. We were the kings of Main street. Life was easy for us. Then we all had to grow up.

Shorty kept on moving up with what he was stealing. The newspapers turned into old ladies handbags. When that was not enough cash for him, he would jump cars while people were not looking at the gas station. He really started to make a name for himself when he started robbing every corner store he could hit. All this did was land a bullet in his back from some old cranky candy store owner.  He was dead at 23.

T got clean with me around the same time Shorty started hitting the stores. We saw him less and less because he had to much money to spend on every beautiful women in the town. T and I both landed a job up at the Factory were our parents worked. We promised it would only be temporary. We did not want to end up like our parents. But it was too temporary for T. He lost half of his right arm between to gears in the machine. He was done. He could not work anymore. He blames me for the accident. Last I heard he was living with all the local hobos at the junk yard now. 

As for me, I stayed at the factory, and sadly I am still here. I'm 35 and I have two boys I never see and who hate my guts. They stay out late with their friends running up and down the road breaking windows, and smashing mail boxes. I have no control over them. They as wild as I used to be when I was young, running the streets with Shorty and T. These shitty kids of mine make me miss those days. When life was simple when I was the king. When life was easy when I was tough as nails.

So it goes...

Finding your Home

"Home, let me come home
Home is wherever I'm with you" - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

From mansions in the California hills, to one bedroom apartments in the ghetto, these are not homes. By definition, sure, I guess they are. They have four walls and a roof on top. There is more to it than just that. After moving about 14 times, I have lost count, I have learned that these structures are not "home". 

Home is a place were you should feel secure and save. It should be a place were no matter how shitty your day was, you fill feel warm and loved at home. Some people are lucky. They grow up in one house, never move, and when their parents pass they take over. And the process begins again. But most of us know the heart ache that moving brings and how quickly we learn nothing is permanent. 

Home is not a structure. Home is not your 4 bedroom house, with a finished basement, and a big fucking jacuzzi bathtub in your room. Home is a much greater thing. Home is that feeling you get laying in your lovers arms. It is that peace you feel when they welcome you home after a long day of work. You are home when you gaze into their eyes and feel as if the rest of the world does not matter. Only your partner matters. 

These don't even have to be romantic relationships. We can feel at home with a friend. How they always have some clever job to tell you will you are feeling down. Home is knowing, no matter how deep our head is up our own ass, they are their to pull you out. They are there to remind you who you are and that everything is ok. 

So to me, I guess home is a person. A friend, a lover, a partner in crime, and or just a pal. Someone who loves your presence and who will be your 4 walls and your room. As clique as this sounds home really is where the heart is. And I am not trying to sell you some sappy Hallmark bullshit, home is really where the heart is. 

Even though with in the year I will probably have to pack my life away into cardboard boxes again, I feel like I am finally home. I found those special people in my life that I love, that I care about, and I know they will always be by my side and I will be right next to theirs everyday. No matter what. Period.

Where is your home? Are you there now?

So it goes...

I was so tired

   

The mosquitoes did not bother me anymore. The itchy bumps they provide were just a part of me. My sweat had become my second skin, making me shine in the heavy sun. My stomach was empty but I had no time to be hungry. The constant whoosh of the helicopter propellers left a deafening ring in my ears. I was young and I was scared. But above all, I was fucking tired.

I was tired of the constant battles. I was tired of hiding in the tall grass, praying the bullets missed me. I was tired of murdering soldiers, and having to watch my comrades raid villages. I was tired of watching them rape and murder the citizens who begged to them on their knees. My friend, Arthur, and I were the only ones who stood and watched it happen. 

Arthur was the only thing I was never tired of. We were friends since middle school. We did everything together. We even got drafted into the war together. Everyone in bootcamp new us as the weak links. We did not care, we stood by each others side through it all. We did not care when we were getting shouted insults. "Stupid gays!" "Fucking Fags!" We did not care, we still loved each other. We did not care when everyone forgot are names and referred to us as 'Homo 1' and 'Home 2'.

As I bent down, trying to revive Homo 2, thats when I realized how tired I was of the bullshit of war. Arthur was gone, the war took away the only good thing in my life. I did not care if we won the war or not, I just wanted to go home. 

So it goes...

How to be Happy

“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

― John Lennon

Every single one of us comes from different walks of life. Some of us grew up with great privilege, others of us grew up in the dirt. Some of us live in big cities, with tiny little apartments we call our own. And some of us live in the country, with nothing but space and we still feel alone. Some of us have fast cars to zoom through the streets in, and others of us have just an old 10 speed bike that we picked up at a garage sale. We are all different. We all live very different lives. However, we all are looking for the same thing.

Happiness.

We think happiness can be bought, as if it sits on a shelf somewhere in the supermarket of our mind. We think if we surround ourselves with objects of pleasure, we will be happy. For some, this is happiness. They settled for artificial happiness. Maybe they don't think true happiness exists, or maybe they are just to busy playing with their fast cars and swimming in their indoor pools filled, trying to forget all the people they left behind to buy this shit.

But what is real happiness? Happiness comes from the people around you. Friends and family. It comes from knowing that no matter how deep you have fallen down the rabbit hole, they are there throwing you down a rope. Happiness comes from knowing when the whole world has turned against you, your friends and family will be by your side sticking a middle finger to the sky with you. Happiness comes from these big moments and the little ones.

It comes on those late night drives, with a loved one by your side, and how you both agreed to take the long way home. It comes from those simple conversations you have, but in the moment they seem like the most important thing in the world to talk about. It comes from the magical unplanned moments when you realize that the people in your lives are all blessings. It comes when you find the people you never want to leave your life. That you want to spend time with for ever. No matter how far away they may physically move, one day, you will still find time to see them. To love them.

Happiness is the key to life. It is why we are living. It is what gets us through those hard, dark days, and what wakes us up early on those bright and sunny ones. Happiness comes from loving those who you choose to fill your life with. And also from loving yourself and who you are.

I am finally happy. Are you?

So it goes...

Why I Will Never Die

“I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.” 
― Banksy

Death is the only thing we are ever guaranteed in life. No matter how many vitamins we take, and how many times we turn our heads and cough for the doctor, we are all still going to die. Our bodies were not meant to last forever. We work our bodies down and eventually they know when it is time to pull the plug.

There is a way to live forever though. We must find a way to become timeless. To this day we read and study the works of Shakespeare and his heart stopped beating back in 1616, but he never died because his writing has such a profound impact on us. Andy Warhol's heart stopped beating back in 1987 but he never died because he became an icon in pop art culture. Audrey Hepburn's heart stopped beating in 1993 but she never died because of her beauty in the movies and how when ever she smiled we could not help but smile back. Martin Luther King Jr's heart was tragically stopped in 1968 but he never died because his words and his messages rang on in the ears of America

So what do all of these people have in common that is letting them live forever. They are artist. They are creators. In many different ways, but at the bottom of it all, they art artist. Artist who use paint, who use words, who uses acting to show their talent, their ideas, their believes, their stories. Everyones mind is a garden, but artist are the only ones who ever remember to water it.

I will never die. I will create everyday. Big creations, and small ones. Some for the public, and some for myself. I will write, I will paint, I will film, I will sing, I will leave this world a better place than when I got here. Maybe my name will be talked about by everyone, or maybe it will just be one person. Maybe it will be you who makes me live for ever, but I promise you this, I will never die.

Will you ever die?

So it goes....