On this bus to the end of the world...

I fell asleep again with landscape floating across the window.
It felt like it had been years on this journey down.
Down to where life stops looking so familiar and starts to look like what you imagined it would be. What they told you it would be.
Where you always hoped you would be. The grass on the other side.
A place you feel as if you've been before. A long time ago.
Where problems and troubles are just someones philosophy about society.
A place that belongs to us all. A place that no one man could own.
Where the king is a dreamer who holds his throne in his hand.
A place with sea at it's edge and the cool breeze at it's back.
With my house on the end of the street and yours next to mine.
I hope we grow old and see the places they sang to us when we were young.
The places baptized with the stories we know.
The stories they told us to make us lust for serenity and love.
My eyelids heavy now but my body restless on this bus to the end of the world.
Sleep steals my consciousness again.
Sleep welcomes me like a lost son.

If at first you don't succeed..

Life can be so damn frustrating!
I have been trying to move my life to the city (San Francisco) for too many years now. Time and time again I've tried to make the transition to the city by the bay, but it always seems to be one thing or another that holds me back.
I have considered the possibility that I've put this "life change" up on a pedestal thinking that it'd make me completely happy, and there is a chance that it won't. However this hasn't been one of those "spur of the moment" ideas. I've been thinking about this since before I graduated High School. Most of my close friends live in or around San Francisco and I pretty much am there most weekends as it is.
I've been rethinking a lot of my "life goals" the past couple weeks. Number one on the list is my vocation.
Now I love working on cars, and using this to help people. Not much these days can make me quite as happy as this, but I've been thinking "what if there's something else out there I could do?" Now granted I'm not the most skilled person you'd ever meet. In fact I don't really have too many useful skills, and not being able to find a mechanic job in or around San Francisco has been the biggest obstacle for me to move.
Who knows maybe it's just not meant to be or maybe the time is wrong, but for good measure I'm going to try again this summer.
Wish me luck..

A monologue from under a pew..

Here..
Right here is where I cut my teeth on reality..
Not reality like on TV or in a movie or a book..
But real life reality..
Reality with all of it inconsistencies and unpleasant smells..
Reality and it's ultimately naive plot..

Over there..
Right over there on those stairs is where I put a child's faith into action..
Faith like that of a silo full of mustard seeds..
A faith that drown carpet with agitated tears and slimy nasal drainage..
But a faith that receded like the tide back into fear and doubt on warm summer nights..
Over there I looked for the face of divinity..

Back there..
Back there is the door that challenged my reason..
My reason to find what I was told needed to be found..
That door that I walked through and kept on walking..
Where I burned my ships and damned my innocent comprehension..
Back there is where I took my first step as a man..

Still my thoughts are here..
Right here where I cut my teeth on reality..
Not reality like on TV or in a movie or a book..
But real life reality..
Reality with all of it inconsistencies and unpleasant smells..
Reality and it's ultimately naive plot..

A toast to fear, doubt and love..

To be completely honest with you without sounding too full of myself; I don't have any irrational fears, save one.
I have this intense fear of commitment. I can look spiders in their beady little eyes or jump off a forty foot tall bridge into the lake but settling down with some nice girl scares the hell out of me. It feels so real, so final.
I've never had a relationship last longer than about six months without subconsciously or sometimes consciously sabotaging it.
I see couples so happy just to be together and it makes me wish that I could have what they have, but when it gets to the point of no return, with almost an involuntary reaction, I bow out. Some tell me that this is because I haven't met the "right" girl yet, and others seem to think that this is because I'm part of the male population which is evil incarnate.
I've spent many lonely nights pondering if I'll be a confirmed bachelor for the remainder of my days and I've spent many first, second, and third dates wondering how to "ditch this chick."
I'm only twenty-three, young by most accounts, so I'm told that I have plenty of time to work this out and meet my "fishie."
So here's a toast to our fears, our doubts and love.
Cheers.

Embrocation, stale piss, and defeat..

People who drink to drown their sorrow should be told that sorrow knows how to swim.
Life goes by faster than most can compete with. Little by little you let the "here and now" slide to make way for the promise of living "better" tomorrow. The studious, the entrepreneur are heralded as the masters of the world, but at what cost is their feat?
The afterlife or maybe the "later-life", forever debated among scholars and revelators alike, proposes compensation for unwavering loyalty to "the cause", to "the big picture." An opportunity to take in all that was forsaken in the "before-life."
The trend however in this unwavering loyalty is sorrow of having missed what others have not. They long for the feeling, known to them as a child maybe, of being alive, of just being happy to be where they are with whoever they are there with.
It has become more common in our modern society to experience this reckless angst. The "just get through this day to live another" life we've come to know. We suppress our weariness and trudge on to our promised future.
Still it has come to us to question the truth of the promise in exchange of our days, months, and years.
Is it true the impotency of happiness in the life we live? Does it just end with the smell of embrocation, stale piss, and defeat?
Some drink to figure this life out, and then some drink to forget the life they missed.

Sun

I've been having some crazy writers block. So here are some words by one of my favorite song writers Eef Barzelay.

When it’s my moment in the sun
Oh, how beautiful I’ll be
But in a normal sort of way
Like I am you and you are me

Cause I have a lot of things to say
And you’d be wise to listen good
I think that hunger, war and death
Are bringing everybody down

When it’s my moment in the sun
I’ll share my problems with the world
And psychosomatically I’ll sing
To God and all his pretty girls

When it’s my moment in the sun
I won’t forget that I am blessed
But every hero walks alone
Thinking of more things to confess

Such as it is..

They say that there will come a time in life when everyhting comes together, when everything makes sense or when it doesn't have to make sense because your content with the answer you have. A point that you can look back on or look forward to and think this is as good as it gets, the happiest day of my life.
I've heard people use analogies such as "life is a roller coaster" or "life is a journey of valley floors and mountain peaks" but these do not envelope the idea that you have a certain amount of control of your life, "destiny."
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but where they were; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.
Enjoy life.
Such as it is.

Door on the otherside of reason..

Sleep is like the unicorn. It is rumored to exist, but I doubt I will see any.
Insomnia is the great murderer of sanity. My sanity.
At night in my bed I dwell on this plane between the walls in my room and the halls of the sandman's reality of dreams and nightmares.
Last night, to change my surroundings and to possibly be granted a few hours of gracious sleep, I slept on the couch in my living room. I remember putting the TV on mute, laying back and trying to fall asleep about 11pm. A few minutes later opening my eyes I had the strangest feeling that someone was at the front door. I didn't hear a sound or see a light or anything it was just a feeling. I went to the front door, unlocked and opened it. I looked out and there was nothing. Nothing unusual at all, just the wind howling through the courtyard of the apartment buildings. My mind groggy and entangled with the chimeras and specters of my imaginings, I closed the door, lay back down and close my eyes.
I must have fallen asleep, I woke with a start in cold sweat. The clock on the wall read 1:36am and again I had the feeling that someone or something was at the door. I went to the window by door to peer out to see if in fact my feeling could be confirmed and again nothing. I sat down for a minute to collect my thoughts and to reason this feeling logically. Not wanting to be a coward, I again open the door to confront whatever might be lurking by. Nothing. I walked out onto the balcony to take in the scene of the witching hour on Wilkins Drive. All was still and motionless as if it had held this pose for countless centuries. There was neither moon or stars to guide my clumsy footsteps down the stairs into the courtyard. The wind as cold as it was, seemed to blow right through my skin to chill my bones and dull my thoughts. Reaching the bottom step and losing my balance I slipped backward cracked my head against the staircase. Angrily I stood just in time to look up and see a large black bird take flight and squawk mockingly at my fall.
Damn bird.
I waddled back to the apartment, took a shot of nyquil, and put this strange night to bed.
I woke again at 4:30 and so here I sit doucumenting my maddness.

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her..

Penguins mate for life. Which doesn't surprise me much because they all look alike. It's not like they are going to meet a really new, and great looking penguin someday.
I am becoming a cynic to this whole dating thing. I find myself having the exact same conversations with single, available women lately. Disclaimer: I am not saying that all girls are the same or that all single girls have the same personality, however I am saying that it seems to be infinitely more difficult to meet someone "unique" or "not so very unique" than say High School. I guess I'm finding more and more that it is probably not so much that girls and their personalities and/or looks are changing. It's more likely that my taste in women has become unrealistic, and impossible.
To be honest I'm not even sure what I'm looking for anymore, or that I ever was sure in the first place.

Back in the day..

I love Drag racing and just hot rodding in general. My Grandfather, Dad, and Uncles all drag raced and had/have hot rods. I practically grew up at the race track. I only wish that I'd been alive for the glory days of drag racing. Check these out.

Rolling Stone

Eight

Ninety-eight percent of American homes have TV sets, which means the people in the other two percent have to generate their own sex and violence.
I, myself, grew up in a community of people that accepted whatever was given to them from their authority figure. We were taught that questioning authority is worse than falling victim to temptations. Television being the biggest controversy of my generation.
Recently I was reminded of an email sent to a friend of mine from a "minister" of this community. It was malicious and down right rude. He was using his soap box in this community to look down on everyone that did not line up with his personal religious standards. This man does not have a television.
The only fitting quote: "Karma's a bitch."

Big deal...

If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.
I don't always remember what dreams come to me in the night but the ones that I do remember almost always involve the sea.
I dream of hallways, windows, doors and beaches.
I dream of the cool breeze, the warm sun and a sad story about a girl.
Love is only for the lovely and such a glamourous thing to waste. No one likes to see a pretty face sad.
I dream of palm trees, curling waves and saying goodbye.
I dream about plan B, the borders of Mexico and taking chances on living what's left.

Then I wake up alone and wash my face. I don't want to live forever, and I don't want to know myself better.
Big deal.

Hype and dissapointment..

When I was young much like any other american child was told that I could do anything I whimsically decided upon. Life experience, inherited genes, and coincidence and/or destiny eventually fogged the whimsical view.
Who can say really if they've had a good or bad life? I, myself have had good years and years that I'd do over if given the chance.
I remember sixteen being so enamoured with music and writing songs that I was sure it was meant to be my legacy. I formed a band, took every opportunity that presented itself, and promoted my music furiously.
At twenty I remember after the last gig I played for an audience of five at a bar downtown in San Francisco the manager handed me ten bucks and told me he'd call me. I walked outside in the rain, my guitar in hand, sat on the curb and looked at the sky. I dropped my ten bucks into gutter and watching it float away. I was too strung out to cry and too lonely to try to forget about it. I remember driving to the beach in Pacifica in my beat up little black toyota. I went layed in the wet sand and asked God, if he wouldn't mind, to just kill me and get all this hype and dissapointment over with. I didn't answer my phone or see anybody for weeks.
The year passed and I moved on, but some part of me wants to be sixteen again.

Don't fear the reaper..

But with the throttle screwed on, there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it... howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica... letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge... The Edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others- the living- are those who pushed their luck as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.

Bring on the breakdown!

Losing ones mind is a consequence of too much narcotics and compound letdown. Or at least this is what I'm finding to be true. I start talking to myself when I'm alone going over memories and saying out loud what I would've said differently. The other day I caught myself in this situation and thought "how did I get to this juncture?" From all the way up there to all the way down here and gaining momentum.
I run out of words eventually. So it starts again from the preface. I do the things I know to do, but the pages are wearing thin. The place I promised myself to stop is always getting pushed back just a little. The faces are different but the idea's still the same. I can't fight the urge to crack a smile and say that everything's going fine. The lights shine through the windows smokey haze and who can help but wonder if we really can see the world as it is.

Why vice?

The hippies, who had never really believed they were the wave of the future anyway, saw the election results as brutal confirmation of the futility of fighting the establishment on its own terms. There had to be a whole new scene, they said, and the only way to do it was to make the big move — either figuratively or literally — from Berkeley to the Haight-Ashbury, from pragmatism to mysticism, from politics to dope... The thrust is no longer for "change" or "progress" or "revolution," but merely to escape, to live on the far perimeter of a world that might have been.

-Hunter S. Thompson

Under a Las Vegas night..

Las Vegas.
It's more of a sub-culture than a city. The past couple days I spent there I observed this cult in almost a third person capacity.
Outside the sidewalks sprinkled with snow still occupied by the prostitutes in their less than all-season costumes and the hustlers looking for an easy buck. Inside miles of slot machines sparsley inhabited by the few diehard patrons on a frosty winter Wednesday at 3:00am.
I walked the casinos top to bottom partly from insomnia and partly from curiosty. It's an empty feeling to stand there in the almost silent parade of flashing lights and janitorial staff. The faithful focused people of this "city of sin" are just looking for a break to get them on top of the pile, but then again aren't we all in our own way. Are we not all looking for that lucky break that'll ease our toil? It occured to me there that waiting for your ship to come in is foolish in the middle of the desert surrounded by conartists and cutthroats. In this daily conundrum is it possible to really have perspective of life? On the strip looking up the only stars are on billboards. The sky just a dull black haze.