Wasting My Life

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Soundtrack “Mercury” by Ruston Kelly.

When sitting at a extra long red light, do you ever wonder if perhaps you’re wasting your life
When standing in the chips isle, struggling to choose between Doritos and Barbecue Chips, have you ever found youself questioning if maybe you’re wasting your life
When lying in bed with the snooze alarm going off for the third time do you ever conceive of the notion that you’re probably wasting your life
Have you ever sat in a crowded bar watching everyone laugh, flirt and drink and come to the conclusion that you’re possibley wasting your life
When sitting in front of your big screen watching the same commercial for the third time, have you ever pondered why you’re wasting your life
Sitting silently in a cluttered break room, have you ever decided that you’re definitely not doing what you’d like with your life
Have you ever sat on a couch in the middle of some big party filled with laughter and loud music and despise the idea of wasting your life
Have you ever traded three hours of inebriation for a tomorrow that guarantee’s a headache, sour stomach, a worn outness and once again it leaves you questioning why you’re wasting your life
Has your life ever felt like a grainy B movie with no plot, or a corny country song about a broken hearted cowboy and you find yourself humming along to the soundtrack of his wasted life
Standing in a long line at DMV waiting to renew your vehicle registration, have you ever viewed yourself from above and watched as you wasted away
Sitting on a squeaky pew in an empty church, crumpled up and praying for faith only to find that my guarding angel is refusing to circle, Jesus is busy choosing the next big lottery winner and the fucking silence of it all grows ever more deafening

Have you ever found yourself watching the news, different day, different names, but the same old bullshit and ask yourself why does everyone seems to be wasting their life away

While waiting in a huge line at Starbucks to pay an exorbitant amount of money for a fancy coffee, I suddenly become shocked by the insanity of it all
Does anyone else suffer a similar craziness to it all?????
I pump gas, pay bills, feed the cat, do laundry, shop, cook and clean, only to find myself tearing another month off my calendar

Have you ever walked into another room and forgotten what you came there for, and this is what wasting my life feels like

Amongst all the nothingness of me, I see us flying kites on a windy day and the green field smells of freshly cut grass, the blue sky stretches out to the Sierra Nevada foothills—–and your dress blows up in the wind and it makes us laugh. We let our kites go and I kiss you and it feels like I’m cutting all my strings. And for that small moment, all the nothingness of you and me no longer matters to anyone or anything……

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Pardon The Cello

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Soundtrack “Learned A Lot” by Amos Lee

Today they would’ve called us geeks or nerds
But when I was a kid we were the misfits, the oddballs

The ones who ate lunch at the ketchup smeared cafeteria table
None of us had cars or the money to eat off campus
all we had was acne, braces and Walmart clothes

Individually we were vulnerable and easily bullied
but as a pack we were freaks of nature to behold, a beautiful mess
We were the ones that were too short, too tall, too fat, too skinny, too smart, too shy, glasses too thick, too this, too that, and all the things that come after “too”

The one gift of being “too” is that it allowed us the freedom to not give a shit
about what others thought or said
We carried our band instrument cases with pride
The weirder the case, the better, and I think the french horn was one of the more cryptic ones

The cello was the Yeti of all cases and sure to turn a few heads on the bus
You could hear the hushed voices saying “What the heck is in there?”
Making its way down the narrow bus isle, banging the case into the bullies heads
“pardon me” spoken with mock sympathy

We found the halls best sonically suited to practice the Messiah
And we sang with gusto as the football players, cheerleaders, skaters and preppies filtered by
Some would actually stop and listen, while wise asses would goof off by making fart noises from down the hall

We read fantasy and SIFI books, we were proud Trekkies
We were at home in our daydreams and fantasies
Yes, we were virtual kings and lords of the video games we conquered
We were kids doing kid shit, in no hurry to be cornered by grown up responsibilities

The girls in our clan didn’t fit into the strict rules of fashion and make up
They were smart and had a good sense of humor
They allowed guys like me to give them a ride on my handle bars
crashing into the tall weeds, an accident becoming the prelude to an innocent kiss—–maybe not an accident??? maybe not so innocent???

All the pretty girls were constrained and selling their souls to be popular
They seemed in a hurry to grow up fast and become dissatisfied adults
with Republican biases, expecting to be privileged, smiling smug, indifferent, clinging to their 401 K’s, mouthing simple answers to complex questions, marching like a minion to Fox News and its right wing christian hypocritical drumbeat, dismissing everything and everyone outside their protective bubble of good paying job, new SUV and nice house in the suburbs, with their gardener Jose, whom they never asked to verify his citizenship or green card along with Juanita their maid

for them being an adult was just an extension of high school, sacrificing ones self to fit in with the most current trends

Occasionally I pull out my old battered cello and squeak out a wobbly rendition of our school fight song

Truth Scraps

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soundtrack “Master and a Hound” by Gregory Alan Osakoy

everything and everyone is stupid
This life is stupid, death is stupid
Everything that happens between birth and death is stupid

Politics is a lie
Spirituality is a lie
Sex is a lie
money is a lie

Love is over-rated
Blockbusters are over-rated
New and improved is over-rated
Guaranteed is over-rated

promises are meaningless
careers are meaningless
getting from here to there is meaningless
staying here is meaningless

trying to become something is boring
losing ones self in becoming something is boring
holding back is boring
getting pissed off is boring

newspapers, magazines, the nightly news is repetitive
Putting one foot in front of the other is repetitive
waking and sleeping is repetitive
Everything between waking and sleeping is repetitive

Starting over again is a waste
Believing it matters is a waste
Holding on to things is a waste
Trying to make a difference is a waste

Addiction is deceptive
bargaining with addiction is deceptive
not knowing is deceptive
knowing is deceptive

But you my love, are like my beer and my coffee
You never demand nor disappoint

You lead me on with your truth scraps
You bared yourself naked with authenticity
You said my poetry was like cotton candy
all sugar with no substance
and I said
I didn’t realize that poetry needed to be nutritious
your “out of the blue” honesty sealed my fate
our ending was now beginning

I don’t stand a ghost of a prayer
All my wishful thinking has lost its sparkle
I rub my chin, readjust my drooping pants
The many things left undone——-unsaid
linger like a fill in the blank quiz
I was never good at tests

Did I ever mention, I thought you to be pretty

My Best Mistakes

The soundtrack “Secret O’ Life” by James Taylor.

I climb into my faithful old Tacoma pickup and head west. You can tell a lot about a man by the truck he drives. The cab smells of rag weed, muddy boots and fresh orange peels. I drive past the fields, the farms and the redundant strip malls.  I eye pretty small town girls with odd names like Galenda or Karla.  Their perfume scented skin I won’t stick around to touch.  These places and girls belonged to other boys with their Friday night hot spots and their Sunday morning houses of worship,——— a community of suburban anchored hearts. I’ve tried to fit into such places, but never could. 

I drive til I come to the ocean.  I check into a cheap motel that wears the odors of mold and a thousand forgotten summer vacations. I wonder how many have made love on this tolerant mattress, or how many have cried themselves to sleep within the walls of this soul suffocating room. The walls are knotty pine with a bathroom sink that drip, drip, drips.  Outside my gray skied window the pavement smells of early morning rain, the sun rises with a memory of how small her hands looked when she touched me.  Once again I find myself at the edge of this sad stained continent. There’s a damp coldness blowing off the water that chills me to the bone. January is my favorite month to revisit this rundown seaside town. The boardwalk is empty and quiet except for the rusty Farris Wheel squeaking and moaning under the strain of a gusting wind. I pull my knit cap tightly over my numb ears.

All my once hip friends are now vengeful Republicans, need I say more?  Out of nowhere I find myself singing “Into the Mystic”——I take a shot of Jameson with a beer back.  “And when that fog horn blows you know I’ll be coming home——-I wanna hear it, I don’t have to fear it”. 

The bed-stand clock glows with its red digital numbers, the sound from the dripping faucet warns me of time passing by.  How do I carry on?  Where do I go from here?  Am I too old to start over again? Have I squandered too many chances.  I’ve moved to new cites, I’ve found new jobs and I’ve broken promises to the few who might of cared for me. I’ve never been one to reinvent myself or attempt to tame my faults or bad habits——I’m all that’s left of my best mistakes. 

I sit on a carved up and pigeon stained bench at the end of the pier. A wrinkled asian man is standing as still as a statue as he waits for a fish to bite his line——I suppose we’re all waiting at the other end of one kind of fishing line or another.  A young kid with chin stubble and unkempt hair takes a seat next to me.  He asks if I have a light.  He helps me cup a flickering flame from my Bic lighter. He squints as he stares intensely out at the foggy horizon. I know that look, I know this kid. He speaks “You got a wife?”  “Yeah, I’ve had a couple of them.” He continues his interrogation “You got a job?”  “Yeah, I’ve had a few those too.”  “Did you get everything you wanted?”  “Like most, I suppose I got what I deserved and a few things I didn’t expect.  Sometimes it isn’t what you get, but more importantly, it’s being happy with what you’ve been given——-gratitude is the scale on which to weigh a balanced life.”

An older me talking to a younger me, what a gift. “Take good care of yourself dude.”  I grab his cigarette, then take a hit off it before stomping it out.  “Look after your health kid, you’ll wish you did when you get older——-and yes, we all do get older, that is, if you’re lucky.”  He pushes his shaggy hair back “Do you ever think about your parents?” “Everyday I do. You won’t understand the sacrifices your parents made for you until you become one yourself. You’ll look at your children and be amazed at how parts of you became their flesh and blood. The best of times will be the time spent with your kids.  Remember to give your weary parents the love and respect they deserve.  The kids grow up too fast and our parents grow old and frail too soon. Once they’ve passed on, they’re gone for good.  Time moves in one direction, forward. Regret is the child of missed opportunities.”

“Many acquaintances will come and go, but few will be elevated to the position of trusted friend. Choose your friends carefully, because they’re the only ones who’ll enjoy your ridiculous humor, tolerate your irritating idiosyncrasies and stand up for you when this world leaves you feeling insignificant, irrelevant and unworthy of love. They’ll embark on crazy adventures with you and provide you with the sweetest of memories. Your friends and family are your tribe and their unconditional love is the only thing that will sustain you through the good times as well as the bad.”

“I know that at your age you won’t believe me, but this life is tragically short.  Don’t squander the time you’ve been given being bored or angry.  Monies a fleeting vapor, a job that doesn’t suite you is a snare, pleasure without sacrifice is quickly forgotten.  Look for true love and nothing less.  You’ll know it’s true love because she’ll bring out the best in you.  She’ll make you feel things you never felt and it will cause you to do things like hold her hand when she’s frightened. She’ll bear your children and cook you your favorite meals. For her, you’ll fix the things that break, mow the lawn on hot July afternoons and snowplow the driveway on cold January mornings.  All these seemingly insignificant small things will comprise a full life.  Keep your priorities straight and you’ll enjoy each day as it unfolds.”

The kid offers up a grin.  “When I grow up, I wanna be like you.” “Take your time kid, being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to being.” I climb in my truck and head back home as I give a glance in my rear view mirror.

These Days

Soundtrack “These Days” by Gregg Allman.

He said he’s now a Christian
Another poor excuse for me to scale
He sent me a letter with biblical quotes
Two thousand year old words laden with emotional quicksand
Everything neatly arranged into his boxes of good and evil
I wonder where I’d fit in—–these days

I miss that old friend, this new one no longer laughs at life’s foibles
His company makes our past feel irrelevant, like noticing dings on my car door
I’m reminded that time can be ruthless
Isn’t that just like me, turning the past over and over in my hands
Another shelf-life expired, I’m learning to throwout what’s soured
And this relationship has devolved, leaving a bad taste in my mouth

It took me a long time to get to this place
Sometimes it feels as though no “there” follows this “here”
Old friend, more shadow than substance
Everyone peddling their rendition of love
As if such things came with instructions and warranties

I went back to my fathers house
With him no longer living
That house is just dust and empty rooms
Like leaving a voice message on a dead mans answering machine
Pick up, please pick up, only the mumblings of a disembodied voice

I had to lose my soul, my mind, my self,
I had to lose my everything
To find a voice
The price of loving someone
Is equal to the pain that comes with losing them

Tao

Sound track “Beloved” Jesse Cook

After a million miles
It’s still running through you
A blinding light deafening a sky of jealous stars
We knew a round love in this world of flat earth-ers

Backyard tire swing, like a pendulum of gone by days
Pool chlorine mixed with honey suckles, the smell of summer
July laid out before us like a thousand unused Saturdays

Your cities are lonely
A careless milky-way evicted from time and space
Other people’s suns drenched in nothingness
Other worlds out of reach
Physics, another flawed human endeavor
Didn’t you know that the numbers never added up

Where’s the revolutionaries
Where’s our freedom fighters
An entire population of fools staring at smartphones
A generation of selfies, ego sponges

Angry, ignorant tweets, dissonant wind chimes
Where’s this generation’s John Lennon and George Carlin
Who’ll shame these fuckers
Hypocrisy is the breaking news
Truth has become negotiable
Climate change compromising happy endings

I’m the soundtrack of pissed off
Is everyone else drunk or high on recreational weed
Democracy a chess piece for the rich
Check mate, ponds against kings

Living in virtual bubbles
No longer “We hold these truths to be self-evident”
No more “We the people”
Wall street thieves and politicians
Who can tell the difference
Divisiveness is the cost of doing business with the greedy

Your birth was not an accident
Don’t let this one precious life play out like a sitcom laugh track
Be angry, fight complacency, believe in your power
To be about it, is the way

Undone Reverie

Famous Blue Rain Coat, Lenard Cohen.

Bring back
wandering and wonders

A child’s rain
A cloud’s smile

An avalanche
Of frozen dreams

That night at the lake
scent of campfire in your cloths

That slipping fear
Of days gone forever

And it’s always the same
In my bed of memories

I close my eyes and see
A spiral of life descending

Blue cars
Sing past my window

Pretend people
In fishbowl lives

Blood scrawled
love letters

February winds
Leave a hole in July

Standing so close
I smell your pain

Eyes so brutal
I’ll never blink

Is this really me
Is this really you

With rags of rage
I’ll undress you

One lie at a time
One life at a time

You’ll see me
In your worn midnight

Dry lightening strikes
Set wildfires in burning beds

I don’t know where I’m going
I’ve forgot where I’ve been

Seven turns
on a twisted highway

Listen closely
Hear the sound of your own song

And you said, so cavalier 
Offer up gods will
See things for what they are

Here’s to higher love
Are there scraps left for the likes of me

You’re the everything I wanted
Last thing that I needed

Did you know what you were doing
Because what you were doing
Caused me to choke on what’s never to be
Eternally incomplete, somehow find me there

And for a brief moment
You gave my madness worth
Like making love in your empty bed

Soft sigh, damp breath
Undone reverie, wet flesh

I have no one to hide from
Your ghost looks over my shoulder

This house of fractured mirrors
Broken pieces of me, pieces of you

Oh my god, so much older we’ve become
Sad in spirit, in this season of crucified saviors
Early December, look at what we’ve become
Hometown memories on faded polaroid holidays
And only the virgin snow knows secrets of buried yesterdays
When do old friends become strangers and ex-overs sad poems

This world will never tell us who to be
We’ll have to figure this out for ourselves
And then do our best to let go