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When you said you loved me, did you really love me or did the words just spill out like drool on my pillow. ‘Cause I was naked when you said those words, but I felt covered in your whispered worship. And as you passed out fast on my shoulder, I imagined a child waiting so sad and still for his mom to arrive. Did she leave you an orphan, in that big, brown leather chair? Said, “ Don’t you move a muscle, kid, I’ll be back in twenty years,” You were scared, you were lonely, but you must’ve been aware; life is a series of calluses, this is just another layer. So, build’em up, tough it out, yeah, that’s your skin – don’t let anyone under there. 

When you said you needed me, did you really need me or was it just someone – oh, you’d take anything. Am I first on that list of yours, or am I second, or third? So, who’s that ahead of me, some harlot from Pittsburgh? Or Detroit, Santa Fe, or San Diego? I know you’re so alone, but how much affection does one guy really need?

Did you date a lot in high school? Were you always chasing girls? Couldn’t you find some young valentine to steal your heart for good? Were you content, or contemptible? Are your memories pleasant, or is it a string of endless flings of bitter resentment. Seems that what you want and what you need doesn’t mean a thing, we’re just here for the taking.

When you said you’d hurt me, did you think you hurt me? Are you really that cocky? Yeah, what a heartbreaker! Well, I’ve got my armor – yeah, I’ve been through some battles before – and I met your old girlfriend, she said, “Baby, don’t bother.” She told me you told her you’d hurt her….funny, how familiar. So, how much of this relationship was rehearsed?

Did you act out as a child? Were you always crying wolf? Attention-starved, you tried too hard just to get someone to look. Now you’re the wolf in second-hand clothing; I’m the sheep in a pleated skirt. It’s an awkward form of payback, but if it works for you – it works. It’s that I recognize your off-white lies, still, I lie beside you – and that’s what really hurts. 

When you said you’d leave me…well, why haven’t you left me? What are we still doing here, so desperate for company? There’s a greyhound on Jackson Street, there’s an airport in Council Bluffs…hell, there’s a car in the driveway – fifty ways to get lost. 

But as I hold you and listen to you sleeping, I’m starting to wonder if I really believe that you’ll ever really leave. Would you leave me an orphan, in that big, brown leather chair? The one you’ve lugged around from town to town for all these years. It’s the trophy of your childhood, like a shark’s tooth or gator skin boots – but this one holds you prisoner – it holds me prisoner too. What we need to set us free is to let go of each other – let go of everything.

When I said I loved you, it was because I loved you. When I said I needed you, well, I really need you. Yeah, I guess you hurt me, for once you’re a man of your word. Well, guess what – I’m leaving – I can’t be your prisoner.

I won’t.

How old do I look? Who knows. Young, that's for sure. 

Will it replace Firefox? No.

Recently been hooked on:

1. Grapefruit + honey
2. Blue Diamond Almond Breeze Chocolate Non-Dairy Beverage and EnviroKidz Peanut Butter Panda Puffs
3. Starbucks Banana Chocolate Vivano with soy milk, three scoops of Frappuccino chips, and two packets of Justin's Almond Butter

Driving to South Carolina on Friday to help move my father and step-mother.

They've been together for eleven years and I hardly remember five of them.

I'm not going to drink any caffeine this week and then punish my poor body like never before on Thursday night in attempt to get as much of the driving out of the way as possible. The plan? Work my 1:30 p.m. to close shift, get picked up by Sayer, drive to Marshfield, pack up and get through New York before any type of traffic hits. That would be lovely.

This will also be the most amount of time I've spent with my brother in most likely close to a year. Maybe more.

Recurring theme: I don't remember.

I've got so much to say; I simply can't remember.

This image of a hole
planted behind my eyes.

Swiveled whirlpool that curves
right through me. Central bole

sawed from the tree of nerves.
This is the urge that lies

behind the throb of seeing.
This is the barest force

giving up to the wish
of whatever greater being:

little transparent fish
dragged on its one course

through forests of coral flowers
seeking the break of day.

Whatever way this power
pulls me:...ok...ok...

Honestly, if The Killers had simply released an EP with the first half of Hot Fuss on it (wait, first half plus a song..."Andy You're a Star" is awesome) and then proceeded to break up, I would have been a happy camper.

I'll preface by saying that I tend not to spill the stories of my life too far from home's ear (as I see it to be an unnecessary writhing for some type of attention).

I'm only breaking custom this time as the events of the past few weeks have made me long to extend what lessons have been affirmed so many times over. I am not, nor ever will be a preacher...but in my own dense apathy, there is a deep hope for us as humans to accept and move on. 

Background:

There has been lingering taste of uncertainty regarding my own father's well being and by listening in to my family's feelings towards the situation, I've come out to simply say: leave thy embittered bones at the door.

For a good portion of my life, I dressed every day in angst and loathing, unable to accept the faults of others as well as myself. True, it only gets easier with each moment to succumb to wars of the world, but it leaves no room for the beauties of life.

Learned:

After loosing a cousin late last month (essentially from drinking herself to death), and continuing to watch a man, now in his fifties, let some masochistic desire ring loudest of all, I've grown all the more certain of our need to forgive and continue onward. 

We are all guaranteed death, my friends, whether it be by natural causes or our own hands. Given that every day you are here is one that you've chosen to continue this stupid little adventure, I can only hope that you reach for the best that your life has to offer you.

Every person on this planet knows pain in some shape or form. Whether it be not being able to take the Mercedes out for the weekend to impress some lady-friend, or waking every day hungry and without proper care - it is relative pain nonetheless. 

In order to build the best years you can, you must use what makes you miserable to strengthen your ideals and become a better, stronger, and (of course) happier person.

Closing:

I say all this as I fear but the accept the fact that my dad may not have another five years left in him. The essence of self-destructive pattern. 

So I write this, to you and all, the lessons of well being that so many have tried to teach our friends, acquaintances, lovers, brothers, and sisters – Make peace with whatever hatred that plagues you. Make peace and share love with each other.

I'll officially end this note with a poem I starting writing for my father some time ago only to finally finish last year. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Welcome to Vermont, Denver Birth"

When the time comes, layer me son.
Pull silence over eld, let your days 
calm as an old man’s ashes over older
man’s soil,

and layer me with the peace of
brotherhood. At night, in sweat, I 
can still hear the calling of empty 
lots lost in songs from a nip bottle.

They ring clear as tiger sigh,
clear as youth’s desire. 

They say that time is coming,
we’re aging well.

And somewhere, a Taconic Crest 
Trail, drenched in floods of shade – 
you’ll laugh with ghosts, piecing, 
forward pacing, 

waking as the shoulders of 
all-too-common beasts.

You’ll live with the inked 
paradise of a Williams Inn chlorine 
sip while I stand as the layer 
‘mongst older man’s soil.

For these, son, are notes from your hometown: 
a closing pub of purple in some western 
state of mind. A percussive lapse in some
other trickling majestic shine.

And these words, Jeremy, are but marks of an
old town: poor posture and an almost 
indistinguishable yellow tinge, Vermont’s air 
never holding us this way again.

So when it comes, layer me son. 
Let go of this, your fail speech, 
and wrap our history with 
gifts of time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Thanks for reading. 

Be well, friends, and listen to Cattle Decapitation \m/

- j.t.