Forget everything I’m about to say.
It’s important you appear startled.
I didn’t survive the crash.
This is nothing personal.
I just had to stop shaking.
I’m sorry, but I don’t feel as if I’m in any shape to comfort you.

I am your deviant satellite, an orbit defected by the ballast of words.
You’re the reason for collisions.

misanthropy incarnate  

the worst part isn’t knowing that you were lied to, it’s knowing that you weren’t worth it to them to be told the truth.

seems the scent of pork chops is coming from the kitchen, and i am tucked away in my old room, the room where many fond memories from my high school years were relished and tucked away into the folds of my brain. i could honestly not tell you the last time i had a good pork chop. years, i would venture to guess. my mother is doing some of the old fashioned cooking like i was used to as a kid. bub arrives, we exchange some rather dull banter about various topics including hockey, cars, why our home town is basically the armpit of america, and the like. i can hear the jingle of my moms overactive dog’s collar somewhere in the distance. i am lying on the bed, with the denim comforter, complete with belt loops and buttons, given the feeling of what one might expect to sit in the lap of a very large person. logan takes over the computer to concoct a playlist for the wait on dinner including everything from la dispute to lil’ wayne. strange tastes, we have. for as much as we are opposites, we are the same. 

amidst the most familiar of scenes, how am i lost? you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

7:02PM, Central Standard Time

 the meal has come and gone, and i must say that it makes me miss my mum’s cooking. for as much as i love to cook myself, a quality dinner prepared by someone else is something easily taken for granted. lo and i are back in the room we used to share, while willard must be watching the television. now and again, logan and myself will have a conversation that starts innocently enough, yet spills into seriousness. it’s good to be able to have intelligent discussion with many people. finding people capable of doing so is easier said than done. i am no genius. but i am no idiot, either. i think the same can be said for him. as the conversation gets deeper into the way the world turns, and the way people act, and essentially everything that causes a ripple effect into what we now call our lives, i temporarily begin to feel at peace with everything that i am faced with. as silence ensues, the feeling returns. silence. the death of any party.

you are not yet fit to speak on my behalf.

8:51PM, Central Standard Time

i pull in to the local steakhouse to continue the previous discussion with my brother over a cold beer, which i forgo for a few reasons. memory, something i should have analyzed better. i know what this place is. the company of the one who has caused this hurricane of confusion. the conversation is hastened, and i leave. i am behind the wheel of my stepfather’s pickup, bouncing down interstate 40 which, in my own opinion, has to be the worst stretch of that particular highway in the country. almost as if the redundant oklahoma wind just whips it about like waves in the ocean. the radio is off, blackberry on silent, and thinking cap on full blast. i know where my particular destination is, yet, i cannot put my thumb on how i am supposed to get there, or, better off yet, whether it is even a good idea. its a rendezvous that has undoubtedly played over in my mind one thousand times, with one thousand outcomes. what i wanted to happen, simply, was impossible. what would actually happen, was probable. being a realist would be beneficial at times, i begin to believe. i deserve to be moved by more than force alone.

silence. but all around me are dissonant sounds.

9:34PM, Central Standard Time

if you have ever tried to stick your head our of a car window on the freeway and breathe normally, that is what ive become. the three mile drive to my home is taking years, and when i finally arrive, paul is asleep and the asian neighbors have their weekly meeting going on next door. i make a feeble attempt to say hello as i fumble with the key to my front door, but the combination of their poor english and my general state of incoherence prevents it. i make my way to my room. much like the room i was in at my mothers, memories tear through my gut like a sword. i don’t stay here much. this isn’t home. i tear the frames, the posters, the memorabilia off of the walls, casting it into the corner, where the pile becomes a sight similar to the landfills you see on the five o’clock news, polluting rivers, creating problems. that is the very definition of this pile, pollution. mental pollution. flyers, polariods, concert tickets, and the like litter the floor in a heap. i throw the bed comforter over the top and head back downstairs. 

i’ve been infantilized by a pat on the back and an endless go-ahead. its women, not lack of ambition, that keeps good men bedridden. i am forever making the same mistakes. 

10:13PM, Central Standard Time

it isn’t falling off of the wagon that causes injuries, its reckless abandon and lack of regard for personal well being. as i step off of the last stair and into the living room, the instinctive right turn to the kitchen comes next. wagon and reckless abandon 1, lando, 0. although the results are not as expected. call it a wave of reasoning. oh my god, could i have my head on straight still, possibly? i don’t know that answer but i know what i would like to believe. 

Standing Still, Central Standard Time

it is 2:54. the past 120 hours have been one day, only interrupted by brief naps, episodes of sheer panic, and overall disappointments. i have to be at work in five hours. everything i can think of is totally upside down. i relate to the book fight club in ways i never thought. nothing is anywhere near what i had previously thought. the snake oil peddlers have given their concoctions and i am strangely at peace with things. yet, i cannot sleep. 

just because you have it figured out doesn’t mean it wont happen to you. 

she forced a smile and said , “boy, come kiss my lips - i’ll set you free.” you know that hope you’re holding to? it looks an awful lot like fear. now, you’re so quick to fall on failure, and so quick to raise your voice, like, “if i can’t find a mistake to blame, we didn’t have a choice.” oh, but you had an option. i was your chance to feel complete. but when i leaned in close to you, you kissed your fear instead of me. you held my hand in your hand, you had my lip in your teeth. you had my heart on your sleeve, you had a chance to breathe. but you wouldn’t let your fear recede so you moved on. and its too late to change your mind now, you got scared, and i got gone. now it’s failed, and there’s no way to turn back time. you had your chance, god, i tried. “you tried? i looked her in the eye and smiled. “my girl, you must understand that fear is not some product that i made.” it crept unwelcome in my head the day she went away. it changed me. now at the end of every day i lie awake at night and wait, to feel the wires of my brain get cut and rearranged. and to hear by beaten heart exclaim, ‘still i refuse to let her go.’ so we escape to our mistakes for they wait patiently for us. oh, how they always wait for me. and i’m sorry dear, but don’t you dare say another word. how could i risk holding your heart in me while still in love with her. you were wrong. ld

the one thing that jumps out, and, proverbially, punches me in the throat, is….

that i do not believe in anything anymore.

you just have to sit back, take a deep breath, collect your thoughts, and chill. 

except when you’re so wound up, that breathing is next to impossible, and your mind is swirling around like a penny in one of those things at the mall that collect money for abused children, or cancer victims, or to help spay and neuter pets, that is usually next to impossible.

i will never fully understand why some people choose to do and say the things that they do. myself included, i am by far no angel. i just honestly wonder to myself why things go the way they do, why people, of all walks of life, can’t shoot straight with others. especially ones they claim to love.

the penny is rounding the bottom of the funnel, about to contribute to a greater good. fine. but i am out of pennies to donate.

five or six years ago, i turned to alcohol and self loathing to get rid of the tornado that was making it’s way through my head. which, in turn, led to a tornado in my head that next morning. counterproductive? yes. temporarily soothing? also, yes.

i swore on everything that i wouldn’t do that to myself again, and i am going to uphold my promise. 

i realized today that i have done absolutely nothing besides take steps backwards in the grand scheme of things for the past five years. it is almost like one of those things that may or may not be in the bible, “do what you want and don’t worry about the reprocussions, just make yourself happy” but in turn leads to ultimate self destruction. i may be way off there, but thats basically the feeling.

i would not be half as angry/upset/depressed/pissed off to no end, if, in fact, i had sat here and done nothing about it whatsoever. but the fact is, that i have tried. tried to be the person i want to be. tried to be the (insert adjective here), tried to do what i thought needed to be done. but i have, and, ultimately, it has not gotten me a damn thing beside, regret, heartache, and anger.

the fact that a human being can pour out what is in their heart, mind, or soul and still get shit all over makes me want to vomit. but such as society goes. vanity, i guess its called, or selfishness, whatever.

there are times i wish i could get out a remote to life, and rewind, pause, fast forward, mute, and record for later playback.

this remote does not exist.

once upon a time
i was of the mind
to lay your burden down
leave you where you stood
you believed I could
you’d seen it done before
i could read your thoughts
and tell you what you saw
and never say a word
but now all that is gone
over with and done
never to return

and I can tell you why
people die alone
i can tell you I’m
a shadow on the sun

staring at the loss
looking for the cause
and never really sure
nothing but a hole
to live without a soul
and nothing to be learned

and I can tell you why
people go insane
i can show you how
you could do the same
i can tell you why
the end will never come
i can tell you I’m
a shadow on the sun

shapes of every size
move behind my eyes
doors inside my head
bolted from within
every drop of flame
lights a candle in
memory of the one
who lived inside my skin 

I can tell you why

people go insane

i can show you how

you could do the same
i can tell you why
the end will never come
i can tell you i’m
a shadow on the sun

i think the worst feeling in the world is the feeling of inadequacy, or the feeling of not being good enough.

which is the way i have felt all week. sure, theres ups and downs, goods and bads like any other week, this one has just really cranked the bitch knob up to eleven.

i remember when my parents got a divorce (broken home whining here, reader beware) and i would just be pissed. back then i played hockey, hockey was life at our house. all that me and my brother did.

when i would get pissed, i would just head out into the driveway, set up the net, and dump twenty pucks or so on the drive and just let my frustration out. slapshot after slapshot. sometimes they hit the net, sometimes the garage door, sometimes the house, sometimes pop’s car. sorry about that by the way, i lied and told you it was a shopping cart.

that was my vice. mad about something at school? shoot. girl break up with you? shoot. get a ticket? shoot. whatever, big, small, important, unimportant, didn’t matter, that was just a healthy way of venting. well, healthy for everyone and thing besides the garage door and pops minivan.

i have never been a confrontational person. i haven’t ever been the type to let anyone know when i was mad. very laid back, that probably is the best way to describe me. if you ever see me in a fist fight, rest assured something absolutely insane happened to get me that angry.

but that way of going about things, is kind of like filling a balloon with air. instead of letting it out, you just let it into the balloon. basically what i do. anyhow, the problem is that the balloon only holds so much, and after a while, well, its going to burst. 

this is why i still had the release like 15 year old me did. another way of shooting pucks in the driveway, or something. it used to be music, but once that left “hobby” mode and went into “lifestyle” mode, it just became more air for the balloon. used to be cars, but, well, being frustrated and getting behind the wheel of something with a lot of horsepower isnt the best idea for my own longevity. 

the balloon only holds so much, and its full.