NaNoWriMo 2016 Prep 2: Kickstarting my Noggin

New rules are all well and good, but I still need something to apply them to. Stories have always been something I thought you needed to be compelled to do. That's what you get when you give an impressionable young mind some too much beatnik literature to get all enamored with before they knew any better. I am not gonna go into my first attempt at the NaNoWriMo challenge without some sort of game plan.

I've got a few ideas I'm playing with. I'm always wary of thinking about them too much or creating too much of an outline, because I don't want to get too set on any one plot before I start writing it. In the past I've always done that, structured out the entire story before I wrote word one. I knew how it was gonna end before it started. I think running RPGs has changed my perspective on the benefit of planning a story before you're in the thick of it.

That doesn't mean I'm not going in prepared. I know what that I want to write a story about a protagonist undertaking a long journey. I don't have a clear idea of a main character yet. I know a general plot that I am playing around with. I want it to be a sci-fi fantasy. I know that I don't necessarily want to come up with the entire thing before I start and constrict it to that formation for the duration.

So far what I have is the idea that in the future everything becomes automated by robots controlled by a central network. The robots break and forget how to do all the things they were programmed to do. As a result society falls apart as it had become too reliant on the robots to produce food for them. Things fall apart, end of the world happens. My story would begin around here. I'm toying with reasons someone would need to take a trip in this world and haven't set my mind down on anything just yet.

One of the things that drove me away from writing fiction was that I would get these ideas as I write the story as to how I would make it better. I would feel overwhelmed by the idea of changing it and rewriting things and so I'd push through and by the time the story was done I hated it. I need to avoid that this next month. I am planning to leave myself open for a lot to change from my initial story. I want lots of space to wander through in that world.

I've still got 11 days to prepare myself for this. I'm pretty sure I am forgetting to do something, but I'm even more sure that I'm excited to learn from this experience, good or bad.

Setting Goals Too High: NaNoWriMo 2016 Prep

Recently I've been thinking a lot about the goals I set for myself. I have this habit of setting goals that I have no real hope of achieving as a means to confirm all my self doubt that I never had a chance to begin with. It's a self defeating habit that feels like a warm blanket to the lazy. I've used this as a way to explain to myself that I'm bad at following through; which aside from being a questionable fact at best, it only leads to further discouragement and fewer goals achieved. This is a bad habit and I recognize my own fault in it.

I've realized that I need to start building smaller habits, setting smaller more achievable goals, and allow myself the grace of defeat without a mass degradation of my self worth. I'm starting with simple things that focus on my general health: drinking more water, more consistent bed time, more consistent with my pre-bike ride stretching, try to get more done after work, etc. I feel like accomplishing some of the smaller goals, establishing better habits surrounding the mundane things in my life, will make getting to the more important things easier. It's like getting a running start at the things I want to get done.

To that end, I can't help noticing that over the past few years my efforts towards creative writing have dwindled a great deal. It could have something to do with my youthful dreams growing older and being wet blanketed by reality. It could be that the creative part of me was replaced by the practical part of me that wants to get along happily more than it wants the world to understand me. Or might also have something to do with all the RPG GMing I'm doing and the write ups I'm doing for those are soaking up brain juices left and right. Whatever the cause, it has been a long time since I tried to write any poetry and even longer since I tried writing any fiction. Naturally I thought there's no better way to get back into it than a panicked 30 day writing session for as of yet not conceived novel for National Novel Writing Month this November.

I've never tried it before: writing a novel. I've definitely never tried to write a novel in a month, but this year I'm going to try. I don't have any idea what the novel is going to be about or how I'll get 50,000 words out of a month. I don't know that I've ever tried writing 1,700 words a day for 30 days, or whether or not I'm physically capable of getting that many words out each day. That's why I'm starting early with my efforts to get some prep work in.

I spend so much time thinking about how to tell stories in RPGs that I am running. I want to translate that into solo fiction if at all possible. Between now and when I start on November 1, 2016 I want to come up with my rules for writing without brakes. I have a habit of editing as I go; which will be the death of this effort if I really try it.  I need to not do that for this. I want to see if I can try to test some of my GM-ing techniques with the solo-fiction I am writing. The entire whole effort will shove me out of my comfort zone enough that I'll hopefully have something to show for it.

Until next time, I'll be brainstorming ideas on how to keep going.

A Whole Summer Ago

It's been a whole summer since I last posted on my blog. I had grand plans about starting my YouTube poetry channel and posting them all on this blog. Turns out I need more than good intentions to get my ass moving towards something.

I've been distracted from my writing with my gaming. The game requires a lot of spontaneous creativity and the write ups always have a lot more flavor than the actual game do, but I've not really focused on my strictly solo creative works. Even with the RPG stuff I've had a a few issues there too. Midway through the summer there was some...unpleasantness that had me in a strange place mentally. I feel like I've only recently dragged myself out of that funk.

Also come to find out from watching the show Very British Problems on Netflix that all my social anxiety and weirdness with dealing with people isn't my own fault. Turns out I'm genetically programmed to feel awkward in social situations and fret about every small detail of my social interactions and/or dealing with people. Maybe that was part of the appeal of poetry to me. Being given an excuse to express feelings without having to be direct with the person or the feelings. Watching the show feels a lot like someone is explaining my own psychiatric diagnosis to me in a more entertaining than clinical sorta way. It is a slight relief to know that I'm not alone with my awkward feelings. 

I don't have big plans for fixing this blog, or even thoughts on what that would entail. Just like the Tweets I've been trying to send every day to no one in particular about the boring nothing new that is going on in my life, the idea is to just do it instead of making up excuses about why whatever I was thinking isn't good enough to be posted. I don't think anyone cares enough to complain. Besides, gotta start somewhere.

Short Story: Orville Makes Coffee

Standing on his dew dampened welcome mat, Orville Newton tapped the wand he’d made from an old car radio antenna, a griffin feather, and some conductive tape on his leg absently. He could feel the dull tickle the wand’s energies starting to wake up. These sort of homemade wands always needed some time before they warmed up for use. Any minute now the morning edition of The Cosmic Rote would be materialize on the doorsteps of all their faithful subscribers. Stealing his neighbor’s paper had become more of a challenge lately. The publisher had started using Stranger Danger Wards on their morning editions. If the resourceful paper thief wasn’t careful they could wind up zapped into unconsciousness by a misworded ward breaker.

The low sizzle and pop of the atmosphere being condensed into matter began to spread through the apartment complex’s courtyard as The Cosmic Rote began appearing on doorsteps. Orville jumped into action. Waving the wand around towards the paper and motioning towards a tattered notebook he placed in front of him.

He thought for a moment about what words he would use to let the magic know his intent “Ego quoque fregit praebere,” his latin sounded Italian, he could never get his accent to sound natural.

Despite his butchering of the words, the book in front of him began flipping through it’s pages. Moved by some unseen wind as the worn pages filled up with copies of the text from The Cosmic Rote. It was a little lighter and much smaller than what was in the paper, but what do you want for quick magic from a wizard who hadn’t even had their coffee yet.

The headlines on the front-page seemed like they’d been the same for days. Unemployment among wizards was still on the rise, terrestrial industries were pre-screening all new applicants for magical abilities to weed out potential liability issues, while the Council of Ethereals fought with the International Terrestrial Protectorate Initiative about whose fault it all was. It seemed like none of them had any new ideas and were too busy tearing down each other’s ideas to come up with any of their own. Nothing out of the ordinary for global politics, but that didn’t make it any easier to sit through.

On the kitchen table sat an empty saucer with a dark coffee stain ring on it’s surface, “Joe?” Orville called out into the empty apartment.

He could never find anything in his apartment. It didn’t help that it had been awhile since he had cleaned up the place. The clutter seemed to be getting the better of all his flat surfaces. Empty packages of instant noodles, alchemy ingredient wrappers, and open books lay across all the counters in the kitchen.

“Did I leave you someplace?” he asked half hoping he might hear some sort of response.

His living room coffee table was a collage of past due bills and the tickets from unlicensed magic use violations he’d gotten since he’d failed to renew his license. He had no idea how many violations you could rack up before they actually came after you. He had no intention of ever finding out, but still hadn’t figured out a way to pay them yet. A sound from somewhere on the cluttered bookshelf drew Orville’s attention away from his fiscal predicament and back to his search.

“Come on, Joe. Is this really necessary? I’ve told you we can play hide and seek after breakfast. Not before,” Orville approached the bookshelf with caution.

Without warning his fuzzy blue bathrobe came flying out from behind the sofa at his face. The robe wrapped around him and the cords tied themselves behind his back as he stumbled backwards. Something hit the back of his legs as he retreated, tripping him, and leaving him sprawled on his back. The robe loosened it’s grip and slithered into a pile of fabric next to him. He saw two socks were tied together and stretched between the wall and the sofa. The soft sound of porcelain rattling came from the now empty shelf.

“Glad you think it’s funny, Joe. I suppose this was your idea Left?” the socks untied themselves and began wriggling on the ground in a mime of laughter that his bathrobe had already started, “You’d never have gotten the drop on me if I’d had my coffee already.”

Joe the coffee cup was puffing out small clouds of steam as it clattered away in its porcelain snickering. Tiny drops of coffee burbled from the top as it chuckled and hopped about on the shelf.

“Alright, alright, that was pretty good. You got me,” Orville said as he scratched the heels of the socks, “Let’s have breakfast.” Joe was already happily hopping towards the kitchen with the socks inchworming their way after him.

On mornings their pranks were particularly inventive, Orville thought about how Joe and the others had been an accident. Orville had been moving to a smaller apartment one car load at a time after losing his job,when a cat had shot across the street unexpectedly. He had to slam on his brakes, throwing much of his well packed car’s contents into the front seat.

The box of Bolivian Marching Powder Moving Dust a friend had loaned him came sailing over the seat and smashed against the front Window. A dusty pink cloud filled the car. Every inanimate object the dust landed on suddenly burst up with life. There was a moment of chaos as all of his belongs came unwillingly into conscious existence. The existential scream of his toilet- plunger still haunts his dreams.

A moment later his car doors were opening on their own and spit him out with the rest of his belongings. The car reared up on it’s back wheels, blasted its horn, and screeched off down a side street. His stuff scattered in every direction. Rolling, squirming, walking, and sliding away from him. Even the clothes he was wearing slipped off and slithered away.

Standing naked in the street, the only things that had stuck around were a brand new pair of socks he hadn’t worn yet, his fuzzy blue bathrobe, and Joe his coffee mug. He’d thought about replacing them with less rambunctious inanimate versions, but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of them, or the money to replace them for that matter.

At the kitchen table, Joe was settled back onto the saucer and filling with coffee, “Extra strong, extra sugar, and no cream this morning Joe. I want all my synapses firing at peak efficiency.”
The sun was just now peaking through the blinds painting a tall streaks of light across Joe. Joe couldn’t remember what coffee made by hand tasted like, but whatever brew Joe made the first sip always tasted like a warm hug of energy. Left, Right, and the bathrobe were eating up some dryer sheets Orville had left for them. He felt the reassuring warmth of the first cup of coffee for the day spread over him from his stomach. He decided today would be better than yesterday.

30 in 30 2016: To Edit or Not to Edit

Fear of editing is a common affliction for writers. If someone else tries to make my work better, isn't that really just them putting their own influence/preferences on my words? Not really, but that's part of the irrational fear that sets in and starts waking up it's BFF Apathy to keep everything stagnating.

Apathy for edits is that feeling of "well...what's the point of fixing it if it isn't going anywhere." An awful mindset to have, especially about your own work, but that's always been a big-ish issue for me. I don't want to do it just because it's there to be done and nothing says it really needs to be done. It would be easier if I had to turn it in, deadlines work great for me, but fake ones are too transparent to trick my brain into upping the effort.

Even as I'm writing this, I'm coming up with reasons it doesn't make any sense to put the effort into edits. What if I put the effort into reading through them all and fixing them, but wind up making them worse or not being able to fix them at all? What if I go to reread them and find out they were awful and I want to change everything? What if what if what if? All the what if's end up bring on the stagnation I want to avoid anyway.

It feels strange not editing the poems, almost like abandoning something I cared about a great deal, at least for a time. It is like not calling your parents for a long time, sure it doesn't REALLY affect that much, but you feel bad for letting it happen anyway. Ultimately I don't think I will put a lot of time into editing the poems, at least not publicly. I feel like the important part about the whole 30 in 30 experiment was to put my efforts out there for whatever they were worth. I am pleased with the way a lot of them came out and with the experiment overall. Even with that I feel like editing the poems and posting them back onto my blog would be like running in place. Not getting anywhere from trying the same thing over and over again.

I've got an idea, that instead of posting the edits to the poems I'll record myself reading the poems aloud and posting them instead. I need more practice with my voice and I feel like it's easier to get the work out there if people don't have to read the stuff. Not sure if I'll do audio recordings or try my hand at YouTubery, but I like the idea of that way more than posting more walls of text to the emptiness of my corner of the internet. Plus I'm overdue for getting pro-active with putting my work out there. Fixating on making the poems "better" to publish on my blog seems less important than using the poems to practice other aspects of writing and presenting my work.

This idea may end up not happening like some of the others I've had, but given the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, the edits and posting on my blog feels far too samey. Gotta try something new, even if I'm not exactly sure what that new thing is yet.

30 in 30 2016: #29 Peanut Butter + Jelly Sandwich

#29 Peanut Butter + Jelly Sandwich

Nothing special lunch
Everyday Lunch
Default lunch.

Make it without thinking lunch.
No mess to clean up after eating it lunch.
Years of practice getting the proportions exactly right lunch.

Gustatory memory explosions when I’m having a quiet day lunch.
My entire childhood lunch.
Reminder of where I came from no matter where I find myself lunch.

Cheap enough that I can change my plans for lunch lunch.
Won’t need to be refrigerated lunch.
Travels well and doesn’t make a mess lunch.

A memory and an idea in every bite lunch.
Satisfying because of it’s history lunch.
I don’t know why I still love it but I do lunch.
__________________________________________
#30 Sunrise on the Last Day
On my way home I feel the last kiss
of the sun as it sets,
a heated reminder that my search to find
a restful morning is only hours away.


I have spent so much time
looking for a place to see that sunrise from.
I’m ill equipped to create the tranquil night’s sleep
necessary to make it out in time to rest through the sunrise.

By the time I’m up, no hill high enough to see it
has enough room left for me
to get comfortable without fighting
my way overtop of other people
who just want to see the same sunrise.

Instead I catch glimpses of that light
spilling down the sides of buildings
across from my office window,
pinpoints of brilliant reflecting light

leaving sunspots in my vision the rest of day.

30 in 30 2016: #27 Learning the difference between bravery and recklessness #28 Remembering to love myself gets harder with old age.

#27 Learning the difference between bravery and recklessness

At the intersection of Bravery, Reckless, and Foolish, 

I’m standing on the corner waiting for my ride outta here. 

I’m not sure which direction it’s coming from 

or which direction I expect it’ll be leaving. 

They all look the same from this corner. 

Dark streets with foggy far ends. 

It always takes a long time to get here, 

but I always come crawling back to this spot. 

Most of my life was launched from here, 

though I’m not sure where any of it got to. 

I know I should learn my way out of here; 

which streets take me the safest way home the quickest 

and which aren’t headed anywhere I need to be. 

They are one way streets spilling out away from me. 

I can’t remember the last time I arrived, 

but I know I haven’t left yet. 

My ride isn’t showing up, 

so I know my chances at an easy way out 

are growing slimmer the longer I wait. 

I’ll try to fit as much deep breath into my lungs as I can in one shot, 

before closing my eyes and stepping off the curb searching for a soft landing.

_______________________________________

#28 Remembering to love myself gets harder with old age

Object permanence destroyed my hopes

of becoming a rock star superhero. 

Running through stubbed toes and scraped knees, 

forever was a distant dream of a new world 

where summer stretched there and back 

and school was closed the entire time. 

I could dream into that ocean of possibility 

without ever having to know how shallow it was. 

When the world stopped seeing 

“I didn’t know any better” as cute 

I realized how far forever 

wasn’t going to stretch for me. 

Forever became a reflection of whatever

I couldn’t change about myself. 

The parts of me that I see every day 

are still there and still what I saw yesterday. 

There are so many things that 

I just didn’t have time to rescue from themselves. 

I find new ways to live the life I’ve lead 

every time I reflect on the things I couldn’t save. 

The time it takes to sort out what can be fixed 

and what I’m stuck with 

is a more daunting task than I can confront. 

But looking into the mirror, 

I remind myself that this is not forever 

and things can always change, 

even if I forget how they do.

30 in 30 2016: #26 Forgetting how to word

Forgetting how to word

Forgetting where I was
on my path to becoming great.

There are answers hiding
somewhere behind the blink
of the screen’s cursor.

It blinks, oblivious to how to help me
to even begin to look for them.

I’ve forgotten how to pull
the words out of blank space
and make them it to the end.

This happens every time
I stop to look around for
more than a moment.

If I keep my head down too long,
I can’t recognize where I am
when I start to pay attention to my surroundings.

This doesn’t have to be
a conclusion to anything I’ve done before.

Remind myself that being “okay”
is better than having nothing.

30 in 30 2016: #23 She’s got the nicest biggest pair of...eyes I’ve ever seen. #24 I regret the things I’ll never change #25 Making Breakfast the Eye of our Morning Hurricane

#23 She’s got the nicest biggest pair of...eyes I’ve ever seen. 

My eyes trace over her outline
and settle near her top.
She’s got the nicest biggest pair
of...eyes I’ve ever seen.

I’m talking cartoon character big.
Big like two moon cookies
blinking from the center
of two bowls of cream

They open up just before a smile
to let her light out and squint to hide it
just as her laughing lips peel back
to announce her intent on being joyful.

It’s a sea of crystalline amber
swirled into infinite possibility.
I can recognize my future
in the light that catches in their corners.

I feel small swimming inside them.
I look as far into them as I can,
wondering if there is a bottom,
hoping to never find it.

________________________________

# 24 I regret the things I’ll never change

I’ll never be able to change people’s minds 

about California Pizza Kitchen. 

It’s not pizza 

and it’s not a kitchen, 

and it’s not exclusive to California. 

Everything about the name 

is a lie 

and no one cares.

I’ll never be able to change the mindset 

of the person taking 20 items 

to the 10 items or less aisle 

and thinks putting a divider 

between the first 10 

and the second 10 

makes their fooling no one trick okay. 

No one thinks it’s cute 

and we’re all in a rush

I’ll never know how to explain to drivers 

that someone on a bike 

should not be a threat 

to you or your car. 

Driving aggressively around 

them just makes you 

look like an asshole. 

I’ll never have the time to go back and fix all the untapped potential

that got paved over 

by the bills of survival’s necessity. 

It’s too late 

to dig it all up again, 

but at least it’s a solid foundation 

to build on top of.

I’ll never change my later rather than sooner mentality 

that has made procrastination 

the cornerstone of most 

of my loudest self-doubts. 

There’s a world of difference 

between said and done.

_____________________

#25 Making Breakfast the Eye of our Morning Hurricane

The screeching halt to sleep broken by a persistent alarm clock 

that races roosters for the first noise of the day. 

Signalling the countdown has started and there is no avoiding it. 

The light in the bathroom is louder than trumpets, 

as the pieces that make up my whole wake slowly. 

The coffee is always a little different each morning. 

What am I gonna where? I still need to shower. 

I still need to take a shower before the neighbors wake up 

to steal whatever is left of the hot water. 

Do I have matching socks? I need to do laundry. 

I need to find time for laundry in my evenings. 

Maybe I can move my relaxing to the weekends, 

squeeze that in between the errands and feeling like a person. 

Halfway through the countdown and I feel like I’ve gotten nothing done.

Then we share breakfast, 

and listen to the quiet, 

and hold each other’s attention 

with stolen glances 

and reminders that at the end of the day 

we will be waiting for each other 

with a whole day of life to share. 

I reach across the table 

to squeeze her hand 

and share our body’s warmth 

with each other over a sigh. 

The last bite takes the longest to chew.

The countdown is nearing the end. I’ve still gotta pack my lunch,

digest my breakfast, brush my teeth, ready my backpack, 

check the air in my tires, check the weather, check the traffic, 

check the windows again and make sure they are shut. 

Did I lock all the windows? I don’t want to close them too early, 

or it will get stuffy in here before I leave, then I’ll sweat, 

then I’ll get anxious and wonder if I am actually ready or I need change. 

Will the traffic be too much today? The sound of cars going by reminds me

of what I’m up against. 

My morning is already over. 

I forgot to pay attention to it again.

30 in 30 2016: #22 When the world ends I’ll be able to afford…

When the world ends I’ll be able to afford…

When the population dwindles
due to a lack, or abundance,
none of us were prepared for,
the governments of the world will
lose track of their borders
and collapse in on themselves.

I’m just waiting for the day
when society gives up on staying together,
we all break up with our world
and start seeing others.
That’s the day I can take my pick
of all the gris grises that are
priced out of my reach.

Those big houses with the beautiful views,
heating bill troubles, and property tax hate mail.
I’ll have my pick every night
cause no one is left to do a credit check
and tell me the arbitrary # they assigned me
isn’t the arbitrary # they would have liked to see.

I’ll have whatever combustion beast I want,
or take my time to get places without one.
My wardrobe will go unnoticed,
regardless of how impeccable it may become
when money is no longer involved in the cost.

The me first and the gimme gimme generation
has refused to give up their hold on
the world they are passing to their children.
They’ll hand us the keys to the place
from their cold dead hands,
with minimal prying and coaxing from their children.

30 in 30 2016: #21 Shoplifting for better ideas

Shoplifting for better ideas

To a rebellious youth with no money and even less pocket change,
retail store’s with “no chase” policies were like a warm hug.

The places where the best ideas are kept,
are right under the noses of the people that pieced them together.
These don’t fit in my hands well.
They are awkward to hold and beautiful to look at,
but work much better
if you know how they were put together.

So I waste my time with the bad ideas
that don’t really look like they’ll go very far unless
I really carry them.
That sorta clever foresight never
stopped me from making mistakes though.

The trick is to find the best place you to hide
when you take what you want before you lift it from the shelf.
If you can take it and keep it on yourself long enough,
you should be able to walk out
like it was yours the whole time.

The bad ideas are the easiest ones to lift.
No one ever thought to keep them safe from being stolen.
They would collect dust on the shelves,
if they weren’t always such shiny targets
in the obscured corners of the store.

Sometimes you end up
making eye contact you didn’t want to
while you’re carrying your bad idea.
Arguing with yourself whether it’s cause
they know you have it
or if you’re just putting off the air of the guilty.

Like big bright warning signs
telling you not to,
you see the bad idea from a mile away.
By the time you’ve steered toward
your straight shot to the exit,
it’s already too late to put the bad idea back on the shelf
for the next sticky fingered idea stealer to regret.

30 in 30 2016: #20 Confrontations I’ve avoided

Confrontations I’ve avoided

Dodging the responsibility of my own beliefs.
There is no point in arguing,
because you’ve already made up your mind
and I’m too tired to explain.

Some of them matter less than others.
No, of course I don’t mind.
Leave that anywhere you want,
and obviously not in the place it is meant to go.

Moments I find my narcissistic self interest gets pushed down by common courtesy.
Sure, you can absolutely have the last cookie,
I wasn’t really interested in finishing
the whole box I bought by myself.

Denying all the obvious facts in front of me.
Obviously I wasn’t planning on enjoying
my lunch alone so I could get some work done
that’s why I shut the door,
come on in and have a seat.

There have been the big ones that I gave up on because I didn’t know what else to do.
Your plan sounds...great...I hope it works out for you, I really do.

Replaying everything when I’ve managed to find some time alone and think of just what I should have said and what I should have done.
FINE! I didn’t really want you to stay anyway,
you were cramping my style.

More forfeits than I care to count, came at the hands of the shyness that grips my better judgement.
I’ll just give myself 5 more minutes,
my work can wait until after this is done.
Just 5 more minutes.

Sometimes the path of least resistance is the only way out I can see.
It’s just easier this way if we never say anything,
just pull away slowly,
we can still see each other in the hindsight.

30 in 30 2016: #19 I am the universe’s knowledge of itself/Is this it?

I am the universe’s knowledge of itself/Is this it?

At some point in the journey of the universe's cosmic cloud,
it wanted to experience life as me.

I am not sure why, but the universe wanted
to know what it was like
to eat a bowl of cereal
with questionably fresh milk
then spend the night in a cold sweat
spewing your regret from both ends of my body.

It wanted to know what it’d be like
to experience feet that were too big for
the lanky limbs they were stuck to.

It knows it has an inexplicable and unfading love of
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on generic store brand bread.

It wanted to know the easiest way
to fall in love so it decided to make it
hard not to get lost in the process.

It wanted to know just how much
coffee it takes to keep a person awake
after years of bad sleep
and at exactly what point does the caffeine
go from happy pep to excited anxiety about everything?

It wanted to know how much beauty
it could find in everyday life,
but then rent was coming up and
it wanted to know what it was like to get distracted by obligation
It didn’t want to know
what it was like to be kicked out of its apartment.

In me it doesn’t understand
even half of the rest of itself.
It decided I didn’t need to be that clever.

I don’t claim to know the way
the universe works,
or why it works,
or why it wanted to experience me,
but here I am.
Might as well make the best of it.

30 in 30: #16 Loneliness as a defense, #17 Living in a generation of lost children, #18 Learning to be forgotten (slow fade)

#16 Loneliness as a defense

There are days when staying away from the world
is the best way for me to feel comfortable in it.
If I’m surrounded by no one,
then no one gets to leave.
If I can finish arguing with the thoughts
in my head long enough to listen to what
I’m actually trying to tell myself,
I’d be able to find relief in my self.
There can be comfort in the sound
of your internal voice thinking
through your solitude.

I’ve gotten skilled at hiding frustration in my voice.
I use up all my bubbling personality before I leave at 5.

Staying in just let’s the rest of the people
get out ahead of me while I’m at home.
It’s been a while since I last dove
head first into weeknight sociability
and all I can remember from that
is struggling to the surface for air.
Loneliness is only a problem
when you can’t feel the end of it.
____________________________

#17 Living in a generation of lost children

There was a time just before we all got here
when the world felt freshly pink and innocent,
born into a new century with 100 years of possibility
waiting to be taken advantage of by our generation.

Raised on the bittersweet taste of a comforting lie,
about everything being okay in the end if we only
follow this step by step process to reach your dreams.
Get out ahead of the rest by doing
what we’re telling everyone to do.
You can stand out just by going through the motions
and letting yourself be seen the way we tell you.

It’s a lie based on a world that
self destructed itself on a pile
of big money ambition.
When we arrived all that was left for us
were the scraps that were still cooling
and nothing was safe enough to touch.

The press of technology’s advance
makes our best efforts less than expected,
shows us just how much more we need
to push to stand out in the crowd.

Living in a world of GPS locators and instant directions,
we never really felt like we found the right way.
We’ve polite smiled my way through a world of advice
from people who have never lived in the world
we’ve been left with.

Our voice of dissatisfaction is heard
as the spoiled cries of a solipsist generation,
labelled that way by the people
that made themselves famous with
never believing they’d had their share.

It’s been a constant test to see
if you can limp by forever
without making it worse.
____________________________

#18 Learning to be forgotten (slow fade)

Take each day in deep gulping breaths
and slow drain exhales.
It’s easier to be remembered
than it is to be forgotten.
Every embarrassment, and bad choice
blazes away as a memory that refuses
to give up on itself.
The missteps you took, and the ground
they laid for settling into you
for the long haul.

It’s when you’re letting go
of the long term bad ideas
that you need to be practiced.
It feels necessary for survival,
even if it feels like donating
a pound of flesh to an idea
you were never sold on.
Letting go despite everything you want.
Put off learning this particular skill
until long after you should have known better.
It’s best to be avoided.
Let this be the last thing you ever become good at.

30 in 30 2016: #15 Oh what came of the things we once believed?

Oh what came of the things we once believed?

I can’t believe I used to hide on evenings
before holidays hoping to catch glimpses
of whatever mythical creature was to crawl
into my home that night to leave me candy and/or presents.

Steal their secrets because
I had BIG plans for a flying sleigh
and a bunny that made chocolate.
These are the stories I grew out of when
people stopped trying to convince me they were true.

When I was a kid there were stories
of pizzas with anchovies being a gross option
that was all over the place.
To this day I’ve never been
to a place that offered it as a topping.

I’m still wondering where
all the fish loving pizza eaters went.
Did they ever even really exist
or was anchovie pizza always
just a lie to scare kids into
accepting the plain cheese an adult picked up for them?

88 miles per hour isn’t as fast as I thought it was.
I never travelled back in time and mostly no one noticed,
except that one cop that saw me.
Maybe he was jealous of my sweet ride.

Then there are the stories with
a bit of painful truth wrapped up
in enough fluff to make it seem comforting.

College is the golden ticket
to a career and upper middle class fulfillment.
That one’s still pretty sore
even though I dropped that 23 year long
fantasy that was shoved into my face
along with the mysterious threat
of my “permanent record”
that would prevent me from
getting anywhere in life
because it will follow me
with black marks about how
I was regularly tardy to a class
or failed to turn in an assignment on time.

These stories took years of reality
to wear through my belief in the fluff
and feel the pokes and jabs
from the hidden truths I should have seen.

30 in 30 2016: #13 Early enough to hear the urban wildlife + #14 Catching a mind reader in the act

I keep forgetting to update and write these poems. They are getting done though, so that's something at least.

#13 Early enough to hear the urban wildlife 

The chill from the universe’s infinity encroaching
on Earth’s finite surface has not been lifted by the day’s first sun.
The sun hasn’t gotten out of bed yet, but for some reason I have.

The skunks and alley cats of the neighborhood
still shuffle around in silence in a world of sleeping giants.

Traffic, the unforgiving murder beast of the urban jungle,
has not woken up to stir the atmosphere
into the fury of civilization’s dying breath yet.

The early birds sing to one another
without combustion to drown out their melodies

The glow from the street lamps carries the songs
 through all the open windows,
breezing over the sleeping consciousness
of the people still enthralled by their nightly dream trance.

I try to breath in as much of the morning air as my lungs can get,
giving the secret morning bird song its rhythm
with the silent bass beat of my pulse’s backbone.

I don’t know what’s waiting for me in the belly of the day,
but this is me grounding myself before I lost track of now.


#14 Catching a mind reader in the act

I’ve never met a mind reader that I liked.
Mind readers never want you to notice them.
Not the Vegas style cold reading charlatans
who want everyone to see them for as long
as it will take for people to believe them.

A genuine mind reader sits beside you
getting to know you without you being realizing.
They hear everything you say
and know what you meant to say
and what you didn’t want anyone to hear you say.
Fishing for the ideas swimming behind your eyes,
until they get their fill of all the inner workings of your mind.

This is not to confuse the mind readers,
with the girl who can see right through me.
I’ve tried wearing hats, growing my hair long,
and running a TV distraction marathon,
but it never seems to work.

Every time I look into her my belly fills with honesty.
I can’t help looking for new ways to impress her,
to surprise her even though she can see through me.

I always assume I’ve failed
to reach an impressive enough level
to keep her interested,
but she always smiles despite seeing through me,
appreciating the effort for what it is:
attempts to show off the parts that might still be hidden from her view.

30 in 30 2016: #11 Riding Bikes and #12 Casual Time Travel

Riding Bikes

I’ve never had a bike

made for what I needed

the bike for in the first place.

As a kid I had a bike that was too tall for me

that I road in flip flops to get scraped up toes

In college I had a mountain bike

for my paved sidewalks and drunken rides home

and spilling onto brown brick

when the ground came at me too fast or too wavy.

When I got my new bike

the moments my wheels

spin the earth beneath me

I could feel myself fighting

the impulse to fly.

Sensing the pull to lift off

and forget about the pavement.

I’ve nearly crashed around impatient drivers

that believe their split second of hesitation

to let me past will ruin their day’s finely tuned schedule.

Drivers enveloped in solipsistic view of the world

they never notice or don’t care or have misunderstood

spiteful bellies of feelings about people on bikes.

It’s not easy biking in the city streets.

The commute has taught me

the need to be more aware

of my surroundings than they are of me.

I have learned that the furthest

I thought I could push myself

is miles from my edges

and that I make no progress

without exertion.



#12 Casual Time Travel

When you think of time travel

you think of blue police boxes

and out of date sports cars

going infinite infinity miles per hour

to get through the walls on the now bubble.

Playing the hero in their own story

they break through all boundaries.

If they see a boundary, they eat a boundary.

And wash it down with a cup of hot steaming rules.

Each trip runs the risk of even the smallest event

potentially altering the future in catastrophic ways

that the travel could never imagine.

Displaying more style than thought,

There is never any room for error,

but somehow manage to wiggle

around their mistakes.

I’ve never been interested in correcting my past

and leaping decades backwards in time

to save my future from facing consequences.

I dream of slowing time to a crawl.

Embracing relativity for the entire universe.

I dream not of altering the past or future events,

but making now last forever.

Pace out the seconds to be days apart

to share the moments

I’d rather not have to let go of.

Leap over days when I’m not quite sure how to fill them

while I wait for one I can see in the distance.

Stopping time and again to commit the moment

to long term memory, promising each detail

I’ll never forget how it fit into this moment.

I could dream of epic adventures

and saving the future, but my life

could be more easily saved

by skipping the dullness, s

lowly down excitement to a steady pace,

and freeze framing the joy for as long as it take to never forget it.

30 in 30 2016: #9 and #10

#9 Schrodinger’s Best Side

I never really listened for them,
but both the best and worst of myself
are somewhere inside me.
They take turns making my decisions,
but if I never take the time to actually listen
I can’t tell who steered me wrong.

There are times when I feel
like I’m brave enough, but
I usually find myself jumping
onto the nearest distraction
to keep me occupied long enough
to no longer be interested in whatever
I felt coming up from inside me.

This isn’t every day,
This is the odd moment remembered.
This is mispronouncing words in front of the whole 6th grade class
and not realizing it until years later, those polite assholes all just stared.
This is the a part of me that did all the right things and relaxed his way to glory.
This is the time I couldn’t remember what it was to be strong enough
to say no or all the times it was a misunderstanding of what brave was
that made me say yes.
They all live in the volume of my self-doubt

I listen to the better self inside my head
as often as I can hear it speaking.
In my moments of desperation,
it’s my better self I pray to:
Show me strength, better me,
Show me the way out of this, better me,
Show me how I’m supposed to deal with all of this, better me.

I’ve become  practiced at hearing the chorus of quiet
with the subtle ticks and hums
barely above silence that’s almost never there.
Those are small moments in a life
constantly moving by the sea.

#10 The tingle of her gaze

I had grown so tired of missing their brightness. 
The way the whites rarely peaked out around 
the bronze chocolate swirls in your eyes. 
They hid behind the creep of exhaustion 
and too much of traffic for any one soul. 

I could see the way you were just 
holding it all together by hiding 
the soft whites of your eyes.

You wanted to bounce 
open spilling their wholeness 
they held the moment our door closed,
but you’d forgotten how.

We have spent years trying 
to work distance and sleep 
and work and joy into 
a view of the horizon 
with an outline of our future.

I have seen the timid parts of your eyes 
peeking out from safe corners 
created by a tomorrow of maybe possibility.
Their luminosity begins to caress
the tension from my shoulders.

I look for those parts whenever I get home.
I can see your whole day and our whole night
in the shine in your eyes. 
I can feel myself getting lighter 
in the shine they bring to your face.

30 in 30 2016: #8 Learning from my own mistakes (where’s the lesson plan)

Learning from my own mistakes (where’s the lesson plan)

Little mistakes will add up, if ignored,

and make the carpet they’re swept under look lumpy.

The bigger ones never let you forget,

constant reminders of what you should have done.

What you thought this would be easy?

No one bothered telling you it’s harder than it looks

that you’re expected to figure it out as you go

and there is no lesson plan to avoid missteps.

Stay home on the weekends,

I make fewer mistakes as I grow older,

but I’m taking less chances to fail

and getting dwindling payouts on a win.

I have always been quick to make mistakes,

even when I see them coming,

trying to build confidence in my ability

to teach others what not to do.

Hindsight shows me all the moments

I should have changed the outcome,

but that’s really just a mind’s way of

criticizing foresight’s bad vision.

30 in 30 2016: #7 Old friends I never had

Old friends I never had

Old friends have shared history,

that I can’t ever seem to learn.

All the ones still around

are still tender with their newness.

I’ve always been awful with

dates and times of events.

Dreaming of being a better person

from the back seat of the car I didn’t fit.

The morning took me by surprise

and I worried about getting

away with it on a dead battery.

Life has not been a succinct series

of story-lines that wrap themselves up

before ever getting too complicated.

I’ve always tried to keep hidden

long enough to forget about them.

After a lifetime of bad calls

and “I obviously know best”s,

most nights I prefer sleep to adventure.

I’m getting good at pulling punches

with my better judgment,

throwing the fight,

getting chased to the dawn by

the mistakes I made,

laugh running from the rain

covering my exit and

keeping people from

noticing the trails of smoke

I leave in my wake.