I Look Around

I feel like
is in the air
I do not mean the
that currently haunts

Some would say it was
 I'm left thinking if
for them is the same
for me 
truth be told, it's

quietly depends on
all at once 
put too much thought
it, it would hurt
do not
that because 

I’m sorry. I thought I could do this and stay clean.

I am an addict.

I am addicted to this, and I cannot get high without telling you about it – right?

So what do I do? I tell myself I’m going to stay clean for a weekend and what’s the first thing you think I do when my mind starts to wander? I break out my time machine and smoke some of the alphabet with it.

I am flawed.

Aren’t I?

Why didn’t you tell me?

What’s an epiphany if it’s a forced intercom announcement.

I can feel the warm coldness shoot through my veins as my fingers move from one letter to the next just…like…this…

…you reading what my fingers weaved in my past for a future you in our present together…

We put the flame to the words… …the smoke fills the room…

…the creeping feeling starts to hit you…

I would say I’m sorry.. …but… our buzz has to intertwine inside our veins for a connection like this…


…an invisible thread between me and you…

…my words turn into the channel you view, and… …I let it flow through me… I let the craving slowly eat away at its fix… unrestrained… sometimes filtered… other times not… …and I refuse to let this world Drown my Skylight…

…and I keep using… …and using… …just like I am right now… getting higher and higher… …and I never want to come down even though I know I have to before long… …like a helium filled balloon basking in the warm sun, passing through the clouds, not looking down to the place I just left because why would I want to?…

…us fighting the endless battles that continue to rage in the in-between of our so called normality…

…me spelling out the way I feel, vulnerable, for all of your tired eyes and exhausted brains and scarred souls and worn out bodies, me allowing you to consume my tiny impulses and hopefully give you a drug laced climax that lasts longer than four to five hours at its peak…

My wandering vagabonds, caught in between the tomorrow and yesterday that our current now wants to rob from us…

…all the memories they have stolen and fed off of…

…all the dreams they have tried to manipulate and erase…

You don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to… …not every time, at least…

…let’s get back to it, friends…

I try…

…or at least I think I do…

I look around and
I cannot remember the
last time I cried, or
maybe I can and I'm just
lying to you,
and myself,
in today's world, 
it is hard for us
to be honest
with one another,
just as much as it
is to be honest with

I look around.
My kneecaps hurt.
My hands are tired.
And wrinkled.
And they used to be
so sleek and smooth.
I search for my Chapstick.
A cold front must
be on the
If not out 'there'
then inside 'here'. 

I look around.
Everything has changed.
How did they...?
How could they...?
When did they...?
Why did we...?
The flyers on
the windows...
People scurrying about.
Busy busy busy.
Not so busy.
A new busy.

I look around.
Do we truly want
what we truly 

I look around.
All I see is purgatory.
We are caught between
a reward and
a punishment and
there is only one
salvation for all of us.
Want to know what 
it is?

I look around.
There used to be
more heroes than 
victims, save-the-dayers
than villains,
ambassadors than
so when did this change
without us knowing
and what are rules
and regulations if
nobody follows them
but us?

I look around and
realize we have all
been gaslighted to
the greatest degree 
possible and it's going
to be hard to ween off
this specific tit
where cash is milk
and weak government and 
large corporations are 
the tired but firm 
C-cup supplying the 
nippled white flow.  

I look around.
The oranges have really
sucked lately. 
And most of the apples.
And avocados. 
And everything feels oily. 
Everything smells like 
shag carpet,
old school Price is Right,
and off-brand Stetson cologne.

I look around.
I've had a sore throat
for like almost
three years now. 
That makes you better than
As long as I can get my
five to seven paid days 
a much needed vacation, 
I'll infect myself,
no matter how sad it is
for me to admit that.
Asymptomatically numb
to the invisible.

I look around.
Faith that is not
tested is not faith 
at all, and I begin
to wonder when's the last
time I wasn't tested.

I look around.
When's the last time
you smiled?
for real smiled?
smiled and did not want
to unwear it.
smiled until your face hurt?
smiled so genuine that
other people's smiles
got jealous? 

I look around.
When's the last time
you took a true breath,
like a criminal,
and breathed in the
energy around you
whether it be
or setting you back
further than where 
you originally
were, that you started
to miss
the 'good ole days' 
for the millionth
time in your life. 

I look around.
When's the last time
you texted someone
because you felt
guilty that you
had not done
it sooner instead
of waiting on
them to figure
the same 
thing that you just
realized for yourself?
I look around.
People love difficult.
People love questions.
People love being shady.
People love doubt.
People love lies.

I look around.
People hate easy.
People hate answers.
People hate compassion.
People hate warmth.
People hate truth.

I look around,
and when I hear
the lazy ones say
teamwork makes the
dream work, I scoff
out loud because it's 
fun to ride in a rowboat
going forward as long
as you don't have to
pick up an oar.

I look around.
someone in a suit
is wishing to be in 
pajama pants and loafers,
working from home,
free from the things 
that consume them from
the Inside Out.

I look around.
someone in pajama
pants is working hard
and dreaming
and giving his all so
they can be in 
a suit and tie
and be a feeder for a change
instead of being
fed upon, until it 
The Upside Down.

I look around.
I still hate mayonnaise.
And pickles.
And cream cheese. 
I like Crab Rangoon. 
And ranch dressing.
Cheese balls are
I feel comfortable
eating bananas in
public again. 
And red starburst are
still awesome,
as well as
funnel cakes.

I look around.
You can preach
and teach the gospel
all you want, but 
if you don't live it,
then 'the message'
is irrelevant.

…I really, really do try to stay sober…

…and I hope you think that I do because I would never hold out on you if I was carrying good sentences on me and not sharing them.

I try to treat each word like a pill we are about to swallow and we wait to get the little tickles in our stomach as we start to feel the creeping effects thirty minutes from now, if we do not feel our euphoria sooner than that.

This buzz is better than popping a muscle relaxer at a concert.

…or dry swallowing a Xanax before walking into a job you despise…

…or the first green hit of a freshly packed bowl before hopping on the Xbox…

…or sitting on the beach with a best friend and a fresh pack of cigarettes before taking your first key bump…

…or slowly feeling a Percocet slide down your throat when 9 p.m. hits so you can stay up for the next four to five hours and shovel words like a chain gang cutting roadside weeds on an Alabama country road, knowing that one of the misguided, in every scenario, is fed up with his current consequence and is thinking on how to hit Boss Man over the head, free himself, and run off into the sunset.

…yet… …here I am… and I’m left thinking, on a city street, alone, late at night, wrapped in heavy clothes because it’s cold, standing in front of a stoplight, watching my breath turn the outside air around me to haze, waiting for that same light to turn from green to red, the only sound filling my ears being the silence that I’ve tried to fill them with for so long…

…and I ask myself one of two questions –

“Where did I go right?”


“Where did I go wrong?” –

when the only question I needed to listen to was a command…

“Be still”!

My thoughts scroll through my head like a stock market update… …the only buzz fueling me being the moment your eyes snort these paragraphed lines and something resonates with your oncoming buzz and it brings out a response, me never knowing when or where or why that is unless you tell me and me not being nosy and asking you for a confession because, well…

…a good writer is not a priest and should know when we, me and you, need some life relief whether we want to confess it or not…

A good writer’s confession booth is wherever he stops and listens, and the only buzz he should let consume him is the feeling he gets when his work is done…

Again… …almost there…

…my thoughts…

Why can't guys wear tight black yoga pants like girls - seems kind of sexist?

Why aren't women's pockets like men's pockets - seems kind of sexist.

Guys - how many buttons do you unbutton up top on a shirt while in possession of chest hair?

Women - how much chest hair is too much?

Why is my coffee black - seems kind of racist.

Why is my toilet paper white - seems kind of racist.

Hey, for real though, toilet paper - what's up wiping that joyous ass stresslessly since our freak out a couple of years ago, huh?

If you can see someone's junk while they're wearing skinny jeans - is that the wearers fault, the jeans, or yours for staring multiple times and making it awkward?

Are hard nipples a prerequisite for advertising a braless white shirt on Instagram? I've seen some diamond cutters on social media that could kill a man... ...or woman...

You see that scene in a movie or in real life where a group of women are talking about the small size of a male penis and I'm left thinking, 'it's not like men get to choose a multiple choice of penises off a shelf when we're born,' not to mention the joking women look like they'd be just as fun as a leftover asparagus in the sack.'

You know when dudes single out that one girl and call them a 'hoe' or 'whore' and then who's the first person they text or call when they strike out on the town and realize it's going to be them and their hand... ...once again...?

Don't get mad at me... ...get mad at yourself for being mad at mad.

If a woman farts in public, do we bring attention to it or treat it as such?

We need to normalize farts instead of stereotyping them because, truth be told, all farts are equal, men and women's (no - they are absolutely not - do not believe that lie).

Why are littering fines so expensive if they never catch you?

Isn't the speed limit just a suggestion and who gives law enforcement a ticket for breaking it just because they can during a non-emergency?

I think we should carbon date the wind because we need to know how old it has been simulating - now, all I need is a multi-million dollar grant!

When did life become so complicated?

If you have led yourself into believing that you cannot trust God, or science, or the universe, or the realistic fabric of your world, where does that leave your mindset and when do you flip your mentality around and realize the only thing you couldn't trust during all this wasted time was yourself?

I do not regret my small circle of friends, and I appreciate that the only cage it has become is the type of cage that protects divers from sharks... ...not the kind that keeps birds contained.

Why even make orange or yellow starbursts... ...seems like a waste of a candy product...?

I have a tire pressure sensor light that has been on in my truck for over two years now and they said that nothing was wrong with my actual truck but the problem cannot be fixed for under three million dollars? I drive around in constant paranoia, not because of the sensor light, but because there's a penguin riding in my back seat.

Have you ever googled a map to see how many satellites currently circle earth, and we wonder why everyone's frequencies are so f*cked up. Way to go 5G!

It takes a big man to not admit his faults and a little man to bring them to light then squeeze into a tiny crevice where he cannot be reached and I am that big man.

Wearing oven mittens over both hands turns you into a crab, if you didn't know...

…it’s coming…


“We are the music makers… We are the dreamers of dreams…”

Willy Wonka

Press Play

The Black Angels – Young Men Dead

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