There are a million melons, everywhere that you could see, a million, million melons, ten for you and ten for me. There are a billion balloons, floating way up in the sky, a billion, billion balloons, some are low and some are high. There are a thousand fountains spraying water in the air, a thousand, thousand fountains, the water's cold but no one cares. There are a hundred hungry hunters, with elks caught in their sights, a hundred, hundred, hungry hunters, they aim with all their might. And there are ten men, standing quietly in the sun, ten men, that's it, just ten, pondering what's now to be done. But just one gun rests still within the shade, a single, lonely gun, but one, whyever was it made?

It's difficult to get into that zone, that zone in which shit just starts oozing out, flowing, like it sounds gross, but that's the state I like to be in, where I'm just writing and it ain't wrong and it ain't right, but it's coming out and I'm making it, and it's telling and you're hearing it, and it don't matter if it's the most important spit in the sea, or the most drab ass, pointless ramble on the range, I don't spit for the birds, I spit for the cows and the sheep and the battering rams who live off in the mountains, see this, this right here, this is the place where I live, right here in this continuous stream, like my mind is a river and my fingers are the liquid within, and surely it don't make much sense, but here it is, feel it, dig it, lean back and float on, notice the sun stain your cheeks, rosy for the moment, warm to the touch, it ain't much, but it's all that I have, and cryptically hidden beneathe abstrusly lain words lies the images of beauty like a calm blue whale that sails unnoticed underneathe the stormy ocean waves, and here she appears, this girl of my dreams, this figment of moon beams and angel of sunrays, this ghost of the leaves, some spirit of the wind, dancing along on the tides and the gusts of the unseen, carried before me to where I can sense her, imagine her presence like the warmth or the peace, or the safety or the chaos, or the jubilation, the jubilation, the jubilation, an animation of the soul, a flip book of the heart that sings out its inner most desires, inspires the eyes as the mind just conspires, planning and jamming, just doing it's thing, creating the framework from which all else builds off of, the mind is the great creator, the architect of God, but the heart is the soothesayer, and the soul is the medicine man, and each one works together, no one is less or more needed than the other, we live, balanced, harmonious and true, green and bright yellow, red and dark blue. And this is the place where my mind wanders free, free to see, free to say, free to lay it all down, regardless of what it may be that results, as I build, it is nice, each word's grain of rice, stacking up high, high like towers of white, and as you read through, it's like one great long sip, you take it on in, and though you might not recognize the taste, you can sense that it's wet, just plain, classic water, in the form of this babbling brook.

Songmeanings.net, thank God for this place. Just think of all the people who pour out themselves onto these digitally white pages, for any and all to see. Shit, this place is like a sanctuary, and I am Kwazemodo holding Ezmerelda up high over my head, shouting down to the villagers. You folks, you're the villagers, can't see me, but you can hear my screams, clear as day. You might not know what I'm yelling about, might not even care much, the whole town's burning anyway, but at least you can hear my voice if you only stop to listen. And in moments like these, it's so easy for you and I to both feel right at home and perfectly at peace. Because, shit, I don't know. We all love music! One Love! Let's forget about the world, just for these few seconds that your eyes scan over this stream of consciousness. I love this journal, I love all you people who love your journals too, I love this Metric song I'm hearing right now. I love all of you guys, all of you whom I've never met, just for the sheer fact that you and I share the love of music, so you can't be all bad. We're the same, you and I. And I love you right now just for that. Peace!

I'll wait for you no longer my legs have gotten stronger and I'd rather stand alone than follow where you've shown I wish that I could keep you your beauty is apparant and so true your eyes they move my soul to weep, your voice it makes my tired heart leap but your mind it is so young and you cannot hide behind your tongue you give yourself away and I know I cannot stay One day so far on down the way I will recall how we used to play and I will smile upon these memories knowing you as just another part of me another sister lost and found another lover come round and gone round but you have changed my heart and mind and you are such a sweet and gentle kind perhaps it never was you, always was me blinded by your beauty, I chose not to see but now I surely know, it is time for me to go Goodbye little darling so long girl, so long, so long, farewell to you lovely, forgive me as you hear this song.

Who am I kidding, sitting at this laptop like I got something to say. Sublime pouring out the speakers, tappin my sneakers to the sweet smooth sound of the reggae. Alone in my living room waiting for my bud to call, waiting to find out where the party be at tonight. Alone just like the moon, waiting for the season fall, fading away into my chair, listening to the light. Harder to type when a good song comes on. I'll love Sublime till the matter of me is gone. Man, if I can be happy for anything that transpired from my last relationship, it's that she turned me on to this incredible band. I mean I always liked Sublime, but when we would hang out, we would listen to their music for hours, just sittingin her room, weaving hemp necklaces. I can't say anything more than I just love their music. I love Brad's voice, I love the beats, the bass, the choppy guitar licks. It's so much fun. It don't even make me sad, it makes me remember, sure as hell, I can see her face in certain songs, but they are just so good, that I can dance the memories away... I hope one day we can dance together again to these songs. I'll pray for that. Sure as hell. When she grows up, I hope we can dance together again. I thank God for her and for Sublime. That is all.

It's been a windy day. A windy-ass day, if I may. A constant surge of the stuff. Just continual, on-going blowing. The leaves of the trees will not shut up, and my hair is made of so many fly-aways. I see my face now in the reflection of the laptop's screen as I sit outside typing this ditty out. I also see the reflection of the sky behind waving arms of leafy branches, as if the trees dance to the unheard music of the steady gust. The music becomes the whisshhhh.... Forever, as far as I'm concerned. That's all I hear. Anyway, it's been a strange-ass day. I spent the day with my mother and her friend, Tina. I believe my mother fancies Tina's husband, but that's another story. We went to brunch at Mimi's in Parker. We each paid for our own meal. They had bloody mary's, I had iced tea. After that we went and saw EAT PRAY LOVE. I hesitate to say it was dreadful. It wasn't awful, not terrible or anything. Just a chick flick, totally. But there were alright thoughts scattered randomly throughout, touching moments, my mom cried at least. I find myself giving myself up for the sake of the others around me. I am the accompaniment. I enjoy myself, even though the activity is not one I would do if I were alone. Just a day with Mom. Nothing wrong with that. A dragonfly just attempted to fly up around my porch, but he got caught by some wind and blown out towards the street. I realize this isn't even a poem, but a string of random thoughts made to resemble a poem. My life is not a poem, it only resembles one. Someone has once said to me, "the appearance IS the object!" If that is true, then this IS a poem, and my life IS a poem. The greatness of the poem, is as always, debatable. Just this particular one, I'd say, is fairly shabby. What am I saying? I am saying nothing. I am just saying. Leave me alone why dontcha. The day just rolls along... Time, time, time, time... My mom is a chatterbox. The wind has still not let up and shows no signs of doing so.

Another normal day. Another perfectly, utterly normal day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Woke up and layed out in the Sun. Got tired of the heat, went around to the front, sat crosslegged in the shade of the leafy tree. The grass had left little indentations on my bare feet when I shifted positions. Grass marks, my little sister has called them before. I found it so strange and curious, the similarity of the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves to the sound of the ocean by the beach. Wind comes in gusts, water in waves. I had the thought, "perhaps water is just heavy, wet wind." Then I took a short nap, went to work, made it through the blur of faces, cash and change, drove back home, and now here I am, typing, listening to Bob Marley. One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain. My mind is basically blank. I eat some cheezits. They are amazing.

Alright, all of life does not reside exclusively in my mind. That's true. All of life is all around. Outside and without me. I understand that. I don't believe in objective reality, I accept it. I do because that is all I can do. I accept that things can be observed and recognized by all humans, and I accept these things because that's just how it works. I observe and recognize the law, I work for my money, I do what I must do to get by and through in THIS world. I am a slave and/or servant to reality just like any other. And I deal with it, whiling enjoying everything I can (including this argument). I try not to let it phase me. Most of the time, life reminds me of a joke. Something I must humour, even nurture, as it plays out. Always, I accept it. But I do believe that everything that we SENSE is only a distraction of what really occurs. This life is like a trick. Smoke and Mirrors. In a sense, I think reality is an illusion that we are forced to sit through and view. I guess I believe that THIS can't be what it's all about. There has to be something else, behind all of this, because this is so laughable sometimes. Maybe that is denial. Refusal to accept that this is ALL THERE IS. Because honestly, this can't be all there is. There is always more than meets the eye. Life is a ruse. To believe it is entirely real is to be decieved by the trickster. It's just a show, crafted to entertain and instruct.

Amazing how everything can change in a day. Time leaves you speechless, I got nothing to say. When it started I was low with my head in the sand, as it comes to an end I got my feet on dry land. Retreat into bed, slip into tomorrow. Live briefly in dreams I'm allowed just to borrow. Wake to the sound of my cellphone ringin, peer out the window, hear morning birds singin. Light filtering in, wash the floor of my room, brightness glows yellow to banish the gloom. Rise from the warmth, feel the chill of a breeze. I'll scratch my bare legs, calves, ankles and knees. Grab a quick shower, throw on clean clothes, head on downstairs, drink a cup, I suppose. Put on the tube only just for a minute, check out some videos, the limelight, who's in it. Then trek to my car, pop in some CD, crank up the volume, and drive away free. Well, free to the extent of the wide open road, but from here, on to work, psyche into work mode. Arrive at the mall, ten minutes to spare, step out of my car, smell the moist August air. How the summer brings peace to the soul of the city, employed, overjoyed, the trees sparkle pretty. And into the clambor of the chaos within the mall, all the people showcase scowls and grins. So much noise! So much Noise! All the voices at once, barrel on through the time till I'm rewarded with lunch. And I'll eat chick fil a like an emperor prince consuming a nice royal meal with iced water for rinse. Then back to the grindstone, back into the swing, hello, how are you? is the song I must sing. Oh customers, customers, thank God for you all, without you, we crumble, our business would fall. Thank you for your money, thank you for your time, thank you for your courtesy, you're swell, you're sublime. Even when you're not, I will choose to look past, because truthfully, really, it happens so fast. You're here, then you're gone, you pay and you leave, so if you don't meet my gaze, I won't be too grieved. Just continue on through, kill the minutes and hours, do whatcha gotta do son, that's how seeds become flowers. And when it's time to clock out, you punch in your name, you send out farewells and be done with the game. Head back to my car, parked out in the lot, and release your old head, forget what you thought. Cuz it don't matter now, you're on your way home. Turn up that sweet music, sing out on your own. Amazing how everything can change in a day. Time leaves you speechless, I got nothing to say.

My house is silent as the world inside a shell. My sisters are sleeping, my mother is off working, my brother is somewhere else, and I am here in the rocking chair, typing. Shhhh, listen. The house makes noises. I hear, the fridge, the computer, the lamp, the walls crack intermittently. Silence is not as it seems. Perhaps silence is merely lack of voices. Perhaps quiet is not lack of sound, but lack of motion that makes sound. In this case, my house is still, quiet, and silent. But if you listen, and there is always something to hear.