The internet is a crazy place. Countless individuals all over the globe, men and women, boys and girls, from 15 to 55, all brought together in the same space. Cyber space. Here, we are all one even as we are alone. As we gaze into the depths of our screens, we are all looking at the same monument. The monument of ultimate information. It is infinite in facets, sideless, and still with all sides. Imagine the internet if it were tangible. I imagine a sphere with a surface of gleaming spiderwebs. All is shared, nothing is sacred. All is connected, and every one is separate. It is a land of contradiction. Or if I may, (in the spirit of songmeanings,) A Land of Confusion. But I love it. You gotta love it. I love it because I am part of it without being who I am. I am not my face, I am not even myself, I am my words. I am only what I choose to say. I am not my person, but my person-ality. And that is a beautiful thing. You could even say an ideal world. We are each blind, deaf, and dumb, when we are online. All we have, all we are, is what we decide to submit of our minds. It is a strange and unique world, this place we call the internet. Truly brings out the best and worst of us all. How shall we use this almighty tool? Let us use it for communication and aid. Let us send love and encouragement through the wires to whosoever may require a small pick me up. Let us not fight, but find and figure. Then submit only wellness. Offer only positivity. Talk about an ideal world. At least, let me use it for inspiration. For what else can you do for someone else but inspire them? -Bob Dylan

I went to a concert tonight. Drove down to the springs, me and my little step brother, my little step brother and I. Course, I guess he's not so little anymore. Seventeen and a senior, where does the time go? It was a long ass drive, least it sure seemed that way. We even got lost trying to find the place. An extra hour of searching, to Hell with Google Maps. However, we arrived just in time. The second band was finishing up, and the band I came to see was to follow. For All Those Sleeping. Have you heard of them? Neither had I on the day that their guitarists stopped by Hot Topic, as I happened to be working. I spoke awhile with them. Said it was their first tour, their first time in Colorado. I recommended they check out Red Rocks. Great hiking up there, lots of canyons, I said. They said hey, why don't you come to our show on Sunday? And they put me on the guest list. I love when things work out. Course, they didn't play the song I knew, but they had good energy, and they were friendly and talked with me for awhile after they played. They had checked out Red Rocks. I bought one of their stickers, and later on in the show, I saw the two guitarists I first met hitting on this girl in striped tights. I'm sure nothing became of it. Also, as I stepped up to the bar to buy a bottle of water, this cowboy looking fellow said to me, "you should shave all this," he indicated my beard, "And leave the mustache. Just rock the mustache." Funny enough, I'd been considering that lately. His name was Kyle, and he was the guitarist for the headlining band. He was obviously drunk, and he held my arm when he talked to me. Think I'll take his advice tomorrow. It rained on the drive home, misty rain, sprayed up from the tires of the cars in front of us, water made the freeway slick, and reflective of every light that twinkled, flashed, and shone. Made it difficult for me to see. Think I need new wipers. There were great branches of lighting also, that lit up the wide sky. Just one of those nights. Fairly forgettable, but just special enough to cause a stir, to set off a stream of ideas, to get me thinking, to get me feeling. I'll put the sticker on my car when the rain dries away tomorrow. So even though I may forget, I'll always still remember, whenever I open my trunk. Where do nights like this go? Here I am, still inside of one, but I know that in a matter of days, weeks, months, this present feeling, will have left me. A brief moment, preserved in a poem. Where do nights like this go? I think they go away... As we move forward, plug onward and upward, these nights are left right where they were, and it is we that spiral on, leaving all in the place that it existed that once. If I am an airplane, then behind me stretches a white, fading jetstream. If I am a spead boat, then I leave behind the two opposite waves of my wake. If I am a comet, then I have a long tail of light and ice crystals. But in any situation, the life lies in the front, and what trails behind is only beautiful... This poem is as a silver strand of hair that has been pulled from within my mind. And as my fingers reach the end of it... pluck!

It's raining cats and dogs, birds and mice, raccoons and porcupines, any animals you might imagine, they're just comin down out there. You crazy, crazy weather! What are you thinkin? Pourin out your big old heart right on top of our heads. I sure appreciate the moisture, but damn! It's just like buckets of rain. How does that one thing go... when it rains, it pours. Word! My brother would say, when it happens, it HAPPENS. Ahh, but at least I'm calm. I worked today, I work tomorrow, but then comes dear old sunday morning. And I'll rest my tired bones and I'll let my weary head unwind. Maybe I'll see Amanda. You never know what'll happen. but as my brother would say, when it happens, it HAPPENS. and it won't happen till it's happenin. That's what I say. Man dude, I just want to meet someone new. I want a girl who'll push me and pull me, a girl who will challenge me and change me. I want a girl with a short skirt and a loooooooooooonngg jacket. She'll be comin around the mountain when she comes. So I'll keep my eyes peeled to the west. I want a girl who will write me letters. I want a girl who will sing harmony with me. I want a girl who will play ocarina solos over my chord progressions. She will have eyes like the leopard and hair like the panther, and teeth like the smiling tiger. And she will pounce on me, and she will pin me. Just like Nala in the Lion King. And together, we will roar atop Pride Rock. And the blue faced monkey will declare, "the King... has returned." Ahh, just a phantastic joke. I want her to be just as strong, if not stronger than I. I want her to look at me fiercely. I want her to feel rage and love and joy and sorrow and pain and pleasure. I want her to laugh when I slip in a puddle, and fall and get my ass wet. I want her to laugh as she takes my hand and helps me up. And I want to look in her eyes and laugh as well. Because that would be hilarious. Especially if it were in front of strangers. I want her to say clever things and devise cunning plans. I want her to imagine such grand schemes. And I want her to laugh at her own boldness. She will have eyes full of wonder and wisdom. And she will smell like cinnamon roses. She will walk like an egyptian. And she will talk like an old soul song. Man, she is just beautiful ideas. She is funny though, this is true. She is gorgeous also. She is happy with herself. She loves herself. And she loves to be alive. And she would not trade life for any other thing. She would say, finders keepers, and laugh, because she wonders if that actually makes sense. I'll find her. Sooner or later. In this place or that. Till then I'll just go about my business. Now my mom is home, and I can't think, because she's buzzing around. Whateva.

It's presently stormy outside. Just read bedtime stories with my little sisters before I turned out the lights and left them with goodnight's, I love you's, and kisses on each of their foreheads. Each of them read a story. Ashley read two, the first and the last, because she didn't think it was fair that everyone got to read one, for it was "her turn." There was Goodnight Moon first, thank you Ashley, followed by a rhyming, sing-song verse of Clap Your Hands, thank you Shelby, then a fine run through of Curious George by Torrie, and finally a quick stumble through Madeline as Ashley finished the night. Amazing to watch young people read. Torrie, the oldest, 11 now recognizes words fairly well, however there are still some she isn't wholly familiar with, that I must give to her. "Dangling" for example, and also, the word "bugle." Ashley, the youngest, now 7, is the second to Torrie in competence. Recognization is also good, she is beyond sounding out the letters for every word, though there are still some she is yet to become familiar with, among these are "appendix," "ceiling," and "crank." Shelby, however, has a very difficult time. She is in the middle, will be 9 in November. And she has such trouble with remembering which words are which. She will struggle with the word "wiggle" to the point where I have to say "wiggle, the word is wiggle." Then only a few pages later, the word is there again, "wiggle" but she cannot identify it, and she sounds it out again, letter by letter. She does not recognize. And she guesses far too much. But patience is key, I must be careful not to lose my temper, no matter how frustrating it can be. It is possible that she is dislexic. Ahhh, it is what it is. A beautiful thing though, too be able to be with these young people, these children as they grow, as they mature and learn. They are little humans, gaining and acquiring more each day that goes by. It is a joy and an inspiration to see their eyes focus and obtain, wonder and realize, and to see their laughter at such simple ideas, like oh look, the monkey climbed the tree. Ashley smiled as she read, "Good night no-one." I hear the wonder in her voice at the strangeness of such a thought. And all the while, our dog Spot lay quietly on the foot of Ashley's bed, indifferently dozing, perhaps listening to our voices float round the room. This is the expression of what my night has been. Different from others my age, I always find myself thinking. Am I an old man? Or am I turning 20? sometimes I am confused on the matter. My situation calls for certain premature wisdom. A brother who is also a father. In a sense. And always, I do my best to rise to the occasion. In highschool, I was, I will say, experimental. Drugs and drinking, smoking, partying, the whole gambit. I was a teenage waster, a proud, lazy, self righteous, opinionated bastard hippy. I kept my face clean at home, always, but I had a mask that I would don to experience life in the shadows. I had a secret life, as so many kids in highschool are forced to have. How funny that getting in trouble with the law after graduation, being put on probation for 3 years, would actually cause my behaviour pattern to shift, alter, change. Funny, I think, for that is the intention of punishment. I took the whole shit to heart. Cut out pot, acid, mushrooms, all of that muddled jazz, eventually dropped cigarettes, stopped drinking soda, began to take life seriously, as I so often thought. Began to think of my life as something that must be taken care of. Something that required a little looking after. I learned determination and self discipline. And I enjoyed the changes as they occured in me. I learned what it was to work hard and come home sore. I flushed my mind of laziness and pointless, defeatist nihilism. I began to live For something. And that something was myself. Began to think of myself as a role model to others, especially, in particular to my little sisters. For they are the easiest ones to whom to be an example, because, by the way of my situation, they already look up to me more than I understand. And now, multiple months clean, new job, still paying off debts, I'm working on starting school this semester, trying to get this life off the ground. I have this attitude that I can't stop, because if I stop, it will take me forever to get going again. Always happens. I get stuck in the lulls. Shit man, it's like I'm just standing, teetering on the edge of this great escarpment, I'm itching to just jump, just leap into infinity, just go! go! go! But I've got to remember to be patient. It's not my time just yet, I have not the money nor the time to get out. It can be summed up. Put in your time, pour out your sweat, pick up that dime, pay off that debt. That will be my life, for a while. And once the debt is repaid, then we've got another story, another attitude on our hands. I'm waiting inside a cocoon before I can emerge into a burst of color, light, wings, and life. And that's alright with me. I see my friends jumping all around, with the nets beneathe them made of loans. The whole highschool gang in the same space. No change, no growth, no progress, no establishment of each as thyself. They band together, and go through life together, whereas I want to do it alone. Maybe meet some new people along the way. I said it before, it spells disaster. But I can't hate, I can only hope for them. Hope for their happiness in the life they chose and that I chose not. I pray no harm befalls them, and I turn and walk in the opposite direction, away from the danger that I sense where they dwell. Is it true that one must save himself? If so, then old friends are the snares that keep one trapt in one's thorny past. We all must leave where we came from if we want to go anywhere at all. I must Move Along, so to speak. (heard that on the radio twice today) Ah, but this has gotten so long! I've so much to say, and no one to whom I can say it! So I just take it down. I pour it out. A great invention, might I say, for with my translation of this language, I can talk as if you were my friend, as if I actually was talking to someone else. Though I am not, writing, it is an illusion, and a beautiful way of keeping track. Of documenting the moments. And I wonder who, besides me, will ever read through. Peace, till next time.

Somebody come and find me, I'm waiting here as if I know that there is another out there just searching for someone to love. I will love you if you find me, true as deep as the seas will reach. I'm just all couped up within this life, no room to spread my wings and take flight. If I tried, I'd just hit the top of my cage, then fall into my own shit on the newspapers beneathe. How said it is these days that a bird's gotta pay to take off into that big old blue sky. Since when did it belong to them? We pay for our nests, we pay for our worms, we even pay to beat our wings to travel. I'll stay in this cage, because for now, I just cannot afford the sky. A bird's gotta work to get that worm. So that's what my blood red breast is set on. Perhaps I'll still be perched behind these bars as the leaves shift their colors from green to orange, could be I've still got a good stretch of a couple seasons to fill up my bird bath with liquidation. And when the snow begins to fall, hey, maybe I'll stay till the weather warms up a tad. Maybe I'll wait till I see those honkin geese flyin back to their soaked bread homes by the lake. There ain't no hurry for a beautiful bird. So I'll wait my turn. I'll wait till the wind is just right, and when it is, I'll kick open that damned cage door, and I'll escape into the sunlight and fly till I can't even tell where I came from. North? South? East? West? Nah, just forward, then when the time is right again, I'll come on back. Here's to my birds of a feather everywhere, stuck in your cages, waiting to be set free. See you in the sky.

There is something about this planet. Something strange and unnerving. Perhaps it the great war of minds, men hold entirely opposite ideals within their skulls, and against eachother, they throw their thoughts, as if to wound eachother with the sharpness of their personal truth.

Ah, how the minutes drizzle on. I remove my hat and tie my hair back into a messy brown bun, strange how much it has grown in the past two years. Now when I let it tumble down, it splays across my back and upon both sides of my chest. How I remember when I could first touch it to my shoulders, and when I could first put my bangs in my mouth. And way, way back in the day, when it became too long to gel into spikes. It has been 5 years now, and my hair has gone from very short to very long. I can remember highschool. I remember it like a dream, one which I know that I had, however many nights ago, but so vaguely, oh so blurry, faces of my friends seem to melt into one another, though their names still ring perfectly clear. So long ago does it seem, but still can I recall the feeling that arose in my chest when I would wake, knowing that I had to be there, knowing I had to go to school. I would shower, if I felt I should, dress myself to look good, as I thought, make my hair look presentable, from the spikes of freshman year to the straightened style that layed across my right eye in sophomore year to the hippy jesus mane that I put back, junior year, and to the longer version of this, plus my hat, of senior year. I changed every year, less and less as they rolled along. I remember the classes, the worksheets, the essays, the videos, I remember the girls, the beautiful, the sweet, the unnoticed. I remember, I remember, I remember... It just seems like another lifetime for it has now passed, and means nothing to me now. It is just memories. God, I am glad that it is over, for now I am only myself, and not one of so many, but lord, do I miss it, the sheer simplicity, the wonderous ease, even the stomach sickening stress... It was all so comfortable, familiar, routine... Let me tell you, once highschool is through, it only gets harder. Exciting, of course, but scary, difficult, serious. It's even more overwhelming than it was, for you are no one in the world outside the walls, at least until you make a name for yourself. And this, I'm finding, is a long process. Man, I miss it, but I know it's right that I am done with it. 4 years is all you get. I have reached the next level. But I'll always remember what it felt like to be a kid. And I'll always be grateful, because at the very least, I got to. Pain is necessary for us to grow. It tears us apart inside, so that we can put the pieces back together as we go along. The pain never stops, it only changes, and happens in different ways.

To let go of it, 'twill fall until it has gone, Goodbye, oh, goodbye. The future is bright like the Sun that lifts itself above the hillside. These damned mosquitos, swarms of too many to swat. Better stay inside. Old time pulls forth, snakes its way across the land, changing what it must. Thoughts of a new day murmur sweet words in my ears, "tonight, surrender." Ache in my shoulder, I must have slept on it wrong. Could use a massage.

The confusion of modern life, sitting in my living room, the television providing the only light of the space, besides the faint white light that glows through the curtains that cover the wide windows. It's alright, I know. There's nowhere else I should be, only right here. I am expected nowhere, I am as good as a ghost. Truly I get lonely often. There is no one I have. I have my family, and I love them, but my friends are out and about, and the things they do are no longer the things I want to be doing. So I stay away from my friends. I have a new job, and it is a good release. First retail job. Good to work with customers again. But on days off, there is nothing. Sit on the couch, weave a hemp bracelet, let the light drain from my situation. Turn the TV off. Now there is darkness and silence, and my dog dozes on the floor. Strange, however, the peace that comes from typing. Just to write the words makes me feel like I am making something. One wish would be that the words held more meaning than just the sheer confession that they are. A confession inspires no one. A confession is the equivalent of a leak taken into the toilet of the internet, so to speak. Just emptying the bladder of my mind. How funny that I compare thoughts to excrement. Even the most brilliant thoughts were just that. Call it beautiful piss. My mother is working down the street at the wine bar where I sometimes play guitar and sing old songs for tips. Man, how I wish I could meet someone new. Just one new friend. A girl would be great. A girl that plays guitar and cries and sings. With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair. Those do exist don't they? It is nice to be sad sometimes. Sadness is underrated. Was perusing the web last night, found a page about the meaning of the word sad. Said that it orignally came from a word that meant full, or satisfied. Even said that sad and satisfied come from the same root. Truly that's how it feels. I am presently full of life, like I have had enough just for now. I have just eaten a wonderous meal, in the form of a beautiful relationship that lasted just shy of seven months. And now, my plate is clean, and there is nothing left for me at this table. I am sad. She is gone, and I am gone from her. I even know that it is right that we are apart. It did not work. I could have lied and stayed, but it would have been wrong. It would have been prolonging the inevitable, so to speak. A beautiful girl, she taught me to weave the hemp. But she treated me like a puppy dog, and I treated her like a play toy, and an everlasting treat. I had to finish it. It had to come to rest. And now, as when all chapters of life come to their end, there is that certain amount of white space beneathe the final sentence that your eyes briefly pass over, before turning, and beginning the next page. This is that white space. I am about to begin a new chapter in my life. It is exciting, truly. My first semester of college quickly approaches, I am excited to be in a school atmosphere again. Excited for all the new people that I will meet and get to know. Also my job just started, Hot Topic in the Park Meadows Mall. I enjoy it, the other employees, all of the customers, the music, just the essence of that place is good. Promising is the word. Although the style of the store, it reminds me of my old girl, I feel those feelings shall soonly pass, and fade away. Ahh, and there is the sadness again. As I stand in between these two places of life, on my left the old, to my right the new, I am just saddened to think that I must leave one behind to move on to the next. Onward and Upward, my younger brother says. He is right. His wisdom surprises and elates me. He makes me laugh. I picture life as the stream that runs steadily past me. It weaves around me and trickles by me. Every once in awhile, a beautiful thing floats my way, and I catch it. I pick it up with my hands, and I love the thing. I hold it so close to me. I tell it that I will never let it go, for truly, it is my desire to hold it forever. This is how much I love the thing, it beckons me to think of infinity and perfection. Mariah was the thing. And for awhile, all is perfection and infinity. Time is nothing, and everything is fine. But then, however, the water changes. The current begins to quicken. I realize that I need both of my hands to swim, or both of my arms to stay balanced. I realize I must let go of the thing that I love so much. And though I never want to, it has happened to me thrice before, and I know the drill, so to speak. I did what I knew I must do. I set it free. I let the thing continue on its way, I let it drift away from me, right on by, right on through, right past me, and there it went, tumbling along the stream until she vanished around a bend. And now here I am, alone, but with both of my arms, with both of my hands free! It is a conflicting feeling. I know that it is how it should be, yet I remember what it was, and I am sad. How I wish it could still be as it was! But it cannot, and that is that. And so I do my best to forget of the feelings, I look forward to what may come. These are the points where hope and faith come in handy. And now the room is devoid of light. I am in complete, encompassing darkness, save for the light pouring from the computer screen before me. the computer is all I see. But my spirit is higher than it was when I began this poem, I'll call it. Writing it down makes you realize that it's not so bad. It's just nice. this is my beautiful piss.