You just get it done.

I used to stare up at the stars
outside of E-Level dormitories
and wonder what really was the meaning
of
life.

You just get it done.

You fumble for "snooze" on your tiny mobile companion
and let the blood rush to your ankles
and hazily find your way
upstairs.

You just get it done.

After the shower routine
its dressing and then
blindly feeling along the top shelf for
some sort of
sustenance.

Then you drop your box on wheels
into the ocean of the other wheeled boxes
and you feel the bravado of machinery beneath you and
claim your inch of asphalt greedily
among the other
mobile animals.

Then after several outbursts
you arrive at the office
and settle in for a full
eight.

You just get it done.

Then you stand and bid farewell
and leave to go
to the next
one.

You dance like a monkey,
and smile and suggest,
and clear and serve,
and fake it till you make it.
All the while just watching
as they eat awkwardly on
a very first
date.

You just get it done.

Then you deposit your blood money
at the teller machine around the corner
and trace your footsteps back
home.
Where you sit down and study extraneous subjects or
узнать некоторые дополнительные русский язык
until your body is dry
and sleep storms the gates.

Then you lie down alone
for the 376th time in a row
and drift absently into
darkness.

You just get it done.

Shoulder the weight
and
walk.

There is tragedy
and there is
triumph.

Chart your life with
ups and downs,
blessings amidst sorrows
and bruises
and scars.

Catalog what you've been through
and tip the Creator
with the brim of your hat.
You've been a live one kid,
you've seen some scenes
but you've still got that
babyface
don'tya?

No one tells you how it is.
No one tells you that its all
flat.
Time passes linearly and you
never move
but choose.
You choose what comes next
or what doesn't.
One day you wake up and
you're older.
Not old,
but older.
You've been doing this for awhile and
you've got nothing much
to show for it.

Or do you?

Will anyone care when you die?
We're all dust
but we think we're so special.
Standing on elevators in silence
and avoiding each other's desperate
gaze.

We're dying on the outside
and on the inside,
pleading within our heads,

"YES!
We are here
and we have
been given a
voice!
We start at 0.
We are the
same."

But are we forgiven?

I've taken a lot of dumps
on people who might have potentially cared
what happened to my
ungrateful carcass.
How quick we are to judge and
how quick I was to condemn.

Tonight I think of ghosts gone by
and I think that I might actually enjoy
sitting across from them at a table
and closing the divide
but how wide these chasms are
who knows?

Last night I had a dream that I traveled back
to '04 and I warned them all.
I warned them not to make mistakes
as, if unchanged,
the stories were going to end badly.

And they were all alive,
Josh
most of
all.

There is tragedy
and there is triumph.

Today has brought the latter.

A second chance to
be something
and someone
a little more.

But I see where I've been
in the mirror every morning
and the ink never fades,
sin lingers on my shoulders.

And there too are my constant eyes and soul,
and every name likewise
on my
lips.

Прощай навсегда мои бесконечные сожаления

You quit me exactly one year ago today.

I planned to write you an epic letter
full of bile,
finger-pointing,
and
blame.

But I think that is enough now.

Thoughts of you every day for a year
full of grief, anger, and shame
are enough to warrant the final end
of what was affectionately known as
"us".

I sent you a terribly sad and desperate letter
the day I boarded that final
flight home.

I should have truly sent only this:

"You were the worst mistake I have ever made,
but thank you for teaching me
to never to let it happen
again."

Cheers Alice, have yourself a life...


...be it nice or otherwise.

And now: silence profound.

It all started and now ends like this:

Relapse.

I've found
That the cleanliness of one's immediate living area
is usually in direct proportion to
the overall state of their current
affairs.

Well this morning I was up to my wrists in my own
sick,
cleaning up what appeared to be
the ejected remnants
of an order of late night nachos
and some unidentifiable
braised pork product.

I, the hypocrite on high.

You do the best that you can
but you are so deeply flawed.
Underneath every human's
smiles, waves hello,
and hearty handshake with back slap
is an unfathomably profound
sadness.
This nagging sense of incomplete.
Even when the going is good
we find a way to inwardly say
"It isn't enough,"
and so we subconsciously self destruct
to somehow make the outside
resemble
the inside.

Pardon my pork postpartum
but there have been days when
I've liked myself a heck of a lot
more.

There are nights.
There are nights when its finally
quiet.
No lights, no camera,
no action of any kind.
There's no one calling,
no one knocks anymore anyway,
and its just you
rattling like old bones
in a hollow halfway
house.

Tonight is one of those nights.

It's just me.

It is just me and
no you.
No you for
almost a full
365.
I haven't fought a battle
since then
and I'm out of practice
in the art of angry words
and dramatic
exits.

Tonight.
Tonight there is only me and
I sleep peacefully
alone.

Vignette IV

As this bum ankle heals
and the gearbox starts kicking again
I never thought I would be so overjoyed
at the promise of
two
shoes.

Back on track
JACK
let's try this again. Life plans for your grillpiece
adventure
beckons.

A new year for action.

The laurels will not be rested
and by this time next time
our hero will triumph.

Lovingly yours.
-AK
(Dictated but not read)

Turn it up.

Alliterati.

Tiptoeing towards daylight
A mid evening madman
stands sullen in the silence
of streetlights.

Donning a mask of revelry
and a figure of much speech
while emptying the coffers
into the hands of
hangmen.

Do these moments,
being enigmatic in their purposefulness,
enhance the journey?
Or is the storyline
aimless and
alarmingly
arbitrary?

Are these shadows
friend
or fiery foe
who by their very existence
bring forth
terror
where once
peace was
planted?

It seems time will tell,
as it heals all wounds
and waits for no man
alongside
tide.

Until then we wait
as beasts low in dust
without rain,
repast,
or
repose.

Solid and Solitary

A New Year.
Bang.
Boom.

A good start
I would say.
sober,
solid, and
solitary.

But today I'm feeling kind of
foul.

I'd be lying if
I said that staying in
wasn't easy.
I have no one left man.
I've ditched just about every
back-alley buddy
that I could be found dragging
along with.

A tragic fact:

I've got a thousand mouths to drink with
but no hands to
hold.

I've very few bastions
left standing out there.
If I fell over
walking down the road and
became chow
for crows and strays I
would only know a handful
who would know
the difference.

Now listen,
I'm not searching for pity pal.
I'm just trying to tell
a story.

So as all of humanity
clinks glasses
and auld lang synes
in a great refrain,
I've got plenty
of nothin'.

I promised myself this year,
that come next first of Jan
I would be new.
New path,
new relations,
new love.

And I always strive to keep
my
word.