Walking by the stranger, it all made sense.
All the words in my head couldn't diminish.
The project's finished. Progress is snake oil for the time trying to escape the minutes.
What is a happy ending but an oxy moron, There's nothing happy about the end or the cold ground the rain pours on.
Turned on the war to find the news on. It's not happy, and it never ends.
Happiness is a love letter that you didn't remember to send.
Walking by the stranger and realizing he's your best friend.
Words to amend can mend the fogged lens.
I can see clear again and he can see the other side of the fence.
Chemical warfare inside the brainstem has been downgraded to heartfelt sentiment
A sprinkle of resentment and an after dinner mint.
We're on this bridge, now allies. no longer running from magpies
No bag pipes playing sad byes, there was never a bad guy.
Just a confused lullaby to comfort the butterflies.
Their not burning cocoons because they can finally shut their eyes.
Me and the stranger, the long found friend.
we'll fight to the death before we let this happy end.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Chalk lines and Street Signs
and we're all poorly drawn chalk lines strewn across a million landmines. Hand stands on scared nettles and bleeding thorn vines. We were born fine but corrupted by our own air. Heirs to the vacant throne inside the broken home of despair. We're the watermark on a voided check. Dried up ink fading with the sunset. The temperature is rising, we're doing just the opposite. Drawn to extinction with out a composite sketch. We are the evidence in our own criminal negligence.
I could string together words like pearls and let them gently kiss your neck. But the lack of waves in the emotion would make the storm meaningless. I was born in a home without a father or a roof. a revolving door of false truths and apathy as the proof. A shattered faith and no escape as the smoke stacks laid waste. The trains burning holes in to space with the coal from their freight. I looked on from my window in 1988. Back then we were late. Not fashionably, just conveniently spending money irrationally.but there is no currency , then or currently, that could stop the tornadoes from running free so stunningly.
We are nuclear bombs controlled by automatons. There's dead bees on the lawn and the flowers are gone. I'm not yet a chalk line but I'm getting measured. If only I could stop the weather by saying something clever. I won't follow the street signs to a inevitable never. I may be with the ashes, but I burn with purpose. I will jump across the landmines till I'm no longer nervous. Eternal struggle worth every hour it brings. I'll bounce your acid rain checks in the interest of the notes the birds sing. She will rise.
I could string together words like pearls and let them gently kiss your neck. But the lack of waves in the emotion would make the storm meaningless. I was born in a home without a father or a roof. a revolving door of false truths and apathy as the proof. A shattered faith and no escape as the smoke stacks laid waste. The trains burning holes in to space with the coal from their freight. I looked on from my window in 1988. Back then we were late. Not fashionably, just conveniently spending money irrationally.but there is no currency , then or currently, that could stop the tornadoes from running free so stunningly.
We are nuclear bombs controlled by automatons. There's dead bees on the lawn and the flowers are gone. I'm not yet a chalk line but I'm getting measured. If only I could stop the weather by saying something clever. I won't follow the street signs to a inevitable never. I may be with the ashes, but I burn with purpose. I will jump across the landmines till I'm no longer nervous. Eternal struggle worth every hour it brings. I'll bounce your acid rain checks in the interest of the notes the birds sing. She will rise.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
passing strangers.
I had a dream that I went off my meds. It was brought on by the anxiety that I may actually have to go off my meds because I can no longer afford health insurance and apparently I make too much money to qualify for free state's assistance. ( The whole healthcare debate is for another day and time.) The dream itself wasn't very memorable or specific aside from the confusion as to who I was. It was the whole day afterward that brought me back to those times of transition. Those days and weeks when you're either starting your meds or tapering off. Vivid in its haunting essence.
I first started anti anxiety/depression ( Prozac) meds and anti panic ( Klonopin) meds back in 2005. This was an actual legit regiment and not self medicating which I had done the 5 years leading up to this.
There's a huge inner struggle when you first start treatment. You don't know which part of you is real. You fight with the voices who think you're weak for submitting to a chemical. You fight with the chemicals that put out the fire inside you, and silence the voices that were your passion. ( A pause as I take a klonopin to help me to fall asleep.) You begin to feel better though. Months pass, things get realized in therapy, goals are set and met, and you've reached a peak. You know who you are. You have the skills and insight to navigate bouts of depression and anxiety. You have the thoughtfulness not to aimlessly lash out at your anger's whim. But you feel emotionally devoid. It's as if you're in a body inside a body trapped in a room with a half open window.
I don't think for one second I'll ever be fixed. I'm smart enough to know symptoms will rear their heads from time to time, but I'm strong enough to know I can decapitate them and send them along their merry way. I'm thinking about this now because I may be forced to pass that stranger again. Maybe I'm over ambitious but I really believe I'm ready. I never thought me requiring medication would be a permanent thing. I secretly wanted it to , because I feared that stranger who I may pass again. I do resign that I may from time to time have to take a klonopin in dire emergency as sometimes the physical anxiety can't be suppressed and I will have bouts of syncope otherwise.
There's a freedom to not needing medication. It is only a matter of the strength inside whether or not one can handle the freedom. In order to actualize my goals as a father, and artist I need that freedom back. That fire. I've just gotta pass that stranger and accept he's an old friend.
It's a slow transition. You have to spend weeks tapering off the anti depressants. Constantly take notes in changes of behavior and/or reactions to every day things. You have to be willing to admit that at the end of the journey you may be stuck with the chemical cure for life. The feeling is overwhelming.
Nights get longer as you taper. You feel that protective body leaving you. In the darkness of your closed eyes you literally pass by yourself. I literally saw my shadow pulling away the layers and I could finally breathe. There is a giant weight lifted off you. Your senses are heightened, your nerves have more feeling and you begin to come alive. You feel like a rock is being moved from outside your cave and the light is slowly caressing your face until your whole body is soaked in its life.
You see, think, smell, taste things faster. My physical body becomes faster. That feeling of numbness that the Prozac and Klonopin gave me is being shed away as I see the world for the first time. The stranger wishes me luck, and I him.
I want that back. I wanna see the stranger one more time and let him know I'm okay. Talking with a therapist for over 5 years has been a mirror forcing me not to look away as my past crumbled to ashes before me. The wisdom that has grown in me from my own errors is ready to be the shadow that moves the rock away from the cave. Give me back the light so that the fire can burn, controlled and with fervor. I can let the voices speak their mind, but now I've got veto power. I'm ready for this next step in my growth. I'm ready for the passing strangers to meet again, share notes and conquer the world.
I'm ready.
I first started anti anxiety/depression ( Prozac) meds and anti panic ( Klonopin) meds back in 2005. This was an actual legit regiment and not self medicating which I had done the 5 years leading up to this.
There's a huge inner struggle when you first start treatment. You don't know which part of you is real. You fight with the voices who think you're weak for submitting to a chemical. You fight with the chemicals that put out the fire inside you, and silence the voices that were your passion. ( A pause as I take a klonopin to help me to fall asleep.) You begin to feel better though. Months pass, things get realized in therapy, goals are set and met, and you've reached a peak. You know who you are. You have the skills and insight to navigate bouts of depression and anxiety. You have the thoughtfulness not to aimlessly lash out at your anger's whim. But you feel emotionally devoid. It's as if you're in a body inside a body trapped in a room with a half open window.
I don't think for one second I'll ever be fixed. I'm smart enough to know symptoms will rear their heads from time to time, but I'm strong enough to know I can decapitate them and send them along their merry way. I'm thinking about this now because I may be forced to pass that stranger again. Maybe I'm over ambitious but I really believe I'm ready. I never thought me requiring medication would be a permanent thing. I secretly wanted it to , because I feared that stranger who I may pass again. I do resign that I may from time to time have to take a klonopin in dire emergency as sometimes the physical anxiety can't be suppressed and I will have bouts of syncope otherwise.
There's a freedom to not needing medication. It is only a matter of the strength inside whether or not one can handle the freedom. In order to actualize my goals as a father, and artist I need that freedom back. That fire. I've just gotta pass that stranger and accept he's an old friend.
It's a slow transition. You have to spend weeks tapering off the anti depressants. Constantly take notes in changes of behavior and/or reactions to every day things. You have to be willing to admit that at the end of the journey you may be stuck with the chemical cure for life. The feeling is overwhelming.
Nights get longer as you taper. You feel that protective body leaving you. In the darkness of your closed eyes you literally pass by yourself. I literally saw my shadow pulling away the layers and I could finally breathe. There is a giant weight lifted off you. Your senses are heightened, your nerves have more feeling and you begin to come alive. You feel like a rock is being moved from outside your cave and the light is slowly caressing your face until your whole body is soaked in its life.
You see, think, smell, taste things faster. My physical body becomes faster. That feeling of numbness that the Prozac and Klonopin gave me is being shed away as I see the world for the first time. The stranger wishes me luck, and I him.
I want that back. I wanna see the stranger one more time and let him know I'm okay. Talking with a therapist for over 5 years has been a mirror forcing me not to look away as my past crumbled to ashes before me. The wisdom that has grown in me from my own errors is ready to be the shadow that moves the rock away from the cave. Give me back the light so that the fire can burn, controlled and with fervor. I can let the voices speak their mind, but now I've got veto power. I'm ready for this next step in my growth. I'm ready for the passing strangers to meet again, share notes and conquer the world.
I'm ready.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Things That Activate My Neurosis.
It has been established and very well known for some time that I am a highly neurotic person. I think everything I have is AIDS. And I'm not trying to be funny. I will get a cold and assume it's AIDS. I will have a headache and think I'm having an aneurism. I also drink 2 gallons of cranberry juice a week because I think anytime my sides hurt I've got kidney stones. Any time I see an old guy in a B.U.M. Equipment sweatshirt walking by me with a piece of paper I get in fighting stance because I'm certain he's about to serve me those papers and I'll be forced to go to court again. My apologies to all the old, recovering alcoholic men I have assaulted because I mistook them for a process server. But my neurosis sets me off. Here are some other things that cause me to go into a neurotic episode.
People with down syndrome eating: Nothing against people with down syndrome. My work buddy Derek has down syndrome and he's awesome because he loves Big Daddy Kane and the Petshop Boys. I just can't watch him eat. I get these weird twitch. I can't control it. My lazy eye reverberates and my left cheek gets numb. They always eat egg salad. ALWAYS. And when they chew it's like water logged boots stepping on a carpet. I can't take it. I'm freaking out just describing it. I'm gonna take 3 Bayer so I don't have a heart attack.
People who scratch their legs while wearing corduroy pants: When I hear that sound it sends an electroshock up the side of my neck. I lose control of my muscles. I can actually physically feel the sound. It's so dry, like sandpaper massaging my nerves. People need to stop wearing corduroys. I feel like I'm seizing every time someone scratches them. The same thing applies to the sound of a windbreaker rubbing against itself when someone power walks. I become a new animal. I lose all control and time and I've probably had several strokes because of it. I'm doing a stroke test right now to make sure I'm not having one. I want to cut off people's fingers. Please only buy jeans and wear a t-shirt when you run.
People who look at me in the waiting room: I can feel their eyes on me. I purposely keep my face buried in a magazine to avoid any interaction with the psychopaths in the waiting room at my therapist's office. There's this one woman there who looks exactly like the fat guy on "Lost", who must have appointments on the same time as mine with another therapist in the office every week. I know she's watching. I sense the empty gaze on me. It feels like a hippo's breath on my shirt. I know she wants to say something so I fake read with even more intent. All my neurosis form into one massive maelstrom of molecular madness jumping through my pores in a hot sweat as I try to climb inside myself to avoid this thing staring at me. I wanna lose it. I really do. I wanna invent an invisible paint and bathe myself in it before every therapy visit. I want this monstrosity to stare at a magazine suspended in air and have a fucking freak out so badly they she gets locked away in a mental hospital for the rest of her natural life , where she is forced to sit in silence at stacks of magazines all day.
Those are just some of the things that make me nuts. thanks :)
People with down syndrome eating: Nothing against people with down syndrome. My work buddy Derek has down syndrome and he's awesome because he loves Big Daddy Kane and the Petshop Boys. I just can't watch him eat. I get these weird twitch. I can't control it. My lazy eye reverberates and my left cheek gets numb. They always eat egg salad. ALWAYS. And when they chew it's like water logged boots stepping on a carpet. I can't take it. I'm freaking out just describing it. I'm gonna take 3 Bayer so I don't have a heart attack.
People who scratch their legs while wearing corduroy pants: When I hear that sound it sends an electroshock up the side of my neck. I lose control of my muscles. I can actually physically feel the sound. It's so dry, like sandpaper massaging my nerves. People need to stop wearing corduroys. I feel like I'm seizing every time someone scratches them. The same thing applies to the sound of a windbreaker rubbing against itself when someone power walks. I become a new animal. I lose all control and time and I've probably had several strokes because of it. I'm doing a stroke test right now to make sure I'm not having one. I want to cut off people's fingers. Please only buy jeans and wear a t-shirt when you run.
People who look at me in the waiting room: I can feel their eyes on me. I purposely keep my face buried in a magazine to avoid any interaction with the psychopaths in the waiting room at my therapist's office. There's this one woman there who looks exactly like the fat guy on "Lost", who must have appointments on the same time as mine with another therapist in the office every week. I know she's watching. I sense the empty gaze on me. It feels like a hippo's breath on my shirt. I know she wants to say something so I fake read with even more intent. All my neurosis form into one massive maelstrom of molecular madness jumping through my pores in a hot sweat as I try to climb inside myself to avoid this thing staring at me. I wanna lose it. I really do. I wanna invent an invisible paint and bathe myself in it before every therapy visit. I want this monstrosity to stare at a magazine suspended in air and have a fucking freak out so badly they she gets locked away in a mental hospital for the rest of her natural life , where she is forced to sit in silence at stacks of magazines all day.
Those are just some of the things that make me nuts. thanks :)
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
how i get by on $11.50 an hour.
For a full year and one month I have been living off $11.50 an hour and scheduled for 38 hours a week ( some weeks I got overtime.) Living alone. No roommate, no subsidized housing, food stamps or other government aid. Not that it wouldn't have been nice to get any of those things, but that's just how it is. Before taxes a 40 hour week at $11.50 would be $460. A fair amount, but I will break down my living expenses to see how little that is.
First, my rent. That's $775 a month. ( all expenses broken down into months.) My child support is $354 based on a 4 week month ($88.50 a week.) My health m insurance is $40 ( Thank you Obama!) and my scripts are roughly $20. My heat/water/electric in a conservative month will total to $50. My shitty Boost Mobile phone that has no internet, or porn or anything costs $37. My cable/internet costs $90. Then there's a $15 donation to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, giving me a total of $1351 a month in expenses. Based on a 40 hour week I'd gross $1840 a month. Uncle Sam takes his cut of $607 leaving me with a net of $1233 a month. That would leave me -$118 for the month. And that's before I purchase any groceries. Now how do I manage when I'm set up to be in the red each month?
I'll tell you how I manage: This fucking chip on my shoulder, that's how!
By knowing what I can make in a month I plan shit out on a tight budget. I run my personal finances as if I were a business, which makes Mitt Romney fucking proud of me because he says corporations are people and well, he's fucking got me on that one. ( Mormon asshole.) I sacrifice a lot too. I don't really go out, or buy things or eat things. I don't really do anything. But it's a far cry from where I was 3 years ago. I crawled back again, with a bigger chip than ever. Sure the employment situation isn't ideal but it's allowed me to slowly ascend. And the sacrifices suck but it beats the alternative which would be homelessness and loss of my child. 2 things I would kill before I'd let happen.
I'm fairly content with the bare minimum but I know and am aware I have to keep climbing. I set goals for myself. Ones that I am achieving in time. There's a great deal of patience involved. It's what's helped keep me moving forward these past 13 months. I set goals of finding a job I could maintain without quitting or being fired because of some result of an action caused by my mental illness and short temper. That was a huge first leap as I have held this same shitty job for 3 years now. My next goal was to get an apartment of my own, which happened when put behind the 8 ball by an eviction notice. I work best from behind the 8 ball. The shadows are my home and such. So I got this apartment in March 2013, thus achieving my 2nd goal. My 3rd goal was to get a cat for my son, which I did by convincing my landlady who was at first against the idea, to let me keep this cat because it was severely abused and neglected. ( total fucking lie but I will do anything for my son.) So my 3rd goal achieved.
And I just totally went the fuck off topic because I got distracted a fire engine. How I am able to survive on such shit wages. That is my thesis. The trick is to always dance on that fine line. I might "create" more work for myself so I have to stay an extra 15 minutes. Do that 4 times a week and you've got an hour. Clock in early from lunch by 15 minutes, 4 times a week and you've got another hour. Find out what your boss's interests are. And when you've got about 10 minutes left in your shift go to him to check out. Let him know your work is complete and you're leaving. Then bring up whatever his interests are. Get him going on them for a good 20 minutes ( I do this all the fucking time. my boss loves to talk about the weather. he will fucking tell me the coolest stories about snowstorms for like a fucking hour.) Do this 4 times a week and you've got yourself another hour! That's 3 extra hours so far. Overtime = time and a half so I've already got myself an extra $51.75 that week. That would put me at $207 extra a month. And that's a minimum. By starting 10 minutes early and doing all of the aforementioned I pull in an extra $300 a month. This puts me over about $182 which is plenty for groceries. And I don't require a lot of food because I eat a lot at work. Soups and shit from the bakery. I really only need to pay for one meal a day, which is my peanut butter and jelly. The 2 loafs of bread for the week cost $4 and the peanut butter and jelly are free because my drunk neighbor gets them for free for me at the local food pantry. I have a Brita water filter thanks to my mom and that refills my water bottles so I always have something to drink.
This seems like a lot of work, but it really isn't. And it seems like I'm just treading water. Slowly, I gain more and more. Always staying true to the virtues that have kept me afloat. Never getting complacent in my diligence to being fiscally responsible. And as I gain, those around me will gain because I know struggle. I know sacrifice. I will chip in as they have for me. There's a method behind my madness. And my madness is how I don't dismay during his climb. I proved to myself that I can come back from anything. I proved that I can keep charging and fighting. Anyone can do it. Just get that chip on your shoulder, set your goals and fucking attack them like vultures on a dead hiker.
First, my rent. That's $775 a month. ( all expenses broken down into months.) My child support is $354 based on a 4 week month ($88.50 a week.) My health m insurance is $40 ( Thank you Obama!) and my scripts are roughly $20. My heat/water/electric in a conservative month will total to $50. My shitty Boost Mobile phone that has no internet, or porn or anything costs $37. My cable/internet costs $90. Then there's a $15 donation to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, giving me a total of $1351 a month in expenses. Based on a 40 hour week I'd gross $1840 a month. Uncle Sam takes his cut of $607 leaving me with a net of $1233 a month. That would leave me -$118 for the month. And that's before I purchase any groceries. Now how do I manage when I'm set up to be in the red each month?
I'll tell you how I manage: This fucking chip on my shoulder, that's how!
By knowing what I can make in a month I plan shit out on a tight budget. I run my personal finances as if I were a business, which makes Mitt Romney fucking proud of me because he says corporations are people and well, he's fucking got me on that one. ( Mormon asshole.) I sacrifice a lot too. I don't really go out, or buy things or eat things. I don't really do anything. But it's a far cry from where I was 3 years ago. I crawled back again, with a bigger chip than ever. Sure the employment situation isn't ideal but it's allowed me to slowly ascend. And the sacrifices suck but it beats the alternative which would be homelessness and loss of my child. 2 things I would kill before I'd let happen.
I'm fairly content with the bare minimum but I know and am aware I have to keep climbing. I set goals for myself. Ones that I am achieving in time. There's a great deal of patience involved. It's what's helped keep me moving forward these past 13 months. I set goals of finding a job I could maintain without quitting or being fired because of some result of an action caused by my mental illness and short temper. That was a huge first leap as I have held this same shitty job for 3 years now. My next goal was to get an apartment of my own, which happened when put behind the 8 ball by an eviction notice. I work best from behind the 8 ball. The shadows are my home and such. So I got this apartment in March 2013, thus achieving my 2nd goal. My 3rd goal was to get a cat for my son, which I did by convincing my landlady who was at first against the idea, to let me keep this cat because it was severely abused and neglected. ( total fucking lie but I will do anything for my son.) So my 3rd goal achieved.
And I just totally went the fuck off topic because I got distracted a fire engine. How I am able to survive on such shit wages. That is my thesis. The trick is to always dance on that fine line. I might "create" more work for myself so I have to stay an extra 15 minutes. Do that 4 times a week and you've got an hour. Clock in early from lunch by 15 minutes, 4 times a week and you've got another hour. Find out what your boss's interests are. And when you've got about 10 minutes left in your shift go to him to check out. Let him know your work is complete and you're leaving. Then bring up whatever his interests are. Get him going on them for a good 20 minutes ( I do this all the fucking time. my boss loves to talk about the weather. he will fucking tell me the coolest stories about snowstorms for like a fucking hour.) Do this 4 times a week and you've got yourself another hour! That's 3 extra hours so far. Overtime = time and a half so I've already got myself an extra $51.75 that week. That would put me at $207 extra a month. And that's a minimum. By starting 10 minutes early and doing all of the aforementioned I pull in an extra $300 a month. This puts me over about $182 which is plenty for groceries. And I don't require a lot of food because I eat a lot at work. Soups and shit from the bakery. I really only need to pay for one meal a day, which is my peanut butter and jelly. The 2 loafs of bread for the week cost $4 and the peanut butter and jelly are free because my drunk neighbor gets them for free for me at the local food pantry. I have a Brita water filter thanks to my mom and that refills my water bottles so I always have something to drink.
This seems like a lot of work, but it really isn't. And it seems like I'm just treading water. Slowly, I gain more and more. Always staying true to the virtues that have kept me afloat. Never getting complacent in my diligence to being fiscally responsible. And as I gain, those around me will gain because I know struggle. I know sacrifice. I will chip in as they have for me. There's a method behind my madness. And my madness is how I don't dismay during his climb. I proved to myself that I can come back from anything. I proved that I can keep charging and fighting. Anyone can do it. Just get that chip on your shoulder, set your goals and fucking attack them like vultures on a dead hiker.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Thank You
You are the words I couldn't say. The camera on the hill, unbalanced tripod photographing memories drifting away. I know I've got anger issues, but the horse was already dead. To the beat of my own drum you played the rhythm in my head. I can't tell you what was never said, but I'm sure you saw my eyes and I know you're well read. You were the kindest of winters in the season of untangled threads.
You are the words I couldn't say, live breathe or think. I couldn't capture your image because our (friend)ship would sink. I know I get sea sick, but your waves were empathy, and if I raised the issue you would have let me down gently. You were the softest of snow, under a reticent moon. And I treaded lightly across your shadow's hidden plumes.
You were the words I couldn't say, today or that day. But you were a vestige of humanity that I'll carry to the grave. A lesson in life from the most simple of gestures. And if I showed you the words you could string them together, and sew the torn thread from the day I don't remember. You are the words I couldn't say and I think that's why you stayed. Thank you.
You are the words I couldn't say, live breathe or think. I couldn't capture your image because our (friend)ship would sink. I know I get sea sick, but your waves were empathy, and if I raised the issue you would have let me down gently. You were the softest of snow, under a reticent moon. And I treaded lightly across your shadow's hidden plumes.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
i had that dream again.
I have this dream where i'm on the docks waiting for a boat that was supposed to pick me up and take me to an island free of stupidity and inanity. We had it all planned out. i was going to get a sex change and then disappear without anyone knowing. then once i was on the island i would get a sex change back to being a man once safe on the island. There's a bunch of ships at the dock and i get on the one i think is the right one. Everything seems okay at first. we are sailing along and the ship laughs at my jokes because the ship has a soul because in a former life it was Jim Henson. It didn't talk like Kermit though. It sounded more like the puppet from the Wilkins Coffee commercial. " Bad things happen to people that don't drink Wilkins!".
We saw some amazing things at sea. I met a bunch of the ship's friends. They all had weird voices like Tinkerbell. We were on a cool journey. i made friends with another ship who like alot of the same things i did. We bonded when my ship got drunk and sputtered too loudly. It was then i realized i was on the wrong ship!!!
The clouds got real thick and ominous. thunder rumbled like angry Barry White gargling after an unpleasant visit to the dentist. The ship i once trusted to take me to my safe island where i would build a hut and sell coffee had abandoned me at sea!! i was so mad at myself for getting on the wrong boat. The other boat with whom i bonded sailed around me in circles to make sure i didn't drown. Sadly it was already filled to capacity with happy passengers going to their own blissful island. I punched the ocean in the face in anger. The ship meant for me was already boarded! my throat got real tight in sadness as a whirlpool formed beneath me. so close to the right ship, yet so far in the undertow. as i sank to my demise just inches from my island i took one last look at the ship that i was meant to be on. I closed my eyes and captured the image because i couldn't capture it's heart. I awoke after the storm. On my own island. My strength was back. My freedom was back, but there was something missing. I moved along and had a successful coffee hut on my island. I eventually settled down with Emma Roberts but every now and then i'd look to the horizon and see that ship. The fluttering sails of compassion meandering on by. i'd pause for a moment and lament upon not boarding. I turned in sadness with my squid friend who was sort of racist but had a good heart and we'd go back to the hut and hug emma roberts.
and this a story of a real drum that constantly badgers me!
We saw some amazing things at sea. I met a bunch of the ship's friends. They all had weird voices like Tinkerbell. We were on a cool journey. i made friends with another ship who like alot of the same things i did. We bonded when my ship got drunk and sputtered too loudly. It was then i realized i was on the wrong ship!!!
The clouds got real thick and ominous. thunder rumbled like angry Barry White gargling after an unpleasant visit to the dentist. The ship i once trusted to take me to my safe island where i would build a hut and sell coffee had abandoned me at sea!! i was so mad at myself for getting on the wrong boat. The other boat with whom i bonded sailed around me in circles to make sure i didn't drown. Sadly it was already filled to capacity with happy passengers going to their own blissful island. I punched the ocean in the face in anger. The ship meant for me was already boarded! my throat got real tight in sadness as a whirlpool formed beneath me. so close to the right ship, yet so far in the undertow. as i sank to my demise just inches from my island i took one last look at the ship that i was meant to be on. I closed my eyes and captured the image because i couldn't capture it's heart. I awoke after the storm. On my own island. My strength was back. My freedom was back, but there was something missing. I moved along and had a successful coffee hut on my island. I eventually settled down with Emma Roberts but every now and then i'd look to the horizon and see that ship. The fluttering sails of compassion meandering on by. i'd pause for a moment and lament upon not boarding. I turned in sadness with my squid friend who was sort of racist but had a good heart and we'd go back to the hut and hug emma roberts.
and this a story of a real drum that constantly badgers me!
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