A Box of Pizza

When a grown man has tears in his eyes over a box of pizza, its clear that there's something truly fucked up with this world. Nobody should be hungry and shivering on the streets of a city filled with people who live in luxury. Nobody should forget what it's like to feel warm or sleep on a bed. Nobody should have to call a box of pizza a miracle. That's just the way it is, I guess. There will never be a time where every person has what they deserve, because we're all selfish. I'm selfish. You're selfish. But I can honestly say that each moment of my life I've spent giving to someone else are the moments that are most fulfilling. The genuine joy on the man's face from the most simple of things made me feel like maybe the box of pizza wasn't his miracle, but he was mine.
Merry Christmas.

Grow Up.

That's my response to just about every person that's in a situation that bothers me.

But when I really began to understand what I meant by that, well

I realized that I didn't actually want the other person to grow up, I wanted quite the opposite.

Growing up, you take on scars and experiences and baggage that effects each step you take and each word you say.

Growing up, you learn to progressively see more tainted image of the world's beauty and wonders.

Growing up, you loose the ability to see the world clearly and in its purest form because you learned to adapt to modern society's motives and values.

Instead, grow down. Grow young. Un-grow. Whatever you want to call it,

be a kid again.

Those days when everything thing was something marvelous and brand new

Those days when every time you looked, you saw the world through pure eyes,

Those days when each moment fascinated you, and left you in awe.

So, everybody, grow up. And by that, I mean don't ever.

Sparkle

your eyes are dull, just one flat hue
missing the sparkle that once floated in that blue
because now you've been stripped to the bone
vulnerable and weak and undoubtedly alone
rewind to the better days as a child
whose hopes ran rampid and thoughts ran wild
now these monsters that have collected over the years
are surrounding you, consuming your view, feeding off of your fears
as you sit crouched, wondering if you have no choice but to stay
the child hidden inside of you screams them away
and all you can say is thanks to the child
whose hopes ran them rampid, whose thoughts ran them wild
the monsters fade into the distance, letting the sun reflect off of your eyes
sparkling now, as you watch the sun rise

Helplessly

I was in an office, one completely unfamiliar to me. The bland, eggshell colored walls stretched out of sight in every direction. The contour of my desk was defined by paper that was formed into skyscrapers, towering far above my sight. Two stacks of paper were separated far enough for me to see a single window. I was now aware of pelting rain and dark skies that loomed just outside of the walls. As I sat at the desk, my hands helplessly began sorting through each paper, all of which were completely blank. The silence was exploding in my ears and the boredom was eating at my thoughts. My mind was ticking like a clock, and the seconds went by ever so slowly. Suddenly and helplessly, I put the papers down. I climbed over my desk and through the skyscrapers of paper. I managed to open the window and slide outside. The rain greeted every inch of me, and I welcomed the sound of it beating on the ground. Dripping wet, I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket. I lit it up, and it went untouched by the rain. Inhale. Exhale. Perfection. Relief. Emotionless. Free. I cherished the last drag and tossed it on the ground. Just as the streams of water swept it away, the sun made its way through the thick blanket of clouds while the rain still bullied the ground. Helplessly, my feet began to move, picking up pace heading away from the building. Each step formed a silent goodbye to the dreary building and thankful greeting to the temperamental weather.
Then I woke up.

Crash and Burn

you are a speck of dust
and I am the atmosphere
crash and burn, right into me
baby, we'd make such a beautiful sight to see
if only for a second, or two, or three
baby, will you crash, and burn for me?

Somehow

Speeding down the highway, everything's a blur. I get what I deserve when I screech to a halt. Damn traffic. Another five minutes, another five feet. I need to go, I need to be there. I'm gripping the steering wheel too tight because now I can't feel my hands. My anxious mind is taking over because now my head is aching and pulsing and exploding. I'm not getting there anytime soon, I decide, because I can see the tail lights of endless cars extending to the horizon. It's too stuffy in this little car because now I can't breathe. I roll down the windows and let the breeze washe across my face. I take a glance out of the window and notice the highway goes along the river, and the waters seem low for this time of year. The smooth rocks peek out from the raging water, and it's beautiful somehow. I'm not sure how I overlooked it, but then again, it's the first time I've ever really noticed the river. Something on the wall across the river catches my eye immediately: graffiti, elegantly scrolled across it. It seems so natural, how the words flow along it, as if the wall was created just for that. It was beautiful, somehow. Just then, a car honks and I'm brought back. The taillights are in the distance now, moving steadily. I'm late, and I don't care.
Enjoy the scenery. Its beautiful, somehow.

You often hear about making your dream a reality, but where is the originality?
Make your reality your dream, and fuck the formality.

Forwards and Back

discover freedom.
the kind that makes a line an emotion and an idea a work of art
the kind that allows you to draw in black and white but envision vivid color
the kind that inspires creation rather than duplication
discover brilliance.

I'm losing you to the current, to the coastal breeze
I'm losing you to the storming seas, to the silhouetted trees
All of which seem to be moving away from me
In a fast paced, natural flow
Each pulse of nature, urging me to let go.

couch from the 90's ain't got no use

There comes a time when a couch is just not comfy anymore. The fabric is stained, the cushions are worn and you would rather just sit on the floor. So why would you keep it once it reaches that point? There's no logical reason. Especially when you had a bad quality couch to begin with. Who would get a couch that is not long-lasting and reliable? You have no obligation to a bad couch. So get rid of it. Simple as that. No need to drag it out and be miserable every time you sit on it expecting support, but finding nothing.

Bad friends are couches.

I'm singing the sunrise as I open my eyes to light intruding through the cloudy window. Each ray of sun illuminates the dust that's been hidden in the air and uncovers the room that's been hidden in the years. The floorboards speak after long days of silence as my I make my way across the dim-lit room. I can feel the uneven wood as I stand on the tips of my toes, and the peels in the paint as my fingertips wander the wall. Standing still while I wander. Funny how that works. My fingers and my toes discover the aging beauty of a room that stood through the battery of time. I freeze as I hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the muffled shouting from across the room, the windowpane shaking from the thunder, the jingle from a cats collar, and a million other violent sounds bombarding my delicate ears all at once. Suddenly, silence. Now my hands tremble in awe of the magnitude at which the time in the walls can speak to you, and my knees greet the ground. My awakened eyes begin to see that every scream that pierced the walls, every stomp that shook the floors, and every beating the window took from relentless rain created a beauty in the walls that was only attainable through time.

Not So Green Thumb

You're the dandelion in my garden, much too pretty to just yank out. In fact, I think yellow is my favorite color.

I've invented a teleport. This device is much more subtle than previous models of hunks of metal welded together. This process is much simpler than dismantling and reassembling your atomic structure. This availability is more convenient than any scientist could fathom. This is revolutionary.
Close your eyes.

TIck, Tock.

Lately I've found that dreaming in my sleep just isn't enough. I let them seep into my day. I close my eyes and suddenly I'm somewhere else, somewhere I want to be. My mind escapes the dull rooms and rapid ways in which we've been taught to move, painting vivid pictures of landscapes and people, with vibrant hues surrounding me. There's something comforting that in these daydreams, it's silent. Completely absent of the haunting ticking of that second hand, running itself in circles. Today alone, I've been to the ocean, the mountains of Colorado, the deserts of Africa, and cruising along the western coast of this suffocating country. I've been in a tent under the stars, warm in those arms, and in a small coffee shop just outside of the city. I've also, sadly, been to New Hampshire. Somehow always awoken by the ticking of that second hand.
I believe dreams are supposed to tell you what you truly want---that welling desire under the distractions of routine, monotonous life. And I believe I've never had a stronger desire to leave this place than right now.

Sunshine is fine

It's been a while since I've written, I think I've been thinking about too much lately to focus in on one thing. But I'm done with all these depressing posts and shit. I mean, hell, it's summer. I feel good. The sun is shining and summer beats are blasting wherever I go. There's no need to feel down or focus on petty things. If I've learned anything in the past few months, it's that things turn around. It's that life is only exactly what you make of it. You're stranded at the house all day? Then learn a new song on that guitar. You can't stop thinking about something? Then write it out till it's more true on paper than it is in your head. You feel like you've got something to say? Then shout it 'till your lungs give out. You feel like living? Then stand up and do exactly what you've been dreaming to.
I love the way summer makes you feel like you're invincible. And I am. So as a tribute to the best time of the year, fuck when I feel like I'm in the wrong place, when I can't seem to say what I need to, and when a single night makes my head run in circles.
I guess you could say, in the words of Atmosphere, I'm painting lemons gold.

This Sunset

The sunset---it's stifled by the clouds and distorted by the rain. I want a sunset that reflects off my eyes, and makes my face glow with hues of orange and yellow. I want a sunset that consumes me. But I'm comforted knowing a sunset that colors the coast exists somewhere on this endless horizon.