The Journey

Brave men often find themselves on journeys throughout foreign lands.  They put themselves in unfamiliar situations to test their true identities, for it is only couture for every man to know what lies deep within his blood.  Dangerous, some travels may be; others may be filled with excitement and joy.  Through my many years of being a man, it seems that all travels have their tough times.  So on to the story. 

Day 1:
A crew of Motley men hit the open road in search for their true inner selves.  All departing from different locations, they come together at the same junction before it all begins.  They meet on a Monday afternoon.  They sky is gray as if the world was colored in black and white.  Just the way they prefer.  The first night is an interesting one to say the least.  They enter into a vintage pub, secretly disguised as a post office.  People are gathered for some type of event.  The men seem to be out of place, for faces did not look familiar or friendly.  Everyone seemed to be hiding something, almost like they were wearing a form of camouflage to protect their inner selves.  For these people were not true men.  Impostors of the human race, existing only to blemish society.  The men move through the crowd as if there were predetermined lanes for them to travel on.  To their slight surprise, they approach acquaintances.  Gladly to see the shining faces, the men do not feel as if they are being challenged.  Throughout that night, the men enjoy the dancing and fellowship with old friends.  The crew has had a solid first night, only to arise to greet a better day.

Day 2:
Day two starts out on the right foot, for the left was numb due to the cold temperatures.  They all arise to travel toward their next destination when an unexpected visitor arrives.  A creature by the name of Budrow comes to introduce himself to the men.  The men immediately grow fond of the creature and decide to let him in on their great journey.  Budrow is astonished, wanting to know more of the experienced group of scholarly fellows, but they must keep going.  Realizing that the trip needs to continue without any hesitation, they depart.  They are on their way to a place where the woods are green and the land lay flat on their back without any turning.  Arriving slightly after schedule, the men begin to listen to their stomachs.  They need food.  Off they go to a small place where Indians still roam and create an environment that is "your place to shine".  They are not sure where to go because they must find the lost dog to tell them where they are going.  In route, they find the lost dog, and he stands at point in the correct direction.  The dog did not lead them astray, the men were completely satisfied with what the dog had to offer.  After doing business with the dog, the men were useless.  They night eventually came to a close, ending with bed time stories from Luvell.  The crew must rest well,  for the next day would be their last.

Day 3:
Awake and ready to go, the men are anxiously waiting.  One may ask why they are waiting, it is due to the lack of preparedness by one member of the group.  The group is a tight one, they travel together like a pack of wolves, depending on one another for their own guidance.  The one arrives, and off they go.  Traveling away from the shadowy dusk toward the bright lights.  A place mentioned in music, a place where success is mandatory, and most importantly a place where Grizzlies roam.  The men were prepared to tackle the town head on.  And they did just that.  Arriving into the town, they are greeted warmly be the infamous Reeders.  Hospitality is a thing of beauty.  As if they were entering into their own homes, the crew felt comfortable.  Even though it was nice to catch a breath, they were forced to quickly prepare for the confident Grizz Nation.  The Grizz had won their past three battles, and were not looking to go down easy.  About to begin something of epic proportion, news travels to the men.  Bobcats that were traveling through attacked the powerful Grizzlies.  The men, without reasoning, acted quickly to help hold off the slashing attack by the Bobcats.  With the men's help, the Grizz protected their area once again.  The two groups seemed to join together in a understood bond with a backbone of respect.  The two left as alliances. 

The men were exposed in many different ways during their journey.  At times, the men struggled to retain their swagger, but they never completely let go.  Every one of these men came away a victor.  Separating in their different paths, the men leave each other for now.  For each man experienced different struggles, but they all came away with one strong similarity.  That similarity is summed up in one word, one word to describe them all, one word to give them all a sense of relation.  That word is brothership.  I am sure a journey is searching for these men, trying to displace them from their thrones, and the men will be anxiously waiting.

That Place

Many miles have been traveled with the thought of that special place in the front of my mind.  Through all the towns I have passed across, seeing sites that some only dream of, I realize that there is only one place that will forever be appreciated.  Recently, I have lived on the road, stopping at some good places, but also experiencing some not so good places.  First off, I left my home to go to my other home.  The luxury of having two places to call home is something that I take for granted, and some people do not have that opportunity.  To leave a place I have been associated with for so long and to up and leave without any thoughts is intriguing in a way.  When people leave their homes, they feel some type of emotion.  Not I.  I just left.  For it to be that easy says a lot about my next destination.  So I ride.  I take off like Mr. Fredrickson's own home from the top of Paradise Falls.  But when he left, he felt deep emotions, for Ellie was being left behind with his home.  The thing he loved most was floating away.  This feeling had to be tough to swallow.  Good thing I was not depending on balloons to carry me home.  After a long journey with the Iver's and their Horses, I arrive to that place.  I unload all my things, and soak it in.  I'm back.  Love and care flow like 2% covering Capt. C.  Bliss is in my back pocket.  Rest and recuperation are next on my calender.  Three days pass, I love it, but the fact there is nothing to do now is haunting me.  So I pack up, say my short good-byes and leave.  Knowing that I would soon return, I leave without emotion, without thought.  My travels start, not missing or really thinking about home.  As my trip starts to come to an end, home does not seem so bad.  The scary fact of that place is the lack of active achievements.  I think I can handle it though, for someone special is about to join me.  Not to say that this someone is active, but she is there.  This helps.  Home is a place of comfort.  I need to take full advantage of this before I depart once again for another long journey to my "other" home.  But for now, I will sit back and relax, for in my opinion, I earned it.

Turning Cold

Many things in this fabulous world we live in seem to change temperatures quite often.  Of course, we all know the weather and degrees of Fahrenheit will adjust to the seasons, but life itself seems to heat up and cool down.  Situations, opportunities, desires, thoughts, progression, and advantages are intangibles that become so cold, we tend to let go, refraining from frost bite.  Ted, just like everyone else, gets caught up with these certain issues, and he is confused.  He is confused on why he has such feelings, why it happens to him.  The truth, nothing but the truth, is that no one can run from these things.  Ted not only thinks he can run, but he believes he can hide.  A fool one might say, yet Ted seems to be the only wise person out there.  In a way, Ted is strong, in that he realizes he does not need certain things to enter into his life at this point, but he is not that strong.  Ted cannot stop the inevitable from crashing into him.  All must face this; Ted is not ready.  While saying all this, you might think Ted does not desire these things, that is where you are wrong.  Ted craves for these.  He sits and ponders about all the precious moments that he could gain from these.  Man, how great it would be.  He just wants something to have.  He feels as if he could possess this, he would be more happy.  He could be right, but I doubt it.  My doubt, along with his, keeps him from receiving this.  It is like a gift being offered to him by less fortunate.  He feels that it would be wrong to take it, as if it would only be hurting him and the giver.  This fears Ted, for he does not want to cause anyone pain.  He knows he can only cause pain at this point.  He could not stay committed to these things, he would stay attached just enough to keep them hanging on, but in the back of his head he would constantly be second guessing himself.  Ted has dealt with this before.  He was offered all of these intangibles, and he took them and ran.  As he started running, he lost some of these things.  Losing them only made him realize that he did not truly want them in the first place.  He mainly loved the idea of these things.  The idea could not compete with the real thing.  I mean how could it?  Everyone puts this image of what things should be and expectations grow and grow.  Ted is no different than everyone else.  He needs to wake up, for these things do not need him.  Now is not the time.  But he wants them, and they have been offered to him once again.  And what makes it worse is that they have increased their worth.  They have only became more beautiful and elegant, like the pure smile placed perfectly on an already perfect face.  This makes it hard.  But like I said, Ted is strong.  He knows that if he were to accept this assortment of pleasures, the smile would be lost, and he may not ever see it again.  So he keeps a safe distant.  Thinking all the time about how it could work, how he could make it warmer.  The good thing is, he always proves himself wrong.  So he waits, preparing to turn on the heater.  He first has to open the door, and he is yet to knock.

Pool Side

Conversations started and ended laying on the cold red brick, facing the tree limbs of South Street.  These conversations started primarily due to some form of gossip or the lack of.  Ted and Mary sat for hours discussing situations and problems that were unimportant and useless to all existance, but they needed a reason to meet.  For the talks would last late into the night, early into the morning.  The cold water rest beside them like a friend listening in on the conversation, but too afraid to interrupt.  The nights would start out with a simple call to let the other know that they were closing in on arrival.  The responder would agree with almost no emotion, for this was expected and regular.  He would pull up to his spot just passing the big oak, ending his ties with Joe and Paolo for the moment.  Hop out of the car, and Ted would head straight for the white wooden gate that separated him from the dim lit steps that drifted into the sun-heated water.  He then sat, waiting on her.  He sees her figure approaching the blinded glass.  She decides to join him, always dressing for the occasion.  Some might say they are the same, parted only by gender.  This is when they proved that theory.  Sitting down, talking quietly as if everyone was listening.  Problems were solved, and predicaments were created to be solved.  It seemed to always be generated from Ted.  He was the one with all the issues, and the funny thing is, he absolutely hated it.  Mary was too smart, she knew not to be in the situations that Ted was in.  Ted once tried to put her into one of his situations, and she quickly declined his offer.  Nights were comfortable when these two were together.  They fed off each other, their friendship was something of class.  They were not afraid to joke, but serious intentions were always present.  The fate of the world as they knew it was being discussed right there between their words.  The best thing about their conversations, eye contact was never needed.  They both felt one another's emotions, as if it was an extra layer of skin placed only for each to recognize.  Conversations were hard to end, but the time always came.  Rarely walking through doors, Ted would find his way back To Build a Home.  Leaving with both minds cleared, but not forgetting a single sentence, for these two were to last forever.

False Hope

The time is coming to declare the final outcome.  It is left up to one ending task.  Everything started out well, too well.  Starting out, this seemed to be oh so great, but the run is long, and Ted started out sprinting.  As an unexperienced runner, Ted does not realize the fact that a marathon is not won in the first 4 miles, for there are several more miles to go.  Ted struggled with his ability to keep up the pace.  He slowly started to decrease his speed.  He just could not maintain the high level of activity, but he still was running in the front of the pack.  A distraction finds Ted when he least expects it.  He comes to a fork in the road.  Ted must pick his poison.  Ted goes right.  At first this seems to be an okay decision, but down the road, another fork is placed in his path.  Frozen is Ted at the thought of another strongly unexpected decision.  He does the thing that is least expected of him, which is only right after the lack of expecticity from his previous encounters.  He turns and travels backwards.  To some, this might seem dumb, just plain dumb, but to Ted this was the decision that had to be made.  He travels back, but when he returns, it is too late.  The other path is now closed off.  Ted is devastated.  But wait, he sees a slight opening.  He tries to force his way through the pathway that is now blocked by a thick brush.  Just as he is started to pry his way through the thick brush, he notices that the brush is now a forest.  Ted is heart-broken to say the least.  The worst part about it is that a sense of hope was installed into his mind.  This hope filled Ted with comfort, a type of comfort that he extremely needed.  His ambitions were raised by this false sense of hope.  This hope is false, unfortunately.  He fights his way back from the bush to the road.  The road is empty.  The weather seems to change from a beautiful atmosphere to a cold, heartless scene.  Ted knows he did the best he could; this gives him honor and dignity.  The race was not won by Ted.  And not to say that this was his first loss, but he entered this race with high hopes.  This was a very disappointing race for Ted.  He fought the good fight, and he now must move on to the next, for this unhappy finish will not knock him down for good.  Ted is a fighter, filled with confidence.  He must fuel this confidence by doing well in his next marathons.  These races are upcoming quickly, and Ted must prepare for greatness.  All is well.  For greatness is an achievement that few obtain.  Ted will keep working, and hopefully greatness will discover Ted, for he will be restlessly waiting.

flight

the people down below all think they understand what's happening here. I can hear one say to another just in passing, "lord, another jumper. Could they not choose somewhere else." They all think they know so well , and if it were them they would never do such a thing as this. But I am not like the others who have perched on this ledge before me. I know something different. It first happened after I had been put in my new dorm. I did not like my new dorm. the people were very strange and in fact I had to wear a uniform while I was in it. All my teachers came to me and everyday a man brought me pills. my parents said it was the best the university had to offer so who was I to argue. I felt bad for all the saps that still had to walk to class every day in the freezing. The first time was nothing special, I am sure I am not the first one here. I was sleeping one night having a terrible nightmare that I was falling. I came closer and closer to the ground and when I woke up, I was an inch from the ground. I reached around behind me to see how my covers could have possible caught me. there was nothing. I was floating on air. You can imagine my elation at finding my new talent. I began to cultivate it in secret at night, its not looked  highly upon to say that you can fly. the first time trying to get it to happen again was more than difficult. I sat for hours just staring at my feet, trying every kind of thought I could. slowly, steadily, I rose off the ground. I started to learn to control it. soon I would fly across my room. I hardly ever walked anymore. I had to try it out in the real world, I had to show everyone. that is why I am here. 30 stories up on the tallest building in our little city. I can not lie I am nervous. I know my ability but even still I am worried. the wind is whipping around me much faster than it did on the street. I am cold, I did not have time to change out of my uniform, which is actually more like a hospital gown for what ever reason. I know I could not wait any longer. A van from my dorm just pulled up , and I knew all my teachers would be running up to get me probably with some of my medicine. this was the time. I stand spread my arms and breath in the cool air. I leap. I make a beautiful dive. the sound of the wind covers all, even the screams below. I know what is about to happen everyone else is fooled. I feel my self start to glide up the.....



: at 6:30 P.M. a man escaped from a local mental institute jumped off the regions building down town, falling to his death.

art, it is not an empty cold gallery where snobby people dressed in all black with some form of unconventional hat stare at slabs of color and make throaty noises of approval. It is not confined here. there are the purest forms of art, yes, but there are others, they surround us. The purest are literature, art, music, and dance. in these realms lie the artist. they strive on their art and forsake all others till death due them part, but it does not end here. all must pursue their own art. choose your art find it well, but pursue with it with all that is in you. Doctors, sew with the most artistic strokes, they cut and slice until the desired remains and the evil is gone. precision and timing these are true artist. Wash the floor scrub the toilet mind the vomit in the stairwell yes this is your art as well. your art is your love. do not forsake your art for any others. do not let a paycheck or ted sr. tell you that it is " just not a feasible lifestyle for you". your art is your life craft it, carve it, build it and sculpt it till you can step back put on the strangest hat you own and gargle at it.

Taz

Ted is approached by Taz.  Taz has something on his mind, so the two start to discuss.  In a time where everything seems to be oh so civilized, Ted is strongly mistaken.  It starts out easy, no worries or frets, but the silence is interrupted by a consistant alarm.  I had things to do.  I was not in the position to give up all the things I have worked for and move locations.  My mind was torn between the right and left; which way to run, or should I run at all.  Look to my right and see a quiet body lying softly above the sheets.  Turn to my left and see the thing I cherish most.  What to do.  Come on, Ted, it's not that hard to do the things that are necessary.  So what do I do, I decide to stay put.  There between the sun and the moon, both equally as guiding, making it difficult to choose which one to lean on.  So I lean straight back, turning the pages as if they were a piece of art, closely examing every aspect.  My state of exclusiveness is now disturbed, therefore I finally make the move to relocate.  Traveling down the hard wooden case like I was entering into the darkness, when in reality, I was leaving the gloom behind and receiving the light of protection.  I was forced to exit the vault of learning, but I did not lock the door behind me, for I will soon return to regain the gem that shimmers in the Hall of Dorman.  It seems as if I were meant to stop trying and let the wind and rain shower over me.  That is exactly what happened.  The violent twister settles into a fast displacement of water moving centripitally.  This movement does not last long, but the damages take their toll.  Taz and Ted finished their converation, and Taz quietly lays to rest.

Cream and Curls

Thinking back on those times is quite a trip.  They come easily and are hard to send away.  So many things were said and established right there on the bridge, always at night.  The best moments came from early morning dips wearing all clothes.  It is funny to realize just how funny it was.  Ted and Stowe.  The two seem undetachable.  And studies have shown that they are just that.  Problems always find there way in the conversations between those two.  Facing the stars, discussion turns into words that are not spoken, only understood.  Taking shots just to get her to crack a smile.  Ted might be the only one that can fuel the jets.  And he knows just how to do it.  The questions and security seem to match as if coupled at Serendipity.  Fate is believed in, but not left trusted.  This is exactly how things become complicated.  Not just complicated, even a little uncomfortable.  They try to keep it casual, Ted struggles with this concept.  He tries to make hot chocolate without water, knowing that the sink is broken.  Forcefully he ducks his head and runs.  He already knows he is running into darkness.  But he pretends to see a light, a light that is only existant to outsiders.  He arrives at the light only to realize that its just a candle with a  feeble flame, waiting for the slightest gust of wind to blow.  Ted knew all along.  Opportunity arrives in August, Ted decides not to return for a while, keeping it distant.  Distant slowly becomes nonexistant.  I guess you could say things have changed, only for the candle.  Ted feels as if he walked the dog without a leesh, he forgot it on purpose, but blames his busy schedule.  All is buried under the bricks, until one day a thought is entered into his mind by another perception.  He does not take it lightly, actually almost too heavily.  Ted goes back to where he buried the letters and rediscovers those unspoken words.  The black and white horse rounds the curve.  Riding on the back is Stowe.  The big question now is, will Ted approach?  or will he return to the darkness where he once felt comfortable.

Momentum

The morning came early, the night stayed late.  I was okay with that because I came prepared.  But first, I had to prove myself once again.  It did not take long to take the quiz with honesty.  But all in all, I had one thing in my mind, and it wasn't going anywhere.  The information that I had learned was sticking tight.  So I took off on my way.  I got there pretty quick; the color orange always keeps me protected while I am traveling lightly.  Show up, sit down, feel the pressure, gather my utencils, as well as my thoughts, and prepare to do work.  And thats exactly what I do.  I start to roll, roll like a river.  Granted, every river has it's rocks, so I hit mine. And what do I do, skip over it and let the tide flow.  Flow as if the river has a mind of its own, choosing how to present itself to the public.  BOOM.  Everything looks familiar, so familiar that all I have to do is transfer memory to lead to paper.  I'm rolling fast.  Momentum carries me home.  Home to where the breeze plays tag with the trees, where the Bear is a part of the family.  Momentum feels good.  Momentum is right with no conservation.  88 is a disappointment in my book.  I'm done.  Ted finishes up with another hard fought challenge, and came away the victor just as he always does. 

Perfect

Flawless: To be without fault, able to stand alone, as an example. The paragon. Sought after, striven for. NEEDED. expected. Killed for. To be without blemish. My Beautiful dark twisted fantasy.

Miley

yes it's true what they say
I throw my hands up
everyone moves in unison
in this one moment we are united
in this purpose we are one
politics can't do it,
religion can not do it,
love even falls short
noddin' my head like yeah
pure agreement we all know the truth
it's revealed to us in ways that could never be said
we are one
it's a party in the U.S.A.

Teds affliction

ted is afflicted. Like all afflictions ted has had to learn to fight it his whole life. There will never be a cure and Ted struggles daily. Ted's affliction is SHS (sweaty hand syndrome). Although, this may sound innocent enough it is not. It has held Ted back in life. SHS is a multi-faceted disease. It comes with other disorders hand in hand such as AHSD ( awkward hand shake disorder) and RWTHYHBTYWBGO ( really want to hold your hand but thinks you will be grossed out). In the avenue of love Ted has had to be an innovator. the typical first step of love  ,holding hands, is not an option for him and has had to rely on his laser sharpened wit and his dasterdly good looks. Ted is a sufferer and he extends the hand of love and fellowship to all those that suffer.

there's the patience

Sitting there, waiting on the set order of alignment that I have been waiting  oh so long for, time seems to come to a hault.  Looking around trying to find an object to fix upon, I realize I'm lost in the transition.  The thought of being lost is never easy to take in.  So I decide to up my awareness and focus diligently.  From all the things I was searching for, I knew what I eventually wanted to have.  And a good thing happens, time speeds up.  The line begins to move.  Ted.  I smile.  Turning the center as if it were a battleship taking fire.  There it is.  The patience has paid off.  A feeling a bliss covers me; I feel good.  I stand next in line.  Accepting and hearing the sounds that flow from the side was something that made me feel as if it were okay for time to stop.  It is not always needed, time is not always in the positive.  In some moments, time is void.  These are the best times.  Here I am, Ted, now being served a basket full of hot delightfullness, understanding this is when a coffee table becomes more than a room filler.  That beyond these constrictions lies warmth.  Warmth that is only received through anticipation.

To blog? Or not to blog?

As a young adult, living in a world of social cultural changes, the blog has always been a distant but relevant part of my life.  It was always an interest of mine to join the blog world and hope that someone would appreciate/enjoy my thoughts and progress through each day.  This spark was finally made a flame when I became aware that a close friend of mine had started her own blog.  The fact that she let herself be known was very inspiring.  So inspiring that I am writing to you about it as we speak.  Yes, I have to admit, the lovely Anna Jamieson is the one who opened the door.  Since she opened the door, she just may be the only one that can close it.  So an opening thanks to you, AJ. 

shootout

Back to back we stand opposed

We both wait for the clock to strike 12

Our hands are clenched

Our muscles are tense

We know this conflict will not be resolved

We both know how this will end

We do not stand in a dusty street

A tumbleweed does not roll between us

The children have been in bed for an hour

The door is closed all is quiet

The clock strikes 12

Ding ding ding ding ding ding

Ding ding ding ding ding ding

We rustle the covers

Not a word is said

We close our eyes and go to sleep

The old west had the right idea

It would be no less hateful

To just shoot each other in the street.

fishermen

Me and Boy used to get up before everyone. The mist was rising off the surface of the lake. It would be a lie to say that it was cold those summer mornings but it was not warm. I would put on my oversized sweatshirt and rub the sleep out of my eyes. He would sit considering the rods picking the one that would fit perfectly into my small hand.  I would carry the light cushions we would sit on to make the next hour more passable. He always reached for the heavy gas canister. Early in the morning I would never think to reach for it. It was too heavy and the only thing that got me up was the hope of a fish. The dew was still heavy on the grass. My cheap wal-mart tennis shoes would be soaked before I even reached the dock. My toes becoming pruny and cold in the early morning grey. As I sat in the green beat up rowboat, he would begin to coax life out of the engine. Prime, wait, pull the chord no life, add some gas, and try again. Slowly a weak purr would begin in the bowels of the engine. Slowly the purr rose to a growl then the engine roared to life. We would slowly back out and then turn slowly avoiding the tangle of weeds that would surely choke the life out of the engine. Once out of the inlet we would pick up speed. Flying around the lake. Sitting on the bow of the small green vessel, my eyes tearing up from the brisk winds. We would soar, turning to that perfect spot where all the mornings catch were hiding. Unselfishly, he would put the bait on my line. We never said much. Those mornings did not require words. We were in a space where words would have been foreign. On occasion he would look into his long years of life and give me his small pieces of advice, “ its ok to look but never touch”. Not a bite. We soared back. We were successful hunters. I could never stay disappointed for long. I knew the next morning we would be back. We would conquer these waters waiting capture what lay beneath the morning mist. 

hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

Mornin rollin

The strange mixture of warm sunlight and cool air makes for an enjoyable morning. Stepping out of the dank darkened rooms, I stretch my legs for the first time that day. The cold muscles tense from inactivity but slowly they fall into line. Its better to walk quickly. I always tend to be late to this class. Others walk around me , but their existence is hardly tied to mine and I can not see them. A glance at the watch and the tired muscles move a bit quicker with necessity as the motivator. The soft rubber on the groupd does not add any kind of rythmn to dull the monotony. The thoughts of the weekend’s romantic encounters mix with the fantasy left over from dreams. That girl in the dress. What if that dance had turned into something more. Did she drink? Why did I not offer? Did she like me? Would she like to come back to my room? We could just talk over coffee. The fantasy of dream wears off as the cool breeze slides over the summer accustomed skin. Dreams fade into reality and monotony sets in.