Captive

Laying.



Waiting.



Watching.



Lurking; This acid bubbles and boils with anticipation.

It churns... then turns... and eventually burns its way up my esophagus and out of my body, spewing a hateful soliloquy of pain in every direction.


I am bound captive.


If only I could take a hot white ember of truth and cauterize the cavernous, cancerous acid within me. I would at once be free!

However, no; that would be too easy.
And as we all know, that which is easy rarely ever is of worth or permanence.

So I will let it burn, bubble, bleed and ooze; yet, at the same time, I will never allow myself to succumb completely or loose.

Yes, it is better to know and fight the evil of today, than succumb to the consequence of ignorance and cowardice.

So with this knowledge of weakness, what then is left for me to do... besides pray?

Yes, the acid is still there, but it is continually held at bay through the simple and silent power of a man's humble prayer.

The Nothing

As twilight begins to set in, I can taste the lack of interest in the air around me.

Still it fills a void.

As planes begin to take off and my rambling turns to scoff; The humidity creeps through my window as a physical manifestation of the boring phantasm I have created, through my vapid chatting.

Still it feels a void, as I try to fill the void of silence around me.

Why now am I scared of silence?

Because silence is the microphone of the minds conscience.

I've done nothing wrong though, leave me alone.

That's a lie, in wrong things done we humans are always one.

Talking for me? Well it fills the void, and it helps me feel the void.

So, some drink, some smoke, some laugh with and at others to cover up and and make numb. However as long as we try, the souls stinging silence will always come.

I talk.

Does it fill the void?

Still it feels the void.

Embrace

Horns honking people pushing.

Lights flash and so do minds.

The smell of stress and humanity overpowers my senses.

Yet as eyes slowly embrace lips are not far behind.

At once all is lost but somehow 'one'.

She is the energy of a thousand winds rushing;
but with the wisper of a pine trees first breath.

Around us though are horns honking, people pushing.

lights flashing...

lights flashing...

Happy Birthday at the Hospital

As the chair smashes my face I am amazed at the lack of pain I feel. Did it really just happen? Did he really just slam the protruding metal legs of a chair into my face? As the chair leg strikes just above my left eye, inches away from my temple but thankfully towards the more resilient part of the human skull (the forehead) a flash of pure white light streams across my eyes that lasts the duration of the impact.

That's it I think we have been chasing this patient around the hospital for the better part of two hours, hopping fences running in and out of buildings, making sure he doesn't leave the campus or harm any other patients; and offcourse listening to all sourts of verbal abuse and name calling. It's a silly game and although he's crazy he knows the rules better than any of us. He can punch, kick bite, hit you over the head with a chair once and as long as he stops and attempts to go to his room the staff can not restrain him and the game can go on.

At this time however I have drawn the line since he is raising the chair above his head again to strike me with it. As I lower my body and then spring up and forward lunging towards my assailant like a defensive lineman I remember what he said when I arrived to this party a few hours ago responding to the red alert call I heard over the radio. "I think we can take them Satan theres only three of them". I almost laugh at this thought as I with one hand knock the chair out of his hands and and with my other grab his right leg, good thing I am 6'1 and he's short or I wouldn't be able to do both. With adrenaline and pure, white-hot rage pumping through me, I drive my shoulder into his gut. A satisfying "ugh" of pain and loss of air exits the patients mouth. I usually have a higher tolerance for the clients negative behavior but this patient is what we call at the hospital a "tourist". A tourist is a client who is melingering or exagerating his disorder in order to be placed in a Mental Hospital rather than a prison. We know it, he knows it, but the psychologists in charge are clueless. So I am mad, I have a kid and a wife waiting for me at home and this punk was trying to stop all of that by ending me.

Now that the chair is out of his hands and falling towards the ground I bring my other hand down to his other leg. With the momentum of my forward running movement and the springing upward of my back I pick him off the ground. Only one place to go now and that's towards the wall. Before the impact I move my head to the left now to make sure the only impact with the wall is his body. This is a good thing as I hear the cabinet walls shatter and sharp, shards of glass spill around me like a tipped bucket of ice hitting the ground. Oh yea I forgot the glass case was there. This startles me as well as the fact that the impact did little to slow my attacker down. He is on his feet and throwing sloppy punches at me now as I am trying to tie him up again with my arms. A few make contact with me but they're too wild and off balance to cause any harm or even faze me.

I am determined now that he is going to the ground. In the back of my mind however I am wondering why the other two staff behind me haven't backed me up yet then I realize that it has only been about a second and a half since this live wire hit me over the head with the chair. This time I catch him off balance put one of my legs in front of him and half trip half throw him to the ground. He falls face forward but when he hits the ground he spins onto his back, as I try to lunge on top of him he kicks me square in the face with his sketcher boots. He caught me good, right on the eye. I lunge forward again and again I am really pissed off now. With each lunge he kicks me in the same spot, over my left eye. I am laughing at myself on the inside I look ridiculous getting hit three time by two different feet on the same eye. On the fourth time I wise up a little and fake a lunge forward doge the two kicks and catch his right leg.

I push his legs over and move to what I think they call a half guard in wrestling. Now he is punching me in the face again, he catches my right eye now pretty well and then catches my chin, another flash of light over my eyes but as soon as I see it I am back. More white hot anger for me to feed on. With one movement I flip him on his back and with every bit of energy pull his struggling arms to the side of his body. At the mental hospital this is what we call a prone restraint. I learned how to do it in training and in the past three months working out here I have become quite good at it.

He doesn't stop squirming he really does fight like he has the devil in him, this feeling is amplified by the non-stop stream of profanity and ferrel like gasps, screams and gnashing of teeth that exits his mouth. Now the other two staff finally jump on his back a legs as I try to maintain his arms. One arm breaks free and tries to claw me through my sweat shirt, then he grabs my right arm and attempts to bite my forearm, I am used to it and can see it coming before he even thinks it. Even more adrenaline flows, with every bit of energy left I pull his arm back down and to the side of his body. It's hard though he feels like he has the strength of three men. There's no way I could even compete with this kid without the aid of my adrenaline and rage.

Even more staff arrive one comes over to me, "Man are you alright your bleeding pretty bad?"

"Ya I'm fine."

"No really your bleeding pretty bad let me take over and you go get some help."

I look down at the back of the patients head and wonder why he would choose his birthday to dump a scalding pot of coffee over another patients head. That's what started this whole incident anyway. He was having his birthday cake and everything and then just decides to dump some boiling coffee on another persons head. Needless to say she is over in the medical wing of the hospital receiving attention.

Happy birthday Saul, Happy birthday to you.

Alaskan Fishing Boat

Rich blues and pure whites smoothly slip past my eyes.

These eyes which are heavy and sleep laden seem like two metallic ball bearings pushing down into my skull, threatening the sponge soaked brain tissue within.

As I lay with my back against the deck of the boat waiting for the net to fill once more with fish. My eyes lazily track patterns the mast makes as it impotently throws wild punches at the sky.

Somewhere in the distance a glorious existence awaits, but for now white capped waves treat my inner ear to a symphony of soothing embryonic motion.

Rich blues and pure whites smoothly slip past my eyes and reflect the joy I feel towards the ocean.

Human Vs. Hunter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdUT0z_elWI

In this song that I've posted the link to above and in the video bar on the right side of the screen. Brandon Flowers of the Killers poses the question "Are we human? or are we dancer?" (intentionally using a grammatical error as a poetic tool, wherein you can find the meaning).

The question above, like most prose of song, can be interpreted many different ways depending on what "paradigmical glasses" are worn. However, as stated in a recent interview Brandon claims that his inspiration for this line derives from a Hunter S. Thompson quote where Hunter claimed that, "We are raising a generation of dancers".

Implying that we are raising a generation of self absorbed, Britney idolizing, night clubbing, socialite wannabees; instead of people who care about humanity and the purpose of their existence.

This choice of inspiration is both interesting to me as well as ironic. Interesting in the fact that the band, "The Killers", was formed in Las Vegas. Rather apropos don't you think considering that Hunter S. Thompson is most famous for his best selling novel "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".

Was that intentional on Brandon's part I don't know. But what was intentional was to use Hunter S. Thompson's quote as inspiration. Here is where it becomes Ironic.

The question "are we human or are we dancer?" is beautiful. He states in his song that he is, "on his knees looking for the answer". Are we here for true learning, growth and the betterment of mankind? Or are we simply here to gain self absorbed, worldly, pleasure until our knees give out from following the rest of the puppet like dancers around us.

Great thought no doubt, but Hunter S. Thompson it turns out was a bit of a "Dancer" himself. His style of writing and journalism is known as Gonzo journalism, where the writer becomes so absorbed in what he is reporting, that he becomes a central figure in the story. A little self absorbed don't you think?

On top of this Hunter S. Thompson committed, in what is in my mind, the most self absorbed act anyone can commit. Suicide. It's not just that he committed suicide but he did it while he was on the phone with his wife, child, and grandchild. It is reported by his wife that they could clearly hear the cock of the gun and the ensuing fatal shot through his skull over the phone. Talk about leaving an inheritance of emotional baggage.

Choice of inspiration aside. I love this song and I love the question it is asking us to take. The fact of the matter is we are all self absorbed, and I am sure there were many tragic and difficult crosses that Hunter S. Thompson bore in his life leading up to his tragic mistake.

In closing I will leave you with the note Hunter S. Thompson left the world after his self imposed death. I find it both interesting and devastatingly shallow. His note was entitled, "Football Season is Over" (before you think that's deep, realize that he really did just like football. He was an avid sports gambler")

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt."

I sit, surrounded now

Belly of a thougt

I sit in the Belly of a thought the smell is rancid and cool.

The Dark veil of sleep begins to envelope me.

The sound of water lapping up and down rocks me slowly to a state of completeness.

Absence of Light

I sit in the absence of light in a state between dreams and thoughts of a new day.

As the water warm and clean breaks off chunks of dirt and sleep;

a pool of anxieties form around me.

Carina

I sit across from earthy tones of a golden brown.

A spark of light breaks through the forest of silken strands of bark.

I stare into a thousand streams of possibilities.

It is dark outside but warm within.

Adam

I sit with a ball of happiness swimming in my lap.

The smell is sweet and new.

Ray's of light reflect off a pool of greens and shades of blue.

I am surrounded now.

Drones

Low drones of machines keep my lonely brain at bay.

Lines created by the road give my eyes a sullen dream to follow and read.

The stale air inside my cabin disguise the passage of time and day.

As the sun slowly kisses the earth, gentle reminders of cities past help my lungs to breath.

Exhale now, good. Exhale the exhaust of salivating specters tracking my every mistake.

Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they just might leave.

Breath now they've fallen behind me now; or at least as far as I can see.

Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they might just leave.

"My passionate sense of social justice and social responsibility has always contrasted oddly with my pronounced lack of need for direct contact with other human beings and human communities."

-Einstein said it but I've thought it.

Thoughts from A Sacred Grove

I locked my door one too many times and for a second the car horn broke the stained glass vision before me.

I am now tranquilized by the quiet newness the rain creates.

The smell of fresh rain and cold bark seems to penetrate my mind and cleanse the assaulting memory of work the day before.

Somehow this grove is made that much more sacred by the lack of leaves not found on the trees this cold fall day.

Rain always reminds me of the atonement.

As I walk through these naked trees longing for spring, I feel at home. Sometimes it takes time to see time and right now I see time.

My imagination is carried away to thoughts larger than me. Could it have been there where he proved that the, "same yesterday today and forever" isn't just a clever sales gimmick?

As I watch each drop explode into a thousand questions of how, I am filled with a thousand tears of gratitude as to the reasons of why.

I am told it was like a wine press, I am told it was for us all; I was told a lot of things but as I sit on the rain soaked ground feeling is all I need to know.

Even those who don't believe still connect at moments with the King of the king-less and the Father of the lonely and oppressed.

He carried it well. I was there we all were, shouting and crying unabashedly as the painting of truth was found in the brush strokes of each foot as he climbed that hill.

For too long those acidic, electric sirens have torn down mansions built from the cardboard walls of insecurity and broken promises.

Oh to be like these trees strong and clean with the backbone of simplicity, a farm boy saw god.

A farm boy saw god here! I believe.

And I will continue to believe until the first tick of time has been found and the last tock of eternity has been counted.

Faces In the Ceiling

I just saw the ceiling move! That's impossible. I stare at the white, popcorn textured, ceiling in my bedroom that my parents gave my brother and I. I look towards Adam but he's gone for some reason that night.

More movement. It's a face and it's screaming at me. Although I can't hear anything. It looks like a face trying to push itself out of a barell full of black tar while gasping for air at the same time.

Scientist's say only believe what you see, and right now as a seven year old boy I am seeing many, angry, snarling tar faces screaming silently at me from a void unknown in my ceiling.

Cover up! hurry! shut your eyes tight. If you can't see them their anger won't be felt. After all they're silent.

But I can still feel them staring at me, laughing at me as they mouth silently a name I've never heard before but which seems eerily familiar.

O please make it stop... They are morphing now into one great face. Moving and pushing and clawing forward with the urgency of a drowning man swimming toward the surface of a frozen lake.

Now it's K-9 like mouth is opening up it's black tar teeth; I can feel the heat radiating from the evils hungry breath.

Just as a serpentine tongue makes it's way through the cover of darkness to the top of my blanket I hear a voice. "Aaron?"

The beast is startled now and it's darkness is being called back into the ceiling by whatever owner.

"It's Ami"; I think to myself. A wave of relief cools the pools of acid that were forming in my anxiety laden guts.

Just then my door opens and a river of righteous light fills the room melting the wax faces from my ceiling.

"Ami where were you?" I asked angrily. "Well when you fell asleep I went over to Jen's house for like five minutes to say hi".

I could've gone on with my being angry at her but it is never wise to feel contempt towards your only source of salvation. Only adults would do something stupid like that. But when your seven years old and afraid of the dark your grateful for the prayer that was answered by the light of a sisters voice.

I'm sorry I got scared Ami.

It's ok Aaron I still get a little scared when I am by myself.

Good night Ami, I love you.

Good night Aaron I love you too.

Ami could you leave the door open with the bathroom light on...

An Awkward Light

An awkward light shown from the stair well above me.

It told me to sit still and believe what I am told.

But when you're in the cellar all you have is the people above you.

The school teacher professed that I was too bold.

The Drill Sergent said that I had to much dirt on my left shoe.

"I didn't know my enemy was so afraid of cleanliness", I stated.

A round peg in a square hole is more than just a metaphor for me.

It's a way of life.

Still though as I glide quietly across that sun soaked pond from my youth, my memory takes a breath.

I still run to keep myself in shape, but the dream of flying is dead.

Why was flight so appealing to me in the first place? Maybe to me, stillness equaled death.

I watched as my grandfather struggled to get out of the car. Death is the last great mystery he said.

Maybe like my fathers from Norway who came before me all I have to cling on to is that one next paddle.

One can always be reassured that the answer to the question; What's over that next horizon? lies in the shoes you wear on your feet.

Or the wind that is captured by your sails

Or the fuel that is in your jet.

Or the courage one takes in life's next step.