April 12, 2011
Do you mind the friendly gaze of direction? I would sure like to talk about whatever comes to mind. Or how about a look of acceptance, in this world that never seems to rest? I do have a secret place in mind, where none will find comfort–except for these restless bones. In this alcove above, after evening falls, the heavens are masqueraded by light-pollution. It is here that i confide in the city.
Things have been steadily moving forward; days cease to begin as soon as they end, some have passed relentlessly disgusting, while others move on more painfully annoying. Others now drift by carelessly in the sun. Regardless of the bitter contrast between then and now, the reflection of my stay in this place has awakened a sense of sheer optimism. This is my ‘First Breath After Coma’. Although i took some time to recluse not too long ago, the days are now warm and the nights are brisk. I believe simplicity may provide some very interesting devices for the future.
I choose to live among such luxurious vices for a few simple reasons; I believe it may grant a chance for digestion in between thoughts or states of mind, it allows acquaintances to set aside their differences and bond for friendship’s sake, it also creates a medium in which strangers may come together and share the trials they have endured. But really, it is to understand the complexities of the world and to share simple experiences. It is for black coffee, never over ice to know that my teeth are still alive. It is for this i live, the deep breath of freshly roasted seeds as beans. And luxury can even be for the evenly spread tobacco, with the thin paper in between my fingers guided by lush cotton into my lungs; a lowly cigarette, simply to understand how satisfying a fresh breath of air is.
Although this late night has brought quiet, Madison is hardly ready for slumber. In a haze, this city moves stumbling before the capitol of the state. And in an increasing sobriety i wander to places left unforeseen–why null experience with expectations of the future?
But i can identify the difference between a future and a stumbling repeat of the past–There are taxis that pass with blurry passengers, and cause me to reminisce on the lonely city i left behind. It is this new city that has the potential for both ambitious defeat and an ambiguous success. It is here that lies can be defeated by a sense of propriety.
Sobriety may be left behind until class begins again.
I came out of a doze slowly, just as the fourth track comes to a resounding crecendo. The guitar melodically bleeds dry until the double bass-drum revives the entire band into a distorted and ambient pace. And i can feel slobber all across my face. I open my eyes to find it has cascaded down my pillow, soaking the bed sheets below. My internal clock believes it is time to wake up, and the digital clock agrees. With the stereo off and my shoes tied, I escape to my secret place once again. Out the window i climb. As i make my way to the top of the make-shift ladder, i am greeted by gleeful hornets and the late-afternoon sun. It is here where masterpieces will be contrived; among the vents, wisping treetops, and a great view of Madison’s favorites. This is ‘The Only Moment We Are Alone’.
Consider this city my new home. I have almost nothing left behind me and have been storing a momentum inside for these past years. Through all of the words jotted, hearts broken, and tires popped; it was all for this time and the opportunities of a breathing city. The ambition is truly swelling, and it fills my vessel faster than i can bail it out. Already i am running myself ragged with tasks. My mind is full from the words consumed and the lack of sleep, as my body is sore from the constant motion of limbs. But there are no complaints from bailing vessels so hard because it only means i have to learn how to live faster.
My life in Appleton lacked a tremendous amount of sustenance. I was stumbling through my mornings in a sharpe distaste for life. My hope and ambition had left me somewhere in autumn, among the leaves and the fresh scent of rain and subtle decay. That room i occupied for rent was a cell of inaccuracy, with the bleak walls and a raging furnace. And although the winter was a trying time, the transition to spring was most bleak of all. The life around seemed to regenerate while i withered away. Slowly spring became summer’s sticky inferno, and the inaccuracy was replaced by a silently submerged cavern beneath the surface of the sea called life. It is in these underwater caverns that I replaced one residual smoke for another.
This cavern was essentially a large carpet square in my mother’s basement. I had sworn to myself that i would never live again under any circumstances under a common roof with my mother, but circumstances had stripped me of my savings; i had a very limited set of sensible decisions. One of which was to move back in with my mother so i could afford tuition, books, and rent in my home-to-come. But it was here i discovered the potential momentum. It was here i actualized what was going to happen ahead of me in my new home of Madison. More so, i could finally see the end of my life in Appleton, the epitome of my empathy. I subdued my angst and trudged through what little time i had remaining. It would only be a short time before i proved to myself that “The World Is Not a Cold Dead Place’.
After those last ‘Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean’, the morning came when a vessel took my comrade and me to the golden opportunities of Madison. I am sure we both have our own reasons for this change in place, but Appleton was detrimental to my well-being and i could feel the world slowly crumbling around me. Now that we have arrived, a passive elasticity has erupted and the happy medium of spontaneous and routine has set in. After finishing my first assignments for the semester, i reward myself with the first cigarette of the day.
The old routines of living with my mother set in with one significant difference; instead of her always being out for the alcohol, she has been trapped inside her home sober. She is now living up to her past mistakes and is trying to make up for lost time. I have to give her plenty of credit because she has overcome momentous demons to achieve her status of remaining in sobriety. This significant change in mood still has work to do, and is marked most significantly by our clash in perspective.
Although this is always how i wanted things to be growing up, during times when i held more responsibility than a child should expect, it had become tedious dealing with her motherly instincts and i could seek nothing but a sense of coma. This was not a time for rest, but yet i longed for it each and every evening after work. The problem was that i felt as if i didn’t have a home to return to. My previous inconsistency was more appealing than the cavern of unfortunate rewards for responsibility.
The coma i set myself in was just one way to minimize the time i came into contact with her. But the late, sometimes intoxicating nights, often resulted in an ever increased irritability on top of my usual struggle to roll out of bed in the morning. Unfortunately my mother would rise with the sun; so there the clashes began every single morning in suburbia.
As I wake this morning, my head is swelling and my breath seethes parched. I groan over the motions to stand and begin the day. “Ride the Drive” met my expectations for a morning smothered in dehydration. Riding down John Nolen Drive while automobiles have been replaced with bikes and kites beside shimmering lake Monona is enough to put all physical fatigue aside and simply enjoy life.
This ride is granting me an opportunity to sort out recent emotional drift; even things put to rest work their way back to shore. It is simply the way of the world. Patterns emerge and cycles continue, and this always directs the current of life. And it is this current here i relate with; the rhythm of pedaling allows me to glide across such a metaphorical water with ease. The rhythm is almost hypnotic at times, as it is pulling a trance out of the cerebellum to the frontal lobe where the sea of mind meets sight.
Things are never quite as they seem, but i believe this is my time for retribution. I am sure things will be trying, and as restless as always, but my sense of judgement indicates that life is finally coming together. This city is the fresh starting point for the rest of my life. The abyss is behind me and will never hold my soul or feast on my heart again. it is here that i may look forward to ‘Your Hand in Mine’.
December 4, 2009
And now begins the time when work truly commences; themes and scenes transposed now may survive longer than physical experiences with those of the world. It is the work of a muse; time reels faster than thanks can be passed.
First and foremost, the writer’s love of great pens is unmatched. The smiles and the sharing of experience follows
–the interest in a fellow human being. And last, but never least, the way direction is designated with hands and the subtly effective use of words in degrees i had yet to witness until now. The sweet generosity of time as money for some beer and a tip–that is the least to capture any body’s attention.
December 3, 2009
It does not matter how time is spent, for when i reach my bed things have returned to what has been. I seem to rest in a selfless place, and it has been desolate for much longer than claimed. But yet, i wait for a time to come where sleep can be shared once again.
Although my bed is filthy, there are few other places that i deem even remotely close to sanctuary, although refuge is not what i seek. What i see fit is not quite as i seem, but to where the seams lead. Always in that direction again. There are magnificent minds harbored in this city, and what and whom i know is only just beginning. Only the beginning…