Wheels of the Plane

So he wouldn’t be getting on that wheel anymore. What wheel would he be getting on then? She was about to get on another flight.

He saw her as she was about to board, and she actually stepped out of line to come talk to him. They had known each other years before, and it was so good it had burned both of them. Here they were, years later, and to meet like this. He wouldn’t let her board the flight without talking to him for a while, and before she knew it, she had missed every flight going her way that day. But she had forgotten just how good it felt to sit with him, even in the waiting area of the airport; there were always more flights where she was going.

He was going back home, and it was good timing in that. For the last couple years he was getting his head back, but the loneliness was starting to turn sour. Though he could say he knew what was what now, so he was going back to reconnect to the start. And to meet her like this, it seemed to make sense, she had never left his mind. He had reached out to her many times, but she had never responded. Only when he called her pleading to say sorry did she answer. She listened as if letting him heal, then shut it off again. And now, when about to be gone forever, she had essentially stepped off the plane to be with him.

Going home to be with his family, with the whole idea of family on his mind, and she was on another flight. But they were flying out of the same airport, so maybe he would see her on the way back.

Cruisin'

Running a fever? Cool off on the wheel.
Is life closin' in fast and zooming by? Just pedal.
Can't seem to get it into second gear? There is no second gear.
I forgot how fun it was to ride.

Zydecajun!

In case you didn't know:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYowM4dVRlc&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYBqghN45F0&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-ypcletwvE&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUlSREsMKj8&feature=related

Mon Ami, J'Ai Été-Z-Au Bal!

This man's a badass. And yes, that's a "Lousiana Crawfish" specialty mullet.

J'Ai Été-Z-Au Bal! Allons a Lafayette!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKmMxxO2wIM

The Door

He had so many keys that he couldn’t carry them all. He had picked them up along the way, and not trusting that he already had the right one, kept them. But they were weighing him down, and he had forgotten which one was his, so he decided to get rid of them.
He had let himself into rooms that were now locked from the inside. So he started by breaking out. It turns out the doors were flimsy, weak, he had just never tried before. He started out down corridors that wound endlessly around this decrepit mansion, but these only led to more doors. These were heavy doors, and the latches were locked securely. He saw he would have to use all of these keys in order to get rid of them.
Door after door, he tested every key until one worked, just to enter another dark hallway. Occasionally, he would pass a window, and instead of giving in to the urge of busting the glass and climbing out, would just get a good look at the outside. This told him where he was in the house, and he would leave one old key on the window pane.
Day to night to day like this, until his mind was calm but barely moving. Until one day he opened a door to suddenly enter a huge, light filled room, the trees showing through the windows. He looked at the key ring; he had only one key left. His heart awoke and was glad, he had known this day would come. The walls were filled with doors, each one different than the next in color, size, shape. But now, instead of being mauled over by the choices, he realized he would soon be outside, and that it was obvious which door was his. He went up to it and inserted the key. It glided in, and when he turned it, the latch sprang open. His heart pumped full of life and he went to open it- but the door would not budge. He laughed as his heart sank a little. But he would try this door until it opened, he could not be wrong. Hours passed as he repeatedly turned the key and pulled on the door. It was as if it was nailed shut, it didn’t make sense. Until he heard a voice on the other side, giggling. And the handle started to move, and the door slowly opened.

The Key

When he arrives it's the same routine. Always strange and welcome at the same time, his being here. He often wondered if what he was doing, where he was, was where he should be. His head was full of keys and there were plenty of doors to fit them in. But the controlled chaos of family never let him stay in his head for too long, that’s one reason he liked coming down here.
Anna was a toddler now and they needed to make sure she was fed before anything else happened. Amazing how this little girl could take over the lives of two grown adults. She was 1-1/2 years old and starting to form her identity, her personality. It was fascinating and such a joy to see her basically become a person. The beautiful baby, the boundless life was starting to take a direction- a human finding the key to functioning in this world. Of course her parents would forge that key, but she had to find the doors it fit in, and make sure that she didn’t lose it.

Late

Train to feet to train. One minute on top and the next under the wheels. I’m just talking to myself, talking to myself. Gonna be late for the show. Finally there, grab a slice and hop in the cab.
I try not to rush him, but he takes his time starting the car.
“I’m always waiting for musicians to start, but this time I’m glad they’re always late.”
Laughs then- "I think God knows everything, it always works out.”
We have a discussion on God and life, his pregnant wife, plans. My friend the taxi driver, who I knew for about 3 minutes.
I arrive right in time for the show, the musicians start a little late.

Free Music!

Yes I'm black and I bite my lip when I dance. I'm psyched cause I downloaded thousands of songs from the library for free!

Paris in Spring

Introducing the 2009 Cadillac Paris.
Boasting an in-car wet bar and side exhausts.
Honey, today we take Paris!

Our Man

His laughing fit is over, and the guy hasn’t flinched. So he stares back, with an unattached but unrelenting glare to let this asshole know he’s not affected, much less scared. Like two animals in the wild, they scowl, letting the other know they’re not willing to give any ground. Then they bare their teeth and bark.
“Fuck you!”
“No, fuck you, keep walking.”
After a long moment, they go their ways, as long as each holds their own. They didn’t want to fight, but they didn’t want to be weak. And his natural reaction, laughter and forgiveness, the only sane reaction, was taken away and replaced with pride, machismo, even hatred. How sick, but he lets it happen, he’s the one who can stop it and doesn’t.

The Music

Too beautiful to even think about putting it to words, it lasts a split second, the real initial feeling, then it’s on life support systems. The only way to actually know your feeling anything or analyze it is to ruin the feeling by over thinking it.
The abandon and instinct that allowed it to flow through can be dammed, allowing for a reservoir of feelings on which to draw upon, but that’s not it; there is a place where it is pure ecstasy.
It goes beyond thinking. The source always flows, and it is beyond the concept of time. To do without thinking, time has no control, and intuition, instinct and logic are all the same. Music can bring them together to sustain each other.
Abstract and transcendent enough to spur on these timeless emotions.

Prescience

We speak of Heaven who have not yet accomplished
Even this, the holiness of things
Precisely as they are, and never will!

Before death was I saw the shining wind.
To disappear, today’s as good a time as any.
To surrender at last

To the vast current-
And look, even now there’s still time.
Time for the glacial, cloud-paced

soundless music to unfold once more.
Time, inexhaustible wound, for
your unwitnessed and destitute coronation.


-Franz Wright

The Wild Rover

I've been a wild rover for many's the year
I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more

And it's No, Nay, never,
No, nay never no more
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more

I went in to an alehouse I used to frequent
And I told the landlady me money was spent
I asked her for credit, she answered me nay
Such a customer as you I can have any day

And it's No, Nay, never,
No, nay never no more
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more

I took up from my pocket, ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She says "I have whiskeys and wines of the best
And the words that you told me were only in jest"

And it's No, Nay, never,
No, nay never no more
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And, when they've caressed me as oft times before
I never will play the wild rover no more

And it's No, Nay, never,
No, nay never no more
Will I play the wild rover,
No never no more

-why don't ya give it a listen a wee bit:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-07gFit1xw&feature=related

and for your enjoyment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTT-g0y9nsc

Chevrolegs

At work, wheels spinning, tearing a hole in the ground. He hasn’t felt this bad in a while, why? All he’s been doing this week is writing and thinking about her. He‘s been trying to empty his mind.
It’s raining, and people are cowering under awnings. He sets out running to get back the good feeling, and it works. Sweat and anxiety are washed away.

Plans

“Thanks cuz, but no, I’m gonna head back up to the city, I got some plans.”

“Oh, darn. Well, that’s alright, we’ll see you next week.”

As he headed north, he drove a little faster than usual. Then his phone made a sudden noise. It still surprised him months later and he was starting to hate that thing. He looked at the message, and after a pause, he tried to put the shifter into neutral. Out of his control, it slipped and jammed into reverse. The car came to a grinding and screeching halt. He woke up.

He had dreams like that all the time. He didn’t care about what they meant anymore, and he didn’t feel like going down south to work, but he needed the money and he had some plans later so it was fine. He got in the car and drove a little faster than usual.

Reality

He's always thought that reality was somewhere between depression and joy. You needed both but neither in their pure form was real. One’s gut reaction when they’re down is too negative and hateful, just like one’s reaction when they’re up is overlooking and overly trusting. You need both, they need, they balance and affect each other. Our man saw things from the slightly down side, least that what’s he thought. He no longer fully trusted his happiness unless it was tinged with a viewpoint of sadness or “reality”.
His warped and over-extended mind walks down the street. He spots an older man dressed well in a dapper hat and sport coat jump into a small, cheap european car. How great, he thought, a self respecting and fashionable man willing to drive a small, unassuming car. It showed a strength, and was one reason he actually liked this liberal, progressive city. It made him smile, but no sooner than this fleeting thought occurred, it was chased by another- He knew the man had to be flashing that bit of style to hide the pain and sorry excuse for a life that is this city. The dapper hat and coat were hiding the fact that he was probably a bitter, spent and lonely old man who still watches porn and stocks up on his microwave meals at the store once a week. He can feel the joy slipping away from him when it happens. It’s like somebody has turned a switch, changed the props and stage in a play, day and night, in a fleeting moment. So frustrating, but- “WHOA! Sorry, my fault.”
He runs into a guy much bigger than he is, who wheels around, ready to fight it seems, and flashing a stare that looks like he’s in a cage match to the death. Our man doesn’t know how to take it, I mean it’s almost funny to him, and to his own surprise, he starts to laugh.

Our Man

What he wanted, what he needed, was to push it beyond. Outside a crazy man was insanely yelling for a taxi, knowing it wouldn’t stop. The man was right, the fact that the cabs never stopped was wrong, but it needed to go past that in his head cause that kind of drama had been played out a million times over, and the man was really just yelling at himself. To him, all the business of daily life was caught in a sick rut. How many times have we all asked what’s right and wrong, moral and amoral, decent and crude? It seems like the more we ask it, the less we do anything about it. It's a self-fulfilling lifestyle we act out by choice. Well not our man, not him, not anymore.

Elixir of Love

I love waking up to you. Your smell reminds me of places I’ve been and want to go back to. I can smell the soil and the humid air. It is a smell of nature, of knowledge. It’s bittersweet allure and sharp truth wake me up to a life more invigorated. To get just a taste would end the listlessness and fatigue. My dreams were lonely without you and I wait expectantly until you will steep elixirs of love for me. Your taste, so open and present, lets me face life and all it’s mysteries with bright eyes.

Beautiful Mess

Somewhere along the way,
Reality becomes a dream

Can’t recognize myself, everything’s changed
This view is unforgiving, don’t know what’s to come

Tell me what happens when the hopeless romantic
Becomes the hopeful cynic.

Please clear my head, I’m down on my knees
Maybe broken, but I’m strong
Reality is just a story, it’s a story of want and need

My dreams and reality, they dance together.
When the timing’s right, with each other, let’s meet again.
In a different time, with hope and who I truly am.

Life imagined takes over.
What would love do with no inclusions?
Imperfect clarity or a happy ending?

Let life and dreams dance.
I’m looking and searching for me.
In this beautiful mess, I’m looking for you.
Can you tell me what happens? Can you tell me?
What happens when the hopeless romantic,
Becomes the hopeful cynic?

-Maria Pacifico Cagouyon and Jason Paul Williams

Inspirations

Does the creative process spring forth from without the mind and body? Does it come from a “higher source“? It might, and then it might just come from reservoirs from within the mind. It might have more to do with our soul, whatever and wherever that is. But more importantly, it might manifest itself in everyday life in just about everyone, and what we call art are just the things that make us look at that creativity in reverence.
From where these inspirations come from is anyone’s guess, but it should never be tied down by attributing only known streams of thought to it. Are there more planes of thought? Yes, it would seem there are when we have emotions and feelings that we can’t express in words, or even grasp with our minds. These might be rare glimpses, and these are what fuel an artist attuned to their work. It is possible that somewhere along the line, the key to making us a benevolent species is in one of those rare glimpses.

Dead River

She has been scarred beyond recognition. She is coupled over in exhaustion. It is all she can do to fight this poison, to not completely die under the hand of a powerful but mysterious force. She is confused because she can’t believe something made from her very body and soul could want to kill her.
She cringes when she hears her offspring’s chilling and cackling laugh. So confident in what, she wonders? What has come over this once beautiful child, this once humbled animal? She cries; she already knows what she has to do. It is natural, but she laments. It kills her to have to do it. It will seem so tortuous to her conscious and egocentric child. It will seem like an unbearably slow death, and it will undoubtedly drive the poor creature insane. First it’s soul will succumb to the weight of the consequence of it’s own actions, and this fury of self-righteousness that fed on itself will grow even larger. Then it will realize it’s mistakes, falling into endless depths of guilt that were before filled by ignorance. Then it will be time to die.
Viewing the exponential ruin her own child inflicted on her has forced her to look evil in the face. It has forced her to come to terms with the reality that if her progeny had this force within it, and was made of her elements, then she must also be occupied by such an abysmal and loathe entity.
But why did it wait so long to show itself? She wonders and thinks of the millennia of satiated creatures, their forces aligned with hers, all of them concurrently strengthening the web of life she spun so carefully. She can’t reconcile that memory with the actions of her human child. Why so suddenly did this evil rear it’s murderous head, with an appetite so insatiable, with the glowing, cavernous, empty eyes, and it’s sadistic smile that it used to trick and deceive.
But there were some, some that realized they were blessed with capabilities that were beyond their necessity. Mindful that there were limits and a danger of being selfishly consumed by these capabilities. With foresight learned from their mother, these humble siblings saw the falseness of the perceived freedom that wanton and reckless gorging would bring, and they found satisfaction and knowledge in the life that was their mother. But because of these people, she realized it was a clever and subtle evil at work. For not long before the end, their earthly bodies were dispersed and destroyed, and the ways they perfected lost for lack of people to maintain them.
In what form does this force that kills so ruthlessly show itself? She looks for a solid entity to fight against, but this evil force is just as intangible as the benevolent force that counters it.

Souls of Light in the Dark

No, I was freed from this foul river by souls full of light, full of a force benevolent and strong. Like water, they did not need to blast through. When necessary, they yielded and went around, but always made it to their destination. They helped me but have moved on.
I don’t know what to do, because for so long I've taken what little food was given, and have forgotten how to find my own. The lives that we used to depend on and coexist with are here no more. It seems they will never be back, they are vanished forever. The soil and banks of the river are sick and poisonous, so much so that it would kill to touch it.
At last freedom but it might well be the death of me. What kind of evil power is this? Does this conscience have the capacity for guilt, for responsibility, for looking itself in the eye? For facing itself in the mirror of time and space? It has left death where life was, and it’s acrid legacy lives on to affect all who come hereafter.

To Beat the Devil

It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row.
And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold.
To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul.
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar.

My thirsty wanted whisky; my hungry needed beans,
But it'd been a month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream.
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar.

Actually, I guess you'd could call it a tavern:
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor;
Friendly shadows.

I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar.
And in the mirror I could see him checkin' me and my guitar.
An' he turned and said: "Come up here boy, and show us what you are."
I said: "I'm dry." He bought me a beer.

He nodded at my guitar and said: "It's a tough life, ain't it?"
I just looked at him. He said: "You ain't makin' any money, are you?"
I said: "You've been readin' my mail."
He just smiled and said: "Let me see that guitar.
"I've got something you oughta hear."
Then he laid it on me:

"If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen,
To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear?
And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?"

“There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
'Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.”

Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.

You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him.
I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing.
Then I stole his song.

And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen,
To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear.
And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care.

I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same,
But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul.
And if I never have a nickle, I won't ever die ashamed.
'Cos I don't believe that no-one wants to know.

-Kris Kristofferson

It's a Small Wheel

Did we forget? How could we? A day can turn, bring the smile back on our face.
It’s a pure joy, but we’ll sit around all day instead of getting on.
All our troubles disappear once we do, but we’re content to watch.
It’s too small a concept for us.

Riding the Wind

We all dream when we’re younger,
and we will to great things.
But we run in circles that turn our head around,
and some thoughts never get off the ground.
Don’t raise your hopes, I hear so many say,
The higher they get, the closer they are to flying away.

Years go by, and if anything the dreams get stronger.
They take off flying, and they’re harder to see.
They become masters of flight, watchers of the sky.
They circle, riding the wind, patiently waiting for a chance.

Me and the Bee

I set off running and I start low. I find myself on this route cause I know I don’t want to go where I’ve been before. A couple turns, and I have before me the option to avoid the hill or to start climbing. This morning, I don’t need to think twice, I start climbing. On streets that turn into hilly cul-de-sacs, up paths, the houses getting bigger and the views better as I climb. I turn a corner and I see the park, and follow the sides of it until I can enter. There is no particular way I’m following, just going up. There’s the path; pavement to dirt to stairs back to pavement, and before I know it I’m at the top. This time seems easier than the last. A woman saunders by with her dog, and I find my way a few feet over and kneel down. As I kneel, I see what looks like a bee. It’s big, with a fury black head, large body, and motionless. Weird. Rarely do I see that, the bee makes no movement to flee. And even over the next couple minutes, no movement. It seems as if it's dead. It must have frozen last night, what else could have happened? As I’m thinking, the condensation from my breath engulfs the bee in waves, flowing over it. A crazy thought enters my head: what if I could breathe new life into this bee? And after a few moments, and a few slow, long breaths…there is a movement, very slight. It seems to be coming awake! It moves it’s body and legs slightly. No way, couldn’t be me...
Out of nowhere there’s an unnatural sound behind me- it must be another dog walker with their dog- a dog could mess with the bee, the person might step on it. They come close, I look back, and a man is staring at me as if he’s wondering what I’m doing. Of course, noboby here can mind their own business. He lingers, I wish he wouldn’t, but he does and he sits only a few feet away. I don’t want to leave, I want the fact that he’s there not to matter, but it seems I have to leave the dream in my head and this bee to fend for itself; but if I stay, the bee might live.
For a few, crowded seconds, I try to recapture the serenity and companionship, but my mind gets the better of itself. I spring up and leave the bee to it’s own fate.

As The Wheeled Turns

This frame is what I carry with me, but every experience adjusts it, makes it bigger, cuts it down, hacks off a side, changes it’s color, or sometimes makes it disappear. The times I like best though, are when the frame I have becomes useless, and I need to build a new one. For a while I can absorb all I can, accumulating and combining different colors in my palette, and painting a grand picture with no borders. But sooner or later, necessity calls me, whether right or wrong, to point to the picture. I’m reminded that these defining limits allow my perspective and view of the world.

Sleep

Every morning we are reborn.
A new life to make, but with the life we have lived the day before.
We can make a new one, but what do we take from the day before?
What do we leave?
Today I feel renewed, the slate has been wiped clean.
Rejuvenated and starting over.
But yesterday sleep never landed, and thoughts found no home.
Where then did they go?

Fire

A spiritual motivation. Words fail, left behind to do their damage. To cry out, only one can hear.

For no reason a joy surfaces, the sounds that spurred it take on new meaning. The ability to reach beyond presents itself, but the choice is always there: Stay back; Reach out; Or the answer:

Do all in the present. Do all, do none, let all pervade and I lose myself. Let the past present and future pull with their temporal powers, let them teach me. Let them push me into my next understanding. This is the way I will reach out.

To have tasted it after so long fills the void that was there. It seemed endless, now it is vanished. My desire will burn down to it’s reality, my being will find itself there again, for it is my fire, my life’s blood has found it’s path. I will know myself there, because I’ve been there before. Every time it burns away the filth I put there. Every time it renews and I see the lies and the truth, the possibilities, the endless choices. The only solace lies in that moment.

Right.

Question:
“The circular logic, it rules my brain, so of course I try to act like it isn’t who I am. That in itself brings me back around to the starting gate for another run. I can’t claim to know when I know that to claim I know means I don’t… so… a little bit of confusion is what I’m going for, right? I’m not trying to go insane and bring the whole problem around now, but wait, if I know it’s there, how can I ignore it? I can’t if I’m an honest and fearless man…right?”

Answer:
“What?”

From Child To Parent

We are young then grow older,
we grow up and get younger,
from parent to child.
We can be kids again,
and give away what we’ve learned.
They will be adults,
and will take what we’ve done.

You and Me

The devil disappears while I’m doing his work. And it feels so good, doesn’t it? The trick was letting me stay in my head, letting me think I was solving something, this is the real sin. There are many ways to kill, and many ways to kill ourselves. But it is not our place to make these decisions, it will take care of itself. One more time around the wheel, because the only way out is in; to find the compassion is the key back out. You and me, and the devil makes three.

The cars race each other to the next light, the fire engine screams and rips by. They dwarf the biggest thought. Under the wheels of that truck it dies, a temporary tragedy. No, there is nothing in the natural world that unconcerned with and unrelated to the true meaning of life. We should be striving for a spiritual connection to something bigger, something more attached, not detached, like here in the city. The incongruity of cause and effect makes life here meaningless.
The city, in it’s purest form, is a ways and means toward titillation. The people shed their own blood so they can drink the blood of others later. The haves will play right next to the have-nots, both hating each other, both knowing the error of their ways. Both have disdain for the city, but neither would give it up. Some because their youth is riding on it, others because the city has eaten their youth and they’re still here trying to get it back.
But the food is great here. And fuck yeah, that concert rocked! You're right, the lights of the city look nice shining off the water with the bridge in the background. Shut up blood!

Closure

For all it’s pain, all it’s damage, it’s the only way to get back to the joy.
We ask the guy working the controls to flip the switch, so we can get this thing moving again. He jeers at us from just below, throwing punches at our legs. So we kick him in the stomach, hard. Did we actually just do that? He lies writhing on the ground, but just yesterday we exchanged cordial smiles.
This ferris wheel’s been broken for a good while now. Everybody knows about him, he’s the crazy man in town, but what about us? Getting on the wheel just to catch the feeling of how it was, and how it might be again, to ride high. But neither of us wants to go up again, just to come down alone.
So you always get on in the car right in front of me. And I watch as you think about the day. Sometimes you cry, sometimes I can tell you’re happy, and sometimes you look back.
Today a man walks up-”Guys, we’re doing work on this here thing, who let you on here?”

Fun-Go-Round

She had her hand out, a huge smile on her face. She was having fun, and wanted him to come up on the wheel with her. He just sat there looking at her, with voices in his head. He thought he just learned that it wasn’t that fun up there, but he sure wasn’t happy down here. How would he even get on, the thing’s spinning so fast? No, must be some kind of trick.
Had she just put her hand out? She pulled it back. She could do nothing but blame herself, she had chosen to stay on this thing. She thought she saw someone who would want to play, but he just stared at her. She watched as he faded from view, and the motion of the wheel started to make her dizzy. The surroundings were zooming by too fast to make any sense. How do you stop this thing?

He went back to the park. Nobody was on the wheel, it was the first time he’d seen it not moving. Alright he thought, let’s try this thing. As he stepped up with one foot and started to push with the other, he caught site of a girl on the teeter totter. It was her. She told her friend to stop for a second and walked over to the wheel. As she walked she could feel the scrapes on her knees. He held out his hand.

The Rain

8 hours a day, the same view. Today he comes outside to heavy rain, big drops and coming down fast. It's nice and reminds him of home. It also reminds Tan of his home.
“I like this, this rain is better, and when it’s heavier like this it ends sooner.” That is true he thought- it was always more intense and dramatic, and it was as if your surroundings were reborn when it was over.
Tan adds “Always light rain here, never ending. Just constant drizzle.”

She is on his mind most all the time. And for her it had been raining for too long.

The rain stops and the sun starts to shine off the water. It is so nice, the freshness and clarity after the pounding storm. He wondered if it was better in life when the storms hit us hard. When the howling wind throws us around and the sky turns a menacing black. Does it make the sunshine afterward all the more beautiful and our life clearer?

When he saw her last the wind was whipping around them. Her hair was blown across her face, and the trees were alive. Something in the air was responding to the energy pulsating between them. They were still but everything was moving. They felt like anything could happen.

Slowly, the sky turns a familiar gray, and a light, cold rain begins to fall.

Views From The Wheel

-To express my desire as a human being, without the interference I’m so used to. With no purpose but the one innate in me, and built upon by my experiences. I owe no one but have the responsibility to care. They owe me nothing but have no choice but to listen. My darker self rears it’s head, me unwilling to stop it, for I might then stop something that was supposed to manifest itself.

-The quickness with which we live, the tease that’s supposed to get me going. The false hope I’m supposed to find sanity in. The short change you think I don’t know you’re giving me. The drive to nowhere and no way back. It gets more exciting as we go. I think I know I’m not supposed to be here. I think I’ll leave now, what was I saying? Can you turn that down, can you give me a second to think! I don’t think I’ll answer you quite yet. I need to slow this down, find something real in your game.

-This is what I’m living for, can’t believe I found it again. It feels right and there’s no need to question, to think, to ask myself what’s going on. An intense desire, but it doesn't have control, my conscience is gone, and our purpose is innate. No way you would have something else in mind, my fate in your hands, it’s what you want me to do. I turn my energies to you, this time it can last.

Free Dessert.

Mary at Cathay Express-“How much rice do you want?”
“Ah well, you can pile it on, I’m gonna save half for work. I‘ll take the one item special, I‘ll have this tofu broccoli here.”
“Ahh, going to work huh? What do you do?”
“I work at a hotel, I’m a doorman.”
“Really good tips huh? Lots of money.”
“Well, sometimes yeah. It depends on the shift and your seniority, and I only have 4 days right now.”
“Four days is allright.”
“True, but money’s getting a little tight.”
“Yeah, well you want to work at least. Tell me something-” Leaning in, eyes intent- “there are jobs out there right? If someone really wanted a job right now they could find one don’t you think? If not, they’re being picky don’t you think?”
A little taken aback, but liking the unexpected candor- “Well, yeah, definitely, there‘s jobs out there. Maybe they’re being picky, maybe picky is the word, but maybe….”
“I see all these blacks out there, not willing to work, they’re just being picky right, or you think there is a lot of discrimination?”
“Well yeah, there is discrimination, and it’s not only black folks that are being picky. I think there’er a lot of reasons for this pickiness, choosiness, sometimes laziness.”
“Yeah, they are strong enough and smart enough to work, why don’t they?”
“I know people from other countries look at us and really wonder what our problem is, if they only had the chance to work here. I think the problem is, I think a lot of people in this country are spoiled.”
“You know, I will do any job, I don’t care, as long as I’m working.”
“Yeah, that’s important, to have that idea, to be able to do any job, to be willing to work. I think also the problem we have here is that we have wants and needs that are so exaggerated, we all need the cell phone, the car, the big house…….”
“I survive with no cell phone, I survive with no car, I survive with no house! And my english is not perfect, but I survive, I am working.”
“Yeah, you must wonder what‘s wrong with some of these people. And nobody NEEDS those things, the cell phone, the car, NOBODY does, but we think we do.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“huh… yeah.“ -self-consciously laughing and not minding the friendly pinch.
With a warm smile- ”Have a nice day.”
“Yeah...you too.”