February Rain

Patter, patter, patter.
The sound of the rain
on my rooftop.
Occasionally my silhouette
casts itself upon my closet
doors as the sky momentarily
sets itself ablaze.
Cars go up and down the street
and I think about the way in which
they're direction as oncoming or
departing sound so different;
The kinds of wonder they would
themselves never invent.
A transformer blows,
leaving in it's wake
unnatural noise, a whirlwind
of curses and darkness.
I write on, thankful for batteries.
I'm cozy in my brick box,
staring out the window
beyond my desk, absent-
mindedly forming
a singularity between
my thoughts and the paper.
The rain is refreshing, alive
in the midst of this winter,
that muffles and silences so well.
Though I do feel sorry for the man
with the rolling suitcase,
soaked to the bone, likely furious.
He sees tonight in such different light,
as so often our lives go.

Juncture

Hit or stay, gamble away

your future but not

the hard-earned savings

from a different life ago.

Go go wherever you want,

seek out your dreams

to find recurring themes

of love and loss,

the old and avant-

garde--your heart

awaits in some far off place.

An adventure away

so set your own pace

and mind the gap

between the earth and space

For the fall is great

but after comes winter

where on drags the marathon

forget of being a sprinter

where you'd certainly burn out

Of which I have no doubt.

With that new lacking fire

So fades your desire

and notion of what's real

and how to reenter;

the world of before

which at first seemed a bore

but in truth the comfort

shall cradle.

While the World Parties On...

Listening to mixtapes while drunk-crossed lovers waste time and their livers on the empty words. Damn! When am I going to feel warm again? In the meantime, I'll rely on the heat and false light of my computer. It makes me wonder about "science." Am I dooming myself with all these gadgets? There goes my sperm count-this, I'm going to have a cell-phone induced brain tumor-that. Why don't I just live my life in a bubble? I've already made it 22 years and let's be honest, I'm probably a solid quarter way done. Now that I'm finally getting a grasp on how some sliver of the world works, why would I want to isolate myself for the extra sanctity of mind that would later be found out to be fearmongering about things they didn't even understand themselves? I'd rather live fast and hard now, burning out quick rather than finding myself bored til 120. That's not living. It's funny the way people contradict themselves so often. First, somebody says, "Do whatever you want. Do what makes you happy. You can do whatever you want." Then right around this time, it seems like the only logical thing is to "make yourself money. Sell out. Be what your family wants you to be. Be what your girlfriend wants you to be. You can't make a living doing that."

Fuck that.

Why would I want to surround myself with people who don't believe in following your passions. I'm not a lawyer, I'm not a business man nor a doctor. I don't have letters after my name. I put the letters on the page. I twist the letters to my liking. I'm a writer and I'm for damned sure more determined to make that work than him, her and them with their respective careers. How much time and money gets wasted in college. Pot is a gateway drug to more harmful substances? Then college is a gateway drug to lying to yourself, having a midlife crisis, getting divorced and then remarried to feel better about it, switching jobs 6 times and never really knowing if you're happy. Not me. College may very well have presented the most crucial four years of my life. I'm not knocking it. I learned a lot here. But I'm not doing it for anybody else. The lessons I learned here can't be put on chalkboards.

It's getting late. At least tonight I gave my liver a chance to recover from last night, and prepare for tomorrow night. This coming week should a lot me much time to read and write. My last spring break ever? Maybe not if I take my kids somewhere someday...but that would require me to get married, and let's be real, who can really put up with my obnoxious ass anyways? Haha, until next time world. Have a good night!

Twenty Something

My chapter comes to a grand conclusion;

These four long years have ever changed my views.

On this campus I've made my protrusion,

and upon myself; life exists in twos.

But whereto from here? I often ponder.

The unknown ahead be a darkened room;

As I cling to words, in awe and wonder,

and try to avoid an impending doom.

Yet what knows I of a future untold?

That no prophet nor a fortune could tell.

So day by day I'll live on and behold

The value of life, in heaven or hell.

A Poet's Rebuttal

Lose it or use it.

That's a pro tip.

You're fine the way

you are. Despite,

what she says,

her picture's only

worth about 400

words. That's

kids play for you.

Stress fuels fires,

not your desires.

So walk the line

And you'll find in time,

moderation is key

to carelessly dine.

Never mind what

you may be told,

only trust about half

of the words

shared by the old,

and elderly ladies

for they speak untrue

About these issues

that so concern you.

Novel Beginning, Take 1

She was the best for me, and she was the worst for me.

It's funny, I always thought myself naive in hindsight, optimistic in foresight and never realized how to live in the now. I wasted day upon day trying to figure out the upper and lower limits of what I could handle. Extremes became my friends as I wondered if I could care any more about her, if I could take another shot and depress my motor function any less than last weekend.

I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself. Being an English major, I never took college chemistry. At the same time, life at the university felt like the biggest experiment of them all. Cliche, I know. Four years of determining what kind of adult I would later become. I didn't know it at the time, but it would lead to my eventual lonely existence as an aspiring author. Not that there hadn't been a lack of lying to myself to reach that conclusion. I began with aspirations of business school, only so I could become an entrepreneur. That failed miserably when I couldn't pass Calculus I. Had it not been for my ability to charm my grad student instructor, I wouldn't have received the mandatory credit for the class.

My next stint was a brief encounter with economics. As though I hadn't already learned my lesson about my incompatibility with numbers, I gave it a go. It was kind of like the dog who repeatedly runs through the invisible shock fence, knowing that they're surely going to be harmed in the process, though intrigued by what lay outside its bounds. That lasted all of two weeks before I knew I had to seek out another path.

My academic life was in desperate need of a GPA boost. That, in conjunction with my consistant love of the written word led me to English. I'd pissed away my tuition money freshman year bombing classes in favor of frat parties and watered-down beer. It wasn't until I sank to that lowest of lows, once again a moment of testing my limitations, that I realized I wasn't in college to make the most money. I was there to get my shit together and do what I wanted to do. It didn't win me any fans. My parents were skeptical, but steadfastly supportive. Especially my mom.

My mom was through-and-through my biggest fan. She had her moments of wondering where she went wrong, but let's be real--I'm sure I gave her good reason to question her parental tactics. I was no model child. I excelled under their watchful eye, but the constraint of strict parenting only fueled my desire to do wrong. Funny enough, life always has a tendency to seek out a sort of harmony; an equilibrium of experiences. For all the wrong in the world that I got away with, and some that I didn't, I eventually mellowed out and began to live in a much healthier manner.

After barely surviving a brutal freshman year, I had a heart-to-heart with myself. I knew what I wanted to study and began the strenuous process of bandaging my wounded academic record. That was pretty much the only aspect of my life I began revitalizing though. The partying remained, I discovered the rave scene, and girls were still just girls. Nothing special, and while I enjoyed their company, it didn't really have a dimension of depth to me. Not at that time anyways.

I was the annoying guy in class. Reasons for this conclusion varied, but usually it was a combination of my don't-give-a-fuck mentality as to how cocky I came across. I kicked my feet up on chairs, wore sunglasses in class and created a generic air of conceit. This was further powered by my desire to be smarter than my extremely brilliant classmates. I compensated for their laziness by driving the discussion. This meant a degree of favoritism from the instructor, as days of my absence usually resulted in many an awkward silence.

Enough about me though, if I were writing a book about myself, I could go on for far longer than you'd be able to keep interest. It's time I get discussing how it came to be that my paths crossed with her.

Description Exercise

In regards to noise I have several favorites:

1. I am particularly fond, though I'm uncertain why, to the sound of distant trains. The muted whistle, warning the lone trucker--inevitably weary, as the mystery of the blinking lights and uncommon stop invigorating him in conjunction with the cool night air. At least that's what I imagine to be taking place as that particular sound lulls me to a deeper slumber.

2. Today, I discovered my enjoyment of a nylon flag cracking in the mercy of the wind. On an given blustery day, one can hear the distinct noise as the taught flag ripples without free will. The sound makes me think of the open sea and life in a place that time as man knows it has been virtually eliminated. There is a correlation between this particular noise and the way in which it commands respect. As a result, it can only come naturally to raise ones head in curiosity at the object which it represents.

That is all for now! More to come later :)

Unity

I walk through the footprints made before me

and quote the words made famous by writers.

Bound by father Time, I do adore thee,

in unity, as lovers and fighters.

So while the world collectively wishes,

brought together by events in out past;

One hand feeds another--passing dishes,

where those first are circularly the last.

As fixed as we are on only the self,

Consider the ties that bind me and you,

we've read all the same books on the same shelf

and in the darkness, guided our hearts true.

Worry not, my love, of ever being alone,

In our unity and our struggle we have grown.

To My Potential Valentine

To My Dearest Counterpart,

Here we are, two souls on our respective journeys. Somewhere along the way, our paths crossed. I can't pretend to know how long our lights will shine together, illuminating the dark path into the future, but for as long as you are a companion on my journey, I feel blessed by your presence. The camaraderie that has grown between us has proven most resilient to the elements. When I flicker, you prove your ability to reinforce me, and likewise I to you.

I could spend words and paragraph explaining what truly binds us, but it would be in vain. It isn't your pristine eyes, nor the way you stun the world with every photograph in which you grace your presence. Those are the traits that make you the person you are. They intrigue the world, but by no means does it prod at my heart. Rather, the inexplicable notion that the world falls into balance, a sort of harmony when we find ourselves together. I've lost many long nights with the kind of people I had to convince myself mattered. It is plain and simply natural though to pass my time with you.

As we continue down this road, there will be inevitable and unpredictable discord. It would be wrong and a dishonor to what February the fourteenth could really mean to pretend that such happenings are nonexistent. Know this though, my partner: It is in those moments of uncertainty and disagreement that test our resolve. To embrace those imperfections is to stay on the same path; the same solid ground that has guided us thus far. Should the path split, then we will find ourselves continuing our journey. For better or worse, I cannot say.

What I do know is that I believe in our espirit de corps. We found ourselves walking along this road for a reason, bolstering one another while simultaneously learning the lessons we've discovered in our previous struggles. For that, I wish to extend my thanks and my love. May it persist long and provide us the friendship that transcends all else.

Most Graciously Yours,
TC

It Takes One Hand to Feed Another

There exists in the pride of
Each man, a self-resilience,
Towards the ever-changing world.
It is the kind of reservation
That keeps me from a doctor until
I'm outright bedridden. This
essence, this fire is what keeps
Us alive, what drives us to
Succeed, to win hearts
And be someone's everything.

Pages

This is to the memory of that day.
The day that will be but a page in our book
Where we invented color, worlds.
The words, the art, it just
Was never enough.
To recreate the sparked fire
We lit upon that day.
The four of us, bound together.
A tribunal of interwoven fates.

Fragment

The pieces of the puzzle
(They were puzzle pieces)
All fell perfectly into place
As we raced against sunsets...

Reality Is Just a Figment Of...

Inspiration tapped from
Our mind as the source.
An ambrosia well, rich
With the nectar that
Builds our dreams.
That is the fountain
Of youth, of life.
And good, yet also evil.
Our dual-capacity
We only seek
When we look within.

Fragment

With every sensation gathered
A new world opens her doors
As new colors make themselves apparent.
Opening not our shifty eyes,
But the otherwise confined soul.

Let the Sun Whisper Us Goodbye

There were all of the lights
But in truth none more than 4
Dancing around man-made concepts
The kinds that we abhor.

Like time, perfection, reality befamed
We found ourselves between two points
Where we existed without place or name.

And as the darkness slowly set in,
It was us 4 lights who truly would win.

Fragment

So where were you when
Our words collided?
Two immovable, stubborn
Beings, vying for that
Crown?
Where were you then?

Untitled

And as the night goes on
The darkness hovering
in shadows,
But,
We are the shadow
Master, pulling the
Strands of light so
The dancing darkness
Moves for us.

Nothing

This weekend provided much creative opportunity, which I took full advantage of. I'll post all of the new material

"Nothing"

There is nothing.
There is no thing.
There is no more.
No more worry.
No more deadlines.
No more nagging vibrate.
In our no more pockets.
In lieu of other pockets.
Worlds trapped in space and time.
In the pockets of something,
There is nothing.

Update or Reflection

I wonder if I can write sometimes? Really, truly write. It seems, at times, there is a impenetrable field to the writing elite. Does it require the fine tuning of academia? Most certainly not, though that proves to be a quicker path to such endeavors. It has definitely been awhile. Eighty-Four posts in 2010, as I began WnW in October, but then only 10 posts in January and this is the first in February? It disappoints me, and I'm sure it disappoints you. I'm working on it. My new approach is to soak up some approaches, tactics, etc. from the greats--canonical or not. I have a list of about 250-300 books I want to read, so maybe I'll buy a Kindle and start cranking away. There is also the evergrowing pile next to my bed. Next up: "On the Road", followed by "Kafka on the Shore." It's a start, but pales in comparison to the greatness of the authors that shall consume several long summer evenings in the arboretum.

I am not sure. There is a lot going on right now with graduation, finishing strong, my job search and several more mundane tasks. Not that I'm making excuses, I'm rather just stating that I feel somewhat in a slump. It isn't as severe as writer's block, but nevertheless I'm frustrated by it. I think that part of it relates to the lifestyle I'm currently living. It has been fairly uneventful other than the obligations I have. I think that a part of being in author is the constant quest for drama or adventure. I'm always so eager to write, and it comes so easily following a fight, a breakup or some sort of event out of the ordinary. I hope I'm not destined to be a great writer in lieu of a content and happy life. Not that man should ever be content. To be so would relegate myself to settling, which I cannot foresee happening. 

I'm hoping that by rambling and changing things up from the usual poetry, maybe by sharing more of a reflective response, I can break the trend I've been encountering with a lack of will and desire to post. I don't assume that it will be successful, but anything is worth a shot really. For each word assembled into a sentence I discover new ways to tell the world. Speak my mind as to what needs addressing. It'd be vain to assume my problems matter to anybody else, but hey, you're here to read my works anyhow, so I guess I can't be too far off. I'm in the process of getting a novel blueprinted. I need a whiteboard to map my story arcs. Only a few more months of school left, then the golden doors to authorship shall open for me as I unleash something original to the world straight from my mind. Be on the lookout. Once I set my mind to something, you better believe I'll do everything in my power to make it happen. If I fail, at least I gave it my all. Yeah right, I won't fail.

Trey

Seeing the Dark Side of the Moon

Tonight I saw the new moon's dark eye,
As it tried to hide in the starless sky,
A shade off the rest, but just so close,
The sad moon and I, the loner and ghost.

And the good years quickly come to an end,
As I walk the streets without just a friend.
I'm a part of neither the sun or the moon,
But rather the shadow cast at high noon.

So I make a friend out of the sky above,
Consistently there so that I may love.
And while it changes, and comes and goes,
I'll find it above in my highs and my lows.