Walls

I have to say I’m sorry, because I’m not sure what else to say. I never dreamed I’d become this oddly twisted mess, a maze of walls so tall, you could never find your way in. The worst of it, the real trick of it that you can’t see and I don’t really talk about, is that I built these walls so tall that now I may never find my way out.

Till The Water Runs Dry

Two young convicts sitting on the railroad tracks
they say, this train ain’t going nowhere, and there’s no going back
all my life’s been fightin, all my love’s been rage
never had a girl of my own or a friend my age
I’m so sick and tired of being tired and sick
paying off my preacher & giving my soul to the rich
I never hurt nobody, but here I sit
they took a good year of my life for a couple lousy hits
I ain’t got nobody but myself to blame
this ain’t no race, and it sure ain’t no game

Chorus:
I wanted to tell you, the one thing I learned
when you’re playing with fire, you’re bound to get burned
as for me, I’ll keep running, till I learn how to fly
yeah I’ll keep swimming, till the water runs dry

A lonely Juliet sitting by herself on the fence
her hair blows wild, and her eyes look tense
she says, “this deck I’ve been played, ain’t got no kings
and the Jokers here all say hateful things
If I had half a mind, I’d just hold my chips
tell that damn dealer I don’t need no more hits
cause I’ve gambled some of my best years away
and I ain’t go no one, but my self to blame

(Chorus)

The quiet pachyderm patiently waits his turn
as the last of several meetings, finally adjourn
he thinks, I ain’t done nothing, but try my best
but I’m still workin in this circus at the same old desk
I guess I must’ve got confused by all these one way streets
and I’ve surely come too far now to try and retreat
now the high wire’s on fire and all the clowns left town
but there’s money in the meter, and faith all around
I ran a damn fine race, but played another mans game
but I ain’t got no one but my self to blame

(Chorus)

What You Learned Here

I’ve always wondered if maybe I fell in love too young; worried that I might have stumbled onto too much to early. If I was really honest I’d admit that I still have trouble finding what I found with her since we said goodbye. I think I always knew we’d lose each other in the whirlwind of the real world, but I don’t think either of us really ever felt like letting go; until we had to. When I was younger I used to worry that we can only fall in love once, and that I’d never feel that way again. I wrote this because I used to worry she felt the same way, and if I could have found the right words, this is what I would’ve said when she found him. Hot off the presses, and already in most of the band’s ears, tell me what you think….

Remember the morning you woke up
tried so hard to crash face up, and tow the line
remember the time we nearly broke up
thank God someone finally spoke up, to read the signs
Remember when it was ours to explore
two and a half feet from the floor,
but we don’t dream like that anymore

It’s like writing eulogies
for your friends and apologies
won’t help you now, won’t you please sit down
if this is the end of innocence
and from here life is all business
then just turn this car around
because we’ve come much to far
through the silence and the dark, to not dance to the sound

Chorus:
someday we’ll drown in these faces
and never come up for air
we’ll get lost in these races
that never seem fair
too old to change places
still young enough to care
baby try to forget, what you learned here

funny the way it feels
like living your whole life on your heels
then slowly balancing out
it seems like the best moments you steal
but if it all rolls like a wheel
baby our chance is coming round
but if we happen to change direction
let the death defy description
but still sing the same songs aloud

(Chorus)

what would you change
what choice would you arrange
if the tables were yours to turn?
would you twist the fists of fate
play God for just a day, and laugh while the building burns
because there’s no time like the present
to get lost and later regret it, without really being concerned
though I know you’ll never forgive, the beautiful thing we wrecked
I hope you’ll forget what you learned

(Chorus)

My Fear of Heights

As the last bit of dust finally settled I watched headlights travel the nearly naked streets of a tired city. There was a numbness, the kind that can only come when all facets of self are at such a desperate impasse, and it was spreading its way across my worried mind. Haunted by too many apologies, driven into a corner by too much compromise, I’d been traveling too many tired roads these days myself.

The feeling came upon me by mistake, a momentary misstep in conclusions and I quickly found myself wading through a lifetime of refusals and retries. I felt alien in my own skin; lost somewhere between the face in the mirror and the voice within, I struggled to find where I fit in. My mind retraced my past efforts to redefine my name and the time I spent chasing the dreams that I’d never hear from again. Experience had taught me that those moments were what made me unique, like the tangled branches of some aging tree; yet I still felt left behind, waiting for the right chance or the right time.

There were too many terrific stories to tell to claim that it was wasted time; but truthfully we were wasted, most of the time. We developed an addiction to the moment, to movement, to constant motion, desired nothing less than the sincerest of emotions; but when we found ourselves, adrift in this huge ocean, someone passed along this notion that we might be lost. We started wondering if we should’ve crissed instead of crossed, maybe paid more attention to direction instead of just meandering off.

Then I saw them, dancing next to the water, as if nothing really mattered. The nearly naked children of summer out laughing at the way I lived my life. Chuckling at the demons I chased as if they had long ago banished theirs without a fight. In the last few minutes of daylight that remained they only chased each other. Dressed in whatever was left after a relentless summer day, they were the explorers of simpler things. I found myself daydreaming about what it might be like to sit waiting with them for the rain to come; sharing storm stories as if survival was something I was doing for fun.

Tonight we’re just trees blowing in the wind, building and breaking ourselves limb by limb, reaching towards some heavenly fate with our arms stretched thin. Every day waking up, silently wondering if we’ve gotten any closer, simultaneously worried about the prospect of getting older, and restlessly bearing the worst of the weight on our burdened shoulders, we keep climbing higher. Atop my roof, later that night, I considered myself for a while and the concerns inherent in such great heights.

This is where I chose to make my stand. This is how I chose to fight. Whether I win or lose, it’s the battles I choose, that make this thing I’m doing into a life. I’ve poured everything I’ve got into becoming something that I’m not because I haven’t forgot where I came from. I still see the stains of my parent’s blood and sweat on anything given to me, because without their success and without their regret, I simply would have never been me.

I’m envious, sometimes, of those whose days move like candle wax, melting into each other as they anonymously pass, but I believe that I was born with a task. Nothing divine, though I’ve questioned various Gods from time to time; more simply an urgency to see to it that my name isn’t wasted, that no chance goes without chase and no truth is left until it’s faced.

When you climb for such heights, to someday stand amongst your grandest dreams and not have to fight, you’re bound to fall far more than seems right, far further than what seems fair. But just to walk in the shadow of our dreams, to me it seems, even if it’s just a journey and I never really get there, hell, at least I was headed somewhere.

I’m Sick of Feeling Alone

I’m sick of feeling alone
sick of feeling lost, all the way home
tired of this slow dance romance with chance
trying to rewrite the fate written into my hands
it’s this loneliness in a crowded space
it’s the trouble I have, with the shape of my face
the things I’ve ruined and can’t replace
the stories that I’ve written and can’t erase
the last trace of grace making chase in this race to keep pace
but it’s time we faced it, all these tickets are two-way
and there’s no way they say to change what we didn’t choose
to claim what we haven’t used
to stand as any more than just accused
but it was the offer that we couldn’t refuse
the last life line left for the drowning man
two steps onto shore and we’re already on quick sand
and big surprise there’s no disguise for the words behind tired eyes
the real lies I realize were just replies to these gray skies and last tries
and all at once I find myself considering the line between them and I
questions about answers and about our relative size
questions about why we’re here, and why we die
about running all my life to the rhythm of these working man’s blues
and working all my life for things I only stand to lose
Just pulling ghost trains with these regret chains
like Marley I rattle down these empty halls and try to explain
calling out to forgotten friends and pointing fingers
polishing my tarnished halo with the love of strangers
I’ll don death’s clothes, and then ask for favors
But it’s just in our nature it seems, to keep feeding this creature
to keep starring in this one-man feature
where the hero never wins, and that’s the real lesson
that no matter how hard you try, it’s only you
and when you die, you’ll do that alone too
but two tingling toes over the ledge I’m reminded that we’re all survivors of something
all writers of epoch tales about nothing
beating our oars to be better than those that came before us
walking some razors edge between forgiveness and ignorance
of the shameful truth about difference
the excuse we found in fingerprints
the way we let shade determine the people with whom our children play
and how we still always manage to sneak God into that killing game
is inexcusable, because the facts are irrefutable
we’re in this together, no matter how you address your prayers
neither life nor love are forever, and not everyone gets their share
but to escape the fate of our fathers, and the lines on our hands
we’re faced with strange houses, and finish lines drawn in sand
but onward we press, never looking right, never looking left
hardly stopping even to enjoy the power and beauty of our own success
but we’re all survivors, all prize fighters in our own right
putting hope on credit, and our hearts on loan
to quick to forget that we’re never really alone
I came tonight to attempt to atone to the people I let slip
and to the ones that I’ve never known
I can only hope to recall this hopelessness
when faced with that fine day when it all makes sense
and may we all find our way around this foolish belief in fingerprints
and that ignorant fear of the unknown
because I’m sick of feeling alone

Used

I wrote another post on the same visual once upon a time. It’s called “Dumbstruck” if you get so inclined to chase it down. I felt like it had really hit the head on a message I had been trying to flesh out for a while, but after writing it I always had this nagging feeling when I read it back through that there was much more I was really gunning for. Chatting with a friend the other night during Indy’s latest East-side flash flood, she reminded me of what I was really trying to say.

Which is where “Used” comes in. It’s probably the most complex story I’ve ever tried to tell. I’ve whittled it down as much as I thought I could and it’s still a bit massive even for me. I still think every line is key, though, and I’m proud of it. Let me know what you think,

I was dumbstruck in the moment
I couldn’t think of a thing to say
when she went jumping across puddles
none too far out of the way
skipping across wet bricks she sang and smiled
I turned the collar on my coat
and held my breath for a while
when she turned to look at me
like she was close to breaking free
the wind caught the words but I could see the morning by morning tragedy
that colored her dreams in blue and green, that made her want but never need
and cut her deep but didn’t let her bleed
like she was made of stone, cast concrete
you’d never know by the way she danced
a slow motion top, loosed from my hands
and the blue in her eyes made the sky look black
I thought how clever it was of God to hide oceans like that
the perfect pale contrast to a rainy afternoon
she liked the feel of my sweatshirt and the wear in my shoes
how could I tell her that she must be confused
that it was all much better, before it all got used

under the careful curve of a wordless smile
one custom fit to match this year’s style
I wanted to wonder why, but had no time
I had wasted it on pondering real life,
and what that had to do with mine
and I came to the conclusion that my most dangerous illusion was time
and that if I wanted to escape with my life
I was better off to just resign
but out on the bricks she danced without beat or time
moving only to the rhythm she heard in her mind
she’d pick her feet up gently twisting her spine
like no one was watching, like traffic wouldn’t mind
sure that in her body breathed something undeniably divine
she did waltzes across the pavement, danced the tango on the center line
she looked like she’d never cried, like she’d never been refused
she reminded me of how elegant our bodies were, before they all got used

and back on the grass, she keeps constant grace
walking towards me at this gunslingers pace
and I’m sure she sees it on my face
sure she sees the struggle I’ve put myself through to juggle
the weight of these fears that serve only as quarantine
for the potential of these thing that rattle around inside of me
stepping softly towards me, she’s the juggler of nothing
leaning in closely, she quietly whispered something
and smiled seeming a bit amused
she said “you know these moments mean nothing
until they all get used like the partially familiar story
of the power of our youth; life’s pretty boring
until you get bruised, and even the most insightful ideas mean nothing
until they get used.”

I realized
There’s no good reason not to dance
no good reason not to laugh at the expanse of it all
that we have a chance at it all, to go out on limbs and fall
to chase dreams that stall and never go anywhere
to waste our time on singing songs and thoughtless prayer
how we’ll pay the light bill, and what jeans to wear
because in the grand scheme they mean just about the same
we’re a limited time offer, this chance never comes again
so if we don’t take the time to dance in the rain
to kiss the faces of fates that we may never name, should we be shuffled off early
we’d have no real proof to explain if we ever stood accused
of returning our hearts, our souls, our bodies, in any other condition but properly
well used

Falling Through

I never pay enough attention
and I’ll probably forget to mention
you’ll be okay
but I never got beyond this
reasonless, self-defense
but what if we both decided
to open all the doors wide and
run straight through
would we find our way then
falling too, I fell right through

what if you misjudged me
put no one else above me (told all your friend you loved me)
and I never came through
what if you mistook me
for someone who was easy
to fall into
you’ll fall right through

I never got along with gravity
like all the trouble stuck to me
it just holds me down
she never thought that much of me
she lived her life on trampolines
barely ever touching down
but I don’t think I mind this
flightless time two less victims
one more crime
I think I’d rather stay grounded
stick with the trouble I found and
ease my mind

(Chorus)

A Tale of Two Survivors

Her tears were cold on my bed by the time I arrived back home. Every part of my body screamed for the certain relief it offered my exhausted muscles, but for a second I could only stand there; staring at the stains on my pillowcase. I wanted to cry but my body was too tired. Wait for morning it said, that’s why they call it that. I couldn’t really bear the thought of that though, let alone the possibility of overdue sobs. I was only beginning to kill the unrelenting loop in the back of my head urging me out of my one month success in quitting cigarettes. In the remaining parts of my brain not fried by hospital fluorescents and bad news I saw her laying there on my bed in a cocoon of sheets; quietly sobbing. Long after the ride to the hospital and the ‘where were you’ stories are all forgotten, I’ll still see her laying in that cocoon crying without making a sound.
There was a detachment in her eyes, but I felt it all around me too. The world felt somehow like a giant dream and she and I were the only ones onto it; and in that, she found beauty beyond that which I’ve ever seen. Her naturally curly hair, loosely pony-tailed, with ringlets falling out perfectly, she wore no make-up and sweatpants, a combination I would, under any other circumstances, find perfectly irresistible. Today, though, we battled the guilt of being alive. Only love can really succeed in that fight, and I guess somehow we knew we weren’t holding those kinds of weapons just yet.
When her hand found mine from time to time, as we sorted through and boxed up a life, it was cold but held tight. She was wearing a t-shirt she had bought at the mall lifetimes ago. I wanted to tell her we could do this later; I wanted to drag her out and make a scene, tell her I love her, and that every thing’s going to be alright, but I couldn’t lie. Especially to someone who’s gotten bombarded by nothing but truths, she’d see right through it.
She showered like she had lived in my home for years, and left after barely touching a cup of coffee. We didn’t talk much, only a few notes on the weather. When she was preparing to leave something seemed to occur to her, and she stopped halfway through a step. I held my breath for no good reason, but she didn’t say a word. I can’t say why, but it looked like she had been about to apologize, though I really can’t be sure for what either. Something in her eyes, maybe it was in the clearly complete effort given for only a half smile, it said ‘neither of us will ever forget this, and I could never apologize enough for that.’
It’s the things we can’t seem to remember to forget that drag us down most it seems, but trying to pick up the pieces of a life lost taught me a valuable lesson or two about living life, and the value of forgetting. We’re so much more than the things we see from day to day, the things we touch and the things we create, the things we do and those we connect with, it’s a shame that they’re only ever summed up in death. Some days, though, when I see pictures of those guys, the pictures that I’ve managed to hold onto, I still feel guilty. If it had been me not them, would the world be better? Who am I to waste a boring April afternoon when it’s something so many would have given everything just to see?
I pass her now and again and she always smiles at me like she knows something about me that I don’t. It’s not an angry smile, or a smile of ill intention, but rather seems like she’s remembering some comforting truth. I still can’t begin to fathom what that truth might be, but I’m hopeful that one day I’ll find the courage to ask her to show me. Until then, I pass that empty house, and wonder whose stories are going to paint its walls next. We’re all tales of survival, every last one of us; it’s what we manage to make with the time we’ve snuck past that seems to make us into these beautiful, indispensable, irreprehensible, unwittingly magical moments in the making.

To those that take the time

I smoked cigarettes to keep my mouth occupied, to keep my tongue trapped behind teeth, in order to keep my comfortable distance; because teeth weren’t the only walls my words were struggling to climb these days.If I told her so she’d just say she understood, smile, then walk away. So I just keep my silence, lay on the couch and pretend like I like this. Later that night, listening to her sing along to the songs that I plangently plucked out, I was suddenly thankful for what few fans I had.

I dream sometimes of my words reaching across oceans and cultures, of touching someone with a phrase without them ever having known how it sounded coming from my mouth, of writing down the words on everyones tongue. It’s bounced from being a hobby to an obsession, to a way to get famous to a potential profession, and just about everywhere in between, but it’s the single thing that’s been with me the longest.

It occured to me, watching her mouth move in time with mine, that I seldom recognize what little success I’ve had at changing the world. I may never move mountains myself, but I could be happy with simply moving someone to the see the other side of a few, maybe even seeing that they’re not the only one pushing against that particular topographical structure.

Some days I feel like chasing meaning, somedays I just chase her shadow, and on my better days I’m moved to alter landscapes, but what I discovered that night was a reverence for this not-so professional, mildly obsessional, infamous, hobby of mine. Completely, or at least nearly, void of egocentricism I’m more in awe of the power of our words rather than the power of mine in particular.

It took me years to realize how much it meant to me, and by then she and I had long since stopped talking. I wonder to myself sometimes when I’m pecking away at this thing if she ever skims through, but I never let myself think about it too much. I thought about that moment in light of all the recent guest star appearances she’s been having in my sleeping brain, and it made me want to say a heartfelt thank you to all those people who have ever taken the time to read something I write.

She may have long forgotten I even exist and I’ve found a measure of peace with that. Watching the newest addition to my list of improbables whisper along with a song I wrote, I was reminded how I came to find peace of mind in these strange things. The ghosts I chase in the words she sings are things she’ll probably never know about me, and the only one who would will probably never see the beauty of the things those scars inspired me to write. I came to say thanks to those that have taken the time, those that took the time, those that allowed me to climb upon their shoulders for a while to take a look around, and attempt to describe the sound.

What I found when the clouds touched down

In the mist of morning I walked alone watching the pavement move beneath my restless feet. Headed nowhere in particular, I was more simply in love with the idea of walking amongst an earthly cloud. When I was a child I believed fog was a cloud that had grown too weary for flight and had come down to rest on the earth for a while. Angels stood on street corners, and trod down the same sidewalks as me; just shadowy silhouettes devoid of any certain feature on their way through the temporarily terrestrial heavens. I thought of the angels in my life, and wondered if they still remembered my name.

My life was suddenly heavy in my pockets, and my dreams of flight came rushing through my still tired mind, pushing my feet up a beat. A palpitation of soul, a twittering of self-esteem, came swimming through my veins, warming my body and increasing the angle of my chin as well. Amongst the gray I saw the beauty easily now with my biased eyes. Traffic lights were glowing orbs of red, green, and the occasional cautionary yellow. The streetlights looked more like runway lights, guiding the few slow moving pairs down the road.

I made my own way down the sidewalk, wishing like hell I had somewhere to go, something worth discovering, even something worth searching for. It wasn’t that I felt I had seen it all, quite the opposite, I felt that having seen what I had, I had already seen enough that the rest really wasn’t worth seeing at all. These things plagued my days, and darkened my nights, but after years of exhaustive searching little had been found to abate it.

Walking amongst the angels, I caught my reflection in the glass windows of a still-dark store. Surrounded by the fog, and dressed in my least presentable I was nearly a stranger. I waved a hand to make absolutely certain it was really me, and was quickly affirmed. My body looked small and fragile, ten years too old, and my eyes looked cold. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them I saw myself staring back wearing a different face. Next to me stood another stranger, one made by time and disconnection.

She wasn’t as beautiful as I let myself dream sometimes, but she still caught my breath. We’re all angels when the clouds come down, though. She smiled slightly and seemed to be looking at the pair of us rather than one or the other as if she were sizing the situation up. I wanted to do the same, but I was taken by her presence here on my purposeless walk. I let myself hold her smile in my eyes for a moment without turning my glance away.

A stranger now, and a stranger now saw his dreams live and die in that strangers smile. She and I had spent years taking turns believing in one another, but in the end we found that she had liked to say I love you, and I had liked to believe her. What had started as an honest toss of the dice, turned into something neither of us could control and she found her way out before I found the strength to let a ‘dream come true’ die. Smiling at our reflection, she reminds me of the things I don’t have, because it’s my smile that doesn’t belong here.

She utters two words in silence, barely legible in the reflection of the store window, ‘I’m gone.’ Relieved of her illusion, I say aloud “you were never really there, anyway,” surprised by its permanence, and the way it makes me want to chuckle a little. I crush a bottle shard beneath my feet and when I look around the angels have disappeared and in their places are tired and busy people, unique somehow only in shape. The sun has come up and the heavens are back in their place, well out of reach.

On the walk home I remark to myself how much longer the way home seems than the disappearing itself. Cars are rumbling by, buses brakes are squealing, the once elegant runway seems lowly and dirty, and the streetlights are winking out one by one; what magic I had found soaked apathetically into the grass and pavement. I told myself I put her to bed, but when I found mine, far too many hours later, she made a guest starring appearance in a rambling dream about street gangs armed with flying carpets somewhere in southern Louisiana.

She wasn’t the girl in the store reflection this time, and somehow that made the dream seem okay. Because I knew she was smiling in that reflection for the same reason that I couldn’t, she moved on. In truth, I still probably have an occasional cameo in her subconscious adventures from time to time, but that’s only a testament to what we allowed ourselves to do. What I’ve been unable to allow myself to do since then and what she’s only recently been completely able to do, and that’s to let go. Not of me, and not of her, but of this wall we build for ourselves, these booby trapped mazes we construct to keep people out of the places of ourselves we’re still not certain about. When, in truth, the breath of fresh air is probably the best thing for us.

Whether it was she and I tangled up together, or the various others we’ve found to get lost in, there’s dark places of every one of us we’re not open to discuss. There’s a million different reasons for them, and an equal amount of reasons to protect them, but just one good reason not to. We’re all angels out there, stumbling through the fog, it’s easier not to get close because then you’re not just anyone anymore, you’re someone; but if I was honest, I don’t really want to be just anyone. I can’t stand the idea of my days depending simply on my wage, or career, I need to believe there’s a way to climb inside and find some light to the darkness in not just someone else’s heart, but mine. I have to believe there’s still time.