I go out walking, after midnight, in the moonlight,

which, though it sounds attractive, is not the most sensible thing to do when little girls are asleep in their beds. No need to make the call to social services. I didn't. Not really. Just felt like walking after midnight. Cool air, eucalyptus trees, the glowing smile shed by the full moon, sparse traffic, and a hill. Wait... there's no fucking hills in Cerritos. I wish we had a hill... When I was in college. When I knew my VO2 Max. I rode a bike. And I ran up hills. And I worked out. And enjoyed sweating. Before the jobs, the parties, the drugs, the felonies, I was going to own the world someday. I just knew it. Problem: I forgot to apply the discipline it takes to own the world. Since I'm speculating however, if owning the world were to include all the people living on it, I think I pass. Too many to terminate. Say it Jack: I digress. The point intending to be made originally, represented by "Walking After Midnight," was an attempt to break from the ordinary. Wow, exciting. **please note** I'm certain to be slowing down if a walk after midnight constitutes a "crazy" break from the ordinary. Nonetheless, the day and the next day and the next seem to appear differently. Not ordinary. Not extraordinary. Simply different. Recalling running up a hill, noticing patterns in the sound waves whispering from a rotating fan, remembering a familiar face, and smiling. Think I'll hit play and see what pops up.

It's never enough

There are stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and nobody knows; and we generally say, "Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn't believe it."

Yes, yes... I must be getting quite used to not making sense. Nonsense... I sit down approximately once a week to reach in and extract jumbled contents in motion. Frenzied and swirling about. Introspection, insecurity. Boring.

I define "what is meant to be" as that which comes easy, arriving from the miraculous nature of the deepest human emotion. Reasoning is pointless. I've considered the best path. The path that "should be." A human idea. My plan. Only to be turned upside down by what was meant to be. And I've battled against it. And won. And witnessed my fate, at my own hands suffer awkward conclusions. Never risking life or death, only awkward conclusions, consequences of what should have been rather than what was meant to be. I'm torn but unbroken. The last stop will brush past miles of uncharted landscape before its arrival.

The days fill. Like Professional task efficiency. I won't complain, but I'll wonder.

Told You He Wasn't Gay

Quiche in Three Minutes

Biding Time for what? A tremendous letdown perhaps.

The light is unseen through the mist, clouds, grey-black, like indecision. I know it's there. Attempting to administer the code of writings before mine. I am overt. Lacking subtlety. The change seemed so light, like clouds. And was only mine. No effort to entertain, or explain. Apologies to readers. My skin hurts.

Reconnect to the Source

He stands there speaking circularly. So much to say... and I'm so confused. But he's funny. And clever. And why is it that complete baldness immediately produces credibility? I may shave the top of my head.

Pensive again. The record skips. Over and over again. Like a parrot that only knows one phrase. "I'm lonely, I'm happy, I've got it together and I'm falling apart." My heart gushes over and spills on the floor. She's unable to catch it. It drops and slowly evaporates in the air to rain tears down from the sky weeks later. Understanding the present is limited to the present.

"The past is over for all of us. The future is promised to none of us. All we get is this one. That’s all we get. "

Twice Shy

Yes, Here I... Am. He said that once; playing a serial killer on film. His background, only found in the book, just shy of excusing him from practicing the art of serial killing. Key strokes synchronizing the beat provided by Bicycles and Tricycles. Thump, click. Thump thump... click. The latter better than prior. The pieces truly begin to snap together. I won't fight it. This young man is truly good. (The use of the word "good" in the previous sentence is as spanning as any) And I sense compassion, thoughtfulness, truth. He is "good." **Refer to the parenthetical. And she, the one I kissed, she is fantastic. My smile comes from inside myself. Warm. Wonderful. The insanity sheds its definition. And it's embraced. In the right place. At the right time. Each step can be better than the last. (Not without struggle, mind you) But somehow better.

Whispering Inside

Magnolia. It's one of my favorites... God I wish he would have found that gun. (I know later it fell from the sky) Am I a masochist? The answer is no. Something about it inspires release. Freedom.

I'm not certain anything else on film builds, small brick by very small brick, each moment slightly more intense than the last. Is it the movie, or am I alone and pensive? Cleaning up the bedroom furniture Mom left to me. Don't get me wrong. I may be confusing at the moment. But not confused. Sitting spot in the middle, embracing the moment. The confusion. The growth. It's 1:10 AM... And it's not going to stop 'till you wise up. But don't give up.

It's about to rain frogs.

2 + 2 = 5

I'm not brilliant... In case of course, anyone reading these words would consider anything else. I come in contact with individuals however, that tend to convince me I may be a genius. So I'm sitting in my car, windows up, on my cell phone. Mind you, the reliance on this object in my hand is well beyond what it should be. I'm looking forward to the day when I can connect with friends, family, and loved ones through a microchip in my brain and a microphone implanted into one of my molars. I digress. As I'm talking to a customer, not only do I see a figure in my periphery standing roughly 2 feet from my car, staring at me, but then I also have the pleasure of hearing, "KNOCK-KNOCK, Excuse me, SIR... HAAY, Sir!!!" I finish the phone call, open my door and almost hit the figure standing on the other side: a young, pants-hangin' halfway off his ass, wife-beater tee wearin', LA Dodger hat off to one side, short, little dumb-ass. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says. "Oh, you didn't," I say. "So what could you possible need?" Says me. "Um, *pause* could you tell me where the Shoe Warehouse is?" Okay, now stop. This is true. I stood, silent, and looked into his brainless little eyes. "You were pounding on my window to ask me that?" He, of course, said yes. I proceeded to make the points that should be made, ie: he's fucking rude, you don't EVER pound on someone's window, etc. He turns around, slowly moves towards his car and says, "Crazy Ass Motherfucker..."

I laughed so hard I peed; that's right, *just a little*

I walked into the store to purchase a refreshing beverage only to hear him yell one more, "FAG!!!" in my direction.

28 Days Later

Just sounds right... The "28 days" thing. The madness in question began on January 9th. So it's been more like 56, but whose counting. Wish I could cut and paste what's goin' on in my head right now. (Scratch that; my head is a strange little world) Swimming through thoughts without the ability to grasp any to put into words.

I've been a bad blogger. Posting, reading other's posts, commenting... Things that were very important to me when less was on the plate. I haven't been to anyone else's blog in weeks. It feels selfish. Just haven't been able to. I'm taking up sleep time now. Working until the early morning because of it. For those of you that check in: Thank you. Keep on keepin' on.

Oooo look, a thought swimming by, GOT IT! Hmmmm, and I thought I would keep this secret a bit longer; oh well... I have a special friend. No, not an imaginary one, but I have those too. Nope, real flesh and blood. Been friends with her for over a year now. Innocent friends. Something changed somewhere along the lines though. A shift in the planets, the Earth, whatever. I can't say anything like this has ever happened to me before. I'm not even saying what it is that happened. I can't put my finger on it. What I can say is this: I kissed her and my head spun like a scene in a John Hughes movie. There. I said it.

Life is crazy, unexplainable, unmanageable at times. The emptiness my Mom used to fill is forever present. I'm working my ass off. I'm a terrific father. I'm better friends with my wife than I've ever been. And I have a fantastic, very special friend.

I think I may be doin' all right.

Ass Backwards

I quit smoking again. It literally hasn't even been a day yet. But this is the time that's the worst for me. My brain turns into knots, vision becomes half a click off, and it takes me about 2 and a half minutes into a conversation before I realize I've been speaking incessantly for 120 seconds about what, I do not know. Now, and the next day or so, I go for the crazy nicotine detox ride. Weeeeeeee! I'll ride it. I'll ride backwards, forwards, upside down and inside out. Bring it on.

Peeking through the crack in the door

The first "good" day concludes here. Creative juices flowing - not so much. But I got off the phone and had to be "just sayin" about some Goddamn thing. Have you ever spoken to someone so long on the phone your ear actually hurts? A mini indentation of the mini speaker cast upon your lobe.

So I took back a very slick looking piece of shit DVD player today. The music quiz taken some time ago still lingering in my brain as I walked the aisle at Best Buy. "Song that sounds like happy feels - 'Gangsta Trippin' by Fatboy Slim..." It hung out there, looked me in the face and asked me to purchase it. Always intended to buy it but never remembered. Purchase, done. CD, opened and popped into the car stereo in the parking lot. The tune kicked in and I smiled, big. And laughed. Then cried. That motherfucking song sounds like happy feels.