Nothing was more exciting as a child then the 3rd grade class project to find a pin pal thru by the means of a balloon. We would write a letter with ill conceived grammer….much like my current writing style; introducing ourselves and asking a series of questions. I had images of my balloon being swept to a far off country and winding up in the hands of a kid around my age. They would go chasing the balloon as it was swept just above their heads, jumping over and over until their grasp finally reached the string. Then pulling the balloon down, would find the letter and with great excitement respond about what life is like in England, Mexico or some other country which at that time seemed to be of another planet.
After writing our letter and tying the string thru the whole punched index card, we would line up and march out onto the playground. I was sure my letter was going to go farther and reach someone much more interesting then anyone else in the class. The teacher would have us hold the balloons over our heads and wait until in unison we could release for the start of a new adventure in our lives. All at once we would let go of our strings, watching as it slipped from our grasp and rose into the air. My neck craned backwards to keep sight of my balloon as it lifted and danced into the wind. Quite a few balloons got wisped into the chain link fenced or trees that lined the field, adventures of those poor unfortunate bastards ended with a loud pop, letters to be picked up that afternoon and discarded by the janitor.
My balloon was different though; I saw it continue to rise, clear the trees and head out of sight. Just as quickly as the balloon disappeared, the excitement of finding a far off pen pall went with it over the horizon, as I became more excited to be the first in line for a quickly forming four square game. Yet, when a week or two went by and someone would get a letter from a few cities away, my curiosity would grow as to the final destination of my balloon. Yet, a return letter never came, and my thoughts grew further and further away from that dancing red balloon.
It seems as we get older this same routine follows our lives with our dreams and expectations of the future. We build up an idea of where and how we want our lives to be down the path. It appears grand in scale and perfect, yet since it’s the future we don’t have exact control over it; therefore we let it go and let the wind take it. Some of these dreams fly high and continue a clear path, reaching their destination. Other dreams don’t make it for a second before exploding in the clear sight of the dreamer. Yet most dreamers get distracted with other things and slowly forget all about where they thought there lives would lead, except for the occasional reminder.
Later I found out that they stopped this program of letting balloons loose due to them flying out into the Ocean and being lost. All these kids with their hopes and dreams of what could be, not knowing the whole time it was lost and would never happen. For me though, I’m still happy letting that balloon go as I watch it drift to the sky; even though I know it will head West and wind up lost in a the vast, blue Ocean.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Three Headed Monsters and Dung Beetles
Ryan felt the warmth of the fire radiating of his palms as he edged them to taste the licking of the flames. He stared past the fire, watching white streaks appear through the darkness as the waves broke in repetition off the point. They had driven for hours on a dirt road, checking surf spots as they appeared along the route. Finally they found what they were looking for. A point ran out into the water, the high cliff jutting over the oceans surface. It stretched in a j shape as the cliff gave way to crumbled rocks, then soft sand. The wave ran along the point, breaking smoothly over a rock reef. Each one mirroring the last; consistently challenging each other to become a better wave.
They had surfed until the sun faded into the ocean, leaving a brilliant orange haze that sunk slowly to the West. Each wave as though created by man, an amusement park for surfers. When Ryan could barely see the rollers coming in, he caught his last wave and set up camp.
The camp was simple, there green dome two man tent quickly stationed as a makeshift home. He found some rocks about the size of softballs and made a ring for the fire. He kept the hatch on his SUV opened and hung a Coleman lantern to help him spot scorpions making their way towards the warmth of the fire.
They heated a can of beans in the fire and smothered tortillas with cheese and salsa they picked up in a little market back in town. They only had goat cheese, which is the standard down in these parts, making for a bitter burrito. After they finished eating and throwing their paper plates in the fire, they rolled up a couple joints from their newly scored pot, sat back in their folding chairs, and smoked away.
Ryan had finished his joint and was enjoying the high; switching his gaze from searching for a breaking wave and watching the fire taunt him with brilliant flashes of orange, yellow and blue. He came out of his transfixed stare when an ember exploded in the fire, making a sharp cracking noise and sending sparks harrowingly close to his face.
“Holy shit,” he remarked and Jeff started laughing hysterically at the scene of his friend almost falling backward. After Ryan’s initial panic quickly dissipated he began to laugh as well. The boys shared a good laugh, tears rolling down their faces, after a while not even really remembering why they were even laughing.
After a while they settled back, Ryan switching glares from the water to the fire, yet this time keeping his face further away. Finally his gaze went upward and he started wondering how far away the stars were, each one having an illuminating light that traveled endlessly until it had reached his stare.
“Do you think there are aliens out there, man?” Ryan asked.
“For sure, think about it. Space is infinite, right? So, that means you can keep traveling, in any direction, forever. Can you possibly tell me that in this idea of forever, you wouldn’t run into a planet, similar to ours with some sort of species on it? Whether it be a three headed, yellow eyed, split tongue monster that knew how to solve math equations even our computers can’t solve or a bug more stupid then a dung beetle, roaming mindlessly; there has to be something, somewhere.”
“Well, what if that’s not the case,” Ryan debated. “What if it ends, a simple wall that we can see? Don’t you believe this was created by some higher being; like God?”
“No way man, that’s just a myth to keep people in line. If they never created this idea of God, there would be no fear of death. If there was no fear of death, there would be no need to worry of repercussions. In the present it’s tougher. If you break the law, then you go to jail; but back when the law couldn’t control the masses, they needed to create something grander then law. What’s grander then the idea that if you break these moral codes, you burn in a fire bound hell for eternity. With the ability to monitor the masses they have today, keep check on abiding laws and deterring behavior with fear of getting raped in the ass by some big honky inmate in jail; there is not so much a need to worry about a God. Instead you need to worry if big brother is watching you."
“What about when you die, then?” Ryan continued his argument, although not really knowing what he, himself, believed. “What happens to us then?”
Jeff stared silently into the fire, eyes transfixed as if picturing the very moment he took his last breath. “It’s simply over.” He replied. “You ever go to bed, lie down after a long day and quickly fall asleep; then before you know it, you’re awake again. You don’t dream, there was nothing in between the time you went to sleep and the time your mind returned to the present world. You simply were gone. You ever have those nights?”
“Yeah, I mean, I dream most of the time; but once in awhile I don’t have any dreams at all.”
“That length of time, when there is just nothing there; that’s death. It’s simply over. You don’t go on to some parade in the sky, following the light. You don’t burn in hell, doing push up’s forever in dog shit, while the devil whips your back. You don’t play cards with Martin Luther King Jr. and King Tut. You simply are gone; it’s all simply just gone.”
“That doesn’t make you bummed? Don’t you want more?” Ryan asked somberly.
“No man; live life and enjoy it. Then when it’s done, sleep good.” Ryan stood up quickly after and began walking off. “I got to take a piss, wow man, we’re really stoned to be having this stupid ass conversation.” He said this and began laughing as he walked past the rays of dancing firelight.
Ryan sat there and contemplated the conversation. He was never raised to go to church and only been a few times to impress some girl he had been dating. He always felt as though he was attending an English course, all seeming to fictional. The stories never spoke of fact, just the idea of what someone held as truth. He couldn’t see falling blindly to such premonitions of someone that didn’t even know what text messaging was. Haven’t we proved so many things since the advent of religion to still follow it without any new discoveries to be made? Communism is a belief that is quickly faltering worldwide due to the holes in the theories; yet Religion has waged on. Yet, he felt so empty and scared to think there was nothing else out there, except maybe a three headed monster or a dung beetle.
They had surfed until the sun faded into the ocean, leaving a brilliant orange haze that sunk slowly to the West. Each wave as though created by man, an amusement park for surfers. When Ryan could barely see the rollers coming in, he caught his last wave and set up camp.
The camp was simple, there green dome two man tent quickly stationed as a makeshift home. He found some rocks about the size of softballs and made a ring for the fire. He kept the hatch on his SUV opened and hung a Coleman lantern to help him spot scorpions making their way towards the warmth of the fire.
They heated a can of beans in the fire and smothered tortillas with cheese and salsa they picked up in a little market back in town. They only had goat cheese, which is the standard down in these parts, making for a bitter burrito. After they finished eating and throwing their paper plates in the fire, they rolled up a couple joints from their newly scored pot, sat back in their folding chairs, and smoked away.
Ryan had finished his joint and was enjoying the high; switching his gaze from searching for a breaking wave and watching the fire taunt him with brilliant flashes of orange, yellow and blue. He came out of his transfixed stare when an ember exploded in the fire, making a sharp cracking noise and sending sparks harrowingly close to his face.
“Holy shit,” he remarked and Jeff started laughing hysterically at the scene of his friend almost falling backward. After Ryan’s initial panic quickly dissipated he began to laugh as well. The boys shared a good laugh, tears rolling down their faces, after a while not even really remembering why they were even laughing.
After a while they settled back, Ryan switching glares from the water to the fire, yet this time keeping his face further away. Finally his gaze went upward and he started wondering how far away the stars were, each one having an illuminating light that traveled endlessly until it had reached his stare.
“Do you think there are aliens out there, man?” Ryan asked.
“For sure, think about it. Space is infinite, right? So, that means you can keep traveling, in any direction, forever. Can you possibly tell me that in this idea of forever, you wouldn’t run into a planet, similar to ours with some sort of species on it? Whether it be a three headed, yellow eyed, split tongue monster that knew how to solve math equations even our computers can’t solve or a bug more stupid then a dung beetle, roaming mindlessly; there has to be something, somewhere.”
“Well, what if that’s not the case,” Ryan debated. “What if it ends, a simple wall that we can see? Don’t you believe this was created by some higher being; like God?”
“No way man, that’s just a myth to keep people in line. If they never created this idea of God, there would be no fear of death. If there was no fear of death, there would be no need to worry of repercussions. In the present it’s tougher. If you break the law, then you go to jail; but back when the law couldn’t control the masses, they needed to create something grander then law. What’s grander then the idea that if you break these moral codes, you burn in a fire bound hell for eternity. With the ability to monitor the masses they have today, keep check on abiding laws and deterring behavior with fear of getting raped in the ass by some big honky inmate in jail; there is not so much a need to worry about a God. Instead you need to worry if big brother is watching you."
“What about when you die, then?” Ryan continued his argument, although not really knowing what he, himself, believed. “What happens to us then?”
Jeff stared silently into the fire, eyes transfixed as if picturing the very moment he took his last breath. “It’s simply over.” He replied. “You ever go to bed, lie down after a long day and quickly fall asleep; then before you know it, you’re awake again. You don’t dream, there was nothing in between the time you went to sleep and the time your mind returned to the present world. You simply were gone. You ever have those nights?”
“Yeah, I mean, I dream most of the time; but once in awhile I don’t have any dreams at all.”
“That length of time, when there is just nothing there; that’s death. It’s simply over. You don’t go on to some parade in the sky, following the light. You don’t burn in hell, doing push up’s forever in dog shit, while the devil whips your back. You don’t play cards with Martin Luther King Jr. and King Tut. You simply are gone; it’s all simply just gone.”
“That doesn’t make you bummed? Don’t you want more?” Ryan asked somberly.
“No man; live life and enjoy it. Then when it’s done, sleep good.” Ryan stood up quickly after and began walking off. “I got to take a piss, wow man, we’re really stoned to be having this stupid ass conversation.” He said this and began laughing as he walked past the rays of dancing firelight.
Ryan sat there and contemplated the conversation. He was never raised to go to church and only been a few times to impress some girl he had been dating. He always felt as though he was attending an English course, all seeming to fictional. The stories never spoke of fact, just the idea of what someone held as truth. He couldn’t see falling blindly to such premonitions of someone that didn’t even know what text messaging was. Haven’t we proved so many things since the advent of religion to still follow it without any new discoveries to be made? Communism is a belief that is quickly faltering worldwide due to the holes in the theories; yet Religion has waged on. Yet, he felt so empty and scared to think there was nothing else out there, except maybe a three headed monster or a dung beetle.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Peer Pressure
The words seem to float from the jurors mouth as she read the verdict. She stands before the court, uncomfortably balanced as though held by strings. Her gaze is fixed solely upon the piece of paper which held my fate. Although you could tell normally she would swipe her brown bangs from her dark eyes, which often fell down across her brow while reading, this time she lets them remain, almost as though hoping this helped her remain hidden.
Most of the other jurors stare at her as though awaiting the verdict unknowingly. It wasn’t their sole decision they would tell themselves later, it was a group decision. They would also comfort themselves by the feeling of a civic duty was thrust upon them and they did what was best for society. There will be many thoughts on lonely nights for some of these jurors as they lay in bed; staring at the ceiling, juggling this decision as though they were razor sharp knives performed in a circus act.
A few though look directly through me. They are proud they are better then me and feel a sense of accomplishment for being a part of this sanction of judicial relevancy. They will boost later at the bar, stiff cocktail in hand, how they played their role in the American Structure as they saw fit. That night, neatly pressed suit returned to the hanger in the closet, they will sleep well; never noticing the crack that runs like a spiderweb across their bedroom ceiling.
I hate neither these groups of individuals; neither the guilt ridden or guiltless. They did not cause me to be standing before them, the judge and God. I look down at my hands as these words drift towards me, feeling the sweat on my palm in a trickle. These hands could have gone on to do so much. They could have gained strength from days of hard work, each callous reminding me of accomplishment. They could have felt the soft arch of a woman’s back as I held her tight after a long day. They could have brought laughter to my child’s face as I brought them away from my eyes in a game of peek-a-boo. They could have done so many things.
Instead these hands took themselves away from me; as well as took away my mind, body and soul, when it fired a gun on that fateful night. How could it turn into what is now perceived as a cold hearted murder come from what I once remember myself as. Do any of these jurors know that I won my fifth grade spelling bee? Could they understand how I once wanted to be an astronaut, with dreams of floating in outer space? Or how I stopped Johnny Jenkins from throwing rocks at the school window; not for fear of being caught, but knowing it was a bad thing to be doing. How would they know, I no longer know that boy.
It all seemed to come so fast, as though the levees of my life broke free and water poured in from all sides. Nothing changed; my mother didn’t leave us, my father didn’t start beating me, I just changed. One day I was hoping the girl in the corner of home room would go to the Spring Fling with me, the next day I was ditching home room to smoke pot in the boys bathroom. A world that once seemed filled with brightness suddenly seemed a darker place. The feeling of a justified cause was only justified if it benefited me. I was angry for no reason, which just angered me more. The friends that I would play stick ball in the street were now enemies; judging me and not understanding who I really was. Yet they were the only ones that really tried to understand.
The new group I began hanging out with didn’t understand me, but they didn’t try to understand me. Instead they were in the same angst filled mental state. For some the world is their oyster; for us that oyster tasted disgusting, raw and hard to swallow. Defiance and being tough were better traits then smart and kindhearted. Things started simple, small acts of vandalism and some drugs to keep us entertained. This developed as we got bored with the smaller things and moved on to bigger. Vandalism turned to theft, pot turned to crack cocaine. I was in a haze driven by my own free will, without any control over that freedom.
My parents noticed and did the steps most parents do. They tried getting stricter, which I defied even stronger. They were now just as worthless as my old friends, not understanding, not knowing. They tried relating to me and looking towards ways to help me. I ignorantly laughed at this idea, how could they ever understand what I was going through. Everything just led to me being angrier; at them and at life. Anger is fast fueled when you really have no reason to be angry.
The words finally hit my ears. “We the people, find the defendant Guilty of first degree murder.”
For some, their eighteenth birthday is a day of maturity, independence and achievement. Mine just became a death sentence. Two weeks prior to the crime, yet changing the course of my life indefinitely.
This verdict was justified because it was unanimously decided upon my peers. Yet it was also my peers who unanimously decided to convince me that shooting Samuel “one sock” Johnson was justified. Life can be so ironic.
At this point I was living with my friend in a run down apartment, dropping out of high school to spend more time selling crack. The money was good enough to pay rent, buy a decent car and take out an assortment of women. I felt like I was on the fast track of life. My anger was clouded by my ecstasy of drugs and sex. My judgment clouded by my ecstasy. At eighteen, meager living conditions seem to be elevated when responsibility is knowing when to eat, shit and shave. We lived in the heart of the city, the heart of the action. I had the clothes, the gold and the attitude to show I was now a man.
The proving grounds were pushed further when I was told by my friends that one sock was dealing in our neighborhood. I knew action was needed, but felt tense about doing so. I had never really been in a fight. I’ve been there and backed my friends when they have been. I’ve gone toe to toes with plenty of guys trying to be harder then me. These just usually go back and forth with shit talking and how we could kick each other’s asses as we walk in separate directions. This would need more, this needed to be an example for others if I was to maintain my reputation.
Instead of maintaining my Reputation, I lost my future. What was supposed to be a scare tactic with my Glock pistol, turned into me shooting him. He just stared at me, and continued staring. My friends chanting, he’s disrespecting you, shoot him, shoot him. I can hear it over and over and see his eyes. Cold and hard as ice, yet would not melt. I stood there, arm extended, gun in hand. Praying he would turn and run. It felt like an eternity. I don’t remember squeezing the trigger, almost as though it just went off. He flew backwards and before his body hit the ground I began to run. Yet running can get you places, but will never set you free.
So know it’s been set, my future, the boy who enjoyed ice cream sandwiches and the sound of video arcades. The boy who used to sleep better after his Mom tucked him in and said she loved him. The boy who knew nothing of what the world had to offer. That boy was now a Man that would never find out what the world would have to offer.
Most of the other jurors stare at her as though awaiting the verdict unknowingly. It wasn’t their sole decision they would tell themselves later, it was a group decision. They would also comfort themselves by the feeling of a civic duty was thrust upon them and they did what was best for society. There will be many thoughts on lonely nights for some of these jurors as they lay in bed; staring at the ceiling, juggling this decision as though they were razor sharp knives performed in a circus act.
A few though look directly through me. They are proud they are better then me and feel a sense of accomplishment for being a part of this sanction of judicial relevancy. They will boost later at the bar, stiff cocktail in hand, how they played their role in the American Structure as they saw fit. That night, neatly pressed suit returned to the hanger in the closet, they will sleep well; never noticing the crack that runs like a spiderweb across their bedroom ceiling.
I hate neither these groups of individuals; neither the guilt ridden or guiltless. They did not cause me to be standing before them, the judge and God. I look down at my hands as these words drift towards me, feeling the sweat on my palm in a trickle. These hands could have gone on to do so much. They could have gained strength from days of hard work, each callous reminding me of accomplishment. They could have felt the soft arch of a woman’s back as I held her tight after a long day. They could have brought laughter to my child’s face as I brought them away from my eyes in a game of peek-a-boo. They could have done so many things.
Instead these hands took themselves away from me; as well as took away my mind, body and soul, when it fired a gun on that fateful night. How could it turn into what is now perceived as a cold hearted murder come from what I once remember myself as. Do any of these jurors know that I won my fifth grade spelling bee? Could they understand how I once wanted to be an astronaut, with dreams of floating in outer space? Or how I stopped Johnny Jenkins from throwing rocks at the school window; not for fear of being caught, but knowing it was a bad thing to be doing. How would they know, I no longer know that boy.
It all seemed to come so fast, as though the levees of my life broke free and water poured in from all sides. Nothing changed; my mother didn’t leave us, my father didn’t start beating me, I just changed. One day I was hoping the girl in the corner of home room would go to the Spring Fling with me, the next day I was ditching home room to smoke pot in the boys bathroom. A world that once seemed filled with brightness suddenly seemed a darker place. The feeling of a justified cause was only justified if it benefited me. I was angry for no reason, which just angered me more. The friends that I would play stick ball in the street were now enemies; judging me and not understanding who I really was. Yet they were the only ones that really tried to understand.
The new group I began hanging out with didn’t understand me, but they didn’t try to understand me. Instead they were in the same angst filled mental state. For some the world is their oyster; for us that oyster tasted disgusting, raw and hard to swallow. Defiance and being tough were better traits then smart and kindhearted. Things started simple, small acts of vandalism and some drugs to keep us entertained. This developed as we got bored with the smaller things and moved on to bigger. Vandalism turned to theft, pot turned to crack cocaine. I was in a haze driven by my own free will, without any control over that freedom.
My parents noticed and did the steps most parents do. They tried getting stricter, which I defied even stronger. They were now just as worthless as my old friends, not understanding, not knowing. They tried relating to me and looking towards ways to help me. I ignorantly laughed at this idea, how could they ever understand what I was going through. Everything just led to me being angrier; at them and at life. Anger is fast fueled when you really have no reason to be angry.
The words finally hit my ears. “We the people, find the defendant Guilty of first degree murder.”
For some, their eighteenth birthday is a day of maturity, independence and achievement. Mine just became a death sentence. Two weeks prior to the crime, yet changing the course of my life indefinitely.
This verdict was justified because it was unanimously decided upon my peers. Yet it was also my peers who unanimously decided to convince me that shooting Samuel “one sock” Johnson was justified. Life can be so ironic.
At this point I was living with my friend in a run down apartment, dropping out of high school to spend more time selling crack. The money was good enough to pay rent, buy a decent car and take out an assortment of women. I felt like I was on the fast track of life. My anger was clouded by my ecstasy of drugs and sex. My judgment clouded by my ecstasy. At eighteen, meager living conditions seem to be elevated when responsibility is knowing when to eat, shit and shave. We lived in the heart of the city, the heart of the action. I had the clothes, the gold and the attitude to show I was now a man.
The proving grounds were pushed further when I was told by my friends that one sock was dealing in our neighborhood. I knew action was needed, but felt tense about doing so. I had never really been in a fight. I’ve been there and backed my friends when they have been. I’ve gone toe to toes with plenty of guys trying to be harder then me. These just usually go back and forth with shit talking and how we could kick each other’s asses as we walk in separate directions. This would need more, this needed to be an example for others if I was to maintain my reputation.
Instead of maintaining my Reputation, I lost my future. What was supposed to be a scare tactic with my Glock pistol, turned into me shooting him. He just stared at me, and continued staring. My friends chanting, he’s disrespecting you, shoot him, shoot him. I can hear it over and over and see his eyes. Cold and hard as ice, yet would not melt. I stood there, arm extended, gun in hand. Praying he would turn and run. It felt like an eternity. I don’t remember squeezing the trigger, almost as though it just went off. He flew backwards and before his body hit the ground I began to run. Yet running can get you places, but will never set you free.
So know it’s been set, my future, the boy who enjoyed ice cream sandwiches and the sound of video arcades. The boy who used to sleep better after his Mom tucked him in and said she loved him. The boy who knew nothing of what the world had to offer. That boy was now a Man that would never find out what the world would have to offer.
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