at the end of the cul-de-sac

"well, someone has got to talk to them. everyone on the whole block has something to say about it now." the telephone wires might as well of been cut at the end of the cul-de-sac, they hung over the houses like a closed circuit grapevine of gossip. "beck, this is the fourth time this week. i'm not calling the electric company again, don't you think they'd realize...," he was cut off by yet another agitated neighbor calling the home phone. "jesus christ!" he stormed upstairs with only his flickering flashlight.
"yeah, i know suz, this is getting ridiculous. someone is going to have to go over there." the candle lit room fell silent as suzie rattled off a handful of people who she thought should talk some sense into the neighbors when suddenly, "finally!...sure, okay, i will, i'll talk to you later," the lights came back on and rick stomps back downstairs. "you know, suzie thinks you should go over there and talk to the andersons since you guys went to high school together and all, you should go. all the neighbors agree." reluctantly, he put on his coat and headed out the door. "i didn't even like them much then."
his heavy brown boots crunched though the compact snow. the knit hat atop his head covered his ears and his old steelers starter jacket swishes with the wind. he inched his way to the edge of the road where the pot-hole ridden pavement widens and eventually dead ends. each family peered out their windows at rick like a pack of beady eyed sardines, some had five or six to a pane. as he passed the last of the personalized mailboxes and basketball hoops hanging over the last garage he finally made it to the last house on the cul-de-sac. he stopped for a second to almost admire the cause to all of his and his fellow neighbors headaches, squinting to locate the front door. but it was buried behind inflatable santa clauses hugging their arrow shaped"north pole"signs, the mechanical reindeer swaying their red-nosed bodies back and forth, the dancing candy canes that lined the sidewalk blinking red and white like a cop car, and the nutcrackers whose golden buttons shined as bright as the north star. the house was not just trimmed, but filled in with enough christmas lights to decorate the taj mahal. flashing neon wreathes sprung out of every window, reminiscent of the red light district downtown. but the mecca of it all was the baby jesus perched in the mangle of the top of the roof lit up as if it were guiding various ships back home to shore. upon focusing his eyes of this joyous display of lights, he remembers the only advice his wife gave him as he was leaving, "make sure not to stare, it could damage your retinas."
he cautiously continues toward the door, dodging blue bulbed snow flakes and an army of snowmen that littered the yard. swinging his arm back, he pounded on the door with his fluffy mittens making a muffled banging sound. the thoughts of how to go about saying in the nicest way possible"you're christmas lights are making the power go out down the whole block and all the neighbors are concerned, can you please tone it down a little bit" rush through his mind. he noticed no one was answering the door though. growing more annoyed while continuing to pound on the door, his thoughts turn into more of a "can someone turn those goddamn lights down, you're pissing all the neighbors off." as his temper grows and his face turns as red as rudolph's nose he notices a little note on the mailbox, what seemed to be for the mailman which simply read "please hold mail until new year's day, went to florida for the holidays, merry christmas."

you will never become familiar with [natural] beauty

as the children disperse amongst the playground, katherine silently walks toward the picnic table with her thin strawberry hair swaying in her face. her face focused on the muddy splotches of grass, though her mind soared elsewhere. visions of this morning dance around her tiny little head. i notice her isolation from the other kids, her classmates, her friends, so i approach the warped wooden table perhaps to cheer her up. i ask "how was our day today, katherine?" in an optimistic cower, "lousy," is all i got out of her. after a few minutes of asking more questions i look up into the sky and see the swirled white clouds guided by the bitter wind. gaze into the bare branch bobbing up and down, its all part of the picture. the neatly shingled roof of the school shielded by a flurry of gray. the sparkling spots of the afternoon sun. katherine with her elbows both on the tabletop holding up her smooshed freckled face; but now, talking. and i could hear every word.
she tells me that her cat threw up this morning, five times in five different places among her house. and there was blood on her deck. in the backyard were footprints in the snow that she claimed belonged to coyotes. "do you really think coyotes could have come into your backyard, and could those tracks maybe just be your cats?" I questioned. "Bigby would never run away for this long, he's afraid of it out there, he always comes home," she shot back. "everything just felt like a rush this morning."
i couldn't believe it when she told me that her parents had already said that if Bigby didn't come back then they can't get another cat, and suggested a fish for a future pet. when the word "fish" regretfully splat out of her mouth i could see her young heart break in her glared eyes. the cup of skin below was filling up like a bucket of water underneath a running faucet. attempts of comforting her fell short, i changed the subject. i talked about the school day. she talked about how this is all she could think about during the school day. "my parents have posters with Rigby on it, it says missing cat." this conversation was so honest, rubbing shoulders with the human spirit. the words i heard captured my full attention though my mind saw it as though watching an aging film strip with no words or music. the uncontrollable have found clarity.
another adult puts her arm around katherine and asks her what's the matter. already warmed up, she spits out the same story she told me. then the adult pulls katherine aside and asks her to go for a walk and holds her arm around her tiny body. it becomes another story. and the wind still rushes through the playground as i stare off into the beauty of the day knowing that i will never become completely familiar with it. the reality of the bitter coldness that we all play in has hardened some new skin. the capability of holding something more, something tangible squeezes the passions of youth without giving them much of a chance. while katherine waits by the fish tank for Bigby to come back home, i'll think of her sitting right in front of me and i'll remember that there's nothing i could do.

black eye

hid in my bedroom
for four days.
slept with the cat.
ignored the buzzing phone.
couldn't come to your doorstep
with a black eye.
embarrassed of attention.

layers that cover me

i twisted my golden door handle to my bedroom like i was shaking a familiar hand and threw my jacket on the floor a top a heap of dirty clothes. my room was pitch black so bent over, trying to find the switch for my lamp which sits on a single red milk-crate. it gets dark much earlier now that it's getting colder outside. as the light bulb animated the room, i saw that my bed was made--for the first time in a long time. the most comfortable nfl blanket that i got in 1993 is the first layer. it sports all the football team's helmets, some of which have different designs now. a deep red fleece cover is next, the origins of which are unknown. my mom probably bought it one time she was visiting. next, a pittsburgh steelers blanket, which my friend found in the dumpster and threw on me one morning, or afternoon, when i was half asleep. finally the black and white comforter rests on top, holding the heat in. two sets of pillows stacked at the top of the bed, this is because my old roommate and good friend was staying with me for a week at the time. she must be responsible for this masterpiece.

[now, a week later, the same blankets form a pile resembling a small mountain range pressed against my wall, the cat is sleeping where my pillows usually lie and cracker crumbs and dandruff are sprinkled over the brown sheets as if it were stale confetti that burst from a party gun late last night.]

don't stop smoking

the ceiling fan cooled the empty old room to no avail. no furniture, no decorations, not even moving boxes filled our southern crash pad. for some fresh air, we had to squeeze through the window to venture the roof where he could light up. after he yanked open the wooden-latch that so tenaciously locked the window shut, he took the tiny blue lighter he bought at the gas station from his pants pocket, lit a parliament that he swore he'd quit by the end of the summer and watched the smoke disappear into the darkest wiry sky. we talked about where we've been so far and where we'd be going in the next couple weeks. boston came up and we wondered how it would be. i'd been there once since i had moved away. i'd actually already been thinking of it since i saw that empty room. it reminded me of my bare bedroom, sleeping on a hardwood floor and climbing out the window to the fire escape to watch other people smoke. i wanted, now, to stop talking, to stop sitting at the fuel pump and sustaining other people's habits; to stop feeling guilty. but i kept talking and kept feeling homesick for a place i hardly knew. i imagined it as a place that i could go back to, but i knew that was not true. it was more important to me than i could ever be to it. and out of my frustration i could yell to all my friends from this roof to stop smoking, but he would be the only one to hear my pretentious opinion disguised in my slang as good advice. an empty stigma. he doesn't want to hear my mouth spilling with concealed nervousness for the reality of my instant world. a false pretense. and boston is just a city that is thirteen hours away. i see this in the picture that is painted in front of me as i stare off at the lit up parking garage, a white and red blinking radio tower and one lonely smokestack spitting out nothing, feeling disappointed; a real dead scene.

discourage from leaving town or retired

t. a beat up pair of airwalks hang from the telephone wires.

people still care

the wallflowers

we're just the wallflowers, the pretty ones that grow along the fence, the wild few embodying youthful confusion, not just representing it. all these complicated nights lit by the back porch lights must mean something. still, most kids dance anyway; too much time worrying about too many feelings or the too little time it takes to hurt them? we'd rather dance around our own heads to our own songs, the distorted wind sceaming. it keeps on blowing us around. can't see straight, touching hands; swaying. just let us be, come harvest, we'll be dancing.

or

we're just the wallflowers,
the pretty ones
that grow along the fence,
the wild few embodying youthful confusion,
not just
representing it.

all these complicated nights
lit by the back porch lights
must mean
something.
still, most kids dance anyway;
too much time worrying about too many feelings
or the too little time it takes to hurt them?

we'd rather dance around
our own heads
to our own songs,
the distorted wind screaming.
it keeps on blowing us around.
can't see straight,
touching hands;
swaying.

just let us be,
come harvest, we'll be dancing;
free.

antidote

college is not for everybody, and that's okay

"I'm currently working towards and English degree."

"where are all the punks at?"

The last hour and a half of the show was filled with two sets of poetry and an hour long onslaught of the heart sung by Madeline. Punks were getting drunk all night, they needed to let loose. One punk in particular walked into the kitchen where I, along with a handful of friends, was sitting. He asked for a glass for his Miller High Life and leaves the room. He returns minutes later and places it into the sink with several other dirty glassware, this time he sticks around, almost wishing to be invited to say the thing that was being pent up in his head all night. Noticing this, I indulge in some fun with a stranger, almost my way of saying hi. "You thinking about washing that glass?" I imagine the hair on the back of his neck standing tall. Fumbling around something to say, "Uh, I bet you live here or something?" he says with some sort of premeditated attitude. "Well, no one else is doing it?" I pick up on his poise and add "Well, you know, a bunch of wrongs do make a right, so..." He takes a look at me through his beer soaked eyes and walks up my seat. I expected no less than a punch in the jaw. He extends his hand as if he wants me to shake it. "I'm Alex," he so boldly states. "Oh hey man, my name is Ryan." It took me a moment to figure out he was probably getting my name so he could go on the porch and talk shit about me. I mean, he knows I live here. The meet and greet is soon brought to a halt when he struts out of the kitchen asking "Where are all the punks at?" It is then revealed to everyone that the well-mannered young man was sporting a finely stitched Circles Jerk back patch, whatever that means.

bike lock

walked outside [of Bat Chapters while the last band was still playing] and her bike was locked to his bike [which was locked next to my bike that didn't have any bike locked to it] so i left, biked home.

the stink house

"you're bathroom used to be my bedroom."

the, before i dream

yellow and white lights
that shine in my room
when the basketball court is lit,
keep me awake
plenty entertained
til the night falls silent.

it is three am
only stars emit
the distant faint glow
is irrelevant.

the swallowed by darkness,
while licking it's fingers.
i fill my head,
i let the black linger,
until i sense nothing.

guns at my school

spending this week listening to husker du and watching my so-called life.

everything you feel

everything you feel is true
everybody's looking through
black eyes, blue eyes,
black eyes, blue eyes,
can't see past the problem
when we're all a problem.

you can't fight the feeling if the feeling's never gonna stop.

when leaving means goodbye

my roommate zac was telling me if, when you're dreaming, you clench your fist and just stare at it and focus, you'll be able to remember the dream that you're having when you wake up. it works for him anyway.

last night there was a show at the punk porch and everyone had their share of vodka in big gulp cups and mosh pits alongside the olentangy river. ryan, richard and lisa were no exception, and when i found them huddled over away from the band, i knew i had to join them...letters, man. so i stuck my head in between ryan and lisa and they both kissed me on the cheek and i felt let down. ryan is moving out of the monster house in september and lisa is moving to bloomington. things are just going to be different now.

the next morning pat wakes me up and asked me to do him a favor and get his clothes out of the dryer at the laundry mat. he has to go get shane's mom's van because our van won't start and we are leaving for tour in two hours. so i find myself walking the sidewalks where i can remember realizing how lucky i was to have such good friends and saying to everyone "isn't this just great?" now i walk by myself to get someone else's clothes out of a laundry mat i've never been to, staring at my fist.

meanwhile

while i was away from home for a month, a large branch from the tree that stands outside of my house was struck by lightning (allegedly) and narrowly missed crashing onto my car. i guess, the handful of compliments i gave of its bright green foliage paid off, or it just missed my car.

kurt cobain

kurt cobain could have been a handful of people.

allowing my life to be shaped by circumstance

for the month of july i will be playing bass for the sidekicks on their summer tour. east and west coast.

but...

what is a butt, but a butt?

last night in person

i woke up to a knocking at my door. lotta, my roommate, was behind the abrupt confusion. she was standing there revealing half of her body, the other hidden by the door. my vision was blurry, i couldn't see, but i figured it was her. she was going home to finland this morning, after living in columbus for seven or nine months. i could feel a sadness in her voice. she was crying, a little. we smoked the night before and watched the cosmos by carl sagan. i felt this overwhelming pain in my chest that eventually took over every part of my body. at the time, i described it as the feeling you get right before you die. sleep seemed like the only escape, but bad dreams were the noise keeping me awake. but now, hours later i was awake, looking at lotta standing in my doorway. someone i didn't know very well, but someone who hung out with me on her last night in the states. i told her i was glad she lived with us and that she was genuinely a good person, but i sensed that might make her more upset. so i motioned for a hug. she came over, but as i went to stand up i noticed i was just in my underwear, and i may or may not of had a boner. regardless, we hugged goodbye and she left and i went back to sleep.

bridges

what do we scream to know?
what do we scream to know?
what do we dream to put in its place?

yer old bike

it was one of those nights when we really had to concentrate on getting home. even though you lived in allston for a few years at this point, each street corner, littered with dark glass and dead leaves, looked the same. red bricks stacked in banal, yet strong skeletons and a concrete passage way that cuts through the precise city plan restricts us to unfamiliar sidewalks. but i just moved here, how could i be expected to recognize this so quickly?
the day before we rode our bikes in the summer-like october weather to the grassy yard that held up the statehouse. we sat, took pictures, and ate lunch. cambridge finally started to look beautiful to me, like an older man or woman. the bikes that we swerved in and out of traffic with now stand separately; mine locked comfortably on our front porch and yours is being pushed through the clumsy, wet night.
we eventually find the overpass that hung above the mass pike; leaving lower allston, heading home. you grew tired of pushing your rusty old bike and decided to lock it up to a street sign outside of a friends apartment. the funny thing is this wasn't even your bike, it was your friend's, she let you borrow it. you had it for so long, it just felt like your own and it was easy to take for granted, especially when you knew you were getting a new one in the mail the upcoming week. so you left it there. the cold metal frame stands lonely under an irritating orange glow cast from a streetlight. like in the spotlight, ashamed of the attention. we stumble on, and get home.

cut-outs

lost luggage

i've driven a handful of my friends to the columbus airport since moving here. some of them are gone for a week, some are gone longer, but for that amount of time, i'm the last familar face they see.
the ride to the airport is always short. small talk fills the car like the warm, stuffy air from the dated heater. i ask how long they'll be gone for even though i already know the answer. the roads are wet from the melting snow and they loop around each other like thorn covered branches on a jaggerbush. a cop car peers out from behind the median with his radar gun pointed at me as if i was a criminal. he sits there as more of a threat than an aid. we pass. different colored flags blowing strong in the late winter wind tells us that the day is strong. we slow down and eventually stop. hug. and i leave them with just their luggage. the trip up until this point is short. when i get back on the highway though, i'm lost. i change directions and forget everything. i follow signs. i'm convinced i took a wrong turn until i come out from under an overpass and see the skyline peeking over oppsing traffic. i'm identified with that skyline now. after noticing the fourth st exit, i take it and gawk at the wonder bread sign perched upon an old brick building. i know my way home from here.
later while i'm on the playground at work i hear a helicopter cutting threw the sky; fast and loud. everyone looks up for that moment, wondering who could be in there. i find myself now wondering how they got there. my attention is quickly diverted by a kid on the moneybars yelling across the schoolyard to his friend that he'll see him tomorrow.

there is a light

i walked to the show at the 14th house an hour later than everyone else. i trudged through the blackened slush that blanketed the wet cement. if i stood in one place, i'd sink into the biting cold that i could feel in my bones. there was a frenzied calm shadow over high st; a dark coat of dull purple. the fuzzy sky discouraged the stars from burning holes in the clouds. luckily, the businesses left their lights on and the gleam of their familiar stamps lit the way. although i saw a handful of students, the closest i came to talking to one of them was a casual brush against my arm, in between opening and closing doors. each yard littered with beer cans for the bums to pick up. these are okay party thoughts. as i was getting closer to the house, i could hear the driving of the bass, then the screeching of a guitar; a resemblance of a song was suddenly more clear. the rattling buzz that was pumping out of the basement could melt away the snow around the house. before i could make out the song though, i stopped, looked up to the streetlight and saw a hundred falling snowflakes in the circular illumination that the bulb could allow. the sky around it; black.

for the love of the game

i rode in the car today with a couple of my closest friends to cleveland for a weekend full of football. the day before saw the biggest snowfall of the winter. my work was canceled, my car was covered. we listened to a medley of sad songs that i choose using the glaring, orange ipod. the sun was shining on the interstate that split the stacks of snow like a child dividing his or her valentines. we always want people to miss us when we're not around. i was thinking about the football game we were going to play the next day before the super bowl. i felt nervous. i was thinking about how many trees we were passing; watching over the winter road like aged members of the green beret. i was thinking about how i still felt lonely, even living with ten of my good friends, but how ultimately i was fine.we were all comfortable in that old station wagaon; the amenity of the engine clunking around with our toes tapping along. i could speak without judgement and believe without lying. i could have love without lust. but when the engine shut off and the music stopped i realzed that i would be the only one in the car that would still be living at the monster house the next year. everyone else was moving out. things would be differnet. and i wondered how many valentines i'd be getting this year, and how many of them i'd keep.

orange crushin'

i wrote a letter last night that i'm pretty excited to send out. i'm actually being a pretty reliable pen pal these days. i've got a couple more to write, but i think i'll work on them this weekend. the walk to the post office/mail box is probably the only time i'm ever outside of my house and alone. i feel like i look at columbus through the eyes of a student when i do that, instead of a punk. i tend to forget that most of the people around me aren't much like me. some of them are really into video games and beer.

it snowed this morning for the first time in a few weeks. i'm hoping for a snow day. i work at an after school program; basically i watch kids. it would be nice to have a long weekend. i have to go in early today though because i'm going to cover austin's shift while he gets his car fixed. it's not going to be too hard though, i just have to moniter a chinese class. i'll probably just read my collected stories of carson mccullers book.

i'm drinking orange crush now; a pop that i haven't had in a while, but is very easy to drink a lot of and i'm wearing a sock that has a hole right where my index toe is poking out, this bothers me very much.

used kids

delay - the max levine ensemble - good luck - underdogs of nipomo - beyond dark hills at the legion of doom tonight.

it's always exciting when friends come from their respective cities to columbus, but when they all pick the same weekend it can be somewhat overwhelming. there are kids at our house from lexington, cincinnati, bloomington, cleveland, and dc all for the show tonight. it's a pretty commendable feeling to know that your friend's music can bring people together for one night.

i walked to ali baba's to get a falafel and to meet up with everyone as soon as i woke up. afterwards we spent an hour plus in used kids browsing the collection of used records, tapes, and cds. i was looking for the nerves ep but i read later that it is virtually impossible to find. the article said "if you run across it, snatch it up, it's wonderful." when people visit, i find myself taking advantage of things that i typically take for granted.

i came home and listened to power pop alone in my room for most of the afternoon. now it's time to go to the show. there will be plenty of time to hang out with everyone there.