In the midst of a thorny field, my hope was gone.
I walked for what seemed miles, and there was nothing but dirt under my feet.
The clouds were green and the sky was gray.
I couldn't see anything but death.
What happened?
The field used to be laden with color.
The green grass was soft under my feet, and I never walked.
I looked up into the BLUE
SKY.
The clouds were white and my heart was bright.
And life held its arms around me.
What happened?
We lost focus.
We were deceived.
We lost our minds.
We lost our hope.
We killed ourselves by killing our hope.
We let it happen.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
An illusion of sorts
Dear March,
You've come and gone with such haste! I remember how February left us. A dance in the moonlight... flashing lights and sparkling grape juice surrounded us and we were caught in that eternal moment...
I remember how you came in running, taking every one of us by surprise.. It was a Thursday and you ran into my arms and swept me off of my feet like one of those old movies. You've given me quite a few favors on Thursdays, March. I really can't even express to you in words how appreciated those days have been. I remember how your brisk wind took me by surprise and you kept me hopeful, even when it seemed hope was gone. I thank you for your inspiration.
That Thursday, you put something in the air... something incredible... something that keeps a man awake even when his eyelids have fallen.. something for which I am so greatful.
Subsequently, you gave a Friday of rest and a Saturday of emotion. And Sunday... I felt like you gave me nineteen Sundays. Time started passing like wind passes the car when you're driving, and then you gave me another Thursday. A Thursday of accomplishment... a Thursday of fulfillment. A Thursday of relief and of surprise. And then you started to run..
You've run away from me so fast that I haven't had time to soak up your love.. You've made time stop.. and then put it into hyper speed.
Thank you, March. You've been incredible.
Love,
Ryan
You've come and gone with such haste! I remember how February left us. A dance in the moonlight... flashing lights and sparkling grape juice surrounded us and we were caught in that eternal moment...
I remember how you came in running, taking every one of us by surprise.. It was a Thursday and you ran into my arms and swept me off of my feet like one of those old movies. You've given me quite a few favors on Thursdays, March. I really can't even express to you in words how appreciated those days have been. I remember how your brisk wind took me by surprise and you kept me hopeful, even when it seemed hope was gone. I thank you for your inspiration.
That Thursday, you put something in the air... something incredible... something that keeps a man awake even when his eyelids have fallen.. something for which I am so greatful.
Subsequently, you gave a Friday of rest and a Saturday of emotion. And Sunday... I felt like you gave me nineteen Sundays. Time started passing like wind passes the car when you're driving, and then you gave me another Thursday. A Thursday of accomplishment... a Thursday of fulfillment. A Thursday of relief and of surprise. And then you started to run..
You've run away from me so fast that I haven't had time to soak up your love.. You've made time stop.. and then put it into hyper speed.
Thank you, March. You've been incredible.
Love,
Ryan
Thursday, February 22, 2007
I felt a breeze in a windowless room.
It had only been four hours, but it felt like we were driving all night. Headlights, tailights, billboards and exit signs seemed to create this blur of redundancy that caused my eyes to feel heavy as the sounds of talk radio echoed in the background. I was just happy that I got to share the car with my best friend, and it made the whole trip worth my while.
I guess now would be a good time to fill you in on why I was driving in the first place. Death caught my friend Javier by surprise.
I wasn't suprised.
Javier was driving his '63 Pontiac Firebird in Portland. Javier loved coffee, so he decided that he would drive from Portland to Seattle before work to get a good cup of coffee. The problem was that Seattle is three hours from Portland, and Javier had to be back in an hour. Javier liked to drive fast, so he made it to Seattle in an hour. 170 miles an hour, and Javier survived. I was in awe when he called me to tell me, but I had to ask. " I thought you had to be back in an hour." All he said was that it was a "damn good cup of coffee". He hung up the phone and I never heard from him again.
They found Javier's body crashed into a tree on I-5. The car was still in tact, and although the tree was pretty banged up, it wasn't excessive speed that killed my friend. I guess he forgot to ask for soy milk. Javier was deathly lactose intolerant, and there wasn't an epi-pen anywhere to be found in that firebird. I think he'd laugh pretty hard if he knew how he died. And I thought he'd fall off of a cliff or something... the damn barista needed to get his head out of his ass. I'm inspired. I'm going to write a book called "The Great Coffee Murder".
I guess I was supposed to be sad about Javier, but I just couldn't get my mind off of my best friend and our alphabet game. She won, but I'll get her next time.
I guess now would be a good time to fill you in on why I was driving in the first place. Death caught my friend Javier by surprise.
I wasn't suprised.
Javier was driving his '63 Pontiac Firebird in Portland. Javier loved coffee, so he decided that he would drive from Portland to Seattle before work to get a good cup of coffee. The problem was that Seattle is three hours from Portland, and Javier had to be back in an hour. Javier liked to drive fast, so he made it to Seattle in an hour. 170 miles an hour, and Javier survived. I was in awe when he called me to tell me, but I had to ask. " I thought you had to be back in an hour." All he said was that it was a "damn good cup of coffee". He hung up the phone and I never heard from him again.
They found Javier's body crashed into a tree on I-5. The car was still in tact, and although the tree was pretty banged up, it wasn't excessive speed that killed my friend. I guess he forgot to ask for soy milk. Javier was deathly lactose intolerant, and there wasn't an epi-pen anywhere to be found in that firebird. I think he'd laugh pretty hard if he knew how he died. And I thought he'd fall off of a cliff or something... the damn barista needed to get his head out of his ass. I'm inspired. I'm going to write a book called "The Great Coffee Murder".
I guess I was supposed to be sad about Javier, but I just couldn't get my mind off of my best friend and our alphabet game. She won, but I'll get her next time.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
It's alright to cry, the night is still young.
I walked into oblivion Wednesday.
I thought that it'd be a great idea to cook up my mom's famous spaghetti for Janet, and as easy as it sounds, you can't play around with strings in olive oil with an open flame. This was supposed to be our romantic getaway.. a chance to take a breath of fresh air in a clouded week. It was Valentine's day, and instead of chocolate and roses, Janet got a house fire.
The first thing that I decided to do (the genius that I am), was grab my beer from the counter. I yelled at Janet who was in the other room and pushed her outside. I unplugged her new television and dragged it outside with me as the kitchen erupted in flames. I went back in for a second load, which included my favorite tablecloth, a few great Paul Simon albums and the chips that were sitting on the living room table.
Somewhere in the mix, I decided that my cell phone was weighing me down, so I left it inside the inferno. I gave Janet a nod of approval before I realized that it was my damned Spaghetti alla Carbonara that was burning down her house. I reached in my pocket for my phone to call the fire department, but then realized that i had lost it in the blaze. Crap.
I really didn't understand Janet when she told me that she didn't want me to call her anymore. And I was doing so well!
I thought that it'd be a great idea to cook up my mom's famous spaghetti for Janet, and as easy as it sounds, you can't play around with strings in olive oil with an open flame. This was supposed to be our romantic getaway.. a chance to take a breath of fresh air in a clouded week. It was Valentine's day, and instead of chocolate and roses, Janet got a house fire.
The first thing that I decided to do (the genius that I am), was grab my beer from the counter. I yelled at Janet who was in the other room and pushed her outside. I unplugged her new television and dragged it outside with me as the kitchen erupted in flames. I went back in for a second load, which included my favorite tablecloth, a few great Paul Simon albums and the chips that were sitting on the living room table.
Somewhere in the mix, I decided that my cell phone was weighing me down, so I left it inside the inferno. I gave Janet a nod of approval before I realized that it was my damned Spaghetti alla Carbonara that was burning down her house. I reached in my pocket for my phone to call the fire department, but then realized that i had lost it in the blaze. Crap.
I really didn't understand Janet when she told me that she didn't want me to call her anymore. And I was doing so well!
Monday, February 05, 2007
you're already tired?
Friday comes so quickly. Just when you think time has slowed down just enough to savor, something comes around and everything speeds up again. Friday has always seemed the same. Just another day. Another flip of the word calendar. Another collared shirt. Another necktie. Once in a while, on special Fridays, I would even be so bold as to leave the necktie behind. Today is Friday, tomorrow is Friday and yesterday was Friday. Yesterday is tomorrow, tomorrow is today, today is yesterday and it all runs together like a blender full of Mondays. God knows I hate Mondays.
I got a call from an old friend on a Friday and time stood still. It's the song that you've written a thousand times even though it's not your voice on the radio. The song that makes you cry. The song that makes you laugh. The song that makes you dance in the street when no one is around. This is how time feels when you can live in it. I got a call from an old friend on a Friday and I lived in it. Everything slowed down until it stopped and with each twirl of the cord, I felt a little more alive. We talked for what seemed like hours until the line went cold. We talked for what seemed like hours until my fingers were tired from their twirling. It's moments like this where time is like cream in coffee. It's sweet. It's immortal. It's whatever the hell you want it to be, but it surely doesn't feel like Monday and it's been Friday for twenty two hours. God knows I hate Mondays.
I called an old friend on a Friday and there was no answer. I called an old friend on a Friday with my fingers wrapped around the cord. I called an old friend on a Friday and Monday seemed closer with each ring from the other end.I called an old friend on a Friday and there was no answer. Another collared shirt. Another necktie. Another flip of the word calendar. I guess I'll just have to wait for that phone to ring again, but Friday comes so quickly and it feels like a blender full of Mondays. God knows I hate Mondays.
I got a call from an old friend on a Friday and time stood still. It's the song that you've written a thousand times even though it's not your voice on the radio. The song that makes you cry. The song that makes you laugh. The song that makes you dance in the street when no one is around. This is how time feels when you can live in it. I got a call from an old friend on a Friday and I lived in it. Everything slowed down until it stopped and with each twirl of the cord, I felt a little more alive. We talked for what seemed like hours until the line went cold. We talked for what seemed like hours until my fingers were tired from their twirling. It's moments like this where time is like cream in coffee. It's sweet. It's immortal. It's whatever the hell you want it to be, but it surely doesn't feel like Monday and it's been Friday for twenty two hours. God knows I hate Mondays.
I called an old friend on a Friday and there was no answer. I called an old friend on a Friday with my fingers wrapped around the cord. I called an old friend on a Friday and Monday seemed closer with each ring from the other end.I called an old friend on a Friday and there was no answer. Another collared shirt. Another necktie. Another flip of the word calendar. I guess I'll just have to wait for that phone to ring again, but Friday comes so quickly and it feels like a blender full of Mondays. God knows I hate Mondays.
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