To Al and D

Two rays of light,
blinding glory in sight,
kiss the earth to ignite
a love so pure that endures
the trials of distant land
that separate us.

You and the queen
of your connubial bliss
depict compassionate bonds
of iron, steel and amicability,
that are wholly
unbreakable and eternal.

Happy New Year's my brother, and embrace my sister in spirit for me when the time of jubilation comes :)

Some advice for future Rob

Don't let matters you can't control get the best of you.  When you allow others to possess and manipulate your emotions, you empower their ill will against you.  Harness the negativity and filter it through the imagination to create a positive product.

Take this time, and do what you love.  Travel, swim, listen to music.  Bring your tent and your camera, and live your life.  For love's sake, don't let these petty matters dull your shine, for you are a star in the eyes of loved ones.

It hurts, to be subjected to injustice, however you're NOT a victim.  Regret is useless, but remembering what you've learned from the lessons of life is the only idea that matters.  Let your experience harden you, and use the new armor to protect your sensitive soul.

Be grateful to your partner because she embodies loving grace.  Be strong for her especially when you feel you're at your weakest moment.  You've been through worse struggles, and you will come out on top.  This struggle shouldn't drag both of you down, and you mustn't allow it to happen. Instead, hold onto to it like a small, barren seed, and keep it in your pocket.  Don't let it grow and fester inside of you, but keep it close enough to remind you of your troubles, yet never let it take hold of you.

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"the journey"

the mind is a strangely frightening, yet comforting place to live.  most of the time, i work, then go home, then go to work, just to return home, on endless repeat.

i'm grateful to be employed, but i've been caught up in this rut for so long, it shocks me to no end to realize that five long years have crawled by, but i'm in the same place, with nothing to show for it, except for wisdom's trails in the corners of my eyes.

The Sirens have hypnotized me, and i'm on my back, drifting in the middle of the caribbean sea, watching the clouds loom above, giggling with the seagulls fluttering over me.

there's no hunger, there's no sleep, just an unbroken cycle, on skipping repeat.  there i go, floating away, as the waves roll me gently, in and out, in and out, with their guiding touch, and for days, or possibly weeks, i still can't tell...i turn my head to see land in the distance and two massive green peaches...or is that fuzz?

To Karimah,

My ears and mind hear you
 as the clock unwinds: 
loud, 
clear, 
and filled with benign fear,
that my sisters and brothers, 
the water and the earth of our land and great nation, 
now must live in damned nation. 

Yet, 
fear not, 
for resilience and fortitude will return. 

Hardship and strife 
will breathe into us new life, and 
unite us in strength. 

This struggle is temporary, yet 
our spirit will remain indomitable. 

We must serve as a model, and 
illumination, 
we will follow, 
because now, 
especially now, 
is not the time to waste with dark paths before us. 
Only light and hope will lead us forward, and 
forward, 
we will go.

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Chapter 3

"What are you fighting for?"
"What's that?  Did you say something?"
"What.  Are.  You.  Fighting for?"  he rasped, his hoarse voice like the ferocious teeth of 10,000 saws shredding across the metallic trunks of the world's oldest petrified forest, each word crunched by as he tapped his pen on the coffee table like a stoned drummer entranced in the world's longest solo; each beat was a slow echo booming in the silence.

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap...tap...tap.

The sounds stowed me away into a grandfather clock of the Titans, ticking away useless seconds pointlessly into eternity, and I stood there, looking at myself from outside of my body, shrinking into an ant's oblivion, drifting away into the gears of time, forgotten and lost in my own thoughts.

'What am I fighting for?  Could this furry fluffball of a man, in fact, be my master? Must I triumph at each and every one of his noble quests in order to be in his graces of glory?  Is the fuzzy, naked one my shaolin grandmaster?'  OK, I'll bite.

I turned to him, and as bravely as I could muster, I squeaked, "The Truth."  The Fuzzy One turned his head ever so slightly, and gave me the side eye.  In doing so, he appeared to have solved the elusive riddle of life, arriving at the solution to eradicating all trace of systemic racism, with hairy hide firm and intact, and I saw his peachy ears perk up as he just sat there, motionless to the discerning eye.  Not an inch of him moved.  Counting each grain of sand that existed between desert and shoreline would have been time better spent.  After the last granule of silence plummeted due to gravity's seduction, Furry focused all of his heart's intent, his burning gaze burrowed into my brain.

With serenity's breath, as gently as a giant could, he whispered, "Find The Truth, and bring it here."

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CHAPTER TWO

Somewhat befuddled, but too proud to show it, I walked past Man A and into my bedroom that was located just an arm's length behind him.  You see, I live in a studio apartment in a four-story building, one that usually houses undergrad students at the local college.  It's July, so the college kids have mostly gone home, except for the orphans and/or hopeless ones...so there's not many occupied apartments for the time being; the silent stillness is intoxicating.  It only makes sense that this guy ruined my life and chose my place.

I enjoy living by myself, partly due to my own choice, you understand, but also because I'm broke. Well, not classically broke in the sense that I'm inches away from being face down in the gutter, nothing like that.  More like, I work 40-50 hours a week at twice the minimum wage for the federal government, yet I'm still struggling to pay off my student loan, car loan, credit card bills, etc.  So, at the end of the day, I'm living the dream.  Go to college, get a job, and everything will be alright...yeah, right.  So being broke ensnares all, yet I'm just in a different kind of trap.

Now, first things first; it's time to strategize.  Let's put that college-educated brain to work.  How do I get this dude out of here?  I could ask him nicely to vamoose, but then he'd think I'm a punk...or I could grunt, puff out my chest and hoot and holler like the average American neanderthal, but then he'd probably give me a fistful of dollars to keep the circus in town.  I could also wait until he's finished writing, but heaven knows that could take a year shy of eternity to be completed.  Overall, I have to establish that I'm the one in power, me, Reginald John, and he has no choice but to submit and do as I wish.

'OK Reginald, you get out there and give him the business.  You can do this!  No sweat,' I ponder as I look into my own reflection...Christ, this mirror is dirty.  Hmmm, I don't have any paper towels handy.  Let me go into the kitch---fuck...this guy's still here.  OK, get out there, man.  Man A, gone, then clean the mirror, and onto Japan's mecha-samurai battles we go!  I open the door into the living room/dining room and prepared myself to defend my honor.

I decided I'd start with the nice guy approach, and then hit him when he was least expecting it.

"Hey, man.  You hungry?  I can order us some pizza, I guess, to ummm, help with your writing, but then you're gonna have to---"

"Sure, I'll take a sandwich.  Roast beef, with provolone.  Don't forget the spicy mustard."

"OK, uh let me check if I have...any of that."

"You do.  Bottom shelf.  Everything you need is right in front of you.  Open your eyes."

"Oh, right."  Flustered, I crossed in front of him towards the kitchen, tiptoeing on whatever bare spot I could see, as if I were in a minefield of disorganization trying to avoid stepping on his clothes that would undoubtedly set the entire apartment up in uncontrollable flames of my very real anxiety.  The last thing I want is to aggravate this guy and coerce him into staying any longer than he needs to.

Opening the fridge provided an unfortunate chilling moment of clarity.  Our conversation.  I couldn't believe he drew first blood.  How do I get out of this?  I needed some help.  What would Hiroyuki Watanabe do to his adversary?  Hmmm, he'd strike back and hard...to end all injustices that came into his world.  I now knew what I had to do next, and I just hoped and prayed I had the chutzpah to see it through.

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CHAPTER ONE

"What are you doing?"

"I only write when I'm naked."

I suspect that's the truth, as he sits there with his red boxer briefs, gray slacks, baby blue polo shirt, and burgundy tank top strewn about the floor. Most of my belongings are in their respective homes: TV, Playstation 2, modem,...yet I can't quite explain why this man is here.   I assume he's a man of few words, but the simplest words often remain true as the night is dark...so I'm better off asking him...I suppose.  In this world of dark, nebulous answers, it's refreshing to have one be so light in verbal and physical delivery.  Plus, he's as naked as the day he was born...in fact, more than that...because of the indomitable sin that's surely cast due to his actions as an adult man.  His clear eyes suggest, and against my better judgement, that I should trust this guy.  So, I enter my apartment, close the door behind me, and I ask him...

"Why are you here?"

"That's obvious.  I had nowhere else to go."

Here, we clearly have an interloper, and Saki would surely be disappointed by this man's appearance. Man A, roughly in his early 30s, a bearded, working man judged by the numerous scars on his knuckles, hands, fingers, and shins, was sitting in my living room...naked as sin...I know more about his life than this man most likely would be willing to tell.  But, the more pressing matter at hand begs the question, how do I get him out?  I've got some Japanese animation to watch...

"So, guy...what do you want?"

"What do I want?  World peace, free tuition for those attending college mainly to create an equal playing field that benefits those in favor of the eventual destruction of capitalism in The United States of America,  especially one that would ultimately balance the competitive plane for groups of various ethnicities, a homestyle roast beef sandwich with provolone cheese, a thorough understanding of how to interact with our humanoid brethren in outer space and distant lands...whether those lands be on this planet or beyond means little to me, and a thorough explanation with bullet points, and hopefully annotations, for the wild popularity of Donald Trump's candidacy in the 2016 presidential election."

'Fuck.'

I am now involved in this odd situation of nudity, one that begrudgingly does not include my own participation.  As he sits there, with his furry balls resting on the brown leather cushion of my favorite couch, I stood there for a few minutes contemplating about the next course of action and wondering how this interruptor of my personal entertainment would respond.

Frankly, I consider myself an intelligent being.  Yes, I'm progressive enough to state that nudity doesn't bother me...neither in film nor in the third dimension...yet most certainly, I'd almost always prefer the female body, in all of its wondrous shapes and forms, to be nude compared to men, but now, I'm stuck...with this guy...and his sticky balls... peeling away from my couch like velcro...to respond to me intelligently to why he's here.

"Better question, how do I get you out of my apartment?"

"That's easy, you just have to answer the right questions."

'Fucking guy.'

Somewhat mildly surprised with such a profound response, and curious about where the next question's retort would take me, I thought of asking him another more pertinent question.  Does he know who I am?  Worst yet, would I be prepared for his response, and would it ultimately floor me like none has succeeded in doing so before?

UPDATE July 2016

Long time no write.  I got married to the love of my life, the only woman for me, the one who I understand and delight, the reason I breathe.

We're moving soon, to South Virginia, and I couldn't be more excited to be opening a new chapter with her.  Work...will be sorted out.  I just have to write a letter and mail it out to Norfolk.  As I write this, I realize how life has more spontaneity than a drug-addled cruise activities director, wild-eyed with induced flight of the mental and limitless energy of the physical that could fill several universes.

I rode a tumultuous wave of what to do about my current position because as it turns out, I'm the top guy ready to be converted to full-time, and this situation brings me to a definitive fork in the road.  Path A has me converted at full-time status possibly by summer 2017 and I would have to wait a year or more to transfer down to Virginia.  Path B has me starting from day 0 at the new post office, but I'll be with the love of my life and on the way to beginning a family, which is frankly the only thing I'm concerned about at 32 winters under my belt.  I've chosen Path B, and I've made my peace with this option because family comes first.

As I watch Kuromukuro, a Japanese anime about a samurai who returns 450 years later in the future to battle ogres that destroyed his life, and how he battles these ogres with mechanized suits while simultaneously trying to survive in modern society, rife with technology like smartphones, bullet trains, etc. in 2016, I realize that life and relationships are all about compromise and "scratching people's backs."  I love Annie, with all of my heart and all of my soul, and I will do everything to ensure her happiness, and mine in the process, and I know moving to VA in summer/fall of 2016 is the right move for us and our family.

I'll write soon.

The Bass Player

Foot tapping,
four ropes of steel,
head bobbing,
so that we feel
heavy vibes
through our bodies
taking strides
helping souls heal.

The bassist
grooves on with zeal,
the faces
of the crowd feel
pure delight,
lost in clouds like
birds in flight,
with bliss so real.