Life thickens…
November 2, 1996 Where the moon is glancing down with a look all his own, I feel and often see what has forever been unknown. In my state of total bliss, I catch a glimpse, as it always is I'm afraid to give in. Where the sun is bright with rage, I turn another page.
Dream #1
November 4, 1996
Couldn’t remember anything from dream except for a strong feeling of death.
(Jena’s cat Lucky died next day)
Dream #2
Again, I remember nothing from dream.
Dream #3
November 7, 1996
I was in a strange unknown house, I think it might have belonged to Judy. Maybe I lived there because I had my own room and it seems that the only thing in the room was a bunk bed. At first I was lying in the bottom bunk, but later on in the dream for some reason it was a must for me to sleep at the top. It was there that I remember looking up and seeing the stars move across the sky at a steady pace and it felt like I was moving through or with them.
Dream #4
December 20, 1996
I’m with the old gang (Julie wasn’t there) at the skating rink and Eric Griebel is all of the sudden sitting next to me except it didn’t look like him. Next thing I know I’m somewhere else, the mall I think, and Eric is still with me, he’s totally obsessed with me! He asks me if I want to go do some cocaine and I decline. This keeps up for a while until all of the sudden Jena comes into the picture. Eric starts asking her if she wants to do some cocaine and she says yes. They become an item and I end up going to Eric telling him that I’ll do cocaine with him. He tells me the concert ticket I have can be traded in for cocaine. After that I start fiending for coke but I’m never able to find any. Now we are all over at Jaren’s house, including Eric, doing absolutely nothing. When I get up and go to the window I see that a tornado is heading straight towards the house. I warn everyone but nobody pays any mind. Right before the tornado strikes it becomes some guy and he just steps in from the window. I ask him what just happened, he says “nothing” and states that he is hungry. Jaren goes to the phone, orders KFC, and a big bucket of chicken appears in his hands.
Dream #5
January 1, 1997
Two of my old friends from the sixth grade were walking down the street with their heads bowed in prayer. I was riding in a car staring out the window at them and Julie’s presence entered the dream. I don’t remember seeing her, but I could just feel her there, like the dream was based around her. Everything was in slow motion.
Dream #6
August 1, 1997
I awoke to a loud clap of thunder and the first thing that went through my head was, “oh no, I fell asleep, I missed my visiting time with Kirk.” Another burst of thunder echoed through the house sending chills up my spine. I peered through the window and became hypnotized by the daytime sky. A hallway of rolling black clouds hanging so close to the ground one would need to duck in order to avoid contact. My gaze is broken by the formation of an all too familiar funnel being cast down from the blackness of the sky. “Tornado!” I scream, running out of my room. “There’s a tornado coming,” but nobody pays any mind. I grab my cat and dog, run to my mom’s closet (which is much smaller than usual) and wait for the funnel to pass. When I stepped out of the closet confident that the danger had passed, I saw my aunt sitting in a rocking chair in front of a broken window. She didn’t speak, she just rocked back and forth. I suddenly wake up, look out the window, and the whole episode occurs again.
Dream #7
August 18, 1997
I had another dream about Julie last night. It’s been almost two years since her death and I don’t cry about it anymore but it still haunts me. This time she had been brought back from the dead, only it was not her. She looked the same and everything but her personality was different. It was like she was retarded and had no concept of anything. I kept thinking, “what have we done?” It felt like a scene from Pet Cematary only Julie wasn’t demonic or evil, she was just so simple and flat out annoying. I could feel myself growing resentful and bitter towards her. I just wanted her to disappear. I literally hated her very existence.
Dream #8
December 29, 1997
Gwen and I were at my old house in Atascocita, it was just the two of us. We were getting ready to go to some party or club. I went from the bathroom into the living room and looked out the window. A tornado could be seen in the distance (suddenly my neighborhood is a farm) making her way up to my house dancing that familiar groove while following a fixed path. I run into the bathroom and calmly tell her that a tornado is about to hit and we’d better take cover in the bathtub. We’re both hunched over with our arms covering our necks waiting for the funnel to go by. I look up and the ceiling starts to crack and you could feel the walls shaking as if they were about to collapse on top of us. “We better go hide in the closet!” I yell to Gwen and we run for better shelter. After we arrive I give Gwen my regrets for not having a bigger closet space and suggest that I could have sworn we used to have more space. The tornado makes her way over my house and Gwen and I stay intact. The place was a wreck, almost in ruins. We finish our faces and leave. This was probably the most realistic tornado dream I’ve had up to date. It actually hit this time, there was actually damage done. I remember I kept thinking in my mind, “Wow, a real tornado!”
Getting Nowhere
December 30, 1997
I have always wanted to keep a book of dreams but I have this problem of not being able to word them in a way I see fit. So far, the only dreams I have recorded have been my repeated tornado dreams. Most of the time my dreams are either about Julie or tornadoes. I can understand the Julie thing but the tornadoes have left me stumped. My brother also has reoccurring dreams about tornadoes. We’ve talked about it before but never came to any solution as to what they meant.
So, my dream book is probably going to consist of dreams about funnels or about best friends who have died. It has been about two years since I’ve started this book and I guess it’s safe to say that I’m going nowhere with it so far. I’ve been reading more literature lately and it has been inspiring me to write more, giving me ideas to work with. William Burroughs is one author I’ve really been getting into. I’m reading Junky right now. Everything that I thought would be a good idea for a book, Burroughs has already done it.
Dream #9
December 30, 1997
Had another dream about Eric Griebel last night. There’s something else I have a lot, Eric Griebel dreams. I was staying over at his house with a bunch of other people. We were just sitting around watching movies and had been for the past three days. I was sitting on the couch right next to Eric and the only thing I could think about was the fact that I hadn’t showered in three days. I was thinking this in my head but Eric turns to me and says that I’m welcomed to take a shower over here, so I did. It was a pretty normal dream except for the fact that Eric and I were apparently friends, I mean close friends, and we both had a liking for each other but nothing ever comes of it. Well, the last part sounds kind of familiar.
In another part of the dream, I’m riding shotgun with Julie at the wheel and some chick is in the backseat but I have no idea who she is. We’re driving down the freeway at a high speed and suddenly I’m hanging out of the car about to plunge to my death. Julie reaches out her hand and is just barely able to touch the tips of my finger. The dream moves in for a close-up and I’m only able to see my hand and hers trying to make contact. A little closer, fingers attached, then our hands make contact, finally Julie has me by the arm pulling me in. “I wouldn’t of let you go, we know what death is like,” she says. “We sure do,” I reply, and looked up at Julie who was smiling like an angel.
Role Play
December 30, 1997
I made you up so I could be what isn’t me, and live a life that is intriguing. My hand holds all control, you are my puppet but strings are not needed for you follow like a shadow. There is beauty in all I create and we have come a long way since the beginning. You I hold closest to my heart and made you the main when you were cast as an extra. An invisible sculpture yet I can see the faces clearly as if I possess glossy pictures from a Kodak. This is my reality, this is my dream, this is myself. There shall always be pain, loss, and suffering but in this manner I find happiness, peace, and accomplishment instead.
Within
1997
Within you shall always lie a connection. I am and forever will be an outcast watching vanity and discomfort pass me by without missing a beat. How could all that was important become forgotten in the blink of an eye? This contains no value anymore. I do not find happiness in a common place, or meaning from casual conversation. But outside of one-track minds I find comfort within you. History is my mentor and he has taught me what to remember and cherish. He told me my position in every single battle and showed me the future. I am letting go for selfish reasons, and within a circle I remember why. The tone changes in every tale taking on a new and somewhat bitter form that has no real explanation. I am cut short in most happenings and undiscovered in others. Never finding the right moment to speak, and even if found what words could deliver? It takes a lot to admit to deep emotions and dangerous tendencies, but denial is so believable I’m still not giving in.
Character
(Letter to River Phoenix)
September 1997
He was beautiful with glowing innocence that would blind the experienced eye and damn the unfaithful soul. How could you be nervous in the presence of such a gifted spirit that projects love and childish antics in such a frivolous manner that even I could not begin to explain with unimportant, ink-filled words? There was something else to be seen but as human nature regrets to let us see past what is not told, we focus on ourselves and let allies take care of themselves. There was something else needed, but again, we regret to see what exists and behave like sheep in a field.
Let me in. It sends shivers up my spine but I relish it like the morbid freak that I am. Off track again and unable to find meaning in a page that was meant to have a point, but it got lost when the hand had the ignorance to take a break knowing what effects a simple pause has to offer. So many times written that the power of thought only complicates the creative mind as spontaneity is obviously the way to go. What happened to the main topic once an inspiration to this very making of art? Maybe enough was said, maybe it is all too much, maybe we truly are to blame.
Occurrence in Sleep…
1998
The other night I could feel myself scratching my neck hard, I mean I could feel the excruciating pain. I don’t know why I was scratching myself up so bad but when I woke up and went to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and had four scratches going down my neck with dried up blood.
Verse We seem to be closer when fighting even though obscenities are being thrown at each other in vile attempts to offend, get revenge, and get the point across at the same time. Afterwards, I usually regret and feel more pain that you will ever deal with or understand.
The Continuing Story of Foxwood
September 1997
Yesterday when I woke up this dream was still planted in my brain like some off the wall movie I didn’t quite understand. I witnessed myself staring through different eyes. A common day in the life of reality, only better.
I can remember these carefree days of sitting around the television involved in an intense game of Street Fighter. Before passing over the control we interrupt the tournament for a smoke break outside. Conversation went into overtime on that pitch black porch, but the ending comments were usually about how fucking cold it was until we ventured back indoors. In a few months we will be bitching about the heat. The fighting continues as we laugh at common fuck-ups and realize how enjoyable it is to play the fool.
Later that night separate groups have been formed by you, me, her, and him causing a temptation for practical jokes. The opposite party bangs on a closed metal door as the perpetrator runs away. Water is poured out of the second story window causing the sound of splashing water to sound like an outside intruder to the downstairs party. We loved to be scared.
The early morning hours creep into this sacred bond of nightly rituals but goes unnoticed as stories about ghostly figures seen by the human eye in this very house echo in your ears over a great game of Canasta. You catch your opponent cheating and sock them in the arm. A frogging match breaks out but the winner will be discovered the next morning by who has the biggest bruises.
A sound is heard in the vacant room across the hall causing speculation to rise to a maximum high leaving us in a state of wondering what the possibilities are of a well-known spook making chaos. Now the garage is making noises. Blood streaks still remain on the mechanical door, but it is still a mystery of how they got there. We notice them after the boxes are unpacked and it was then that the legend of Foxwood was born.
This house still exists but long ago abandoned by the likes of our company. We still drive by but it looks like a stranger now, as we do too.
Dream #10 (Reoccurring)
April 19, 1999
Close your eyes and remember the way to the trail. There’s a parting in the trees just up ahead. The sky is dull and gray but through the opening light could be seen from the sun. You move slowly pushing branches out of the way until a path is spotted in the clearing. “I’ve been here before, don’t follow it,” but you do anyway despite the inner voice. The feeling of terror returns in a sudden flash of de-ja-vu as soon as your feet begin tracing the path. The light from the sun was deceiving as you look up and around only to discover that your surroundings are darker now than they were before. “What do I do? What happened next?” But you can’t remember. It is blocked every time so you keep going back. A reoccurring nightmare but you can’t remember the reason for terror. What lurks along this trail?
Spontaneity has been a goal many have tried to reach, but let us not be too hasty for there is a difference between acting upon impulse and jumping the gun. Mardi Gras was in full bloom just seven hours away from a small town outside of Houston. Boredom was at its all-time greatest leaving three over-imaginative insomniacs wide open for trouble. The minute hand of a clock whose numbers were actually domino pieces was pointing towards 12 black dots. We could reach New Orleans just in time for the sun’s arrival.
Ground Control
April 13, 1999
Relax. This is not forever. It is a mere period in life that will soon become the past. Preparation takes time and the days have grown short with impatience. Enjoy what is still had for years before have shown you not to take anything for granted. Believe it or not, someday this too will be missed. Take a deep breath, release, and stretch your body as far as possible. Getting irritated and frustrated will only cause for more unpleasantness and you already know that it’s not worth it. Let it slide off your shoulders like the heavy burden was nothing but a passing breeze. Take it all in, remember your purpose and keep a steady eye on your goal. Focus. Tomorrow is today as today is yesterday. Don’t lose touch.
July 1999 "I'm not in the mood for the sun today." "There is to be no more doubt. I am done with this and that."
Alternate Reunion
July 11, 1999
In just three days my closest friends and I will be vacation bound. It has been two years for me and even longer for them. The Current Family Reunion once again sets up camp in southern New Mexico, but this is merely an excuse to go, for visiting with my compadre’s relatives (who are strangers to them as well) is not on the main agenda. The foothills of the Rocky Mountains lay in the background of a crystal clear glacier lake whose temperatures have chased off even me. Summertime in Houston is not a pretty thing, but five minutes in those waters is enough to last me until winter.
Our days will be spent hiking up respectfully sized hills and watching sunsets painted across the sky right before our eyes. Rays of light reflect off the surface of the lake captivating each and every witness. By nightfall we retreat back to camp and inquire about plans regarding dinner. Hopefully, the rest of our party retires early, as was the case last time, leaving just three of us to sit outside admiring the night sky. Every star that this universe possesses could be seen along with satellites and meteors, and in the middle of it all, smeared across the sky in full essence was the Milky Way. We talked through the night getting philosophical as conversation actually spoke importance and small talk made foreign. That first visit created a lifelong obsession.
Verses July 1999 Depression can come much too quick. Anything can trigger just one negative thought and in about a minute’s time it has snowballed into “the great depression.” I am not in the mood for the sun today. My melancholy has me paralyzed. There is to be no more doubt. I am done with this and that for the answer travels a one way track. After many years of manual misconception, I have learned and learned again that anticipation must be kept quiet and fully under control.
Life’s Little Elements
July 12, 1999
The long awaited trip is still one day away but my overly anxious mind is already dreading the return. I think I would like to go back to school this fall semester, but to do that I would have to quit my cush job. They won’t hire me part-time and that is the only way I will be able to go back to college. Some days I have it all figured out. There is no doubt as of where my future is heading and when my dreams will be accomplished, but every other day I am completely and utterly lost. This short but sweet getaway to New Mexico is the inspiration I need to once again get in gear and make it through the next six months or however longer it will take to begin my career.
Travel Journalism. It’s a hard business to conquer and even harder to earn a living, but it is what I want. As of now, being on the road is my life. It is my obsession and I will be happy doing nothing else. I’m excited and giddy about ideas waiting to be tasted. Where the hell do I start? Will college help? How-to books? Workshops? Experience? Luck? Can you imagine the feeling of accomplishment I will be bathing in that glorious day of success? This is the day I live for. It is what keeps me going. My dreams will come true for it is a matter of life or death.
Dream
(Reoccurrence: Julie)
July 1999
She visited me again last night only this time it was somewhat unpleasant. For the past year I can happily say that my dreams about Julie have in no way focused on the fact that she is dead. They are normal dreams, not even focused on Julie, she’s simply there, just as a living friend would be. This time Julie, myself, and a few more nameless faces where in the backseat of a car (which was about as big as a master bedroom) visiting. I keep thinking to myself, “Hey, there’s Julie, isn’t she supposed to be dead?” I am stuck on that one thought for what seems like an hour and after the trance is broken one of the nameless faces comes up to me and whispers in my ear, “Hey, Julie’s supposed to be dead.” She’s pointing at her and I look over to see Julie laying down on the floorboard in the fetal position.
Someone said that dreams about loved ones who have passed on are actually their spirits' way of saying hello.
Countdown
July 13, 1999
Hurry up and get your shit together for we are leaving tomorrow come hell or high water. There is only one con when it comes to traveling with other people, there is always someone who is not ready yet. Leaving on schedule becomes a joke after a while. I was ready two days ago.
In traveling by vehicle I prefer the backseat as opposed to the front. It’s like a whole other world. Nothing to do but lay back, cast your eyes out the side window, and engulf your mind with colorful insights racing alongside the car.
Verses July 1999 Meticulous planning sometimes can be a very bad thing. You are setting yourself up for a letdown. And so we meet again, after a year and two along this road I can see the peak of a mountain I knew. Nothing has changed and yet everything has. I am the same person I was ten years ago except I now hold the power of freedom in my grip.
The Roswell Experience
July 15, 1999
You can feel it in your ears. After two days of nonstop traveling in the backseat of a Grand Am with only one hour of sleep in 48 hours, we finally decided to pull over in Roswell. Its 2:25 a.m. and Gwen, Jena and myself decided to go grab something to eat at a 24 hour diner. Right outside the restaurant window is the Alien Spacecraft UFO Research Center, and to the right of us is a snow cone booth called “Alien Snow.” In fact, Main St. is lined with nothing but alien gift shops, alien museums, and on the walls of long ago abandoned buildings are paintings of big-eyed, short green men created by amateur artists.
We have been keeping our eyes open for extraterrestrial activity, but unfortunately, the only alien we will be seeing tonight is a young man in his twenties wearing a baseball hat on backwards, no shirt, and a goatee surrounding a rat-like smile staring at us from the outside of the building. He is about 5 feet away from our car. He just keeps staring. The Beatles are playing through the speakers as my friends and I continue to plan an escape route out to the car. The final decision was to ask the guys at the table across from us to escort us to the car. This was not safe in itself but we didn’t have much of a choice. By this time, our alien friend was gesturing violently outside talking to himself, first laughing and then screaming into the night air.
The neon light of our hotel sign was turned off as we pulled into the parking lot at 4 a.m. “I am so tired I can’t sleep.” A phrase I’ve heard before but never could quite comprehend. I now do.
Just a small town surrounded by desolation but put on the map by one isolated incident that happened more than forty years ago.
Nature’s Fugitive
July 16, 1999
I remember looking at every species of cacti there was and wondering “is that peyote?” This land was foreign to my virgin feet, and after crossing the state line, I asked my elders if they spoke English here.
(first arrival in New Mexico)
It looked as if faces were carved in the stones that spoke clearly molded into their thrones. It was as if the gods opened up the universe to let us in for a moment.
Where life exists in a story book, an ageless narrator is still going strong. Out here among sloping mountains and endless plains I am swept away from dull repetition that plagues my spirit. One single day can seem like a month for time is forced to slow down as a higher altitude takes the wheel. The clouds are looked down upon and admired for the first time from impossible angles. How many eyes have fallen victim to this very same disease I suffer from? Despite my hatred for southern slums, I cannot ignore the importance of my living quarters, for without dreary surroundings my dream might still be in a slumber.
First as first did fall, rested beauty with pureness, and as I recall standing proud and tall, a river passing through.
Loves
July 18, 1999
I was listening to “Long, Long, Long” my favorite song off disc two of The White Album. The way back down is always saddening for me and this time I wept. It has been two years since I have witnessed the beauty I fell in love with. Two years. How is it going to be possible for me to go back home and engage into the life I despise? Route 66 carries me across the Texas state line as the plateaus of southern New Mexico disappear in the back window. How long will it take this time?
My last breath of fresh mountain air is exhaled reluctantly. My wisdom has grown stronger. This is what dreams are made of.
Ying and Yang
July 19, 1999
“Traveling is glamorous only upon reflection.”
For me it’s like a drug. There are many downfalls to living on the road but the high times are well worth it. I have never been more content than the time I drove into southern California just in time for the sunset. It was absolutely gorgeous, but besides my surroundings to inspire, I felt so alive sitting behind that wheel knowing that this was where I wanted to be, and for the time, nowhere else mattered. Everything was new. My reactions spawned from experiencing the unknown causing the core of my soul to dance and sing, and for the first time, breathe.
Close Knit
July 1999
We are trying hard to keep our spirits in good cheer but four have now become three. My friends are my family. They keep me grounded for I have the tendency to drift from the shore. We share the same addiction to highway vibrations, each for different reasons. It is easy to grow irritated when time alone is sparse, but what kind of friendship do you have if you feel uncomfortable to gripe at each other? My journeys have never been spent alone and this dependency could stand to be a bad thing. Traveling is my calling, my career, but this lifestyle may or may not be in their future. As I have said before, I will go alone, but my dream would be complete with the likes of all of you.
Circumstantial Instinct
July 24, 1999
Where do I stand when the middle slot is occupied? If time was made parallel maybe a face would be glanced upon, but only in passing. Careless outings have me spoiled and willing to sacrifice security at the expense of circumstantial instinct. Under bleak conditions, out here in the mercy of Mother Nature, a smile sneaks past my lips. Back home that endless cycle continues to turn, but I am made a missing link. A fugitive who broke free and is now in hiding for death would be more pleasing than to be locked up again.
De-Ja-Vu
December 16, 1995
As soon as I awake I can remember them for a split second. When the day is started they disappear and go into hiding. A while later, say three months, the dreams will come back to me from out of nowhere. I’ll be driving down the road planning out my day and then it hits me. A familiar scene plays through my mind sparking even more recognition. In a minute’s time I have remembered the dream in its entirety. Once I ponder the occurrence, I get a very strong feeling that I have witnessed this “scene” before. Perhaps a reoccurring dream that refuses to be uncovered? Perhaps nothing more than the mind playing tricks.
Finch
July 26, 1999
How is it that you came to be a character in my dreams? Three years ago I sat in silence watching in disgust. Not one apologetic word was sent my way, just that same remarkable yet deceiving smile. My role as a puppet was short lived, but three years later you popped up uninvited when I was most vulnerable. Dreams are not one to be reckoned with, and in the wake of mid-noon, I imagine what you might be doing now. I find out that you left town two years back, and in that same sentence I learned of your return. Some dreams do come true, but not in the way one would have hoped.
Subject to Change
July 20, 1999
I now hate the road I once loved. Familiar territory surrounds me while I watch the stars disappear one by one. In the dead of night, thousands of yellow and white lights can be seen in the near distance. I think the one thing that keeps me from jumping out of the car and plunging to my inevitable death is the thought of getting a good night’s sleep in my oh so comfortable waterbed. Out here, with the city still only in sight, 18-wheelers rule the highways. One by one they pass us by like a traveling circus or a derailed train adapting to the character of cement.
Chatter
July 29, 1999
I have the tendency to backtrack. The first time around does not leave a memorable impression on me or so it seems is always the case. The saying “never look back” has never made much sense to me. In order for me to go forward, I must look back to find the way. True, this approach can be a bit of a delay, but one has to know where one comes from. One must know where one is heading even if one is heading nowhere.
Quirk
July 30, 1999
Sometimes it’s just not there. My fingers clutch the bottom of the pen threatening a page baring empty lines, and on instinct, a date is jotted down making it an imperative that something, anything must be written tonight. I have found that the keyboard only worsens my all too often writer’s block. The very instant my hand starts to glide across the paper creating curved lines that produce a connecting pattern of verses, my mind shifts gears, and like clockwork, words begin to flow. Staring at a blinding screen with my fingers in limbo takes away from the power of creation of art.
Verses August 5, 1999 Voices of the deep wilderness whisper through the wind that carries off their symphony across the way and back again. She carries herself with grace pushing back the predator who feeds off her gentle faith. I would rather not show face for my features have become distorted. Boredom and depression are a nasty mix, but with me, they seem to go hand in hand. Outside, beneath the scorching summer sun, clarity filtered out my spoken words and spit the remains back at me. Today, I realized just how lost I really am.
Sequel
(Letter to River Phoenix)
August 9, 1999
It is time again to drop a verse for my stranger friend. In summer’s hold we continue to swelter, but in the shade of a nearby forest, I sit content with the breath of your breeze. Lazy today from too many excuses digested to alter the pain of whatever. But I was near even past the clouds or at least the first layer. Someone said you were faking, that you had the heart of a hypocrite and the appetite of a carnivore. They got the best of you even after the game had ended. All has not been well. Your presence is needed now more than ever to steal the show with your intensity and grace.
Verses for Him August 10, 1999 Never have I seen such beauty in a dream where wishes are redeemed and you were still alive. But all the daises scream and every Redwood leaned to catch just one last scene, how will we all survive? Kind mother bow your head tonight for the first was the first to go. Brave father arm yourself to fight for we shall reap what we sow. Little girls with preteen boppers stealing kisses from their bedroom walls. But you touched my heart, you were more than just that. Hollywood agents fill their pockets selling your image to the porcelain dolls. But you touched my heart, you were more than just that.
Oh…Hello
August 11, 1999
I think I handled myself well given the circumstances. God, for a while I felt like Little Miss Universe just by the one look. That one smile. Physical attraction doesn’t even exist, or none that I’m aware of anyway. What is it? Maybe just the excitement, or the idea, or the chase? I thought I wasn’t that kind of a person but tonight you have me stumped for this is out of character for yours truly.
Unmentionable
(Letter to River Phoenix)
August 11, 1999
To look at the situation from a different perspective is a road I would like to travel only once. Every day I dwell in the path of your tragedy that took its toll on a kindred spirit several years ago. The world was dumbfounded, or at least those of us who gave a shit. We are dangerously close to the new millennium which saddens me for I hate to leave the nineties behind. This was your era and in this generation you were made a leader even if not by choice, but too many punches were thrown leaving you to grasp for the sidewalk. In one single second you were immortalized. Forever young. Forever beautiful. Time no longer has the ability to cast its voodoo upon you. Already at twenty-two I have lost meaning and excitement for each new day. Just imagine what twenty-two more years will do. We shall never have to witness you go through this. You will always be graceful and authentic.
Holding Out
August 11, 1999
I am cursed. Little girl dreams trick me again by changing masks and disguising their voice. Well, it’s not so much about you, it’s about deceit from long-time friends. Carelessness. I had not realized I was having a bad day until it was over, and sometimes there is no one to talk to even when surrounded by loved ones. Especially. I hate talking about or even writing about the reasons that I’m down, and behind backs, close to tears. It just sounds so pathetic to me after I speak my dwellings aloud or confess them to paper. I am stronger than that, right? These petty mishaps are not worth suffering, but finally I’ve learned that you can’t fib to your emotions. So yes, I am affected by the news of your marriage plans scheduled for next month.
Another face from the past came back into “the big picture.” Larry Finch is back in Humble (I had no idea he left). He’s this guy that I started seeing three years back until I discovered he was fucking my good friend Crystal on the side. She ended up winning, one, because I don’t play that game, and two, because I didn’t sleep with him. We weren’t that serious but I really liked him and for the life of me I don’t know why. He’s not my type at all, I mean, I’m not even attracted to him. Anyway, the day I got back from New Mexico, Kenny calls me and says that Larry is back in town and would really, really, really like to see me. So, I go over to Kenny’s place and we’re having a good time talking and laughing with each other. He makes his flirtation obvious and as I’m leaving he says, “I’ll see you again. I’ll make sure of it. How about this weekend?” Kenny’s having this big party Friday and Saturday, and after tonight, I will not be attending.
Kenny’s girlfriend told Jena on the phone a few hours ago that Larry is engaged to be married in a month, but to not tell me because Kenny would get mad. Kenny has been my good friend for the last ten years, he and Larry are acquaintances. Well, let’s hear it for the buddy system. Yeah, maybe Larry thought he was going to get a good fuck, but what the hell is in it for Kenny? So much for having loyal friends. I’m sick of being alone. I want to experience what everyone else has. I’ve never been in a real relationship. Shit, I’ve never been given roses, or even weeds.
I have my fantasy man hiding in my bedroom closet waiting for a human form to occupy. He is soft spoken and his tongue bares depth. His frame is defined but slender, and his hands, oh his beautiful hands. They are gentle and careful with fingers that are blessed with length and smoothness except for the tips which are calloused from strumming a guitar. Maybe he even plays the piano. He would have to with hands like that. He moves with natural grace and believes that we are all worth the universe for life is a gift not a chore. His spirit is free and heart true to whomever he holds dear. When he kisses me, my body melts, but those hands mold me back together again connecting me with his body and giving me strength and assurance. So far no one has come close.
Daydreams
August 13, 1999
What would make me happy? A drive through the country with my closest friends in sight and my truest love waiting faithfully just across the state line. A publication of my finest work. My readers relate to each verse in their own way and sit patiently, anxiously awaiting my next book. My health heals itself giving me the ability to run a million miles if I so desired. Food finally becomes a turn on and my once hollow face fills out and tiny little disturbances are wiped clean from my skin. Scars from the past disappear leaving me with a clear head, and stolen innocence is returned anonymously.
Limerick
(not a limerick)
August 13 – 16, 1999
Aware now that something is upon, hesitate to be where I don’t belong, frozen while in step, how could I be so wrong? For here has stayed too long, but to leave I’m not so strong.
An impending feeling of doom takes hold of me and cancels any future accommodations that I might have on reserve. My chest has been experiencing sharp pains on the right side and it is scaring the shit out of me. I have been abusing myself.
Sharp like a red-headed porcupine one used to say, on a day like today, under the ray of the sun, laughing ourselves undone.
I am disappointed in myself, for when the whistle blew I hesitated, and when it was through I stood belated.
Too many worries have gathered together clogging the drain pipes like a wad of hair.
Who would of thought that this was how it was going to be? I was supposed to be a famous rock star by 23.
Talking and planning and crying and waiting. Today might be the day I live to die alone.
Give me time to knot frayed ends that will surely unravel if not properly stopped.
For a Friend
August 17, 1999
For once in your life believe in something good, for not just I but we have a place in high reserves. The churning wheel has cut many fingers putting these dreamers to sleep, but the wicked witch has lost her broomstick leaving the moon wide open for business. I’ve heard stories of failure and mishaps which are enough to discourage even the most confident of us all, but I have an eye for the future. There is no need to doubt what you have not begun to start. My spirits have never failed me despite the treacherous misfortunes I have endured, and this is the only way to make it. We will get nowhere dealing shit to ourselves.
For Rent
August 18, 1999
Discolored from too many hours spent running away from home and then running back again. What a time we had on our shoulders when music belonged to us and clothing was made by recycled hands. Surely we have not lost all of our dignity. But, it was here that many fell leaving the rest to fall with loyalty or stay behind to carry a relic that will only be placed in a museum. A rotting balcony carried the weight of two mischievous insomniacs who pranced about oblivious to the crumbing mess that awaited them. Here, in the evening of presence, tense words are thrown into the air as praying hands remain clutched and yellow walls are painted white while we stand outside watching with nowhere left to go.
Turn Your Head
August 19, 1999
I cannot write about what secrets I have been through for privacy has been invaded one too many times. There is no one I can talk to or confess my carried burden for a circle will make its way around. You, my imaginary reader, would be a perfect ear if my words could be read without ink. Maybe this paper could self-destruct but in doing so my secrets still would not be free. I tried once, ten years ago, to come clean but the fear was overpowering. The fear of losing what was then my only salvation during a time when suicide seemed like an answer.
Regulars
August 19, 1999
I had a dream about a killer snowman the other night.
Where have you been since the last time we talked? Have you seized from visiting my dreams or can I just not remember?
I have not yet apologized for such bitter terms. In you I found a connection that has never existed outside of my circle. We never saw it coming did we?
Frantically searching for the shaman who will intervene this terrible nightmare and return me to that familiar yet unknown land of utopia.
Been there, done that
August 20, 1999
Something must have died somewhere, somewhere beyond my control. Push it back where nothing exists, nothing which makes me whole.
I had been away much too long but the drive and inspiration that I had expected to gain after returning from my vacation are not as prevalent as I had expected them to be. The mountains of central New Mexico have already been experienced. Don’t get me wrong, for they still hold my undivided attention, but I just couldn’t help but wonder what lurked beyond those peaks. What does the north hold? Does the east threaten these parts with its own special kind of beauty, and how about those tropical islands I’ve read so much about?
Dream: Interruptions
August 23, 1999
I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs the other night from a nightmare, but I can’t even remember what it was about. The entire household was awakened from my bellow but I was still somewhat out of it. To me it sounded like a faint peep so I didn’t pay any mind, but Gwen was in the room and she was shaking me and asking if I was alright. I moaned “yes” and dozed back off. That was the first time I have ever done anything like that. I don’t even talk in my sleep. There was a giant spider, that much I can remember, but the rest is completely void. I’ve been having nightmares steadily for the past two months but I can never remember them. I’ll wake up in the morning freezing because I am covered in sweat and the fan is blowing directly on me. An uneasy feeling consumes me but the dream itself is a mystery. I’ve also been waking up in the middle of the night from an asthma attack, and I’m thinking that this might be connected with the nightmares. Sleep is no longer pleasant.
Dead Line
August 26, 1999
I hope to have this journal finished by the year 2000, so far I am halfway through it. I have the freedom to write anything even if it is complete shit…
My bed has been made and breakfast is done but I am trying to fly, you see, I am trying to find my own. This is my time to run from the hour glass who survives off my shadow. For he I have ignored, but I am trying to fly, you see, I am riding on a loan.
“For all that is pure this plan will pan out even if it kills me.”
Global Warning
August 26, 1999
Shades of red velvet drape heavily in the midnight hour swaying back and forth from immense stillness. Silken strands of loose carelessness cling to the night sky magnifying their existence. Shapeless bodies hover like sheep over a field of freshly cut grass leaving little room for realizations or transformations. Standing alone on a vacant street lingers the presence of an exquisite being who bares such answers that have long ago been. All such things that were passed should be seen for the giving of a hand can be full when at first glance seems empty.
Spilled Milk
August 27, 1999
A coworker’s sister in Thailand is dying from AIDS that her husband transmitted to her by fucking some other chick. My coworker’s husband is in prison for the next fifty years for getting busted with a serious amount of cocaine and she is pregnant with his baby. She is my age, and until today, we had never talked and I’ve worked there for almost a year now. I have no right to agonize over my problems after hearing hers. Every time I see her she has a smile across her lips. She keeps it well hidden, much better than me. I don’t even know her name though she knew mine. I used to think I was a strong person.
Change of Pace
September 10, 1999
Mid-September makes her way for the last time this century. The days have cooled off just enough where an egg won’t fry on the cement. A nice breeze turns into a strong wind and then settles down again. This is the time of the year that I love the most. A familiar smell seeps into my nose leaving my body and mind wide open for nostalgia. I can’t put my finger on it. My summer strut is now an autumn stride.
Letter to River Phoenix
September 1999
I saw you on Current Affair. The segment was called “Twisted River” so you can imagine what they had to say. Dug up from your past and aired all over the country was your private tribulations regarding premature sex. They wanted you to have been molested. They wanted you to “dance with demons.” They wanted you to die from an overdose on a cold sidewalk outside of a popular night club. It has all been a play on words.
Play me a song down by the River's side, down by the banks of the Rio Grande, a breathless song where the river bends, up past the trenches of Rio's land. Waves of ripples move with the wind chasing a pebble that skips down stream.
The Leash Law
September 20, 1999
There’s nothing like a live concert. I went to my second Tom Petty concert last night. The first time he came to Houston was on his “Wildflowers” tour, which, I must say, still stands to be my favorite. Don’t get me wrong though, last night was a jam. My friends and I arrived an hour early at the Cynthia Woods Pavilion to snag a decent mound of grass. We had all purchased lawn seats so it was a matter of the early bird catching the worm. Four of us rode together but the fifth person of our party had yet to arrive and we had his ticket. The worst thing you can do when attending a concert with a group of people is to separate, but someone had to reserve our seats and someone had to wait for our belated friend. So, two of us went ahead through the gates and two of us stayed behind. My ticket had yet to be torn.
Ten minutes before the show was scheduled to start our late arrival had yet to arrive. We were waiting on my friend’s boyfriend and were feeling giddy about missing the beginning of the show. I suddenly had an incredible urge to urinate. I made the decision to meander on through the blue metal gates that stood just inches away from me. The line to the bathroom moved quickly, and exiting the facilities, my mind quickly took notice of my current disposition. It had never dawned on me what I was going to do after I came out of the bathroom. Hundreds upon thousands of nameless strangers surrounded me, and though I strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, the situation looked hopeless. I trekked back and forth the length of the blue, jail-like gates but my friend was nowhere to be seen. Now, under normal circumstances this situation would have sent me into a panic attack for I hate being in a crowd alone, especially one this big, but thirty minutes back I had digested a valium and smoked two joints rolled with kind bud.
Steep, cement stairs climbing quite a height, lay to my right, and this I suspected was where I needed to go. I followed the crowds of Petty goers to the top of the hill and stood there in awe. The lawn stretched across the pavilion for as far as I could see. A collage of heads covered the hill and declined into oblivion until the reserved seats could be seen down by the stage. “OK, stay calm, didn’t someone say they would be sitting to the left of the stage somewhere in the middle?” I was already to the far left so my plan was to stay at the top of the hill and just scan down. “Surely someone will be watching for me.” My eyes caught a glimpse of arms waving back and forth in my direction, and at that moment, my friends have never looked so beautiful. Our compadre back at the gate still had not made her way to where we were and neither had her boyfriend. I again was left behind to save our place as the other two went back for the other two. I was not moving again that night.
The opening band (I forget their name) was halfway through the set and the sun was on a fast decline. I stood up every five minutes to look for everybody and finally spotted them waiting in line at the beer stand which was located at the top of the hill centered from where I was seated. After waving my arms about, my friends spotted me and made their way down to our destination. Someone handed me a beer, and ten minutes later, the house lights shut off and Tom Petty took the stage.
I sang along to every song, screaming and clapping on cue. Thirty minutes into the set, my friends and I had seated ourselves as did the people up front and the people behind. We drank our beer, smoked our weed, and puffed on cigarettes enjoying a rare cool night in Houston with the music of a live band filling the air. It was time for the encore so we all stood up, lit our Bics, and screamed for another jam. The sky was pitch black except for the glowing of thousands of hand-held flames flickering against the backdrop of night. The roar of the crowd grew louder as the stage lights appeared and a guitar led into the intro of the classic song “Gloria” originally done by The Animals. Petty’s version blew me away as I and the rest of the audience chanted “Gloria” along with Tom.
Right Before Our Eyes
September 1999
Kill us now if this is our fate. Burning homes where they sleep, polluting air where they eat, but we have been warned for as we wait, she is filtering through with dangerous heat and coming out bare where we used to eat.
Julie’s Memory
September 1999
This is where I sat when the news was all too real and the night much too long. Out here with the swamp at my side, I sat leaned up against that white piece of shit on wheels looking into your ghost.
Three Months Late
September 22, 1999
There is not much I can say. If you look at the carpet long enough you can see the differences between the stains. Usually the floors were covered with furniture and trash, but the furniture now resides in a U-Haul truck and the trash has gone home leaving a clear view of mishaps and carelessness. Standing alone looking down from the upstairs balcony has a different effect on me now knowing that it will be my last time. I closed my eyes and listened to the familiar voices echo throughout the halls, and from where I was, I could hear their ghosts echo back. This place has gone to shit, much like my life, but it was here that I sat watching loved ones come and go and wishing I could be somewhere else.
Doers and Dreamers
September 27, 1999
Deep in the rich parts of Spring, TX, thousands and thousands of dreadlocked free-spirited traveling gurus gathered together in the parking lot of a newly built mall surrounded by pine trees and foliage. They had been there all day and were still going strong in the evening sun. Volkswagen vans, RV’s, airstream campers, and buses once used for transporting students occupied the vast amount of parking spaces. Hippies were pacing back and forth the length of the rows with coolers of beer yelling, “Cold Brewsky! Three bucks a bottle!” Others were sitting on the ground or in the back of their vehicles selling glass blown pipes showcased in briefcases. Others were selling food with signs that read, “Organically Grown.” A few isles down, tribal sounding rhythms could be heard from bongos being beat on by about six other dread-heads. Hand-made clothing was also on display as the parking lot was transformed into one big runway.
Blaring from each and every van, bus, RV, and car was a variation of different songs but they were all performed by the same artist. Phish. Old Phish, new Phish, live Phish, studio Phish. License plates ranged from Arkansas to Colorado to California to Rhode Island, but they were all going in the same direction and following one common interest. Phish followers. The last great non-mainstream band. Some say they are the answer to the loss of the legendary Grateful Dead, and until I attended one of their concerts, I never fully understood the extent of this statement.
Cops were riding around on horses nearby, but they didn’t pay any mind to the illegal activities being performed just a few feet away from them. I had a joint shoved in my sock, and every time I walked, I could feel the sock slip down and the joint slip up. I had to stop about every five minutes to push it back down.
The paranoia of getting searched at the gates had faded after arriving in the parking lot, but I kept it there anyway just in case. Nothing was going to stop me from seeing Phish. It was about a fifteen minute stroll through the self-made Haight Ashbury. I could see myself doing what these people do. My envy towards them grew with each step I took. They were traveling the country seeing a different landscape and meeting different faces every day. Experiencing something new that inspires the soul to experience again. I know it would probably get old, but a year could fill a lifetime.
I wanted to linger around and digest it all in, but Phish would be on stage in thirty minutes and my friends and I were anxious for good seats. We sprawled our blanket out over the grass, kicked off our shoes and socks, and waited for the show to begin. At around 7:40 pm Phish took the stage. No opening band, just Phish. From the first song of the first set to the last song of the last set, it was an all-out total jam fest. Songs lasted for fifteen minutes as everyone toked on weed and danced around oblivious to how they might look. I remained seated, swaying back and forth, clapping my hands, singing along with the music, toking on my weed. The moon was full that night, and just when the sky threatened rain, wind picked up and blew the clouds away. My hair then covered my eyes and I smiled a fresh breath of air.
Our Little Graveyard
September 30, 1999
If I had known she was going to die, I would have let go of my bitterness. Since 1995, I have been soul searching endlessly looking through trash barrels, climbing mountain tops, swimming the ocean bottoms, trekking through sandy deserts and studying the star-filled skies. It is a lifelong journey but I have come quite a way in four years. We learn as we grow and we grow as we learn and if I had known then what I know now I would have…
September 23 came and went unnoticed to all but me. Some things I keep preserved in my thoughts. It’s like a promise to myself to get extremely depressed on this day. My best friend died on a Saturday morning on September the twenty-third and each year I live another year I will forever hold this date frozen in my time capsule.
Remembering your face when you found something outrageously funny places a smile on my lips as tears invade my eyes. Remembering the times we sat under the bridge that connects Atascocita to Huffman talking about the songs we would like to have played at our funerals gives me a clear perspective of irony, but none of your songs were played.
I saw your little sister take the podium and read letters that you had written to her despite the fact that you both lived in the same household. Her words were blurred but she made it through like you knew she would. I saw your dad greeting people at the door and he looked me straight in the eye but then looked past me when I smiled. He always hated me didn’t he?
This year I spent the day at work listening to old CD’s that you and I had personally picked to be the top five on the billboard. I wanted nothing more than to walk out the doors of that office and drive down to our bridge where we spent the afternoons of our youth, but I didn’t. The floods have long ago washed away the art of our spray paints, but no bother, for we left our mark on every living breathing thing, and you will always exist in me.
My Friend Tori
October 1, 1999
I took Thursday and Friday off this week. The Tori Amos concert was on Thursday, so, I thought, you know, why not take Friday off too. Gwen and I left for Kerrville after the concert which ended at 11:00, and we didn’t make it in until 5am, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves for I must tell you about the concert.
It was just Gwen and I that attended, and we knew before we got there that we would be mistaken for lesbians, so we took advantage of this. While walking from “the red parking lot” to the pavilion, we were accompanied by lesbian after lesbian. They were couples and we could hear them talking to one another saying things like, “We’re going to have a great time tonight, aren’t we baby?” or “Are you cold, honey, cuz I’ll give you my jacket,” so, Gwen and I joined in.
She starts off “You look beautiful tonight you waif-looking thang.”
I answer back, “Oh, thank you baby. Hey, are you going to use the strap-on tonight?”
She plays along, “Only if you’re a good girl.”
I continued, “Why don’t you ever hold my hand in public?”
“You know how I feel about that. Don’t start with me.”
We decided to quit after that for fear of getting our asses kicked.
Tori was beautiful. She came out on stage dressed all in black which made Gwen and I happy because we were in black as well. One thing I’ve always liked is when the musician talks to the audience, and Tori did just that. She talked to us as if we were her personal friends, and we are. I watched from afar as Tori shook hands with her fans in the front row, and it touched me just knowing that she actually acknowledged these nameless faces that adored her so much. That woman inspires me in all aspects. She has helped me come to terms with issues that may never see the light of day, for I too, have been cold in my own igloo remembering days of pigtails and lost innocence.
“I’m just having thoughts of”
Shoemaker Crossing
October 3, 1999
My feet are callused from walking barefoot through trails paved with pebbles. At the end of these trails, huge oak trees take the upper stage while I balance myself jumping from root to root. They looked like boa constrictors weaving in and out of each other. I began imagining that I was actually trekking through the rain forests of Puerto Rico searching for the perfect spot to hang my hat and record my inspirations. Miniature waterfalls surrounded me making my imaginary world even more realistic. The coolness of the fresh spring water came up a little past my ankles as I walked across the edge of one of the many waterfalls. There was a slight pull from the currents and the mossy rocks made for a slippery surface, but even if conditions were safer, I still would have stepped slowly taking it all in. Sprinkles of water hit my face from the rushing falls, and for a second, I closed my eyes and stood there at the edge with my arms outstretched pondering the possibility of flight.
Another Jane Doe
October 11, 1999
There’s a girl I used to know who killed herself a few weeks ago. She was physically and sexually abused for most of her life. Her face was pale, hair black, and eyes glazed over every time I saw them. Sometimes her speech didn’t make sense and other times she could be sitting next to me but yet she was nowhere to be found. She had sex with a lot of people. She took drugs like vitamins. She would get so drunk she would end up pissing on herself. She would cry at the bar and threaten suicide to complete strangers. She was laughed at by friends and by me. She was a mother and a sister. She was twenty-four. Somebody said they saw it coming a long time ago. Someone else said she was selfish for doing it. Someone said they didn’t care. I said we were all to blame. Today I became a better person in the face of another tragedy. I have always thought myself to be a genuinely nice person, and I am, but I am also a hypocrite. I can’t believe I didn’t realize what I was doing. She never harmed me.
Stranded on a Tree Stump
October 15, 1999
They have cut down all the trees by my house. On the way to work the other day I looked around, and for a split second, I thought I was lost. Just recently I read in the newspaper that Houston now holds the number one spot for the city with the most smog. Yup, we finally beat out L.A. If I knew that tomorrow would not be seen I would leave tonight.
Common sense is turning out to be an enemy for all this planning and saving and waiting and planning is wearing thin. I think time is playing a joke on me by winding the clock forward while I’m sleeping, or maybe I just sleep too much. Any way you look at it, we are at the end of a year and the beginning of a millennium and I am literally watching myself fading from the back window. Some days I don’t think about where I came from or where I’m going. I just sort of exist and go where the day takes me which is usually nowhere. Sometimes I know I am on the right track and other times it is as if I’m fooling myself. Mostly I’m just doing what I think I do best. I’m recording conversations. I’m looking outside of myself. I’m watching my step and stimulating my brain with positive feedback from negative odds. I am protecting my will.
Aliens Landed on the Moon
October 25, 1999 (4:30 am)
At around 2:00 this morning, Gwen and I went outside to the backyard to have a smoke, and at nearly the same time, we looked up to the sky and caught glimpse of a spectacular sight. Surrounding a full moon was a ring of light that, at first sight, looked like a thin cloud that was purposely placed around the moon in a perfect circle. My friend and I were dumfounded, for common sense will tell you that any cloud formation cannot obtain circular perfection. From our eye distance to the moon, the ring was about one foot in radius and one foot diameter. “I’ve heard about a ring around the moon but this is ridiculous,” that was the first comment that exited my mouth followed by a series of “Oh my God, what is it?” and “How is that possible?”
It looked like a huge hula hoop surrounding the moon. We started cracking jokes about this being a sign that the end of the world is upon us or that it was alien activity or that we mysteriously entered some other realm. Clouds were now moving through the ring and it looked as if the phenomenon was breaking up and fading away, but five minutes later it seemed to have restored itself. An hour later when we went back outside, the moon had changed positions and the ring had followed. It had to have been the light from the moon but how and why? I’m going to have to do some research on this one.
Rough Draft
October 26, 1999
In all is all we have tonight where seven for seven gather in a smoky apartment weaving in and out of conversations. In all is all we speak tonight where dusty photographs are passed around for us and for them, we have come a long way.
The sound of a purring cat rubs against my leg and nibbles my toe if I continue to go about my business. The sound follows me into the living room and waits for a lap to sit down.
Too long has gone and it is evident that I have been slacking. No more of that now.
Please, Just Fire Me
October 27, 1999 (4:30 am)
I’m planning on getting back into school this semester. I have already sent off for a grant and for financial aid. One of the big reasons I’m going back is so I don’t have to work. My many bosses have all been hounding me to put in overtime this week but I’m standing my ground. Shit, it’s hard enough for me to be there eight hours a day five days a week, any more would be suicide.
I know there is a build-up of movement heading my way and it carries with it every emotion that I can possibly think to experience. Whatever happens, I’m ready, for fear is not going to overtake me this time. My feet have been planted for a seriously long time and although the trip to New Mexico was only two months ago, it seems like it never happened. There was too much shit to come home to. Even while I was reunited with that enchanting land, I still could not let myself be completely free and happy. Going back was hard as I had expected it to be, but that inspiration that I also expected was not as prevalent as I had hoped. There was no talk of moving when my friends and I returned. No bond. No conversation about our newfound memories. We each just went back to our daily routines as if we had never left.
I remember watching from the back window as we were leaving the mountains of New Mexico thinking about what awaited me and knowing that it could very well be another two years before I return. It’s not just New Mexico. There is so much beauty out there that I have never experienced. I’m going to travel all fifty states and after that I’ll go international starting with Amsterdam.
October 28, 1999 I heard two owls the other night when I was smoking a cigarette in my backyard. For six years I’ve lived in this neighborhood and never have I heard an owl. They were engaged in a conversation which I can only imagine went something like, “Hey, where are we?” “I don’t know, I was following you.” “Who?”
Long Time Coming
October 29, 1999
Something is heading your way. The days are growing shorter as the nights have disappeared into morning’s waking hour. I feel it to be right within my heart whereas every time before was nothing but restlessness and irritation. Looking back again brings me a step closer and one step ahead to that treasure I have dreamed about and to this vision I am sold. My quest is not as glamorous as some have been perceived. A year of total absence is all this book shall hold, but looking back I must admit to a certain progress as far as my writing goes, and newfound wisdom as far as my insight goes.
Seven Year Anniversary
(Letter to River Phoenix)
October 29, 1999
Where did you go on an early Sunday morning? Among big wigs, plastic masks and covering white sheets you stumbled around anonymously. But I would have followed like a hidden camera to see you running to catch your breath. What did you find in that room with a view? Overlooking the city that hovers like your ghost where ghouls wait to greet you and the witches brew is tasted, but I heard a spell that was cast into your ear. Where are you now as the days push us near? Halloween is dressed up like a bad memory this year taunting your favor like a de-ja-vu reborn, but I can still remember what a time it was to have you with us.
Phantom in the Woods
(reoccurring dream)
October 30, 1999
There was something watching that day through the shadows of the woods. It followed behind with the trees stepping as I did, inhaling as I did, swallowing as I did. I remember my eyes darting upward and then behind, but when the corners were uncovered nothing appeared. My disturbance to these parts was quite innocent, but the idea of such a presence here among immense wickedness that has been tucked away for ages was too much for this force to ignore. I think something was brought back with me.
“What evil lurks beyond this trail?”
Bed Ridden
October 31, 1999
The light from the afternoon sun is blinding to my morning eyes. Ten full hours of deep sleep but my head remains tucked away in my pillow until responsibility forces my body to exercise its muscles and rise. If time were my own to spend, perhaps these bags that hang heavily in my sight would retreat and let my youth prevail. These days it is all I can do to show face, but I do not suffer from depression. I think it’s just a deep sadness along with a strong feeling of discontent and a constant paranoia of impending doom. “Tomorrow will be better. Things will start to look up.” One of these days I would like to wake up dancing.
Verses for River
October 31, 1999
Maybe I just wasn’t properly prepared for the occasion. Sometimes there is nothing that can be said.
Washed away. Clean off a table for two and swallow the leftovers. I keep you in my closet well preserved.
You said nothing could bring you back to a dying world, but there are chores left to be done. There are songs left to be sung.
Just a day away and all the things to say on a passing cloud you lay with resting wings in evening’s ray it’s just a day away.
Skin Deep
November 5, 1999
It keeps spreading like a plague and the medicine is failing in its job. I need to be put to sleep. Indoors, away from prying eyes, I dwell consuming gallons of caffeine and inhaling pounds of marijuana typing my life away dreaming about anything but now. There is an underlying tone of mixed up points bleeding into one but these scars will not stay hidden and these flaws will not quit growing. God, just go away. If I turn a cheek in your direction, act as if there’s nothing there. Pretend as I do and look away when the sight cannot be ignored. Why can’t I be as beautiful as them? Wipe it clean.
Playing Hooky
November 7, 1999
This is the worst it’s been. Tonight I have crawled away to my bedroom to begin hibernation. My body has fallen ill landing me a scapegoat from false excuses. I have lost sight of optimism and given into that old feeling that stalks me like an estranged lover. This is hard. I don’t think that I will be where I’m supposed to be tomorrow. It is safe to say that I no longer care about saving bridges, and watching them burn to the ground would be rather pleasing. I no longer care about pay checks. For a year I have stayed too long in this mind numbing sweat shop torturing my spirit and contaminating my soul. Monday will be another sick day.
Screaming Crows
November 1999
My hands have not learned the art of painted art but my indented fingers know the place of your dwelling. The world came to love you when it was too late. In a field of crows your legend was born, I thought you might be happy to know. But I can’t help but think if you had let yourself live, would we know of the famous Van Gogh?
Out to Sea
November 10, 1999
Have I chosen the right path?
Back at work from a four day vacation. I doused myself with cold medication hoping that it would make time go by a little faster. It somewhat worked. Next Monday I am putting in my two week resignation which was supposed to be postponed until the end of December, but I’m sick of this place. My money is being stretched as far as it will go, and regretfully, I have not been able to put back.
Sadness has been lurking over my shoulder, and in an effort to overcome this demon, I bought a new wardrobe, a bunch of new CD’s, and many other nick-knacks that I found appealing. This splurging has recently come to an end. I think I might have lost focus there for a while but things are getting back on track.
Last night I looked up just in time to catch sight of a falling star. It fell so low to the earth’s ground that I have to wonder if my distant neighbors had been crushed. I started remembering the way the sky looked hovering above mountains or the way the stars seemed to move if I stared at them long enough. I remember nights spent at the beach falling asleep on the sand with the lullaby of the ocean soothing my ears. I remembered dreaming about far away utopias and swimming on top of the waves waiting to arrive.
Red Cadillacs
November 11, 1999
I think my friend is dying today from a self-induced heart attack. He gave away his sanity to build it up again. He gave away his poverty to build it up again.
I remember my days of high school nights singing my breath away and steering the wheel with my right hand man driving ourselves out of sight.
I was found on the floor with my veins cut deep crying myself to sleep dreaming of dreams that have since been forgotten along with my friend I shall weep.
Rash
November 12, 1999
My vocabulary is running dry with words that have been overused and verses that have been turned around. I have grown tired of myself again chasing the same dream that haunts more like a nightmare. My face has lost all beauty and I blame the air I breathe for casting me into the ugly duckling. I am suffering from self-hatred and I know what this kind of abuse can do, but I am treading on swamp lands with gators at my toes. My hair hangs low covering reddened skin that the light from the sun would surely burn and scar what may still have a chance to heal. High hopes are getting old, but just as I am ready to toss them out the window, something grabs my arm holding me back.
Breeding Dreads
November 15, 1999
Last summer was spent listening to Bob Marley and dreaming about getting away to a crystal beach and never coming back. The closest I got was Surfside, but even wading in the Gulf of Mexico was pleasing enough, and let me tell you, that is one dirty beach. Now, winter is upon and my dreams of a tropical beach have turned into fantasies about skiing down a snow-capped mountain. Your old friend is back again still chasing my tail and running about in circles, but I have made changes and the best is yet to come.
I put my two weeks’ notice in today. This spring semester I will officially be a full-time student again. With $1000 saved up in my account for whatever might pop up, I have made it halfway to my goal. I know that this is the right move. Something in my heart has given me direction and for the first time in a long time I feel a sense of optimism. The year 2000 has been darkened with threats about the end of the world, but I see it as a new beginning. It will be a fine millennium.
For You
November 19, 1999
If I could find a way to disappear and starve myself till there was nothing left, don’t you know I would? I feel I lost something along the way and if you find it lying on a roadside park, you can have what I must have thrown away. I wonder if they get what I’ve been trying to say? I wonder if they’ll get the point I’m trying to make? We are all waiting on you to make your move but everything has to be perfect I’ve told you that before. Everything has to be perfect with nothing left to improve. If I could feel the warmth of the sun beating down upon my face exposing ten-thousand flaws I keep hidden, my capabilities would be endless. It is coming. Do they know the secrets I have been revealing? This is for all of you. What you hold in your hands was created to be exploited. There is a great freedom when you let yourself become translucent, but will they take these words to heart?
There was a ten year old child who sat alone cooped up in an upstairs room experimenting with the hidden talents of a future storyteller. There was a poet born again through pain who dared to dream despite harsh realities. Unhappy faces have gone grocery shopping. They’re pumping gas. They’re going to work. They’re eating fast food. They’re stopped at a red light trying to get home. I wonder if they know their own capabilities?
Quit Your Job
November 24, 1999
There is nothing better than the sound of laughter. Even among strangers it is nice to witness happiness.
Before you know it you’ll be walking out these doors for the last time.
This is when everything falls into place. The ending of a year marks the beginning of a century.
My wallet is still full and account saving earnings that must last until my ship decides to come in.
Three more hours.
Dane Vang
December 7, 1999
A late Tuesday afternoon is spent driving into the sun. For the past two weeks daytime temperatures have stayed in the seventies with the sun beating down and a strong cool breeze that picks up leaves and swirls them about. Miniature tornadoes pick up all around me as southern birds fly by in a V. By the appearance of land and sky I can sense that there is a beach close by but a fork in the road takes me the other way. It is easy to become lost in the wide open space. This far down south can seem like a whole other country but a border was never crossed. This road is not yet a highway.
Don’t Drink the Water
December 9, 1999
If we are masters of this growing city than shouldn’t we have it made? Inside I sit from day to night ignoring this citizenship for my breathing machine is running on empty and the air is closing in. Skyscrapers are hidden behind a thick blanket of smog that grows thicker with the start of each engine. The polls have rated us number one but what are we doing to change?
Reoccurring Dream
(Eric Griebel)
December 10, 1999
I saw you standing there holding in your grip that same sweet stare. The sandman has cast you once again. I saw you walking by with that twinkle in your eye and I said “Hello” for this time I refused to let you go.
Close Call
December 11, 1999
Somewhere beyond the crowded freeways of the city we rode into the night. I sat riding passenger staring out the side window at the swamp-like trees hanging their branches over the two-way road. My body was beginning to cramp as a miserable feeling began to sink in. Out of the darkness a white figure flew towards the car at an alarmingly fast rate. I clutched my pillow as the night creature got closer and I was able to see the wing span of this predator. He was heading right for the passenger side window but just as I sank lower into my seat, he lifted upward reversing the path of his flight. I sat still, in awe, smiling at my encounter with the owl.
Small Town Verses
December 11, 1999
Another train is heard in the distance howling relentlessly into the night.
People and people alike flock to the same area of residence to feed off one another and think about the latest news, but nothing comes to mind. Here, the voices sound alike where few have dared to dream about bigger and better things.
December 17, 1999 Closer to the time again. A smell in the air feeds my hunger for whatever. Breathe a bit but slowly for a familiar scent still lingers. Would you dare question what it’s for? Could you bare to question where it’s from?
What Day is It?
December 18, 1999
My writing has been complete shit lately. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Nothing worth talking about, just the same old shit, I guess. It has been about three weeks since I quit my job. I’m beginning to go stir crazy, but don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret quitting. My last check was for about $700 with my remaining vacation days. Not bad. I have $900 in my savings account, and although I would like to keep it preserved, I know that sooner or later I will have to dip into it. School starts up in another month. Can you believe I only got $500 from financial aid? I was counting on getting a lot more.
I Will Persevere
December 19, 1999
I have been thinking about greatness. In the near future I am hoping to become more than just talk. There is a heavy load I have placed on myself but I know what I am doing, I know what I have done. At the age of twenty-two I once again have the confidence I possessed when I was nine, and the vulnerability needed to believe in the impossible. Life can seem so trivial to me at times. Some days I don’t care about the future and would rather stay in bed to watch the rise and fall of the sun, but I can’t let myself get pulled in.
One Shot Too Many:
(waiting for sleep)
December 19, 1999
My cough seems to worsen every day. Sometimes I think I’m dying. It’s just allergies. Five o’ clock in the morning but my day has just begun. Tonight (last night) I bought a bottle of rum and made candles for Christmas presents. I am trying to sober up. My head still rests under my mother’s roof, and with her being an early riser, I must stay within the confines of my room. In her presence, I still feel like I am fourteen. The dizziness is relentless but I refuse to let the sickness get the best of me. I have taken one shot too many. Maybe I’ll watch my friend battle the computer in an intense game of solitaire.
Santa and her Elves
December 20, 1999
If they could see things the way I see things there would be nothing left to see. I have heard that change is gradual, but this, along with any other theory is debatable. Last night I took it easy giving my lungs and my liver a rest so that tonight I may do it all over again. The holidays are here and with my loved ones just within arm’s reach I have no need to mingle. We are all planning on moving and abandoning this place they call Houston, but it is still unknown where we will end up, and when we do, shall we arrive together? Only time will tell, and as I feel boredom begin to set in, I am counting on change to prove them wrong and make his big entrance.
Wrapped around a candle purchased at Sound Revolution. 99' (came with a ring)
Almost There
December 22, 1999
Coming into a greater time, dancing and prancing and prancing and dancing. If we would all let down our guards and see each other for who we really are, the future may hold a chance. I would like to apologize to anyone I may have hurt for I can honestly say that I meant no harm. I don’t know where to go from here. Once again, my writing is forced but I have a goal to finish this journal by the year 2000, and after that, I will not be starting a new one. My talk is cheap and until I can play what I hear I shall withdraw my pen. Don’t get me wrong, for things have been on the ups, that’s not the problem. My life is excruciatingly boring. There is nothing worth recording my fancy verses.
99% Water
December 23, 1999
I have never been closer to the moon than I was last night. My body and mind were transfixed by the gravitational pull of the celestial body that may very well have once been a part of our blue earth. Imagine what the tides must have been like. I wish I could have seen them. Prowlers of the city were unaware of the invisible force and went about their business talking a little louder, drinking a little harder, and acting a little wilder, but those of us who are in touch know when there is a vibe in the air and recognize the source from which it stems. Every day we are moving further and further away from the moon and sun, but at the same time, we are standing still.
Finding the Right Word
December 23, 1999
The man on the moon was exclusively clear last night but painfully looked down with a frown.
Another wasted day, but I guess I had some to spare. Maybe I was wrong for the moon looks to be closer tonight than it was last night.
The anticipated year is closing in, but my excitement is not at the level I thought it would be.
Putting Them to Use
December 24, 1999
My agility when faced with a crowd sometimes amazes me. I think it might be due to my size for with such a small frame it is easy to squeeze in and out through a collage of bodies.
Maybe it is time for sedition. This up and coming century will no doubt be full of lies from our government that won’t even compare to what we have already been fed.
I will not let my actions become tractable when faced with intimidation.
After the storm I was thrown off by the trajectory of Mother Nature. For you see, she was no longer traveling south. Her sails were now sailing north.
Never will I become jaded by what this earth has to offer. Tomorrow I shall appreciate as I did today and as I did yesterday.
Watch out for flim-flam, it lurks in the garden’s shadows waiting for a chance to strike.
Her songs are euphonious possessing a certain sound that casts me into a trance.
(for Tori)
Sometimes when I hear her laughing it reminds me of how she used to weep.
I was insentient when informed about the latest groundbreaking news for all has been heard since ten years before.
Your repartee is wearing thin as I keep wasting breath.
The poison is insipid to my swollen tongue.
The actions of the stranger where of an arcane manner.
Present Company
December 28, 1999
There are times when we meet eye to eye, watch the sky. Now walking away, wave goodbye, just a shy. Forgotten in absence, wonder why, milk the sky.
Out here among a different class of people I find it interesting to share what I know and see the ghastly responses that have since enabled me numb.
Look within to discover a grin. On a beautiful day with little to say and calamity well on its way.
We are all poetry in motion, whether it be Shakespeare or Poe.
With Love
(Letter to River Phoenix)
December 29, 1999
I wanted to write you a verse or two before this century is lain to rest. “I have come a long way since whatever” it’s true, but enough about me this moments for you.
I’ve written a page about a mile long ranting and raving about what has been done but all the while your wishes were ignored and we were wishing for an explanation. What have we been wishing for?
All was not in vain, just like dancing in the rain, all was not in pain, in the sunshine feel no shame.
Counting Down
December 30, 1999
This room has been a witness to millionaire nights spent smoking cigarette after cigarette searching for the perfect experimental expression. These eyes have walls that barricade any other activity that might disrupt the next commodity of the century. The day is almost upon for tra-la-la and New Year’s bah but nothing will change, nothing at all.
Fall high fall low, the curtains have raised for a sold out show.
Tonight the air tastes solid under my feet, but the dew has not rolled in to moisten.
Here We Are
December 31, 1999
And if we fall asleep to never awake, carry our remains to the ocean depths. Follow behind in a roundabout line until the edge of the world falls into view. And if we are threatened by the light of the sun, close our eyes again until we are swimming on a mountain top. Take the lead if the leader trails and change the course if it seems fit. And if nothing appears after all would our existence remain in vain or could we wake up and start over again?
“Come one come all the day is here let’s have a ball.”
Just Another Millennium
January 1, 2000
I had a hangover from the night before (guess it was like a pre-New Year party), but you know what they say, nothing cures a hangover like more alcohol. Hey, I never believed it either. My cousin and a friend came down from Bay City to ring in the New Millennium with us. I took them to Ashbury’s, it’s a cool little sixties joint in Spring. We had a wonderful time with the exception of a perverted asshole who was sitting behind us. He kept turning around to talk to us, saying things like, “Hey, it’s cold in here. Your nipples must be swollen huh?” After that, we gave him the boot and discontinued our pow-wow for a game of pool. We made it back to the apartment at around 11:00 and kept the party going until seven in the morning. As you may have guessed by now, there was no Y2K, no bomb threats, no rioting, no end of the world. Nothing happened.
A different tint takes to the sky and floats through the clouds imposing as one, and to the blind eye its routine is magnificent. But the world did not end by a slim chance we were saved and so back at the beginning we shall stay watching the clouds dissipate. What is there to say, I have done nothing since my last page. There is no conclusion to draw. There is no happy ending. There is only an ending, until next time, take care.
The Apple and the birdcage 