My Manifesto with Pesto Volume I

(I wrote this in 2007.  And I found it today. I don't remember if I meant it to be 1 piece of work, or broken up.  Regardless, here it is....in all it's weirdness.)

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I sit on the edge of reason.

Threatening to commit treason.

Maybe not this time of the season.

I just gotta be who I be, man.


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Looked over my shoulder yesterday and my shadow was napping. Can you believe it? My life is so boring that my shadow naps. I tried to wake it up, when I realized it was dead. You could just make out the silhouette of a tongue sticking out of shadow lips. Although details were unclear I be live there was even X' over the eyes. I am not sure why my shadow died like a cartoon character, but it did. Next to my shadow was a shadow of what looked like an anvil, an Acme anvil, but that's another story.
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I pulled the plug. That's right, I did it. Grabbed it and yanked it right out of the wall. I'm not ashamed. The triple pronged beast has no chance against my brute force. Snap, and it's done. It was one of my greatest feats. It rivals Hercules, I think.

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I call to you, my people! Shed you disguises and rise! Remove your cloaks of injustice. Break from the spinning cycles of normality. Join me! Show the powers that be, that the power of me will conquer all. Together we can board the ships of our fathers and sail the seas of righteousness. If seasickness is an issue then step off the gang plank! We are packed to the gills with morals and hope. We will rise up and strike down those that inflict their terror upon us. Together as one moving, breathing, living, thinking beast! We will wrap our thoughts around the mighty giant like vines from the forest! We will trip their progress and pounce like starving pumas! We will stand, you and I, atop the wrath we inflict. We will raise our claws in victory and recite the words deep in our hearts. For together, we can accomplish anything. Together we can succeed. Together we can live, forever!

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This little light of mine....went out.

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Send them my best. Better yet send them my worst. Send them my judgement passing, nicotine feigning, pretentious thought having, overbearing, anxiety riddled worst.

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So, I got scared. "So what?" You say? What, you've been scared too? Of course you have we all have. But I was really scared. Not like monster in the closet scared. Not like vampires on my neck scared. Not like axe wielding hockey mask wearing scared. Not like ch ch ch huh huh huh scared. Not Vincent Price scared. Not Jacko in a day care scared. Not Amy Winehouse in a bar scared. Not Sizemore as a chaperon scared. But I mean scared. Scared, scared. Not like your DVR erased scared. Not like you Ipod crashed scared. Not like like a lump on your hoo-hoo scared. But scared. Not like too many black olives scared. Not like Bozo with a butterfly knife scared. Not like God scared. But scared, scary scared. Not paper cut scared. Not heights scared. Not Mandy Moore scared. Not razor blade scared. Not addiction scared. But scared, you know?

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Promise, you will read this at my funeral. Swear to it, here and now!


Along with this include my measurements, height and weight included. (Just so the truth is finally out.) After I am dead, break into my house and in the back bedroom, behind the golf clubs, under the Physician's Desk reference, there is a box. Break into that box and remove my leather bound journal. At my funeral read pages 85 through 88. The whole time stare at my Uncle. He'll understand. Next, I''l need to do 2 more things. One: In my sock drawer there is a false bottom. (I know cool right?) Anyway, there you will find a piece of rolled up parchment paper with a faded red ribbon tied. Take this to the closest body of water (use google maps) and drop it in. Don't read it, just toss it in. It seems crazy, but it is a must. Our family has done it for years.


Two: On myey computer click My Documents and search for file labeled: "Deathy Death " Open the file and read the entire file. ( To yourself, and bring some provisions, it will take you awhile.) After you have read it, print it out, all of it. Then with each piece paper fold it up into a paper airplane and have someone throw them at the congregation during my funeral service. All except pages 5 and 6. Those are yours. (You'll understand) Thank you, and I'll see you in Jamaica aka The Afterlife.

P.S.


In the closet the box marked "Kitchen Stuff" burn it, please. How embarrassing if I forget that part.

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When We Look Back

The world is looking for a savior and the kids need someone to love.

The wives are talking to monsters and the husbands are paying in blood.

The skies are streaked with our poisons and the sea is awash with our mess.

And every crooked finger is pointing and even the loudest won’t confess.

We walk on the cracked ground of the future; we stumble through the smog and haze.

But we’re chasing our tails in the darkness; we are all just blind mice in a maze.

Brave souls will raise the banners and the call will go out to join, both near and far.

And we’ll promise to make it as soon as we clear out our DVR.

There won’t be a text. It won’t be on facebook. You will not see it on FOX news.

There will be a knock on your door, a rap on your window, and it’s a truth you cannot refuse.

So unlock the vault, remove the masks, and unplug your ears.

Because it’s our fault, we caused it. And all we have left is our fears.

I Wanna Punch You. Twice.

Your phone is ringing and your pants are too tight.

You haven’t tweeted in the last 5 minutes…hurry.

Hey! The sun went down 3 hours ago, you don’t need those now.

Wait, are you rolling your own cigarettes?

Are you even inhaling?

I didn’t know you wore glasses…oh wait you don’t.

Those frames are thick.

What’s that ambiguous tattoo on your forearm?

 What? You can’t tell me?

 Nice white belt.

 Thanks, but I didn’t ask if you knew the lead singer’s middle name.

 Are you yawning? Borning, are we?

 Is that book in your back pocket?

 Nietzsche? Really? Hope to get some reading in…at a concert?

 You don’t look comfortable.

 Everything looks too small on you.

 Get your hair out of your face.

 Sigh.

 F*cking Hipster.

oh

“What time is your appointment?”

“Three”

“Who’s taking you?”

“Bus.”

“Do you have enough money?”

“Some.”

“Here, take this just in case.”

“Ok.”

“What else is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“How’s school?”

“Sucks.”

“Have you talked to Martin?”

“Marc.”

“Yeah, Marc.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“So, you are not telling him?”

“No.”

“Are sure that’s wise, to keep something like this from him?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think he’d like to help?”

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe we should tell him.”

“We?”

“Or just you….or just me. I’d call him for you if you’d like.”

“No.”

“Ok, did you say 3?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, I don’t mind driving you.”

“Ok.”

“Really? Great, let me get my keys. And we’ll leave. Be right back.”

“Mom?”

“Be right there!"

“Thanks.”

"What, honey?"

"Nothing."

"Oh."

THE give up

The phone shouted at me, again.

I succumbed and answered.

God again.

Trying to sell me more magic.

No thank you.

Decided on sleep.

Dreams decided against.

Need a snack, ate your heart.

Couldn’t finish, too bitter.

Left.

Went right.

Became lost.

Deep in the crossroads of your choices.

Found the zoo, what a disappointment.

I found the tiger.

I fed him my soul.

He got sick, lost his stripes.

I tried to laugh with the Jackals.

But I had heard their jokes before.

I needed angles, rigid, hard angles.

(Not angels)

Library seemed cozy.

Hardbacks of paper cuts, rough edges squared off.

I took my time.

Swimming in the sea of printed words.

I spoke aloud about the fireworks in my head.

Talking to them about spiders, dynamite, and the rapture.

Escorted out.

Wrists felt heavier somewhere behind me.

In the back of their rolling cage.

I wished I had my soul.

I wished I wasn’t alone back here.

Slimy, warm, strong hand slithered into mine.

Looked into a split lipped snarl.

Burning, hating eyes.

Collapsed.

Disappearing down a black funnel.

Falling, falling, falling.

Doctor Marten

Somewhere along the line she left her doubts and fears behind her.  Was it the bus stop in Houston?  Or maybe it was the one in Oklahoma City? Well, wherever it was, it was gone, long gone, and never able to find her again.  When she boarded the bus in Santa Fe she had been 15 year old Molly Jessica Warner, running away from an unbearable situation. And by the time the bus pulled into Boston, Massachusetts she was now Kelli Francis Cera, her own creation.  She had always liked the name Kelli; all her dolls were named Kelli when she was little, so that was easy.  For Francis, it had dual meaning.  Her two favorite movies are: The Godfather and Dirty Dancing. (The few people she told this too found those two movies quite the opposites and usually laughed at her and Molly did not like to be laughed at.) The Godfather was directed by FRANCIS Ford Coppola, and Dirty Dancing had a character nicknamed “Baby” and “Baby’s” real name was Francis, in the movie, so there you go. And finally she wanted a last name that meant something for her, someone that inspired her, but it couldn’t be obvious like Pitt, Clooney, or Pattinson.  So she went with Cera, after the actor Michael Cera, which she had a huge crush on and who seemed as uncomfortable with life as she was.  While in Houston, on a bus change, she bought red hair dye and some makeup from the gift shop.  When she walked out of the bathroom she looked 5 years older and felt more confident and the transformation was near complete. She was pretty sure that even her mother wouldn’t recognize her in this getup, not that her mother would care to look for her.  Not only was her hair and makeup different, but she stole someone’s unattended suitcase (something Molly would never do) and rifled through it until she found something she’d never wear when she was Molly.  The yellow and black flannel shirt had snap buttons and was about 2 sizes too big for her, which she remedied by tying into a knot and rolling up the sleeves.  The pants were blue jeans, old, ripped, broken in blue jeans.  She rolled up the cuff on both legs and cinched the belt tight.  She kept her boots, her maroon Doc Marten’s. These boots had been her Dad’s when he was in High School, and now Molly…no Kelli, never went anywhere without them, even if they were a bit big for her. She’d like to think she had walked a mile in his shoes, as the saying goes. Molly missed her Dad but decided this would be the last she would miss him, she had to be hard and impenetrable and missing someone is a weakness she can no longer afford.   And so Kelli stepped off the last step of the bus and walked into the Boston bus station.  Bus travel was second-class transportation these days.  What used to be the only way to travel long distances by the rich and famous was not full of the poor and escapists.  The station was crowded with large families kissing their loved ones goodbye. Kelli easily disappeared into the madness. The station carried a general stench of sweat, dirt, and hamburgers.  It reminded her of her brother’s room back home, or I guess it was Molly’s brothers and Molly’s home. Kelli didn’t have family, or at least so she decided.   Kelli walked to the exit doors that lead to the busy streets of Boston, to begin her adventure, under a new name, and in a new life.  And as the doors slammed shut behind her so did her past.  And all that chased her, wanted her, longed for her would be forgotten.  The young, newly christened Kelli blended in with the people on the street. The yellow of her flannel could be seen weaving in and out of the masses, and then it was gone.  And Kelli was gone, long gone, and running away from Molly.

Escape Plan

A light in my mind was bright and loud
And a hush fell gently upon the crowd
Like a papal hat I adorned your love
And set my hate free like a white dove
I soar through the air; I rip at the seams
I sleep through the day and awake in my dreams
High above, on top of it all
And watch my life happen as I start to fall
Faster and faster the images come in blurs
But it’s not about what you did or where you were
We grab the reigns we avoid the collision
And sit in a circle and make our decision.
The end has come but I avoid the tape
And start it all over, I’ve made my escape.

At Some Point

At some point I’ll forget.
I’ll forget the pain of the past. I’ll forget the coldness of the tile floor.
Someday the cracks will fill in and leave just reminders of the pain.
I’ll blame the shakes on the cold. I’ll blame the pain on my age.
I’ll forget to worry about my future.
I’ll forget to think of you at all.
At some point I’ll forget the taste of your gun’s barrel. I’ll forget the smell of my own blood.
I won’t even remember the taste of my tears.
Someday, hopefully soon, I will remember how to stay on my feet.
I’ll forget the grasping, tear stained, straining, convulsing fetal position I’m in.
I’ll remember to eat, to drink, to draw breath.
At some point I’ll remember what it’s like not to have my jaw quiver when I try and speak.
Someday, you’ll be nothing more than a memory that I won’t think about.
At some point you’ll be another stranger on the street that I avert my eyes from.
At some point you’ll just be a ghost that haunts my dreams.
At some point I’ll actually talk to another person again. Someday I’ll be able to smile and laugh.
At some point I may even enjoy company, conversation, and even the occasional debate, or good natured joke.
At some point I’ll forget the smell of my hands pressed against my face.
I’ll forget the feeling of my balled fists pressing into my closed swollen eyes.
I’ll remember what it was to feel something other than, well, what I feel right now.
At some point my fists will uncurl and my teeth will not grind.
I’ll remember that under this shell there is still at least half a soul remaining, maybe less than that.
At some point, you’ll forget me. You’ll forget what you did, and what I didn’t do.
And at some point I’ll realize that.
I’ll realize that you moved on, moved away, traded up.
And then I’ll remember the hole, the deep, black, agonizing hole that sucks everything in, the hole that I am busy digging now.
Someday I’ll remember me.

Snerd Werds

Nerd.
Random references so far out there it's tough to get.
I make jokes about a Wookie stuck in an Ewok's net.
I refer to my car's speed not in miles or kilometers but Kessel Run parsecs.
And the word after Star is Wars...never, ever Trek.
I can go super nerd (expanded universe) and speak of Luke's wife Mara Jade or even his son Ben.
Or Han and Leia's marriage or the history of their kin.

We can talk of Boba Fett and how he will outlive them all.

Come on! Did you think he was dead when he took that little fall?

I will be the one to break the news to you that Chewbacca has actually died.

He was saving the Solo children, and I'll explain it all...even as you roll your eyes.

I'll bring up Clone Wars, comics, online fan fiction, and new figure releases.

And make you read "Shadows of the Empire" with all the page marks and creases.

I'll wear my Vader helmet to check the mail or Fett's mask to walk the dog.

I make fun of Trekkies when they talk about the "Captain's Log."
So bear with me, humor me, nod and pretend you are understanding me.
But if I start showing you Jedi fighting techniques, you have my permission to flee.
Carbon scoring, protocol droids, rouge squadron, rule of two.
Lightsaber colors red, green, gold, purple, or blue.
Shadow bombs, the Vong, Bothans, and the Chiss.
Madalore, Falleen, or the way Bossk likes to hiss.
So, if this bores you, or your confused, don't worry it's nothing new...it's always the same.
But if you are with me and understand, then nerd runs in both of our veins.

Nerd.

The Time Traveler's Strife

     It all started with a crash. Then, there I was, just a jumble of arms and legs lying on the solid wood floor staring up at the popcorn ceiling with a mix of confusion and relief. A jumble of limbs isn't always a bad thing, except when you are the only participant. I untangled myself and got to my feet. After a quick check of my joints I realized, that other than being sore, I was fine. We’ll rule this landing a success. I looked around and tried to get my bearings. My head was swimming and my vision a little blurred, as always happens when I land, but I knew this would pass. I was surrounded by blank walls, and news papered covered windows. This must be some sort of abandoned house and it was dark and hot as I started to explore. I was in a large vacant room with dirty white walls and scratched wood flooring. I walked to the doorway and peered down a long dark hallway. It reminded me of a throat of some large monster. I shook of the thought and carefully stepped through the doorway and made my way up the hall. I pasted a few dark rooms but didn’t bother to check them out. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that everything I need was found on the bottom floor, especially an exit. And I knew I was on the second floor, because I always land on the second floor. I haven’t figured out exactly why that is, and I may never, but I pushed that thought from my mind and concentrated on the task at hand. I made it to the stair case and walked down into a carpeted living room. The windows down here were covered as well, but just enough light filtered in to give the room an eerie glow. Just like upstairs, the rooms were vacant, and smelling musty. The carpet was ripped and frayed in places, along with large stains that I tried not to think about caused them. I walked over to the window and peeled back a corner of the newspaper covering the window. I could see the sun-burned lawn, turned brown and dead. And there were the charred remains of a small car in the driveway. Across the street, the houses looked in similar condition. A few houses had been burned to the ground completely, the flames died out long ago. Others were boarded up and as vacant like this one. Nothing green grew, no tree, no grass, no flowers, nothing. I took a moment and listened. I waited for the chipping of a sparrow, or the barking of a random dog, or even the roar of a passing car. But there was nothing, complete silence. I pushed the corner of the paper back into place and sighed. I hated being dropped here, absolutely hated it. I began checking my pockets and pulling out, what seemed to be random items. See, I never remember what I packed, or what for, right away. I always land, head goes in and out, and I lose a few hours of memories. Unfortunately, it’s always the last few hours before I left. I walked to the stone bench built into the fireplace hearth and laid out my treasures. A Swiss Army knife, a pen, a folded up piece of paper that had a string of numbers (not in my hand writing) on them, a cell phone, a pair of sunglasses, and some Cherry Chap-Stick. I stared at the piece of paper and tried to remember what these numbers meant.



10-24-16-16-32-03-06-22-04-03-09-88


It was too long for a combination, lotto numbers, or a phone number. And too many numbers to be coordinates. I flipped the paper over and searched it for additional clues. Sometimes the memories came back, if I was landed long enough, but I never try and stay in one of these places for long, especially this place. The last time I was here I came so close to never making it out of here that I pleaded to never have to come back here again. I guess I request fell upon deaf ears. Plus, I am not sure if anyone truly has a say where I land. With another sigh, I set the timer on my watch for 90 minutes and stood up. That was as long as I was letting myself stay this time. With my sunglasses on, Chap-Stick applied, all my other treasures tucked away in my pockets I opened the front door and stepped out onto the bleached rotting porch. The heat was so oppressive and the smell of decay and death was inescapable. I coughed a few times, and steeled myself against the odor. I walked down the steps and made my way to the street. In the distance I could see the broken remains of skyscrapers and the skeletons of dead trees. I scanned the neighborhood street and saw an old minivan that looked like it had missed the inferno a few houses down. I jogged over to the faded red soccer-mom-mobile and busted out the window to unlock it. I fully expected to be overcome with the smell of rotting death, the remains of some poor soul who met their end within the confines of their own van. But a little bit of luck shined on me and the minivan smelled fresh and clean. I shut the door and hot wired the van. It roared to life and the air conditioner kicked on, blasting me with the cold welcomed air and further spreading the pleasing scent. I scanned the radio stations, trying to pick up a signal, but there was just static, as always. With a full tank of gas I threw the van into drive and sped down the street, heading for the broken skyline of what used to be downtown. If there were answers it had to be there. 83 minutes left my watch told me, and I pressed the gas pedal all the way to floor. I had to make this quick if I wanted to get back in one piece.

The Fade Out, Again?

Dear Musician.

Enough. End you stinking song.  Stop copping out with a fade to black or a fading out while you're still signing.  Musicians, you can't fade out live, so why do it on your album?  When you wrote your song did you just get too lazy to find a way to end it? And why do you continue to sing while the sounds drifts away...don't you think we'd like to hear you?  Why, why, why? The worse is when you are enjoying the song, for the first time, and all of a sudden you think your stereo went on the blink, and you desperately increase the volume because this must be your fault, because no self-respecting musician would dare do a fade out.  But, alas...you did.  You failed me. I don't like the fade out, have I made that clear? Look, I would like to offer my services to help you end your songs.  You take care of 99% of your "masterpiece" and if you are thinking about doing a fade out, call me.  After I slap you, twice, I'll find a way to end it.  Granted, I have no ability on any instrument, so your songs will have to end more organically, plates crashing, lawnmower starting, car doors slamming, etc..., but, HEY, at least it will officially end, and you fans won't be left guessing.

In closing....start it then finish it. Pretty simple.

Fitz and the Tantrums? Try Fade and the Tantrums

Explanation / The Grasp

1.
-Where have I been? No posts in so long?-
I know, I know.  Life happened. And my head has been filled with other things and my imagination took a hiatus.  The first break it's had since I was 4 years old.  It was well deserved and long overdue.  I did not know when it would return..but..here she is.  Fresh and teeming with energy. Not sure where she went, but Zeus help us, now that she's back.


2.
An icy phantom hand passed beyond my chest.  In seconds it’s jagged fingers enclosed around the beating center of me. I gasped and no noise came, just a puff of my visible breath.  The icy hand began to constrict and I could feel my heart straining to beat.  There was no physical pain, just a mental and emotional one.  I felt all the loves I have had in my life flicker.  I saw my future, and watched as someone dimmed the lights.  On my knees I crawled along the ground, but I could not go on.  I fell over and rolled to my back.  My breath was choppy, irregular now.  My eyes refused to focus, my jaw went slack, my body relaxed no long responding to my commands.  I felt lost and confused but at the same time content and calm.  I tried to think of the irony of it all, but words began to lose their meaning.  No longer were they tied to concrete, physical things.  Instead they were floating vapors in a vacuum, they no longer mattered.  I wanted to smile but my body was not responding.  Startled from my thoughts by the creaking of a distant door that I couldn’t see.  I paused, waiting for it to close again, but that’s when sound gave up the fight.  No longer did sounds carry, almost like they decided not to do it, all on their own.  The sound was there, but not released, not given to the world.  It was kept hidden, and to itself. I would not know if the door shut. And again, I thought of a smile, and it was almost as good as the real thing, no it was better, it was more of a real thing more than it’s physical embodiment. I felt the happiness.  Shapes in the dark begin moving and colliding and merging into a sea of moving pieces of a past.  A past I couldn’t remember, but felt kindred.  Faces of a history I could only hope was mine.  Tears sped down my cheeks and the thought of a smile returned.  I recognized the beauty of it all, but it felt like a secret I was seeing for the first time.  It was something so special that the impact was almost more than I could handle.  The images grew darker and darker, and began folding in on themselves until what remained was long black room with a pinprick of light at the end.  Was this it?  Was this the end? Is this what it looks like?  I willed myself towards the light, I broke free of my restraints, my tethers to the ground below.  And that’s when I was reminded of my heart, caught it’s trap.  The beating was still strained, but still it beat, and the phantom’s talons eased its grip, slightly. I pulled and tugged and tried to move, but I was anchored, anchored by this grasp.  Hope was escaping like water in a drain, when I felt the grasp falter again, and loosen.  I doubled my effort and tried to pull myself from its clutches, another degree of relief, another loosening of the grasp.  I felt a torn feelings, one of elation and one of sadness.  If I pulled free, I’d go back to my days, and fulfill the rest of my time with less detail, fewer feelings, and words and sounds would matter.  If I allowed the grasp to win, then I could return to the past and the future, and enjoy all that has happened and not happened yet and break the chains of reality.  I was on a tipping point; I was balanced on the fulcrum.  Where will I go, what will I choose?  The light expanded, the hand retracted, I curled back up on the floor inside myself.  I willed my eyes closed, and I immersed myself in the blackness.  The light fought to allow me to see it, but I restrained I myself, and everything began to spin.  Blurring images, surrounded by colors and debris. I collapsed…and stopped caring…stopped thinking…stopped fighting…stopped loosing.  The end was decided and I had no choice in the matter.  I would float where the waves pushed me.