Prose From the Soul: In Three Parts, Yours Truly


One pole south –
This is the low point and where the hole seems bottomless
or endless
and therefore the fear of falling is real
and relevant – or therefore,
the understanding of gravity pulls too much weight,
which makes it hard to stand some times.

But dig:
It’s not like anybody wants this
It’s not like anyone asks for it
It’s not like someone looks at a menu and says,
“I think I’ll go for the ‘Depression Special’ today
with a side of anxiety (just for the carbs)
and some mild catastrophe sauce . . .
To go, please.
Thank you”

One pole north –

It’s not always a downhill slope to me.
I’m okay sometimes (aren’t I?)
There are moments when I’m okay.
There are times when I can see the sunrise coming through the trees.
I can enjoy the daybreak or appreciate the colors of dawn

There are times when I am not so aware of my differences
(or yours)
I’m not thinking or better yet,
I am distracted . . .

I have this dream sometimes –
Maybe I’ve told you about it

I am in a subway station, which is similar to the one in Grand Central.
There’s a high-domed ceiling,
which is white.
There are two trains on either side of the platform
All is clean.
There is no one else around
But yet,
I can hear the sound of announcements from a loudspeaker.
Either way,
the words are inaudible and muffled,
or otherwise unclear.
And so am I (so-to-speak)

There is no walking in this dream
I don’t know why but,
for some reason, my legs don’t seem to work.

My task is a choice between two trains –
two different colors.
Left or right, which one do I choose?
Either way, the choice is pivotal.
Both trains come with their own experience,
their own culture and, perhaps too,
each train might come with the regretful wish that thinks,
“I should have taken the blue one instead of the red.”

Associations of blue –

Maybe this means freedom.
Maybe this means an open space,
Maybe this leads to a place
where I can run or rest or sit beneath the sky;
where I can imagine, be inspired,
be wild, be daring or be confident to be me.

Associations with red –

Maybe this is passion or call it desire.
Call this my need to love or receive love.
Call this my need for acceptance
or to return this as feverishly as say,
a wild animal; a carnivore,
or an eager seeker of life
as one who in association with touch and feel;
maybe this is the path
maybe this is the way to bring me to a place
where lonesomeness is never a “thing”.

One pole south – 

No one asks for the understanding of awkwardness yet
it exists.
So do the terms of insecurity.
So does the whisper that’s louder than any scream
So does the internal voice –
The one that talks too much
or the one that convinced us to settle

One pole north –

There are times when the world is fine.
The lights are just right
The music is good
The taste of something, like say,
a cold glass of iced-tea on the first hot day of the year,
a sight of fireflies at dusk,
a moment which no one else knows about
(except you) because this is too special –
but this is something from “before”.
This is an entity before the anticipation
This is a lighthearted feature,
which provides hope and restores faith
which defies doubt and tells us
“Don’t settle. Ever!”

The one pole south says, don’t worry. Happiness is only temporary
The one pole north says, it can’t rain forever
But the mind between the two . . .

Man, this back and forth stuff is draining.

“Stand still.”
Are you the one who’s supposed to help me?
Is this gonna hurt?
“You’re going to feel a pinch. But not for long.”

Man –
I knew I should’ve took the blue train


It is no different for me now to say that whether we talk or think,
whether we feel
or whether we understand each other or disagree –
we still exist –
and neither you nor I can stop this.

The way we banter or go back and forth,
which is not to say that I am right or wrong
or find blame –
Instead, I see this as a case about fear
or the fear of feeling in-between
or lonely
(as in, like purgatory)
I see this as a worry about the journey
Will we make it?
Do we make a wrong turn?
Did I make a bad bet?
Did I miss the exit –
or did I miss my window?

There is no more or less
There is only this: Us
Who we are as either cosmic or intended beings
or as two intended people
who’ve inherited a list of ideas
which we’ve tried to run from
or keep away from and yet,
all the while, we never realized how close we kept the fear
because we nurtured the symptom
not the solution.

It’s not too much though
(you know?)
To think about tomorrow
To let go of yesterday
To live in the now
To enjoy or hold hands
if and when we cross the street.

To regard us and nothing else, except this
What we have
Here and now.

Between the two poles of ups and downs
We have this
Maybe we should have taken the red car
But who knows?


Two kids sitting on a dock at a small lake
The sun is up and the sky is blue
The surface of the water mirrors the heavens

I enter this as a symbol
as a depiction of two kids
hoping to be in love
hoping to be happy . . .

Two dreams
Two separate connections,
Two different starting points,
connecting as one.

One connection
One destination
One dream
One love

I am being specific here –
Yet cryptic
Yet open
Yet afraid
Yet I want to dare
and I should dare.

I should dare it all
and give everything I have –

I want to feel they way I do
the way it is
like it is or as it is
between us two and our two poles

I want to feel it –
Especially when I hear that song –
you know the one?
“As we sail into the mystic”
I must have told you.
I swear, I must have because to me,
this is what love sounds like

“And when the fog horn whistle blows . . .
You know I will be coming home”

Or –

“I want to hear it . . .
. . . I don’t have to fear it.”

I get it now.
I do see where I am faulted and flawed,
which is fine
whether I take the blue train or sit in the red car,

I am me. You are you
in all of our splendor

And no matter what; I’m yours
(if you’ll have me)

Painting by Benfield

Prose From the Soul: A Brief Adventure

There it is, a great big world which is right outside of our door. This is alive and well, even if we don’t choose to see it.
I think, of course, and wonder of places such as certain cities, like say, places that I’ve only seen in pictures, like San Francisco or maybe Wyoming or even Alaska.
Or then again, my pilgrimage to anywhere could begin from anywhere; in which case, I have this urge to board a train and ride the railroads that span across our country. This way, I can see it all. 

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Alive in my 20’s

The morning was like a brief interlude after a night out with friends. As usual, I was up early because I’ve always had trouble sleeping on floors. Let alone, I never slept much anyway, least of all, as late as the rest of my friends who were sleeping it off the night before. No one else was awake in the small apartment, except for Pete. We were both sleeping on the floor because Steve already took the couch and the beds were all taken. Besides, this was not our apartment.

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Those Who Do and Those Who Don’t

I hear people talking about the City and how she’s changed. I keep thinking to myself that maybe it’s us who have changed. Maybe it’s us who have forgotten to take care of the streets or how to clean up after ourselves. So, in fairness, maybe it’s not the City at all.
Maybe it’s us.
I keep hearing about the problems with our sanitation and the problems with the homeless and how the City has lost its way because of crime. But again, I don’t see this as a problem of the City. I see this as a problem of the people. I see this as a reminder that we have forgotten what it means to show the pride of ownership. I see this as symptomatic errors that result from real problems.

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A Little Bit of Abstract and Introspection

It is another morning in August, the ninth, I believe.
Well, here I am world.
Here we are in the northern hemisphere, rounding the orbit where Earth begins to tilt away from the sun. The hours of sunlight will become shorter and soon enough the winds will become cooler and even sooner, this year will become last and next year will be another spin around the sun.

I was thinking about the childish games we play, like social chess or interpersonal checkers. I think it would be just as well if we admitted to all of this. Or, maybe it’s more fun if we went back to a simpler time – like say, maybe we can play a game of marbles – or maybe we can shoot for it or play rock, paper scissors or something like that.

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Today’s In-Flight Program

I have an idea. Then again, let’s just call it that. It’s an idea and yet, the details to me are unrealistic at best. But either way, the idea is real and a bit more than one-dimensional.
I have been watching videos of flying lessons. To be clear, I’m not afraid to fly. At least not when I’m sitting in a seat on a flight out of places like JFK or LaGuardia or maybe even Newark, which is not a bad place as far as airports go.
It’s not a bad feeling to be in first class or business class when they pass by with a hot towel and pre-flight beverage of your choice.

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A Little From the Abstract: Here and Now

I am somewhat of a person who thinks too often and thinks too deeply. And yet, maybe I am a person who doesn’t think too clearly or if I think at all, I often wonder if I think before I speak.
I am a real person in which I have a heart that beats. I have lungs that breathe and a mind that works – at least to some degree.
I am a son to the world. I am a connection to an extension of all that led up to this moment.
I am me; in which case, if I am to admit or if I am to claim anything – then let me start here.
Right now. Perhaps to you this may seem too vague or too abstract; to me, this is only a section of time and a moment of beauty. This is me enjoying a stream of words that flow so easily now because there are no distractions around us. No, it’s just me. And it’s just you.

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Love and Passion

I have to believe in this thing I have.
What I mean is, I have no choice because the other choices are not attractive to me, which means I have to believe in this thing I have. I have to do this because this is all I have, which is why I’ve come here to say what I have to say and hence; this is why I’ve come here to share this with you – to give you everything I have (and then some).
Come to think of it:
Charles Bukowski once wrote “find what you love and let it kill you.”
I understand what he means and far be it from me to judge or argue, but I don’t want anything to kill me. At least, not anymore.
Instead, I think we should find what we love and let this save us. Let this fill us. Let this put wind in our sails and provide the momentum we need to move at light speed – and yet, as fast as we go, we’ll never miss a thing because finally, we’ve found this amazing concept that makes us whole again – and now we can see everything.

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it ain’t so bad . . . to be a kid, that is

To tell you the truth, I’m a fan of youth. I’m a fan of anything young and hopeful. In fact, it took me decades to be able to say this: I want this to be me. No matter how old I get, I still want to be the youthful version of myself which I hid away for a very long time.
To be clear, I think the biggest thefts of all are the thefts that steal away our youthfulness. I think the biggest bully of all is social conformity and the need to fit or the need to “grow up” so-to-speak and become so distant from our true selves.
I understand that with age comes responsibility. I understand that when I was a young person, I spoke like a young person and thought like a young person. I also understand that at some point, I put away my favorite toys to conform to the person who I thought I was supposed to be.

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From Sessions in The Balcony: A Note

I admit to it. I was not always the person I am today. I also admit that my personal awkwardness and my need to fit “in” or be “cool” was enough to overrun the nicer parts of me. Therefore, I admit to being a “guy” and I admit to playing the games and subscribing to a role that was not fitting for my best possible potential.
I also firmly and somewhat regretfully admit to my dating flaws and single-life fiasco, my lies by omission, or the mistruths and manipulations of time and facts. Yes, this was me. Yes, I was bitter in some regards because I was uncomfortable. And yes, there were funny moments and not-so-funny ones at the same time.

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The Nights When We Still Howled

Do you remember your early 20’s? Or, maybe you’re in them now. Or, maybe not. Maybe your 20’s were not your glory years or maybe you’ve moved so far away that you forgot what this was like.
Do you remember the nights you went out with your friends? What about the wild nights?
Did you have them?
I did.
I had plenty of them. 

I go back to them and sift through old memories of nostalgia, especially now when the summer is nearly over. I go back to these times when the summer is near the end and soon enough, September rolls around and the summer is gone.
(Just like that!)
I think about the nights on the water and the places we gathered. I think about the songs which seemed to intentionally play at the same time every night. This meant things were about to get going. This meant the night was about to get hot and pick up speed, which it did.

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Just to write:The Beach at Point Lookout

I love this place.
I love the beach in wintertime, empty and quiet, and yet remnants of all the memories with indentations of summertime footsteps which never fade. Like our memories for example.
Like the times when the sun was hot and the waves were cool and the beach was lined with countless bodies, laying beneath the sun, tanning, and feeling the warmth of summer.
Perhaps this is why I love the beach during the winter months when nobody comes. Maybe this is why the sands exist, to absorb our footsteps and when the beach is empty, the sands absorb our footsteps when we walk to the water’s edge; to tell our secrets to the tide, to feel, to rid ourselves of our sorry confessions, or to release us from our moments of doubt.

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The City –

Ah, New York, New York. It’s true. It’s a hell of a town.
This place has seen me through it all. And I’ve seen her as well. I’ve seen everything here from live shows to small events and from little venues at small clubs to rooftop heights; and of course, I have seen the romance of the Hudson River at night.
I’ve been Downtown where the scene is different and the vibe is real. I have walked alongside the river during late nights, alone but I was not lonely. Or at least I can say that I was not lonesome at all; but more so, I was reflecting, thinking about my life as it is or was or as it should be.

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With No Agenda: Let’s set the stage

There was an evening in the autumn months which I remember specifically and for no other reason than the color of the sky, which was beautiful and I, well . . .
I was listening to a song called Us and Them by a band called The Pink Floyd.

I remember this more as a moment of reprieve. To be honest, this was a moment of truce or a temporary stay of execution.
There was nothing about being right or wrong. There was no thinking about the crowds or my status with anyone or anything.

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Letters From the Eastside – Epilogue

Epilogue –

There was someone who read my first book and reached out to tell me to say the book wasn’t for them. They said the book was depressing to which I replied, “The name of the book is “Operation Depression.”
What did they expect, pretty clouds and rainbows?
At first, I admitted to being insulted. Then I realized that this person was right. The book was not for them. and maybe this book isn’t either.

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Letters From the Eastside – The Last Letter

Dear Mother Directional,

When there’s nowhere left to fall, then I suppose there’s no more reasons to be afraid of falling. Anywhere you go, there’s no more need to worry about what comes next. What’s going to happen? What should I do?
When there’s no more room between us and the truth, then there’s no more space for excuses. There’s no more time for the internal lies or the casual denial that we shrug off and dismiss.
There’s nowhere left to turn and no place left to hide.  This is it – and here we are in the wake of our aftermath and, finally, rather than saving face or trying to save our own ass, we find ourselves with no more excuses. (At last)

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Nineteen

Dear Mother Directional,

I wanted to come clean with you. Here and now. I want to share more about where I am and why. Not to mention the reasons behind where I am; but more, I wanted to send you this to explain what it was like from day one, up until now, and into the foreseeable future, I want to tell you more about what I see when I hopefully go forward.
They say that we have nothing but time here. Yet again, time is only slipping away. There is us, the people inside of these walls, and then there’s the rest of the world or the so-called “normal” people – then there’s life, which seems to go on.
But for us, the patients or inmates or whatever you want to call us, there is only time or the waste thereof. There’s only the slow-moving time that we spend within this small place.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Eighteen

Dear Mother Directional,

When there’s science, then there’s a reason to understand why things happen – or why they don’t. When there’s science, there is an understanding of how things work.
For example, we know about the trees. We know about the land and the sea. We know about the winds and the rain. And we know about things like, say, the greenhouse effect, which is something I learned about in ninth grade Earth Science.
When there’s science, we can understand more about the brain. We can understand more about our pathology and understand why we react – or should I say, maybe this explains why we overreact? Maybe this explains why we jump to conclusions.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Seventeen

Dear Mother Directional,

When there’s no more reasons to argue or defend yourself, then there’s no more reasons to fight or find out what’s wrong with the world.
Or, when the time comes and the need to justify yourself or explain who you are comes to an end, now we can talk about being free. 
This is when there are no more numbers between us – there’s no more ties to our status and it’s safe to just “be” without having to grab on to a label or find a definition of who we are. 

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Sixteen

Dear Mother Directional,

I am sending this along to you to be kept with my notes and to be filed with my other letters.
My idea is to find my vision as well as my voice. I say this because I believe I need to put this out there. I have to give myself something to see. Otherwise, what’s the point? 

I am of the belief that if you want something, you have to see it. You have to build an idea in the mind. You have to give yourself a vision and then decorate it. Otherwise, if you can’t see it, then how can you have it? How do you find what you’re looking for if you don’t know what it looks like?

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Fifteen

Dear Father Correctional,

I know it has been a long time since my last letter to you. But again, it’s hard to send these sometimes because the universe is wide and vast and I, myself, am not sure whether I believe in the afterlife or not. I suppose these letters are simply built on intention. Or more to the point, I suppose these messages are written with the intent of letting go of what was and recreating the things I wished would be.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Fourteen

Dear Mother Directional,

I was thinking about an unintentional road trip that I took a while back. I say this was unintentional because there was no pre-set intention or direction. I had no place to go or an idea of anywhere I wanted to see. Then again, I suppose none of that mattered.
No, I just sat in the car and allowed myself to drive in whichever direction the car would take me. I had no plans as to how long this drive would be or if I would be back by a certain time. Sometimes drives like this are the best drives of all. Sometimes you just need to unplug yourself.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Thirteen

Dear Mother Directional,

Good morning, Mother. I hope that you are doing well and that the heat hasn’t been too much for you. It seems that yesterday’s humidity was unbearable here in New York City. Days like this always seem to result in a storm and that’s exactly what happened yesterday.
The heat and humidity grew too much and then, eventually, the sky just couldn’t take it anymore. The thunder roared over Midtown and then out of nowhere, a downfall of rain came like never before.

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Letters From The Eastside – Letter Twelve

Dear Mother Directional,

There are so many times when the world tries to teach us something. And dare I say it, there are even more times when the world tries to warn us about ourselves. There are signs we see which we ignore. There are times when people come along and tell us, “Hey, you better watch out” and of course, we ignore them. There are times when it seems like we are locked in this roller coaster called “life” and there’s nothing we can do until the ride stops or comes to some kind of brief intermission.
I tell you that if there is a devil, he does his best work, not by tempting us to do something- but instead, the devil (if there is one) pulls his trick by telling people to stay away. If he is real, I would say that he does this because he knows that curiosity kills us. He knows that the warning builds our interest and this is true. It works. So, if there is a devil, he certainly knows the angles on how to pull off a really good trick.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Eleven

Dear Mother Directional,

I was thinking about the ending of summer and the transfer between the warmth and the cooler months, like say, the way September rolls in and the heat breaks. Then it’s October. And then November. I was thinking about the holiday months and how they are both happy and sad and both times of great memory and times of big regrets. But that’s the thing about the future; and that’s the thing about introspection – this is hindsight because, of course, at the time of our youth, we lacked the ability to have the foresight.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Ten

Dear Son, 

This message came for you the other day from Cousin Contagious. I am keeping a copy of this and I am placing this in the collection of letters which you have asked me to hold.
I hope this letter finds you at a good time and shows you that there’s more appreciation for you than you think. 

We all have tough times and, son, we all live through dark moments. I hope that you can see this now and I hope that you read between the lines here.

Love always,
Mother Directional

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Nine

Dear Mother Directional,

It’s been years since the last time my toes were in the sand. I think this is something that I need to prioritize. This way, I can face the ocean and stare out to the sea and say “Ah.” 
I think we need more times like this. We need more time to say “Ah” and more times when we can find a moment of relief. 

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Eight

Dear Mother Directional,

I have not shared this idea with anyone. At least, not yet. These letters I write to you are to be held by you with hopes that somewhere, somehow, someone can make sense of this. Maybe then we can understand more about this thing we call life. I am not sure where or when life actually begins. I am not sure if this is at birth or if life begins our rebirth throughout the years. I believe there is a way people can be reborn or at least born again under a new sign or awakened into a new light. I know that this might sound like some religious garble. But no, I think we live each day. I think we are reborn several times and I think we die just as much.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Seven

Dear Cousin Contagious,

I think that you would understand this letter more than anyone else which is why I am sending this to you instead of Mother Directional or Father Correctional. First, I want to let you know that regardless of our location or positions in life, I think that you and I can relate on a few things.
I suppose Sister Serenity might understand and perhaps Brother Exceptional would too but there is something different about us.
I am of the belief that there is something different about a person who comes with lived experience. There’s something beneficial about sharing our thoughts or feelings with someone who understands the smell of the Earth or the vomit that occurs after a bad day’s night. 

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Six

Dear Mother Directional,

Father Correctional has been on my mind lately. And albeit true, I am thinking about the way I was taught to be and how I was trained to live. I have been considering the blueprints of my life and the plans that I have followed. As well, I have been sifting through my thoughts about my honesty – and honestly, I wonder how truthful we are about the life we live.
What I mean is there’s a question that we ask each other. And we ask this often. It’s a simple question too. But as simple as this is, no one ever answers this honestly. At least, not mostly. The questions we ask when we see each other are interesting to say the least.
We’ll ask “how are you” or “how’ve you been,” but how often do we answer this with an honest response?

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Five

Dear Mother Directional,

It’s amazing to think about how crazy we can make ourselves. And it’s amazing to think about all the times we’ve wished that we could just be happier or that we can live better.
I have come to the realization that there is only so much that the mind can take. We have so much room in our hearts and whether we fill our hearts (or the mind) with happiness or grief, you can never exceed more than 100% of total capacity.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Four

Dear Uncle Achiever and Auntie Believer,

My apologies. It has been a long time since my last letter. But either way, I hope that this letter finds both of you at a good time and that both of you are doing well.
So much has changed yet many things are still the same. I suppose this is something that happens over the years. We grow older. We learn. We forget and, somehow we find ourselves at a moment when we are reintroduced to our true selves. 

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Three

Dear Mother Directional,

So much can happen in the span of just one day. We can wake up and find ourselves on the other side of the bed. The sun can be up and the sky is blue. We can open the door to the rest of our lives and, just as simple, we can walk right through. There’s no worries about the past. There’s no concern about the future. There’s nothing else but the freedom of the here and now. And suddenly, we’re on our way. We’re out the door and the speeches we’ve practiced or the things we’d swore we’d say on the way out are simply meaningless. Nothing holds us back anymore. No fear. No worries about money or concerns about whether we have what it takes to make it in this whole new world.

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter Two

Dear Mother Directional,

There’s been no word from Cousin Contagious since he last walked away from the world. But there is good news. Cousin led himself into a treatment facility. His only message to me was short but to the point. He wrote to me about the food, which is not the best and that the bed was not what he was used to. Plus, his roommate snores. So, there was a few times when Cousin had to go outside and sleep on one of the couches in the hallway. 

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Letters From the Eastside – Letter One

Dear Mother Directional,

It appears a lot has happened to your city since your last visit. I am not sure you would recognize the place – or want to. I found myself in the old stomping grounds from when I was a young salesman in a suit and tie with a briefcase and a list filled with dreams. The Avenues are the same but much of the stores are different now. The side streets are almost ghost-like and with phantom junkies nodding in doorways near 35th Street by 8th Avenue.
It was sad to see how open this is and how flagrant people are with their drug use, as in right there on the street – needles pushed in the veins of lost-eyed victims who pop-off into close-to-death space.

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Letters From the Eastside

The following notes are all true yet, none of this is real or fact. Instead, the next chapters are written in letter form and will be cases of real fiction which have been taken from real life events and true accounts of life on life’s terms. None of the names are real. However, the emotions and feelings embodied in the upcoming letters are as real as they come.
This is not a test or a cry for help or a worried narrative from a young neurotic man who is lost and unable to find his way. Instead, this is a compilation of ideas, stories and concepts in which real life occurs.

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Just to Write: A Piece of Life Without Technology

There was a long stream that ran along a road with an old bridge that ran across and led to a street and into a little town. I know this place well. Or, at least I used to. This is somewhere I had seen as a young man. Or maybe I was still a kid. It depends on how I look at this.
I think about this place. Or to be clear, I dream of it.
I dream of the way the stream looked. It was somewhat wide and in an Upstate place in the mountain towns of New York City. 

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These Kids!

Ah, the shortsightedness of youth. We thought we knew it all.
Didn’t we?
We thought we knew everything about everything; that we were ahead of the game. We were ahead of the curve and that we knew what to do, what to say, and when to say it.
I suppose youth is slightly one-sided in the fact that our predictions never reached so far as to understand that there are other sides of life. There is opposition. There is competition. There are the compilations of fate in which life comes along and throws us a curveball. And there we are thinking, “I never saw that one coming.” Meanwhile, we had been warned “Don’t do it” by people with experience.

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I Have Found (It!) – Final Entry

I think I will close this here . . .
But before I do, please allow me this one final entry.

We reach a point where the chapters end so a new one can begin. Or better yet, we come to an understanding or we move on. We move forward and once we’ve identified our acceptance of what was and now that we realize where our struggles began, we can either face them and change or we can submit to them and deal with more of the same.
Safe to say that I have met good people who were compromised by a challenge or a demon. Safe to say that although I say these were good people, in the same sentence, I can say that they have done terrible things. Then again, it would be equally safe to say that as a human, I am no different. Therefore, the question remains: Is this fixable? Are we truly curable? Or, is our wiring and our chemistry always prone to our defects? Better yet, is recovery possible?

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty Eight

We should go back to the saying, “No matter where you go, there you are,” which is true. It is also true to go back to the quote that says, “I don’t know about you but I have thought about running away more as an adult than I ever did as a kid.” This is also true but then again, chances are that we are adults for a lot longer than we’re kids. 
There are times when life becomes complicated. Whether this is an emotional downfall or a personal dilemma, or whether this is a business problem or a work life complication, there are times when you want to run. You want to quit.
You want to pack up your bags and take it on the road. And of course, the adult mind understands that is an irrational option. Intellectually we understand that we can’t just “Get up and go!” But emotion and intellect are not exclusive. The two will often fail to see eye-to-eye.

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty Seven

No one is born into perfection. Then again, nobody is perfect anyway, right?
No one walks into a job and knows everything on the first day. No one gets on a bike without falling a few times and no one among us is above being shaken or disturbed.
The one thing we can all be confident of is that there is always a learning curve. This means we need time to adjust. This means we have to adapt to new information.

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty Six

This is for you . . .
I am writing this to let you know that it’s okay to slow down. It’s okay to take a minute. Or, if you have to take a little more. Take what you need because it’s okay. Sometimes you have to take a break.
It’s okay to let go of the invisible pressures that suffocate our thinking.
And I get it.
The world can be an intense place. And it’s crazy too. Life is all over the place and if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Sometimes it seems like we’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fryer.
There’s always something going on.

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty Five

I would like to direct your attention to this thing we call humanity. Then again, what does humanity mean? Does this only mean to be human or to be real? And what does this mean to be real anyway? Is this us? Are we real?
Then again, is anything real?
Consider this as a working model, otherwise known as Project Earth. Assume this is no different from a model, like a train station inside of a hobby shop. Trains pass and people are either frozen or fixed into an appropriate position. We are all placed in our perspective places.
This is us, so-to-speak. We are alive and well on a huge ball which is the approximately 92,547,025.4 square miles that circles around the sun. Then again, here we are, living in the same amount of space yet there are people who would swear that the world circles around them. But I digress.
Let’s go back to that model. Let’s think about the scale of things and the different places and communities. Let’s think about the different cultures, people, races, religions, beliefs and otherwise. This is an embodiment of our so-called society. And here we are. All of us. Everyone is on the move. Everyone has something to do or someplace to be and everyone has their own trips and hang-ups.

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I Have Found (It!) – Thirty Four

There will always be someone to tell you what to do or how to do it. And I swear, life has funny moments which are not so funny.

There are times when we overreact and drive ourselves crazy, like when a person can misplace something and they’ll swear that they left it in the same place as always. Meanwhile, someone must have moved it. Right? Or, maybe someone stole it. That could be it too.
Until they find it in a place where they left it and realized they placed the item, which is usually a cell phone in an unusual spot and lo and behold; there it is. Now they are faced with the consequences of their silly overreactions. 

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty Two

I admit that this one will sting. This entry is tough to report and I agree, this post might not be for everybody. However, I am not reporting this without reason. No, not at all.
I have been discussing the details of our internal narcissist. In which case, the inventory behind mine starts in my early life. Therefore, I offer this as a qualification as to where my misleading began. Of course, I know that this is subjective. My experiences were limited to me, a young man with a challenged version of life, angry, resentful and unsure of myself and everything else around me.
The word “Me” or “I” is used often because everything was drawn back to me. Sometimes introspectively and most times selfishly, I define my past with hopes to use a humble narration. There is no pride here or ego or need to save my face. Instead, my goal is to display my state of being overly self-involved and selfish; and that this did not come without its own science.
By no means did I come to these conclusions until much later in life. Yet, all the same and be that as it may, my internal narcissist grew from a seedling and spread like a weed. Until one day, the center of my wrongs began to compile around the same defects of character. 

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I Have Found (It!) – Entry Thirty One

This entry will be brief and due to the searching efforts, this entry will require an honest assessment of ourselves as to whether we want to change or are we only contemplating change.
Either way, whether it was something that happened in our life or if our awakening was somehow automatic; this means our eyes are open now. This also means there is no going back.
We have come to a realization that our lives were not the life we wanted. So, having had our awakening, whether this was spiritual, literal, physical or otherwise, our next move is to find the right path that can lead us to where we want to be. 

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