Time

Time is always the same. A second will always be a second. A minute will always be a minute, and hours will always be hours. The speed of time is never any different; it is simply ongoing and inevitable, moving forward in measures of seconds, minutes, hours, and days.
To us the time it takes to round the clock is relative. To us, time is subject to emotion. A minute of laughter is quick.  However, one minute of pain can drag on for what seems like hours.
The truth is time has no regard for our emotion. Time never sleeps. There is no way to pause, stop, or rewind. There is no way to fast forward or ease time back to a slower motion.
Time, itself, is an ongoing machine. It is more Continue reading

Advertisements

A WALK IN THE PARK

The morning was no different from any other during my lazy teenage days of summer. The sun was awake and high by the time I left my home. Outside, the winds were slow and warm. There was little to do in my small town. There were few places to go and only a few ways for me to get there.
There were no classrooms to attend or teachers to contend with. There were no homework assignments, no detention, trips to the principal’s office, or progress reports to worry about in the mail. There was little else besides the idled time of teenage life.

There had been an Continue reading

For Tommy

Saul Williams once wrote, “Only believers in death will die.”
I had to think about this . . .

If it were up to us, our loved ones would never pass. No one would ever become sick, or suffer a minute of sadness or pain. If it were up to us, we would always remain friends. No one would ever leave, and if they did, nobody would ever part on bad terms.
Unfortunately, it is not up to us.

We were young once. We ran Continue reading

About the Lost Child

Sure . . .
I have good memories of bad things. This is why I kept doing them, which makes sense because nothing is addicting when it feels bad. The truth is many of the things I did felt so good that I began to explore and branch out to find other ways to feel even better.
Nothing like this begins with tragedy. It was all in fun. Stupid games like, Ring and Run become bigger and better. It starts small—like prank phone calls or small plots of youthful mischief to kill the boredom.
Drinking started with stealing sips of adult beverages whenever I had the chance. Then I became brave enough to dare and learn what happens when I drank enough to feel the results. It was like daring the world and dancing on the edge between safety and trouble. I found a different kind of Continue reading

Sex Prose from Sessions in the Balcony

I think I was 15 years-old . . .
This was not going to be my first time, but it was going to be my first time with a girl I never met before. I was introduced to a girl from the next town over. I liked the idea that she knew nothing about me. This way, she might not judge me. I liked that we did not know the same people and she never heard any of the local rumors about me.
She knew nothing of my background and I knew nothing about hers. I met her through a phone conversation, but I had never seen this girl in the flesh. We began speaking on accident. At first, I thought she was a girl I met in a mall—but she wasn’t.  As it turned out, the girl I met gave me the wrong phone number. As a joke, she gave me the phone number of her friend instead of her own. (We’ll call her friend Jessica for now)

Jessica was a year older than I was. She came from a wealthy family and Continue reading

Taking a shot

Sunday morning and my eyes open before the sun. Today is my day off, but yet, my body is in routine—so I’m awake. Outside, the wind howls and the clouds look like they will be thick when daylight comes. This would be a perfect morning to sleep in—but again, my body is used to a routine, so I am awake as if today was just another day on the time-clock.

It’s amazing how our body fits into a routine. I am rarely late, but I have a terrible fear of becoming so. I suppose this fear came from past experiences. I suppose this came from my time on The Farm.
Being late meant you didn’t eat. Being late on The Farm meant someone was going to yell very loudly and yell for a very long time. It meant a day of humiliation. I suppose this created an inner-body fear that my subconscious refuses to let go of, which is good, because I am rarely, if ever late.

I watched an interview of an amateur cage fighter with Continue reading

Note to The Old Man

If I were able to speak to you, I am not sure if I would know what to say or where to begin. I am not sure I would recognize your voice or if you would recognize mine because it’s been that long.
I write mostly. I don’t speak out loud as often as I used to. I suppose I don’t speak because the words never seem to leave my mouth in the right way. But on paper, I feel more comfortable. On paper, I feel I’m able to express myself easier.

I was so young when you left. I was young and Continue reading