Oh to be old and not still young

If I were old I could sit and stare off my porch
Without the bothers of anyone asking me why
I could cry for any reason that I wish

My families youth would call me “sensitive”

I could do as I pleased without any question

Walk bare foot
Sit in my chair NUDE late at night
Scare my grand kids
Wish I had grand kids

I know why I’d spoil my grand kids
To keep myself out of harms way
Only thing worse then your own kid on your ass
Is your kids, kid

Oh to be old and stubborn
As opposed to young and willing

They would say that I was simply “set in my ways”
That I was an old dog who just refused to learn new tricks
I wouldn’t have to worry about death
or when it was that I was going to meet my END

Death would be my unknown brother in old age
My long lost friend
He would sit quietly with me on that porch staring,
waiting, watching.
Both of us knowing what the other is thinking
“Whose gonna be next?”
Death and I would make jokes about life and living

To be old and horny
Now that would be torture

To be old and lazy, well that’s to be expected

To be old and single
No worries, it would be a familiar friend from an early youth

To be old with Lunacy
Now that’s just the ability to really live
It’s the only thing that breaks the shackles of this reality

To be old

To teach the young
And have them shun my wisdom
Now that would be irony

To be young and long to be old
THAT is true irony

When I’m old
I’ll finally be like a cat
I’ll sleep all day and “need” all night


Now I must stop before this tale itself becomes old in the telling.

( I wrote this before i left to go to pennsylvania. the only thing thats changed is that now i have a girlfriend waiting for me.)



Here it comes and there it went, its all been done and ive nothing left
More words and fewer meanings
More thoughts and fewer muses
No ones here
Everyones gone

Be happy for me.
I did it
Are you happy for me ?
I’ve done what good American boys and girls are suppose to do
I graduated highschool
I’ve graduated college

WELL??!!

Where is it?
I have friends who’ve been outside of college for months now
They don’t have jobs
They’re not successful
They tried moving to where work is
They’ve lost loved ones because of it

No luck

Now they’re back where they were
They have their diplomas and they’re degrees
Living in lonely apartments by themselves now
Tooling around for some cheap ass job who was willing to hire them

One friend in particular
lost the love of his life
They broke up when he went to find success
In this aspect

Im lucky
I have no one waiting for me
No one holding me back
I can come and go as I please
Well, I went and now I’ve done it
I left my home state
I went to college
I got that same degree as my buddy
Now im using more money then ive ever had while im trying to sell myself to a corporation who’ll see me as a worthy addition to their company
so they can get rich off of my labor.

Where is it?
Where the gratitude?
Where's the satisfaction?

Im goin to Starrucca PA to try and reflect on things.

When I say "Parental Control" what is it you think of? Do you think about parents monitoring what their children view, what video games they play, what movies they watch, and what internet sites they visit? In the shallowest of senses, yes, this is what I am talking about. But there are responsibilities of being a parent that extend far beyond this simple definition. What I want to address is that there are far too many kids running amok in our supermarkets, movie theatres, and resturants with parents who don't know how to control thier children. Parental Control means that the parent is the dominant figure in the child/caregiver role. It is the dominant figure who makes the rules and expects others (in this case the children) to submit to the rules unquestionably.

I am aware at this point that I may sound overbearing, that I as a parent would be very authoritarian but allow me to explain. Children need rules, they need boundries, and most importantly they need to know why these rules and boundries are in place. So you see I am actually authoritative. Strict but fair. However, disciplinary styles aside, there are plenty of adults out there who are neither strict nor fair with themselves. I emphasize with themselves because this is the first type of parental control. In order to control others one must first learn to control themself. What I constantly run into on the streets are parents who feel the need to take thier children to a movie (not a kids movie, because that would be fine, but an adult movie) or to the theatre, or to a fancy resturant. Here, those children make it thier goal to ruin the evening of everyone around them. They run around knocking on the backs of chairs, throwing food, screaming at the top of thier lungs, the list goes on. If you cannot find a babysitter then stay at home! Please, I do not need to be watching a movie and feel my chair being kicked every half second, nor do I need for a whiny brat to be screaming his head off just because he can't get a $1 cheeseburger when I'm trying to enjoy my $40 filet portafino!

Ok, that makes me sound like a snob. I am not a snob, it's just that $40 is alot of money to me and when I get the nerve up to spend a fortune on an evening I expect it to go perfectly. So parents show some self-control and DO NOT take your kids out with you. I'll say this again, if you can't get a babysitter then stay at home!

The second step at parental control is control over your children. I'm not talking about what they see or hear but rather how they act. I wouldn't have a problem with children in a theatre or at a resturant if those children were well behaved. Don't assume your children will be little angels. Just because they're kids people like to put them into some kind of moral no-man's land. I'm reminded of a cartoon in the New Yorker where a puppy is before a judge and the judge says "not guilty because puppies do these things". Puppies are amoral animals, people are not! So have some control over your children. Even the most retarded dog learns not to pee on the carpet so the next time I see your four year old pissing himself in public I'm going to take the closest, bluntest object and beat you with it!

The third, and final, type of parental control is control of consumption. Not just what your child see's and hears but also what your child eats and drinks. Listen, kids are getting fatter and fatter and people blame the fast food industry but it isn't the fast food industries fault. It's the parents fault if thier child is obese. Here's an idea! Instead of monitoring what kind of video game your child plays how about also monitoring how long they play the game? One can be gluttonous with more than food you know.

"Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand."
--Plato

Let us discuss this for a moment shall we? Poets, you see, are those who mesh thought into a wonderful and vibrant collection of words and because of this I have nothing against the heart of a poet. It is the heart of a poet that makes them so. What disgusts me is when they add things that have absolutely no relevance to what it is they are talking about. For instance, one could be talking about a lost love and in the first line write "Oh love of mine, your fleeting soul has no bounds". Now, I just pulled that line from my ass. Do I know what it means? NO! I don't have a clue but it sounded good to me. However, I could interpret that line to mean "My love which has left me is unable to make a commitment".

Now this is where the problem lies. I could go on and write an entire poem here, but it would not be from my heart because I have never had a problem with a girl who was unable to make a commitment. (My problem with women is that they all very commited, to a husband which is just my luck and a story for some other time) However, this is not to say that if I were to complete the poem it would not be good. Because the poem is not something that I myself have experienced first hand it becomes something secondary, something lacking divine substance.

What may, and in most cases does, insue is that others will percieve a poet as being deeper than he or she really is. This in turn will cause the poet to create one after another of senseless pseudo-emotional filth. Soon the poet will have a following of aspiring poets, writers and songwrites who beleive that no matter what one writes it'll be picked up and published. These poets will form a false sense of hope. There are too many poets who throw words together just because it sounds good and thier poems are just as confusing and vague as thier emotions inside them. Poems, like I said, come from the heart. Anybody who has ever been hurt can write a poem, consquently this too makes them a poet. But to be a poet (a true poet) well, that takes a lifetime of pain and sorrow.

Find within ideas, images, creations beginning and repeating
Themes and majesties
Known to you
Drag them out
Tell old stories
Get your story straight
Rave and rave
Day to day
Apathy upon a face
What is this?
No one asks
Say it again
Say it louder
This has grown boring
Still progress
Use your voice
Strain it till exhaustion
That is the point
That is the purpose
Let people know
What it is that drives you
Tell your story
Same old story
A hundred times over
Tell it a hundred different ways
Eventually they’ll catch on

The following subject matter may not be suitable for all audiences. Readers discresion is advised.
This is my opinion on the state of Oklahoma. I do love this state, don't get me wrong, but there are a number of things that need to be addressed. I know that not every state is perfect. There has never been and most likely never will be a perfect society. My wish is not to make Oklahoma the best state in America or the world...just better than it is now.

We'll soon be livin' in a brand new state!
(this land was a wasteland, nobody wanted it. So it was given to the indians)
Brand new state, gonna treat you great!
(then the land was taken from them and they were forced onto reservations)
Gonna give you barley, carrots and pertaters,
(the state gives us, it's citizens, nothing)
Pasture fer the cattle, Spinach and termayters!
(only grief, lies, and shit)
Flowers on the prarie where the June bugs zoom,
(Our educational system is shit. Our teachers are paid less than most states, we have a huge drop out rate, and our children are some of the least educated in this country....Oh, but we kick ass at football! BTW--June bugs are retarded!)
Plen'y of air and plen'y of room,
(Our air and room is running thin due to illegal immegration from the south)
Plen'y of room to swing a rope!
(Tulsa had a race riot that nobody wants to admit to. The only proof of it's occurence is a small plaque)
Plen'y of heart and plen'y of hope.
(There is plenty of love in this state. Compassion and empathy we are lucky to have. But life rewards action not wishfull thinking and prayers)

Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain
(You know you have entered Oklahoma when the roads turn to shit. In fact we have some of the worst roads around. Probably because nobody knows how to ride a bike or go for a jog! We are also one of the unhealthiest states in the nation)
And the wavin' wheat can sure smell sweet
(Meth labs litter our rural areas--drug dealing and addiction is worse here than many of the other states)
When the wind comes right behind the rain.
(We are at the crossroads of America--the link between north and south, east and west. As a result we have an unusually large gang problem and we are home to one of the biggest child prostitution rings in the country)
Oklahoma, Ev'ry night my honey lamb and I
(Early teen pregnancy and a high divorce rate plague us and our children)
Sit alone and talk and watch a hawk
(Not to mention we have one of the highest STD rates in the U.S.)
Makin' lazy circles in the sky.
(We belong to one of the cheapest states to live in yet we are also one of the poorest. It is nearly impossible to move out of this state to live somewhere else--we just can't afford the move!)
We know we belong to the land
(Agriculture is practically the only culture we are tolenant to! If one wants to the finer things--a.k.a the gay things-- then one has to travel out of state)
And the land we belong to is grand!
(Oklahoma is losing it's educated youth. There are thousands of college graduates who do not see a future for themselves here and wind up moving out of state. What this means for the state is that those who can make a difference "up and leave" forcing Oklahoma to remain how it is or worse)
And when we say Yeeow! Ayipioeeay!
(People are elected into office to take care of these things but where in the hell does our state revenue go? Not to the roads, not to our teachers and schools, not to bettering the community. No! They waste it, tax us more, then promise us that everything will be ok)
We're only sayin' You're doin' fine, Oklahoma!
(Our state is blinded by it's own innocence. The church refuses to see the bad, most citizens are to0 ignorant to know that anything is wrong, those with power fight to keep it, and those of us without power are afraid to make a stand)
Oklahoma O.K.!
(We are not the worst state in the nation, yet we are not the best either. We are mediocre, in the middle, and ignored. The time has come for this little chicken-fried state to make itself known)

Well, folks here I am.

It’s 10:00 p.m. on the evening of Thursday November 15th of 2005.

I’m sitting here not doing a whole hell of a lot of anything and I was reading a few pages out of a book about a guy I’ve read quite a lot of… His name is Charles Bukowski. Few people know of him and even fewer could actually put up with the guy when he was alive. Bukowski died on March 9th of 1993. That would put me at nearly 11 years old. The point is while I was considering that, and while I was reading things about his life I began to think about things from my past that I’ve come to find strikingly appealing to me. For example:

I went home at some point this past summer and one of my buddies decided that I needed to be introduced to an older gentleman who’d just walked into the diner we were sitting in. So I agree to it and we begin to approach the gentleman. And he was indeed a gentleman and probably the saddest and one of the most intriguing men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my short life. He’d obviously been drinking, but soon enough you’ll understand that he had a great reason to do so. My buddy introduced me to him and I kindly put out my hand for him to shake it; when he grasped my hand I could tell that his hand was slightly chilled, which was unusual I thought cause it was a rather warm night. He introduced himself as Neighbors, Loyd Neighbors. He was wearing a suit and there was a slight ting of alcohol on his breathe. He had a dull shine to his soulful blue eyes that reluctantly screamed of sorrow and sadness, he had a warming smile and a hand of ice. As we began to have a conversation he chose the topic of Life, he jumped right into it without hesitation. He wanted very much for me to understand how beautiful life was and how I should make the most of it.
”Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked.
I smirked and answered with a tiresome “No”
Loyd and I continued to converse about life and what a jewel it is and how I as a young man should understand what a blessing it is and how I should use my youthfulness to my advantage. He encouraged the idea of finding someone to share my life with but only as long as it wouldn’t interfere with my freedom and duty as a young man to go out and see the beauty of world.
“Use everyday to it’s fullest” he encouraged.
I’m glad that I was sincerely listening to what he had to say and not just brushing it off as drunk speak. I could tell he wasn’t that drunk he was just buzzed and feeling good. He was currently drinking a cup of coffee as we sat together at the bar of the diner. He never once wished to speak of his own life, wife, children, siblings or parents. But considering that he is 60 something years old, I can only assume that his parents are long gone. I certainly hope that he has siblings or someone in his life to comfort him but my guess is as good as yours on that one. However, considering that he was in a diner at nearly 1a.m. on a Wednesday night I can only assume that he has none of the above. Even though I sincerely hope that he does have a family of his own somewhere, someone in his life to speak of, even if he didn’t wish to do so that night with me.
After our pleasant conversation was over, I felt glad to have met Loyd Neighbors that evening. I’d like to speak with him again someday. Perhaps find out if he does have a family of any kind or not. I enjoyed what he had to say and I’ll never forget it. Especially after learning one thing about the man who wouldn’t speak of himself.
As my buddy and I were leaving. My buddy informed me that Loyd was the mortician for a local mortuary. That made me love and respect Loyd even more then I had previously. How incredibly noble and appropriate for a man who prepares the dead for burial to also feel the need to prepare others for life. May God be gracious with his soul.


P.S. I’d like to think that there’d be hundreds of people at that man’s funeral. I know I’d like to be there.

Here sits a product of solitary contemplation
Take notice of his wild eyes and messy hair
Observe if you will
The crease in his brow
The lines of his life sketched upon his face
It distorts him and makes him look older then he really is.

Read the lines and tell me
Does he often frown or smile
Is he mad
Or happy
Or does he just frown in contemplation
And laugh at the ironies of the world and his life
Does he laugh for sorrow?
Does he laugh for pity?
Does he laugh at himself in the bedroom mirror?
It’s possible that he frowns for the same reasons too.

How badly do you wish to know the answer to these questions?

Not so much or very much?
Either way I’ll tell you.
Most everything above is true.
A man will smile for many reasons.
Just as well he will frown for many.
Similar thoughts repeat and repeat again.
No matter as long as we learn from mistakes
and try not to fall in the same pits again.

Men we are and men we’ll be. We speak of life, freedom, nightmares, dreamscapes, tired eyes, winds of change, tragedies of the heart, terrors of the thoughtful mind, screams of wrongs we’ve witnessed, things of goodness and troubles of hard times. We witness within the world the things that others may wish to forget. We tell the stories of faces we’ve never seen, tales never told. We rub the nose of the world in the shit that is left lying around for the future generations to step into blindly.

We hold nothing back, and we take no prisoners. There is no way for you to join our numbers. You’re either one of us or you’re not. We cannot decide whether or not you will be heard. We do not even know if we ourselves are ever truly heard. Yes, we speak of riddles in riddles, we tell not our mind’s eye to the truth that you seek. We tell it to those with eyes enough to understand and ears enough to listen. Mumbling, yes, we do a lot of that. We talk to ourselves and listen in our cryptic heads to tongues which before remained unheard. I tell you this now so that you may grasp even a hint of why we as men do what we do and say what we say nothing is easy when you speak the truth as truth but wish for it to be a secret in the end.

Men are poets when they speak of hearts and listen to the cries of the world and then take it upon themselves to continue to tell these tales over and over again until eventually we all find what we want amongst the words of thousands of men who are speaking and searching in unison for one thing to be know. We tell our stories and repeat ourselves quite often. But know this not everyone understands one message. We must tell the story more then once until eventually the whole world knows of what we speak. So now it should come to know surprise that we tell the same basic stories over and over. And please do not confuse what I mean and what Hollywood does as being the same thing for we send a message they’re just in it for the money and that’s not what this is about.

This is about telling the world of itself, of it’s heart, it’s soul, it’s love, it’s thirst for freedom, it’s desire, it’s liberty, it’s want, it’s longing, it’s will to speak, it’s amorous, it’s conviction to the human spirit, it’s justice, it’s confusion, it’s underbelly, it’s sickness, it’s disease, and it’s ever constant cry for a listener. We are but men and we just want to let our spirits known in the hopes of setting another free.

Pace Pace Mio Dio,
Esteem in thyself bestilled
the heart, the mind; mine
grows weary

A slave in jest
before demons and men;
My God save me
from torture
from sin

Pace Pace Mio Dio,
unload this burden carried
too much, too soon; a mule
would falter

My soul ablaze
deep inside of me;
My God save me
from thyself
from eternity

Pace,
Pace,
My God Peace
Entri morte mia vita