What does it mean to be free? Is anyone ever free with everything that we’ve experience in life? Death, desire, lust, mysteries, fate, destiny, free will. How can we all be free and not at the same time?

It doesn’t make sense for the rambler that things are just is without no rhyme or reason. There has to be a reason for things that happen, connections that are made, friends that are lost. There has to be a reason for these things. If not, then they are just things. They just is, existing on their own with no connection to anything or anyone. They are coincidences in our little lives.

As I sit up here typing away in my usual spot, in my typical verse, I wonder to the drowned out thoughts in my head. What is life? How do you live life?

Life is something that one just experience. Life is just something that is lived by the individual. Life is life. There is nothing about it and nothing around it. It just is.

Fond tickling of the parts around me, fond ticklings of the arm, the soft skin, the smooth cool digits, the dooey eyes and the beautiful face. Fond tickling things are.

I sit and I sit, looking out wondering, lusting at the things that people have and I have not. I look around shaking with the bridge that I am on. Is it another earthquake or the traffic and the wind that is blowing oh so fiercely?.

If it is the big one that ends my life, then this little diddy will never be read by any wandering eyes.

Traffic lines up in the claustrophobic tight streets of Westwood Blvd. Traffic lines up waiting to go somewhere. Traffic is what holds us up.

What is the traffic that we deal with in our normal daily life? Our neighbors, our friends, our fears, our confidence and self esteem. They stack up because they have no where to go, no signs that give them permission to be release. Nothing. They just build up and build up and build up, waiting for that initial release to free itself from this stagnation.

Once given the sign, they flow freely and go wherever it is that they need to go. To our loved ones, to our heart. They go everywhere and nowhere. They just go and flow like they are scraps of confetti blowing in the wind. They flow and flow.

I flow and flow everywhere I go, for my life is free flowing. It goes wherever my little feet and my heart takes me. Sometimes it’s daring, taking chances with that particular someone. Sometimes it’s shy, staying away from people that might intimidate him. Sometimes it just doesn’t care and does whatever it is that it feels like doing. That is how things are now. It just doesn’t care.

My life goes and goes, never ending until it ends. My life goes and goes, never ending until there is a stop. My life goes and goes. After it builds up its momentum, it is hard to stop it unless a tragic force hits it with fury. It never stops.

Stagnation is a place that I’ve been to and it’s a place that I do not want to go back. It is my hell in a place of hell. It is the worst part of life. The moss has been thrown off of this tumbling sand pebble that built up into a giant bulder. My life tumbles and tumbles free willingly down this majestic mountain road that many have been on and traversed.

Now it is my turn to have a little go on this mountain round. Now it is my turn to roll with the punches, fly with the birds, flow with the streams. Now it is my turn to face my fears and put them into submission as I take chance after chance after chance in the chance game of life.

Whatever comes, no one knows. Whatever that is before us is a mystery to all.

I got a crush on this little new found glory that clouds my mind. This little new lust that causes me to dream dreams I’ve haven’t seen before. This new found joy of life that everyone notices. This joy of release.

Many have notice the change of giddiness and happy moments from the usual dark brooding moods that usually flow through my veins and through my skin. It is a new change in me, and it all has to do with an extra hour of sleep a night.

Sleep is my new found friend that I’m so familiar with. A long deep night’s sleep is the refresher that helps me face the day ahead. It is the extra juice that pushes the start button.

Sitting here on this little bridge, typing whatever it is that comes to mind is becoming tedious and rusty. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so out of my routine am I. Hopefully my outings of writing will increase as my laps will increase too. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

New editions to the family will make its way to us soon. Boy and girl, girl or boy, boy or boy, girl or girl, are possibilities that come with life. They come and grow up and go like the rest of us all.

Sometimes they bring us smiles, other times, they bring us tears. Most of all, they bring us to us.

Walking across the street, walking across the road of life. Crossing the path, crossing the path. Crossing. We risk our lives to cross the path so we have a direction to intercut with the life that is before us.

We give ourselves power to do the things that we need to do, if we don’t we get assistance from those near and dear.

Still a little hard to say, what’s going on in this little head of mine. Lusting for things that I dream of and rejecting them all at the same time. The confusion that besets me slowly melts away to the self assured nature of who I am.

As night slowly creeps up on me, watching the glowy orbs criss cross against the roads, I sit and watch as the world is illuminated with life and lights. I watch the world fill with stars in the city of the stars, Los Angeles.

I have neighbors up here with me, so if the big one hits, I wouldn’t be alone in my fall to the broken streets below. I’ll be a part of the rubble and I have no qualms about that.

So come on courage, teach me to be shy because this new found “cockiness” is scaring the usual tame nature that is me.

Walking in platforms, there you go, lost in thought, talking to that lil’ someone beside you. You walk into my life and out like it was the front door to your house. No regard for the mysteries around you. No regard to life at all.

You go about your business, you go about your deeds. You come again and pass through the entry way again, not paying attention. You pass through and pass through.

Finally he got the hang of doing nothing says the billboard across the street. Such old news to a guy who does nothing perfectly well. I’m an old pro at the inactivities of life. Come join my hermitude of antisocialness. Come join me in this little game of being on one’s own. Come join me in the new found lust of life. Come join me.

Does this mean that I want to move away from my old ways of hermitude and bring forth new life to my veins? I find that hard to believe but the desire is strong and the desire is there to make one last connection.

I want a strong and free flowing connection to a new infatuation that turns into something more than just mere games. I want a connection that is wireless, and understands all the information that I need. I need a new connection.

 

Sitting at this new found place, watching the traffic drive by and typing my conversation with my computer screen to a recipient a thousand miles away, I just sit and wonder where things are now. Where are things?

Things are where they always have been; things haven’t changed much. I’m out writing my usual diatribes as always, and I’m out away from home, doing whatever it is that I’m doing. I’m not in a rush to go anywhere or to meet anyone. I’m just here.

Things have just gotten better for me, as many have been putting it. I’m not depressed anymore; I’m the chipper, happy go lucky guy. Well for the past three to four weeks as I’ve been told. That’s good for me too, so I’ve been told.

What has changed that I haven’t written about. Nothing much. I guess the things have just set in and I’m tired of my old ways. I’m tired of my angry ways. I’m just tired. I’m starting a new, starting a new trend in my life.

There’s just nothing that has changed much. Things are going as well as usual with that particular single mother at work. Things are going well at work. Things are going well in the social front. Not that much is happening, it’s just that I’m doing whatever it is I want to do. That to me is all that matters. That is all that matters.

Life goes on like always, life goes on like time. Life just goes and goes until it goes no more.

I’ve lost my will to write today. I lost my will to write now, as I am distracted by the sun and by the invisible conversation that I’m having. I lost my will to write, but I march on, typing the words you see now and inserting my two cents where it needs me. I just wait until it is time for me to leave as I’ve scoped out the place that I’ve came to scope out.

I’m just waiting for things to come to me like I’ve always done; but now, I’m more patient than I ever was. Now there’s just things that changed in me that will see an opportunity and act on it if it is appeasing.

I sit here typing away, looking at the people sweetening their already sweet coffee and teas.

Butter is what I smell in the air. Not the familiar aromatic smell of coffee beans, but butter. It’s the rich oozy kind that is in theatre popcorn. The “heart attack” inducing butter.

The place is louder than I thought it would be. The place will do, the place will do. I have found my place for this month; I have found my place for the next meeting. It is Tanner’s Coffee, which reminds me…

I’ve lost my will to write today. Maybe tonight, I’ll be better. Things will most likely flow better tonight. It’ll probably be my typical diddy of mindless rambling. Maybe, maybe not.

I haven’t written anything in a while. I haven’t written anything in the past four to five weeks. This is my first attempt. This is my first real entry in a long time. It’s not good.

It is now approaching the time when I will be meeting my little troupe. It is about that time and the place seems a little more crowded than when I first started to be here. It’s getting a little louder; it’s getting a little more uncomfortable. I guess I’ll have to see how things go here in the next two weeks, then I’ll find another place.

I’m always looking for new places. Looking for new little gems. I haven’t found another gem like my usual spot left. I don

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, whether work wise or journal wise, as you all can attest to. I’m at home right now with Six Feet Under on next to me, but I’m typing away. I was to start and go writing tonight, but I opted to stay home and watch some episodes. I was supposed to write tongiht, and continue on incorporating my two plays into one. I was to write tonight. So here I am tonight, writing.

I really don’t have much to write about, so I think I’ll share a little something that I think I wrote.

Here’s a funny story. A couple of months ago, while going through some files on my computer, I came across this poem. Now here’s the funny thing, I don’t remember writing the poem. I found the poem on my laptop, in my poems folder. It is titled and formatted.

Now, I never format my poems and i rarely ever title my poems. And most of all, I don’t remember writing it. I hesitate to call this poem mine because when I read it, it is actually really good. I don’t write good poems. I write bad poems well, so imagine my surprise when I found this one. I’ve contacted all I knew that wrote poems and asked if the poem was their’s…It wasn’t, so I guess this poem is mine. I will call this poem mine. Here it is.

LOVE IS A DIM AND FADING LIGHT

I see you on a daily basis
Watching you watching me
Stealing shy glances that we both don’t see

You talk to me and build me up
I construe your attention as affection
Leaving me drunk with your essence

I join a group to confess my sins
It clears the soul and brings realization
I’m a puppet entangled with your strings

Now knowing what I know about love
I rebuild my heart with ice and iron
It keeps me steely cold from your glances

I keep to myself not talking to you
Hoping that these feelings will fade away
It doesn’t because my heart melts for you

I mend my heart again trying to find a way
But there is no way when it comes to love and lust
So I go through the cycle with you day after day

2004-08-14

There it is. Again, the peom follows the same themes or unrequited love that I usually write about in my poems, but again, I don’t ever remember writing it. But, again, here, I call this poem mine.