Ode to a Fishbowl

Ode to a Fishbowl

Swimming in circles

Big Fin King
Catching nothing but my own tail-
Ominous and unforgiving
Obtuse and unforgiven
Just because I’m not caught up in the frenzy
It doesn’t mean I’m not slowly consuming myself

Regurgitating random wisdom

Cutthroat barracuda prince

Biting every hand that ever fed-

Bitter and hating
Bested and hated
Just because I’m not floating in stupidity
It doesn’t mean I’m not willfully drowning myself

Drifting upside down

Deadeyed guppy heir
Reflecting every pain ever borne, or felt-
Succinct and Simple
Sorry and self absorbed
Just because I’m not repenting my sins
It doesn’t mean I’m not destroying myself out of guilt.

Kirk, 5/28/15

The Song Always Ends

The song ends, and she takes a drink from her beer as I drink her presence in.

We haven’t been dating very long- a couple of weeks, at this point. We’ve settled into relaxing with music, drinks and each other’s company after the kids are fast asleep.

I’m mesmerized by her. It’s been a long time since a woman had my attention the way that Jennifer has it. I take another drink, my eyes slide past her, subtly. Watching her out of the corner of my eye- rapt, but not wanting her to know how much of my attention she is actually occupying.

Her hand rests on mine. I don’t move, because I don’t want to change anything about this moment. The music has ended. I know that I should get up, move to the computer and play more music- to extend this perfection- to prevent anything from interfering with this brief slice of love.

But I don’t want to take her hand off mine.

…

I watch her eyes as she looks around my living room, she takes in the art on the walls, the pictures of the kids, the family, and her eyes end up on my bookshelf. She glances from book to book- and I see her confusion. Who has books? Who reads? It’s plainly illustrated across her features as she is trying to map my persona into her world…

She can’t hide her disdain, her smile morphs into a frown. I see it coming, and I squeeze her hand and rise- “Need another drink?”  Yes, my go to excuse for avoidance.

“Shuure… “ I go to get us both another drink. A part of me hopes that she won’t go there- but I know it’s coming- it always does, with the simple ones.

“Sooo- you read a lot, huh?”.  I take a long gulp, then smile, bend to kiss her brow and hand her another beer.

“Yes.”

“Do you think all those books make you smart?”

I don’t tell her what I want to, that everything that you read, that you experience, that you absorb- makes you more. It’s too abstract to explain. I just say- “I just like to read.”

Perhaps she senses my apprehension. Maybe she feels inadequate and wants to level the playing field in her mind. I see it coming and I can’t stop it.

“I read a lot too.” She informs me. “But I only read one book.”

Of course you only do, you sweet, beautiful woman, of course you only do. Its times like this, I realize that if there is a God, he sure loves to fuck with me.

I don’t ask, because, really? There’s no need. But she tells me, anyway. “The Bible.” Well,  the sarcastic side of me says, I didn’t imagine you were re-reading Charlotte’s Web. But the part of me that was thinking I could fall in love with her only says… “I respect that.” But I don’t. How can I respect someone who has only ever opened one book?

I take another big drink. She continues on, about how the only book anyone needs is the bible and everything else just confuses the singularity of our souls…

I take another drink. And I turn the music back up.

And I tell God- Wipe that shit eating Grin off your face, smartass.

 

PostScript:

I remember a moment where I told myself that I would find God for a girl like her.

Then I think, I wish that she would’ve said to herself:  “I’d find reality for a boy like him”.

But in the end, all that I really wanted was a woman who could understand me, at least a little bit.

And- she didn’t- and so, this song has ended- but I remember its beautiful melody- wrapped up in illusion as it was…

 

Kirk, May 2015- Levelland, TX

Morality in action

Thinking of my friend Jerry M., who was so disgusted with me for calling out the problems with today's law enforcement. Its always harder to do the right thing.

But that's the deal. Its called the Law. You either support it, and follow it, and Uphold it- OR YOU DON"T. There are no shortcuts to doing the right thing.

If our law enforcement officials justify breaking the law- then it is doomed to failure. You want be a cop? You want to serve and protect? Then you have to hold yourself to higher standards. No, it ain't easy. No, its not fair that criminals break the rules-

You are a Cop. You are a Police officer. The SECOND that you decide you can break the law to justify - ANYTHING- you just became a criminal too. Its that simple.

I keep waiting for ONE GOOD COP to come out and stand up for what's right. I keep waiting for that ballsy Crusader who says- "This isn't right. This is NOT what this is about." I keep waiting for one cop to come out and look at a dirty cop and go= "Damn- that guy is a Disgrace to the force".

But I watch the news every night- and i haven't seen it happen yet. What, does that mean? What does that say to everyone out there who has seen police corruption= when the good cops are obviously held in check by the bad ones?

I've been a bad guy in the past. and i've been to jail, multiple times, and i've paid the debts i incurred, in my ignorance, in my rebelliousness, and in my willfull stupidity. And I dont screw up anymore- not because i dont want to be punished- but because i realize and comprehend the error of those ways. I don't want to be a dumbass, who breaks the law and makes life harder on those around me. I realize that even as a simple citizen, i have a responsibility to not fuck up- to take care of my fellow citizens- by just living right- and not taking advantage of anyone in my day to day life. Hell, even going out of my way to do a good deed or two just to make the world a better place.

its not the easiest way to live- but i do believe its the right way.

The Traveller-Heart

By Vachel Lindsay 1879–1931

(To a Man who maintained that the Mausoleum is the Stateliest Possible Manner of Interment)

 

I would be one with the dark, dark earth:—

Follow the plough with a yokel tread.

I would be part of the Indian corn,

Walking the rows with the plumes o'erhead. 

I would be one with the lavish earth, 

Eating the bee-stung apples red: 

Walking where lambs walk on the hills;

By oak-grove paths to the pools be led.

I would be one with the dark-bright night

When sparkling skies and the lightning wed—

Walking on with the vicious wind

By roads whence even the dogs have fled.

I would be one with the sacred earth

On to the end, till I sleep with the dead.

Terror shall put no spears through me.

Peace shall jewel my shroud instead.

I shall be one with all pit-black things

Finding their lowering threat unsaid:

Stars for my pillow there in the gloom,—

Oak-roots arching about my head!

Stars, like daisies, shall rise through the earth,

Acorns fall round my breast that bled.

Children shall weave there a flowery chain,

Squirrels on acorn-hearts be fed:—

Fruit of the traveller-heart of me,

Fruit of my harvest-songs long sped:

Sweet with the life of my sunburned days

When the sheaves were ripe, and the apples red.

Uncommon Core

It's interesting how, that no matter how chaos swings this marionette, that this far-flung body always swings back to the same familiar orbit.

Or maybe not so interesting...

Maybe it's a matter of simplicity.

Perhaps, it's a lack of forward thrust.

I daresay, no one could ever argue that it was a lack of my expansive imagination.

...

Humble beginnings- and a deliciously, deserved humble ending- of my own choice.

It's all that I ever wanted.

But, endings will come soon enough. All too easy to focus on grand (or not-so grand) finale's.

The trouble is not only treading water, but holding my children above the water while I do it.

I do believe that I've done a good job.

I don't say it lightly.

I see others doubt. I see them wane, I see them fail, I see them fall, I see them weaken.

I am a harsh judge- of myself, worst of all.  But, judging- hell, that's almost a gift, of mine.

I sift the wheat from the chaff. I boil the fat from the bone. I scatter the smoke from the fire.

I gently blow on those flames, watch the falseness wift away.

And I'm left with what I am left with.  What matters? As always- the children. The future, the line, the legacy. Such as it is.

What matters is certainly not Ourselves. And when I look around, at the shadowy half-lives led around me- by people with no conviction whose only goals surround their own petty desires, I know that I've lived true- despite it all.

I used to look at the mirror- and hope I didn't flinch.
I used to look at the mirror and struggle to meet my own eyes.
I used to look at the mirror and want to know that I was at peace.

I look in the mirror now, and smile.

I've met all the goals I EVER hoped to achieve. My success has been met.
But it came with a price. Now when I look at my friends, my family, everyone that I've met- I see them in my reflection- I stare at them with these unflinching eyes and their weaknesses are all too plain. I try to empathize- but hell, I don't even empathize with my own weaknesses. You fix them. Or you fucking fail. You fail yourself. You fail your children.

And, I won't ever do that.

Good men, Good deeds, Good memories

Confusion... Is... nothing new.

Drove home in the snow... really bad roads- I've discovered the secret to driving safely in the snow: Drive Slow and Drink.

Seriously.

I took the girls to Grandmas.  Damn plumbing fucked up on this rent house. again. sigh.

Snow on the ground. lots and lots of snow. Not gonna get fixed this weekend- THIS- I know.

So I drove the slow hour to Lubbock and dropped them off and grandmas.

Hell, its not like I need plumbing= i'll be making drunken Led Zepplin alien marks in the snow for the next 3 days.

So, I got them there, then I got my ass home. Didn't leave the truck right away... cranked the music up, and grabbed a beer out of the backseat once I was safely home. Randomly stuck the stereo on "K" and found a few choice tunes- or maybe- they found me.

So closed off- when the emotions hit- they hit hard.

Somehow, the memory of me selling business cards to Star Books and Comics rose up in my memory.

Not because they were really awesome business cards, or anything like that-

Mainly because I was desperate.

its a long story. I cried over it earlier, reminiscing.

I even imagined writing down the details- and a heartfelt thanks to Robert- the owner of Star- for throwing me a bone, in a time of need- that he couldn't have even understand how low I was at that moment.

Its a good story.

I find that I'm tired of trying to tell these stories- no matter how important they are/were to my life.

Who the fuck am I trying to impress? at this point? Nobody. But, I do want to give credit where credit is due.

Thank you Robert. Your good deed is not forgotten. And it fed my kids that month.

I hate her most days.

Well, 99 out of 100, if you must know.

But, sometimes I think about that 1 out of 100.

And it’s not for me.

But, I think about what would make her happy

- and what it would take-
For her, to be so together…  that she would be around.. for them.
I know, right? Talk about 1 out of 100…
And I think to myself- as bad as I feel..sometimes-

Not Now of course, don’t be silly-

But, damn, she must feel worse-

I know what it’s like- having my boys taken away-
always there,
but just a little bit out of reach.
First Andrew and Evan-
And then- Lauren, revisiting that nightmare on me again with Tristan.
Don’t ever say she didn’t win- in the end.

But, I’m always there- waiting in the wings- for my chance  to swoop in and be there, when I can.

So, when I look around, when Amy looks around, when Rain looks around..
And she’s just a ghost.

That’s when I hate her the most, and when I feel the sorriest for her.

How easy is It- to just wait there, for the moments when they need you.