I've Spent My Days Swinging Waiting To Be Caught

This weekend has come and gone and has become just like most things in the past. We call them memories because we'll never experience them again. My friends and I went to a show on Friday, they got robbed at gun point. This was just one string of a giant fucking puppet that I call my disgust with humanity. How can people be so fucking ignorant and shit? Its fucked up but everything is fucked up. People with fucking badges think they can boss anyone around. Cops demand respect yet give nothing back. Well, fuck that. I don't like that and I don't play by that fucking rule of social interaction. People sit in their offices every fucking day taking away money and making profit off of the vulnerable. Our society holds certain opinions higher than others. At the same time if I go out into the average day, its full of hard working people who love their family and friends and I like that. I like the faces of fathers and mothers with their children. 

Home Alone 3 came out in 1997, 11 years ago. Where the fuck has my life gone. I'm 17 already. Fuck.

little house

You should all stop it

Wounds, Wonders, And Existence

I woke up this morning not knowing the time. I set my alarm last night but it never went off or at least I don't think it did. I guess thats how shit goes. Life's irony is pretty entertaining sometimes even though it can crush some of us. My days have been pretty light so far this week. I can't complain about them but I'm not thrilled. I'm coming to conclusions everyday. A lot of people are going to realize one day that they wasted a lot of time. I don't have anything to say.

buzz

This weekend, I learned what tube sock boobs are.

Shift The Wall

My weekend. Friday cool. Saturday was fine too. Saw a friend. cool. Chemical Reactions. Really cool. Epic conversations with Spencer was a probable highlight. I enjoy these days but I know we'll laugh about them and I know they come and go. I'm still young, you're still young.

Chronicling The Cycles of Wind

Part One.

It had been at least fifty years since the town had paved the way for people to walk into the sea towards the eastern lands. It was also during spring a year ago that brought forth a new idea for me because I was as young as I would ever be. I have often been told that what makes humans a much more advanced creature than any other is the fact that we are able to communicate in a broad scale. From this point forward, I beg to differ with the proposition brought to me on the issue. I was sixteen and the world was behind me. There I sat admiring everything that stood around me as if it didn't belong there. This was when I learned people don't always laugh at jokes.

Looking back it must've been our common alienation from others that brought us together but the moment our sarcastic phrases and looks collided I would say was the moment in which I began to "grow up." Yet, I use the term loosely for all that has grown is my perception of the world and the motions that go on around me.

That summer, I discovered what friendship was. There the three of us stood on the pier that guided us above the water of the pacific ocean. As the children would play in the sand and with the waves, toys would be lost forever across the ocean. And as my friends and I stood like scientist in the wild we began to talk of our times together.

"Order number 42 for a Jerome." called the waitress who worked at the food place located on the pier.

That night ended like many of the nights that summer. We'd go out, have our laughs, create memories, and on the way home there'd be a car packed full of smiles wishing for the days to last.

The autumn came and so had changes. I'm not exactly sure where to begin. The days were gone. Every day I had been apart of before then was only a memory. If humans are the most advanced creatures and can communicate the best why doesn't it help me relate. I sit at school in taking these conversations yet everything seems so far away.

"I only had sex with him because he kept on begging." The girl across from me would say trying to justify past doings.
"So it was a pure pity fuck? He just enjoyed it as you lay there like a rag doll?" I tried to clear up this information in my head.
"...Well, whatever. That was a year ago. Now I have a boyfriend and we've been together for 8 months. He asked me out on," she continued with the date but I was only half listening and can't recall such a petty fact, yet she continues with the exact time.
"How the fuck do you know exactly what time he asked you out?" 

"I looked at my phone how else!" she explained.

As the conversation went on, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her and it wasn't because I was attracted to you but because I was fascinated with how unattractive she was. Her hair was piss yellow after a failed dye yet her brown roots had already came in so it looked even worse. She had bucked teeth and the most obnoxious voice I've ever heard. 

She went on talking about her boyfriend when I just couldn't stop but blurt out, "why don't you just fucking cut time and just fuck your boyfriend endlessly , wreck you life, have an abortion, and die of carbon monoxide poisoning so I can at least go to sleep at night knowing the world isn't as ignorant as you are representing it to be."

-But no, that was just my head saying that as I nodded along to what had become background music.

That winter was one of the wettest yet. I managed to catch pneumonia after I laid out on my grass during a of rain storm. As I look back on the memory, I believe I was recalling other memories at the time. How perfect of a symbol for the deprivation I had felt that day. If you didn't know me you would believe that I was on drugs but I tend to blackout sometimes due to a medical condition and this experience can be traced to my blackouts. But this blackout was different than any other. I was on the wettest grass I have ever seen in my life yet it felt so comfortable and warm inside as I was overwhelmed by this warm feeling. The clouds were moving mountains and the wind was carrying tomorrows flower seeds, yet I had managed to relate everything to events of the past summer. Its a shame you can't hug the sky. 

"Jerome! Jerome!" my mom called yet I never answered. I just laid in awe of the drenched quilt that hangs over us all. 

He walked into the room as I lay on my warm bed.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked about my pneumonia.

"Eh... I suppose so. I guess it wasn't such a good idea to lay on the grass like that huh..." I replied.

"It was a blackout wasn't..." he questioned.

"-No," I interrupted and tried to explain what went through my head because thats what best friends try to do. "Listen, Greg... It was more than a blackout. I wasn't blacking out. I remember everything quite vividly. You see..."

"It wasn't a blackout?" he interrupted.

"Uhh, no. I wouldn't say so. Whats the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" I asked.

"I, uh... I don't know but what does this have to do with the 'blackout'?" He asked wanting to find out.

"This was a portrait painted for me." I simply stated.

I was back in school after two weeks of illness and went back to my regular routine. Wake up early, get a ride, learn, take the bus, home. I enjoy taking the bus and it is an experience that revives the human spirit for me daily. The seat I prefer is the very right seat at the very back so I can have a clear view of the people we past. I tend to see mothers holding children, fathers working for families, daughters going to school, brothers reading books, nephews riding bikes, everyone living part of their lives totally unaware of mine and my existence. I pass by a neighborhood I once knew that summer.

"Do you ever listen to radio free europe?" asks a man who I assume is in his fifties. He wears a leather jacket to keep him warm and comfortable denim pants. I noticed that he was looking at me for a few minutes. I could tell his destination was the Veterans Hospital the bus passes by on its route. 

"I don't believe I've ever heard of radio free europe..." I answer

He began to explain to me the way it works and had somehow began to dwell o the days of his youth.

"My brother and I grew up on a farm together with our family. We're not so far apart. I remember how we would have to do chores like cleaning the hay and helping take care of the harvest. My father was a proud man and taught us the importance of work. After work my brother and I would have all the fun any two young boys could ever ask for. We'd play games such as Indians and Cowboys. We had so many hills around our house and we would run u and down these hills until the sun set. When the sun was setting we'd lay on the grass and make out shapes of the moving clouds. As we grew older we spent more summers together promising each other we'd always be there taking care of the other. He was my older brother, my hero. One time a few of the older kids had taken my ball and my brother took it upon himself to demand it back. As small of an act as that seems, it meant the world to me. The war started and we were both drafted. My brother promised everything would be okay and nothing would happen to me because he wouldn't let it. He taught me survival skills to assure my well being. We had plans towards our futures after the war, We would manage our own farm and spend even more summer days together with out harvest. The war was horrendous, yet nothing happened to me and I came out scar free. My brother had been deployed earlier and would be home a month before me. When I came home, I had so much to tell my brother. I came home to find the house with only our parents. I ran in expecting my brother there. He must've been hiding in his room with a surprise for me. I searched the house until I ran into his room  only to find his military uniform with medals there and a home for flowers. I began to yell his name 'Jonathan! Jonathan, come out please!' My parents came to the room and gave me their hand to put on my shoulder, a symbol to confirm the fact if my brother's fate. I collapsed to the floor and this river of tears began to circulate on the hardwood floor. The river soon became an endless ocean of grief." His voice had begun to crack and his eyes were glassy as he turned to me, "Do you have a brother?"

"Yes, a younger one. His name is Allan" I answered.

He stood up to make his way out of the bus but before his voyage began he looked at me and said, "Love your brother very much and summers don't last forever."

I went home that day and helped my brother out with his part of the chores as a demonstration of my affection. When we were little we would make up our own games and rules. Our childhood home consisted of a large backyard which was also the home of the biggest tree I had ever seen. My dad attached a rope to the tree that my brother and I would swing on. We spent endless carefree days swinging and sharing smiles. We would create a small baseball field using our dad's tiles as bases. We assumed a batter should knock the base before a pitch was thrown and we would always break the tiles in the process. Every run to home was just another way to make life seem endless. Our elbows would be stained by grass, our knees covered in mud. No Yesterdays. No Tomorrows. Only today.