The path wandered

The paths a man may follow are as varied as the moves on a chess board. High or low, inhale the flora and fauna to make the memory of a singular moment. Absorb the vista offered by time alone. With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home.

spirals 4

We returned to spirals as I have before. At the moment my spiral rises upward towards the skies. I look, head upturned, trying to make out the clouded shapes coming towards me. As the coem into focus I realize the tremendous beauty, the breath taking power of whats before me. What those things were is for me and me alone. All i can share is; ride the spiral to the end. That’s life boys and girls, or at least thats my life.

The Dark Knight returns

After a long time running silent I’m back to offer more tall tales and slightly sociopathic musings. As I’ve said before I make no promises. I have an assortment of new half true stories, misleading diatribes, and some utter nonsense about various romantic entanglements. It all reminds me of what I heard inside the absinth bar in Amsterdam; the laughter of the insane. “I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.” – Edgar Allan Poe.

Pushing and Shoving

You can push and shove me, down to the floor. But this is an action those who perpetrate will learn to regret, nay, lament when I am done with them. For it is the broken people, those bearing internal and external scars who have the most to offer another openminded individual. We must celebrate our scars for they remind us of what once was and what is now, and what could be again if the high road is not taken. more to come

Life and Times

I was born James J Hayes Jr in Manhattan, NY. I came silently into this world at 6:35 am in Cornell medical center on 68th and York. I say silently because the ambilical cord was wrapped snugly around my neck, and the blue color of my skin signaled something was wrong. Birth and death happening simultaneously, though I came through relatively unscathed. A month in the hospital to start my life. I attribute my intense trouble of forming meaningful emotional bonds to this first month of solitude, and the many more which were to follow. Don’t misunderstand me, I relish my time alone. Someone once said ” I can be alone without being lonely”. That describes me quite well.
I pay my bills through a meaningless job which isn’t even worth mentioning. But my true passion lies in the written word. The problem is, you see, no one else seems interested or intrigued by my words. Six publishing houses and nothing but “this isn’t what were looking for right now… sorry” Yeah right, sorry. Sorry my ass, though you will be soon enough. But now I’m getting ahead of myself. A little foreshadowing perhaps…
The insomnia started when Carol left for the last time about 4 years ago. At first it was a nuisance, causing me to be tired at work or over sleep if I ever finally got some. I tried it all; sound machines, eye masks, ear plugs, not to mention a cornucopia of pills. All of which were prescribed to me by a doctor who I’m assuming got his medical degree at the University of Fuck-all, or some other equivalent non-confidence inspiring institution. I must describe insomnia to you. It is like a chill slowly creeping up your spine then settling in your brain, happy as can be.

This is the beginning of a short story, more to come…

Sunrise on the Curb

I awoke sitting on a curb, my head in my arms. I was dreaming of something pushing me, pushing me towards a precipice beyond which I do not know.. I lifted my head and slowly opened my eyes. The Firenze sun immediately assaulted my senses.

Show me the way

Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went straight to my head. Where ever I may roam, by land or sea or foam. You will always hear me singing this song, show me the way to go home…

Don’t much feel like…

“Don’t much feel like walking” “Don’t much feel like talking” “Don’t much feel like dying” “Don’t much feel like crying”
Looking back now, as we have all done in one light or another, I agonize and lament my actions. I feel hollow.
“Wasted talent” is a phrase I have grown to hate over these past years. It follows me like Jacob Marley, rattling his chains. I do my best to ignore the noise. Clank clank clank James. We all wear different hats; whether it be a bowler, top hat, or baseball cap. What happens when we take it off? All men are bald underneath.

The Low Road (Spirals 1)

The path a man takes is as variable as the moves on a chess board. It is not quite as simple as taking the low road or high road. It reminds me of something I once said, “with the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home”. And I suppose thats what we all are seeking; A road home. Not neccessarily our childhood home, or your current residence, but a place where you find yourself feeling like yourself. I know, I am speaking in circles, but is that not how you feel? Complete the task, only to find yourself right back at the beginning. Evokes the thought of spirals. Up or down, they are ever present. Beckoning to us to join the ride. Buy the ticket, as it were. But I try to abstain, abstain from the beck and call of the roller coaster ride up and down. What fun it is to ride, to feel your stomach rise into your chest as you hit the downward G force. But it will end you, these rises and falls. Beware the siren’s call my friends.

Father is the name of god on the lips of all children

There’s a question posed long ago; is it harder to be a father or a son?… I have no easy answer for you. I have only lived one side of the equation. It damn sure wasn’t easy on my end.
He was a stern man for much of my childhood. Over-worked and too little sleep. Quick to anger, a true type A personality you might say. But capable of the most sincere and tender acts of kindness a man could perform. A man who did all for his family. And for all those around him.
I recall a time when I had gotten into a particularly large amount of trouble and after a long discussion, he looked at me, with a tear in the corner of his eye, and said ‘ if I could go through this for you, I would’. And he meant every word. When he told me he was sick, I took his hand and told him the same thing. I would do this for you dad, if I only could. But of course I could not…. I miss you