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.
The liquid lamentation
To lament on the nature of a liquid can be considered an odd thing. This goes without saying. But this particular liquid holds certain properties that make it unique, an all together different beast. Whether you refer to him as John Barleycorn, Mr. Daniels, or simply jack, he’s all the same man. A man I have come to know and love. A man I have come to know and hate. And it’s this, this back and forth which really supplies the irony to the situation. It’s in a mans nature to want what he can’t have, so when sober; all he can dream of his that cold beer hitting his lips. When finishing a night of mass consumption and finding oneself alone on the couch, drunk, and in darkness. It is in this moment you long for sobriety and a clear head. The grass is always greener my friends
From Abroad
With soft blond hair and a hard to find smile, she came in to what I call my life. This supposed life has been emptied of late. The loss of a parent left me devastated and medicated. But, as fate would have it, she knows this loss too. we wept words together, and laughed later. L’amour fou the French call it. Crazy love. It must be, for I am certain I am mad. And she as well. No time to be still for this girl, on this plain or the next. I relate. It’s a comfort never known before, as I said, crazy love. But it is all encompassing, the feeling of your favorite blanket as a child, wrapped tightly up to your chin. Now we share this cover, inextricably linked by feelings for one another.
Forged in Fire
I walk in, looking for a glass of wine and nothing more. She obliges. Suddenly, the words that usually flow effortlessly leave me. I try to be witty and charming but fear I am failing miserably. So be it. Out of my class, I suppose. But I leave my number anyway. Hoping to hear something from the object of my affection. And low and behold, I do. What follows in a blur of late nights and fantastic times. Now, to my surprise, I have a woman I love. Life is funny that way; when you’re not looking, you are found.
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