all for one

I spend approximately
one hour each day
driving my car
to and from
my job

and for one hour
each day
I am truly alone

with all those remaining
hours that frame a day
laid to waste for the desire
of others

and the others are always
fighting for and devouring
the scraps of the day
I am unable to claim
as my own

all those hours not mine
simple sand poured through glass
given away for free
to no one and everyone
but me

I suffocate from this and
I feel claustrophobic and
I need that precious hour
to breath, to think, to get back
to that thing that makes
me whole and makes
us all feel human

but if time could be
bought and sold
bottled and stolen
I would still go on
wanting

because that goddamn drive
will never be long
enough

This Guy

I knew this guy once
who would shoot bottle rockets
out of his car window
and he would drive
on the wrong side of
the road

he would work all day
and drink all night
screaming at his reflection
in the bathroom mirror

he gave his heart
to women who didn’t have one
and received no love,
no mercy, no trophy,
no remorse

he would dive head first
into mosh pits
only to return
bloody, torn, puking
and smiling

he drove his Volkswagen van
across the country
just so he could
pedal his bicycle
back home

he would beat up his cousin
for buying crack
so he could tell him
he loved him

he would spend all of his money
buying me beer
so he could tell me
about his life
and his sorrow
and he would not allow
me to hate him

he was all I have
never been
capable of being

and I never once
thought him to be
crazy.

Not quite as Disgusting as GG, but as close as I'll ever come.

It’s tough being a kid. It’s especially tough being a small, scrawny kid in a small world of big kids. That was my reality as a child, being a weird little scrawny kid. Children bore easily, they need constant stimulation or else they might just lose interest and go find some trouble to get into. Boys do this a lot. Get bored and then in trouble, that is. When I was coming up, we didn’t have video games and computers to keep us inside all day long, we had to go outside to find our stimulation and our fair share of trouble. Although I never got into any real trouble as a kid, I got bored a lot and found as much trouble as I wanted. And I didn’t have to look too far for this trouble either, I had an older brother.


My brother is 21 months older than me, and when I was a kid, I really looked up to him. I wanted to be just like him, and when I was a toddler I bugged the shit out of this kid by following him around everywhere he went. He could always look over his shoulder to find me staring up at him in admiration. Hell, I even followed him to the bathroom to watch him take a piss. My mom credits my older brother with potty-training me. I don’t know if he really did or didn’t, because I was only 3 years old and I have no memory of such things, but I’m sure my mom would never lie to me about something like that, so I will accept her testimony.


When I was about 9 or 10 years old, I used to hang out with a kid that lived down the street from me named Jonathan. I thought Jonathan was a complete dork who liked to complain and whine a lot, but he was about the only kid around my same age that I could play with. He was a couple of years younger than me, so we didn’t always have the same interests, but like I said, I didn’t have a lot of potential friends at that time, so Jonathan was my neighborhood friend.


My older brother didn’t play with me and Jonathan, he was too old and too cool to hang with us, so he hung out with his friend Ritchie. Ritchie was a few months older or younger than my brother, I can’t remember which, but if I had to describe the Ritchie I knew back then, I’d describe him as a douche canoe that had some possible bonding issues with people and perhaps some possible issues with not being shown enough love as an infant or toddler. I would also describe him as a complete motherfucker. But as a child of 9 or 10 years old, I just thought he was mean because, although my brother picked on me a lot, Ritchie got down right brutal with me and I hated him for it. Ritchie wore glasses and his Red hair and freckles were deceiving at first look. He looked like a well behaved little nerdy kid, but in reality, he was a calculating bully, and I looked for every reason I could to make him suffer as he had made me suffer on a daily basis. I would get my revenge on my brother too, but I never wished him the suffering I wished upon Ritchie. After all, I wasn’t a monster; I was just a little kid who couldn’t adequately defend himself against these two bullies in my life.


One day my brother and his sadistic sidekick acquired some water guns and came in to my bedroom bragging about them. They thought their guns were awesome because they could shoot really far or something. I wasn’t impressed, so I probably talked shit about them and told them to leave. But because my adversaries thought they were all big and tough with their new water guns, they challenged me and Jonathan to a water gun battle. I didn’t have a water gun, but I figured Jonathan probably did, so I agreed and said "I’ll be right back!"


I ran down the street to Jonathan’s house as fast as I could and knocked on his door. Jonathan appeared, and as I was still catching my breath, I said “Hey,….get your water guns!"



"What? I don’t have any water guns! Why do we need water guns?"


I explained to Jonathan why we needed water guns and he still maintained that he had none.


"Let’s go look in your garage, maybe you have something in there we can use," I said.


We went to the garage and started looking around. Jonathan’s garage was mostly filled with junk. It was hard to know what to look for in there.
"You find anything yet?" I asked.


Jonathan would hold up something completely useless and say, "I found this!"


And I would tell him that item wouldn’t work and then say,” Keep looking!"


We looked for some time before we found what would eventually amount to the ultimate weapon my arsenal had ever seen. Sitting on a make-shift shelf next to a rusty coffee can of nails were 2 empty, clear spray bottles.



“Hey look! Can we use these?” I asked.



Jonathan didn’t know if we could or couldn’t use them, but he said, “Yeah.”



We took the spray bottles to the kitchen sink and filled them with water. I twisted the nozzles of the bottles from “mist” to “spray” and admired the distance that could be achieved with a single pump of the trigger. And then, something in me just snapped. Maybe I was just sick of being tortured by my brother and his evil friend or maybe the hatred and anger I had been suppressing had finally decided to surface, I don’t know, but what I do know is this: I turned to Jonathan and said, “Let’s piss in these bottles. Let’s shoot piss at them.”



Yes, I know what you’re thinking, this is beyond sick. This is some GG Allin shit! This is god awful! And yes, you are right, it is. I have no defense, but I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen and for better or worse, here’s what happened next.



I unscrewed the top of my spray bottle and went to the bathroom and filled my spray bottle full of yellow, stinky piss. I then left the bathroom and said to Jonathan,”Ok, go fill yours up.”



He did, and when he returned, his bottle was about half full. Jonathan’s piss was clear and I remember thinking that was a good thing. To the naked eye, the bottle appeared to be filled with water. Our adversaries would have no idea what they were about to get hit with.



Like a true leader of a revolution, I thought I better prepare my soldier for the events that were to take place as a result of our malicious attack.



I said to him,” You know we’ll get beat up for this, right? It’ll be worth it though. You take my brother and I’ll take Ritchie.”



We raced back to my house, and as we neared the front porch, Jonathan positioned himself in front with his bottle of clear, water(piss) and I followed closely with my bottle of Yellow stink. Sometimes Jonathan’s stupidity could be mistaken for courage, and on this day I thought him courageous.



“You ready?” I asked quietly.



“Ready.” Jonathan said.



We barged through the front door scanning the house in all directions for movement of any kind. As I turned the corner of the living room, I spotted my brother and Ritchie at the kitchen sink.



“There they are!” I said. They turned to face us with a startled gaze that said “Oh shit! We aren’t ready yet!”



My brother was the first to get hit. Jonathan had shot him in the center of his chest, marking his t-shirt with a wet spot. I was not concerned with the accuracy of my marksmanship though. I just went ballistic, shooting piss all over my brother and his friend. And then, sticking to my original agreement with Jonathan, I focused my attention on Ritchie. And in a matter of seconds, Ritchie’s clothes, hair, and glasses were completely soiled and stinking . Things were happening so fast that it took the enemy a while to figure out that they were just shooting water and we were shooting piss. Once the harsh reality of the situation really took hold, Ritchie’s mouth hung open in astonishment, and just like shooting water in the clown’s mouth at a carnival, my trigger finger worked overtime to produce a steady stream, keeping my aim on the hole at the bottom of Ritchie’s face. By now my brother had already overpowered Jonathan and was giving him a beat down right there on the kitchen floor. Jonathan was not a very good soldier. When confronted, he would always roll into a ball on the ground, covering his face. In situations like this, he would often times cry. This situation was no exception and he no longer looked courageous to me. As all this was happening, I was still trying to fill Ritchie's mouth full of my Yellow stank juice, and as I did, I began walking backwards out of the room. I fired off a few more shots before running back out of the house and throwing my weapon into the bushes outside. I couldn't risk Ritchie finding my piss bottle and making me drink my own piss. I would have deserved a taste of my own medicine in that way, but at the same time I knew I too would be crying in a matter of minutes.


I was a fast runner then and if I didn’t smoke a pack a day now, I still would be. But on this day, although I was fast, I wasn’t fast enough, and I knew I wouldn’t be against Ritchie. I knew what my fate was to be on this day. I managed to make it across the street into a neighbor’s yard before being tackled. I remember being tackled in such a way that my head hit the ground really hard. I saw stars at first, and then snapped bak to the reality of Ritchie’s fists swinging as he sat on top of me. I defended myself at first, but Ritchie was much bigger and much stronger. Not only could Ritchie hit hard, but he could also put you in a severe choke hold or make you honestly believe he was going to break your arm. He pulled no punches on this day and gave me all he had. He brought me to tears and before long I was begging him to stop in between gasps fo air.

After the beatings had ceased and Jonathan and I were released back into the neighbor hood, I met back up with my partner in crime to return his spray bottle. Seeing Jonathan sitting on the floor in front of the television that day, I could still see the fear in him and I understood that the events that took place that day would not soon be forgotten. After all, I remember this day still.

Although I’m sure the irony was completely lost on my brother, and can only be revealed now in retrospect, he was once my hero. But on this day, he was the enemy. He once potty trained me and I had repaid this deed by pissing on him and his friend in a fit of anger and revenge. Yes, this is as close as I have ever come to GG, and I know I will never be that close again.

Today my brother and I are friends. We have been friends for quite some time now, although we are only as close as we allow each other to be. But of course, if you’ve read all those words above, you know there was a period of time that we didn’t like each other very much at all. And looking back now, I am relieved to discover that I would never do such things to anyone ever again. Even if I hated them.

Ride

My daughter rides
her bike
as I follow
behind her
cautiously.

She pedals faster
and
her long, blonde
hair
blows behind her
head like a
flag.

Her smile is
wide.

I want to be
her
on that
bike.

And I want to
feel
what she
feels
as she rides
away, swollen with
life.

And I remember
a time
when I was a
child
riding my bike
with my father
close
behind.

A time when I
did not fear
life
more than
I did
death.

One Day

There will come a day when I shake Death’s cold hand and thank him for waiting so long to come for me.

And I will say to him “I should have lived better. I can’t believe I did this to myself.”

And he will tell me there is no right or wrong and that it happens to the best of us and the worst of us too. He will tell me how he almost came for me many times in the past, but I always found a way to outsmart him.

“I lived the only way I knew how.” I will tell him. “I did the best I could.”

My life will flash before my eyes giving me clarity and a new understanding of what I was and what I now am as I prepare to breathe my last breath. All of those years of my life now reduced to never being able to say goodbye.

And Death will tell me that I have been saying goodbye since the day I was born. And he will say that he has been walking slowly toward me all along and that life is nothing more than the time it takes for him to finally encounter me again as I walk his path.

And I will ask Death “Where was all of this truth when I needed it?”

And he will tell me that I had enormous luck and a steady endurance, and I never needed truth.

Well, my luck and endurance will finally run out on this day and truth will be all I’m left with. And none of this will save me as I look Death in the face. And he will know this, but I will have no fear.

And I will ask Death “Where do I go from here? Is there an after life?”

And Death will tell me that I will simply go where I belong and that there is nothing more than that.

And that thought will bring me peace.

And I will say to him “I had a beautiful life, but I have endured long enough and I am ready to stop living now.” And I will give him all I have left.

And we will shake hands like old friends, finally closing the deal.

And I will close my eyes.

And I will go to that place where I belong.

And I will rest.

No Rules

This is a true story. Well, some of it is true. Well, hardly any of this is true. This really never happened. The names have not been changed because I’m not creative enough to think up proper pseudonyms. Although this story takes place at work, this is not a story about work or working. This issue goes much deeper than that.

I was sitting at my desk last Thursday working diligently on my day’s tasks when Abby walked in. Abby works part time and she usually strolls in casually around noon. Last Thursday was no exception. The first thing I noticed as Abby walked past my desk was that she was wearing a Green t- shirt with lettering on the front that read “Enjoy Coke.” As I read those two words, I thought to myself, “Yeah, whatever. Don’t tell me what to enjoy.” I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like to be told what to do. I consider myself to be a unique individual who refuses to be pushed around by authority. A lone wolf, if you will. “No rules!” I always say. No rules. Lone wolves like myself don’t follow the herd or the rules of others. We make our own rules and those are the only rules we will obey. Since I am a rebel bad ass with no rules, quite naturally I was bothered by what I had read on Abby’s t-shirt. I took offense to it, but tried not to let it bother me. This would prove to be impossible.

I continued working diligently just as I always do, but I could not get the image of what I read out of my head. “Enjoy Coke” was all I could think about. Abby’s t-shirt wasn’t even the right color to be a Coke shirt. It was Green. Who did her t-shirt think it was to tell me what to do? I’m sure the Chattanooga Coca-Cola bottling company would not even endorse such a t-shirt, being the wrong color and all. Where did she even get that fucking t-shirt anyway? Probably a flea market somewhere.Abby works directly in front of my desk and every time I looked up, I saw her t-shirt saying, “Enjoy Coke”. It was beginning to be uncomfortable to even look away from my computer screen. I sat at my desk and stewed over this situation for quite some time. I knew I couldn’t work the rest of the day like this, so I decided I would have to say something to her about this matter.

“Abby, I don’t care what your t-shirt says, I’m not going to enjoy Coke. Ok? I don’t appreciate being told what to do by a t-shirt.”

“Yes you will, Keith. You will enjoy Coke......” Abby replied.

“Bull fuckin’ shit!” I interrupted. “I don’t get told what to do by you, by Chip (pointing to the dude sitting at a desk nearby), or by some stupid t-shirt you chose to wear up in here today!”

“You’ll do whatever my t-shirt tells you to do, Keith!” said Abby.I couldn’t believe what a bitch Abby was being about this whole thing. Why was she sticking up for her t-shirt like that? What power did it possess? I had many questions I needed answers to.

“I will not, Abby! I’m a renegade badass!”, I explained. “No rules!”

That dude Chip chimed in with, “It’s only a t-shirt....”

I told Chip to shut the fuck up.

“This doesn’t concern you, Chip! This is between me, Abby, and Abby’s stupid ass shirt!” I said.

Abby came back with some shit like,”Don’t call my shirt stupid!”

I did my best Abby imitation and said “Don’t call my shirt stupid!” in such a convincing manner, she thought she had said it twice. I told her once again that I will not be told what to do by her or a t-shirt. “Enjoy Coke”, her shirt kept saying.

“It’s merely a suggestion....” Chip said, butting in to a conversation that didn’t concern him.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up, bitch!”

I went on to explain that “Enjoy Coke” was not a suggestion. It was a demand. Suggestions are made once, in a subtle way. I know a demand when I hear or read one, but I don’t listen to suggestions. No rules, I say!

“Who the fuck do you and your t-shirt think you are, Abby? It’s not even officially licenced is it, Abby?” I asked.

“Yes it is! And besides that, didn’t I see you drinking a can of Coke yesterday, Keith? I bet you enjoyed it too!”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I enjoyed, Abby!” I replied.

It was true, I had drunk a can of Coke the day before. It was hot outside and I did enjoy it a little, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. As a matter of fact, I had a can of Coke in the refrigerator just waiting for me to drink it. I had a point to make and I was about to make it.

“Hey, Abby! Watch this!” I said.

I got up from my desk, walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out the can of Coke. I walked back to my desk and sat down in my chair, cracking open the can.

“You see this, Abby?” I asked, holding up the can of Coke I was about to drink.

“Yeah, I see it! What are you going to do with that, Keith? Drink it?”

I sat and chugged the whole can of Coke right in front of her. I burped four times as loud as I could, crushed the can with my bear hands and threw in across the room. Chip walked over and picked it up and put it in a nearby trash can.

“See that shit, Abby! I didn’t enjoy that shit!” I said.

“Keith doesn’t enjoy anything........” Chip tried to say.

“Chip! Shut! The! Fuck! Up!” I exclaimed.

But Chip wouldn’t shut up. Instead, he said some shit like “It’s just a way of advertising. In today’s economy, Coke is at least employing people and..........”

Lucky for me, I got a phone call. I took that call and 15 minutes later, Chip could be heard saying,”.....and that’s why Capitalism works for all of us.”

I said, “Chip! Shut the fuck up! I’m serious! I didn’t enjoy that Coke, Abby. I enjoyed not enjoying it! Ya hear that? I did not enjoy that shit at all!!”

“Keith, I don’t care what you say or think you enjoy. This is stupid. I’m not talking to you anymore.” Abby said.

“Ha ha! You’re admitting defeat! You can’t fuck with me, Abby! No rules!” I said.

“Whatever.” Abby said. “Chip, what was that you were saying about a mixed economy?”

“Well....” said Chip, “I was saying....Keith, you might want to hear this too,....”

“Fuck you, Chip!” I said as I shot him a bird. “No rules, motherfucker! No rules! Don’t tell me what to enjoy!”

As the day dragged it’s ass to an end, I sat in silence, gloating at my awesome and brutal victory. Let this be a lesson to you all. You don’t have to be told what to do, what to enjoy, what to think, you only have to remember two words.

No Rules.