It was great to see her. She kindled the breath of fire. The hot sticky kind that some sight as repulsive and to others it is simply life giving. She was always a giver. Sometimes the gifts I got were not well received. With the passing of time comes understanding, with the absence of heated emotion and unusual scary feelings come the clearing. And it is clear. So damn clear that one could shed a tear on it. But I wont. Not that I'm above it but rather that the time for that has gone. Ain't nothing like that freedom though. Ain't nothing like it. Ha, ha. It makes me smile just thinking about her. With her thumb out, looking so old yet so fine at the same time. She was so strong that I was afraid to approach her. But she was magnetic. Drew you in like a black hole swallowing you whole and leaving no trace of what or who you were. Behind. Is where I may always be because she follows no one. But I can't tag along. I got mine to live yet if our paths cross again I'll take the time, this time, to listen and that will make all the difference. Sweet flower of youth. Wilted petals will never look so good.

Nicolai struggled with a torn piece of paper. He dangled it from his fingers and watched as it slowly soared towards the sky with the assistance of the wind, then suddnely flop to the earth. Many stones, cobbles, and streets had passed under his feet. And in those walks and in so few years plenty of images and dreams had been collected. Like pennies in the piggy account they gathered on top of each other, pushing at its edges until they gushed forth. These thoughts evoked a sadness in him seeped from his heart. But he could not help but indulge in them. Melanchonly though they were these memories were a lifeforce all in there own. They kept him dreaming. Bitter. Bitter but sweet.

Inch by inch was gained. Hardened by trial, disciplined by necessity it was a struggle for Oliver to gain momentum. But so it is for most. Nothing really separated him from ordinary people anyway. Except for his Mohawk which stood more than three feet tall and was used for defensive measures when entering strange and foreign areas. Why was he defensive? Well that would take a long time to explain so I'll skip ahead and just say blame it on the childhood beatings. They work wonders on the emotional stability and outlook of a young one.
Stripped bare and lying stark in front of the revealer is healing and trying. Scary to go there. Yet that is how the onion gets peeled. If there was an easier way everyone would be doing it and the psychiatric community would be out of work.
Go dance beneath the moon beam. As it strikes your chest, full powered and illuminating, feel it penetrate through the sternum and strengthen the cells.

Sputtering in a car

She sat in the seat. Looking directly out of her window she made out figures that walked along the pavement. She imagined that they were gliding. It was better that way. Things were better that way. Grander, larger than life. For life could be boring and she had to do something. Something to make it more exciting. Because the world that she sat in was boring. Stimulation laid dead and so spontaneous acts of madness were needed to sustain a pulse. Her belly rose, shoving forward her lavender blouse , skidding along the steering wheel. Sighing she turned the key and her engine slowly rattled back to a roar.

Paint drops drip along the wall leaving yellow streaks of flowing gold. Follow through to the other side and he's found Happy. Without drugs. Narcotic free and he can still laugh. Knowing better he swallows them down wanting to chase down his last meal. There never was elegance. It evaporated if there ever was some.

March on and stay disciplined. These are the things I tell myself. I'm tired. Still stubborn. This presents roadblocks for the clearing. Staying present. I isolate every moment and realize that each is a brick, a tiny one, yet still a significant one which is laying the foundation for the construction and eventual completion of a magnificent temple. One that was given by God but left to erode.

In between the yellow chairs that were sprawled out awkwardly on the kitchen linoleum was our friend Peter. He had been lying upon the floor for some time now. Waiting. Listlessly. Patiently. However, anxious moments seized him with sudden spasms of excitement. With fondness he rewound his thoughts to yesteryear's when rising from his bed was not an accomplishment and cooking was fun to do and not a means of survival. Armed with spatula and mixing bowl he was known to create the finest baked goods to be consumed. Favorites like Peter's Pumpkin Patches, large orange cookies with scenes of hooting owls and clambering zombies delicately placed upon their centers, propelled him to the epicenter of the culinary world. But he fell lame with indifference after a tragic love affair with a temptress and lovely eccentric named Janice. Janice, lovely Janice. Yes she was a firecracker. And it was not just her orange mane, that fireball of a dome God gave her for a head that was unique about her. Janice's most endearing quality was her soft kindness which seeped into Peter Pan's childlike heart and left him defenseless. What could one do with a woman who never argued yet simply resigned herself to smiles and large caresses of ones forearms with her giant hands. Nothing. That's what. Crawl up into the fetal position and hope for the best. But Janice was a delicate being who never intended on harming a soul yet she could not stay still. Her love affair with two lane highways was destroying Peter's tolerance and on Halloween he dumped Janice in one of the shadiest Carrow's in East Los Angeles. Peter continued his reasoning for ending the relationship as Janice began sobbing uncontrollably through small bites of her pancakes. He eventually had to stop due to her choking because she refused to quit eating, thinking it was wise to do something, anything to keep from running away. So she kept chewing, staring solidly at her diminishing 10:43 pm breakfast. Since Peter was poor at planning and preemptive striking, forgetting how uncomfortable a quite ride alone together would be and that he should have brought her roller skates for her to glide home on, the now deceased couple drove along in painful silence. Eventually the strain became too much for Janice as she leaped out of the car at a rolling stop. Upon stumbling to the ground Janice was struck by a bicyclist riding a heavy Schwinn, the Panzer Tank of the cycle world. Janice's leg was broken in three places as the rider B-lined towards her while she lay sprawled out on the pavement. This experience was heavy enough to separate Peter from Janice and visits to her hospital room were unwelcome. Soon Peter found himself alone, growing fat by eating large quantities of cookie dough and skittles.

i want to go back. so i will. i slip on a tiny leaf of memory which hovers in my mind. for as long as i want. or until another one gently slides into the other, passing it onto the bank where recollections gather dust, exageration and increased charm.