Dare to be different
No one knows your story
You sure as shit don’t know nobody’s

Judge not
Pull the shards of wood from your eyes

Be afraid

Doubt

Stay in your head as long as you want
But damn, man, regardless of the way you do it
jump the hell into the proverbial IT

And dare to be whole-heartedly motherfuckin’ different!

af

(written with pen on paper in the corner of an awesome coffeeshop)

Producing en masse and trying hard not to sell out.

Used to the stares,
another beer, blow that horn.
Back at the bar where the thunder once shook me
when the bourbon originally blasted this soul of mine
to doubt every modicum of my purpose here on earth.

Now this girl is asking, “What exactly does a muse do?”
to which I answer, “Hell if I know, but, inspire me.”
to which the horn player replies, “Listen to the lines, my man…
I keep on blowin in between ‘em so you get to hear what
it’s all about…listen to what’s happening and revolt, baby.”
» Read the rest of this entry «

Tired of living in a world that is so serious
…but life is a mirror
so I am serious myself.

Tired of living in a purposeless world
…but life is a mirror
so I have been too long without purpose.

Tired of living in a world that all too often feels nothing
…but then again, life is a mirror
so, alone all this time, I too am numb.

af

(written with pen on paper)

I stare

Get over it

There is no need to attack me
for my strength in who I am
if you cannot handle who you are

Open your eyes

Look into mine

Our time is short
and we are here
regardless of insecurities

I stare

You are too interesting for me not to

af

(written with pen on paper)

I have worked too hard these past few years
convincing myself I have all the answers
and now after thousands of miles driving
and now after hundreds of miles walking
I am realizing as I sit in this cafe
that I do not even know shit about shit;

Now I am reduced to
a weary righteous traveller
trying finally to think before I write

…and absolutely nothing is coming out

Humility is a good fine place to begin…
but what in the spirit’s good world happens next?

af

(written with pen on paper)

Here’s to those who stress
and to those who are sick as a result.
Here’s to the neurotic, the panicked, the perplexed.
Here’s to those who cry themselves to sleep.
Here’s to those who sleep alone.

Here’s a toast to the readers of human inflection
and one to the observers of mankind’s darkest obsessions.
Here’s to mortality and all it has to offer
resting the quiet and inspiring the living.

Here’s to the homeless begging for food
next to the scraps overflowing in the trash.
Here is to the hoarders of man-made treasure
wishing for purpose amongst all of their waste.

Here’s to everyone who simply forgot.
Here’s to the shrewd who drink to forget.
Here’s to the junkie who tries to remember
all of the lives we are bred to expect.

And here’s to the despondent, the drifters, the depressed
a beer for the imperfect, those I know best,
sipping too many of my words away
when I should be at sleep in a home and at rest.

af

(written with pen on paper in the cemetery at the foot of Canal)

Everyone needs someone to listen to them
now and then
We all want to be known
want to know we matter

Those of us who never learned
are always looking for answers
for justification of who we can’t help but be
…especially when no one will listen

That is why I always listen to those who ramble:
to the guy who knows he can write a bestseller
to the woman who knows she could love & be loved
to the addict who knows he could get clean
to the children who know they create
the most wonderful worlds from their imaginations
to the artist who knows he has a purpose
to myself who feels worth in my simplicity

Knowledge talks
and wisdom listens
so I try not to ignore and roll my eyes anymore…

Who am I to judge what is crazy or insignificant?

af

(written in little notebook)