and the playlist at the bar
are the same songs as the story of life;
the music of that dream circus,
the world I am so fondly in awe of
curious of
so fucking despisingly intrigued by:

The Hollywood Rock ‘n’ Roll fantasy
that defined the real America;
not the war culture
not the proper culture…
The Bohemian culture
the only word that should appear
in every poem song and painting

this song list, this journey,
spot on
for all of us romantics and dreamers
drinking this Tuesday night away….

af

(written with pen on paper)

listed as insane
when the paper clearly stated
Wanted: Life…Go on an adventure

a four-hour roadtrip for a sandwich

dinner is dinner, afterall
I had the car
I always seem to have the time

Go Anywhere
(naive enough to understand english literally)

watching the sun race to Los Angeles
coating the right sky with a pallet of setting colors
the left already night for the sailors on the ocean

then back to the road
where every romantic belongs
driving clear into the night
for a sandwich and a beer

af

(written in little notebook on a spontaneous roadtrip)

I always try to drink to forget.
Problem is, the more I drink
the more I remember

I know this but I still
forget

It’s the sweet spot I work towards
that magic hour when the booze
energizes
like adrenaline;
when I smile and it all feels good
when I forget how sad I am
when my teeth begin to get numb

It is about the moment that replaces the click

when music sounds good
when life sounds good

when it makes life matter
if only for a moment

until the memories start flooding back
and I will try
yet again
to forget
or
until I become fun once again…

af

(written in little notebook…drunk)

there is a place in the park
where the earth meets the water
under the rumblings of the bridge overhead

where
for a mile end-to-end
the beach is made of glass
broken just small enough to be heard

if you take a moment
in the silence of the aftenoon
or the middle of the night
under a new moon
close your eyes
as you will be given one wish

and if you quiet your thoughts long enough
and believe that magic is possible
you will hear the waves jingle in the abyss
chiming angelic music
to those who dare to dream…

af

(written in little notebook at Astoria Park)

as I walk away from the curse
multiple doors I never knew existed fly open

everytime I manage to shut just one
these doors appear;
yet still I always forget

an abundance of choices now face me
grateful for every lesson in this life
whether learned the hard way or the easy one

sometimes I scold myself too much
for forgetting that life ain’t all that bad

Love is ready
everywhere
…just not used to seeing it this raw

af

(written in little notebook)

Lazy Saturday on the Bayou

Soon enough I’ll be sippin’
Hurricanes
again
horns blowing
thunder clappin’
and words flowing like the floods

Those ghosts always make me believe
there really are things that are right with the world.

That is why I am afraid of New Orleans…

that will be where life is gunna start all over

(and it is just about time to jump)

af

(written with pen on paper, reading omens)

I do not want to stay home

I need to walk

I do not want coffee either

I do not really want anything this morning

I do not want to go anywhere

…

…

I just want to walk

…

…

I just want to be sad

af

(written with pen on paper)