Floating in a Sea of Echoes

I aim to be a moderator.
Not a hater or an instigator, but perhaps an agitator.
Because deep inside there does reside an aged gadfly.
He exists to remind to be kind. To rewind. Not to be blind
to the past but to remember what will and won't last. So I think fast.
I talk trash, I cut class, I walk past, pass gas, and never cease to ask
questions.

If I do it right I might teach some lessons to the stepsons
or daughters of a lost and broken generation. One that seems constantly on vacation.
An unpaid holiday, away from their dreams. The ways and means, and it all just seems,
a constant quest to get laid, trade maids, sin in the shade, and fade.
Nothing of substance.

So I float and I wait, looking for the boat to navigate
my way out of this mess, trying to de-stress and rescue the damsel in distress
wearing that dress that shows just the right amount of her breasts. That is, unless
I should be looking for something else. Well, Maybe I should be listening. Maybe these waves have something to say. Something I could restate in a new way, shedding light on today
shining brighter than a blue ray on a new age 1080 p broadcasting TV.
But again that's what I see, that's obviously not what I need. It's just a news feed,
a deed to my desires, designed to lead me to the fires
of my own avarice just to piss my life away and waste my best and brightest days
chasing after the wind.
So what then?
Listen.

There's a whole sea of echoes. People who've been through the throes and winds and woes
of life in all its strife to move beyond common sight. They found that hounded holy light.
Wisdom in abundance, coming not from redundant pundits who tout their numb wits like it's some holy writ. It makes me like to have a fit. Because they just don't give a shit. No.
They'd rather you not know anything of value. They'd rather wow you,
blind you with pinstripes rather than show you how to
Think for yourself.

Pass by these venomous vipers of "why try?"get to the reality of the ethereal high.
Wisdom: the practical application of knowledge. Sharpen your mind's dull edge.
File down to a point and anoint the mind with the kind of words that wind through the halls
of eternity.

Read King Lear and drink a beer with Shakespeare. Or is that too queer?
Explore the rear ends of fiction through the unique lens of Tom Robbins.
It takes more than a little brass and a college class to understand Dumas you dumb-ass.
Why don't you run all through this with C.S. Lewis and then intuit where the truth is?
Is your plate too full to shovel down a Russian novel? Raskolnikov, lives in such an awful hovel, Dostoevsky, it's hard for an American to sympathize.

And yet we do try, we thrive, survive, supervise, subsidize, and occasionally we realize.
With our epiphany comes great felicity from seeing through the duplicity-- Then electricity.
Action and movement, traction and improvement.
The satisfaction of knowing how the groove went.
These things have happened before, and there's more in store. Be patient and always listen.
In this sea of echoes.

Short story excerpt

This is a fight scene that I'm experimenting with for a short story I intend to write. If you've got any notes on how to make it better, or what you might find unclear, I'd welcome the constructive criticism.

It’s an ugly day. Cloudy like February is cloudy. The chill is bitter, the wind biting, and my wind breaker is doing a shitty job. There’s a little too much moisture in the air. It’s signaling the sudden onset of rain in the next hour or two. I’ll look forward to having wet feet pretty soon. I need to go buy some damn boots for days like this. As it is, my sneakers make for great running shoes and allow for a great deal of flexible movement, but they really don’t hold up in a storm.

These are the thoughts I’m musing upon when I round a corner and suddenly find myself in a scene right out of a movie. The sounds of a slight struggle and some muffled threats tip me off to the exact nature of the situation as I survey five men in similar punkish dress surrounding a tepid looking ingenue. I wonder if I’m dreaming for a moment. This is a make or break situation. My altruism/herd instinct/whatever you call it, immediately snaps my body into a state of apprehension. They are enclosed on three sides by the gray, rusty, old buildings so common in industrial areas like this one.

They don’t see me. I could leave right now. I could call for help. I could do a million things that would all be smarter than what I am about to do. I speak.

“A pissy mood can really ruin a sunny day. I’m in a very pissy mood. However, I must be lucky because not only is the Sun not shining, but there also happens to be a group of individuals who look fairly ripe for me to take out my frustrations upon.” I say this aloud to inspire fear, and to sound cool like I’m in a comic book. The truth is I’m scared. The five guys in front of me all have blunt objects and I’m unarmed. But they have a girl with a ripped blouse held captive. It would be pretty lame of me not to do anything.

“Oh? A hero enters the mix huh?”

Damn. He’s got me pegged already, and he doesn’t sound the least bit scared.

“Something like that.” I say this smiling, summoning up a confidence I don’t feel. But I see hope in her eyes. I won’t let her down. I’ll die first.

“Let the girl go, and there won’t be any trouble. Otherwise I’ll be calling for five ambulances shortly.” My gall is surprising, even to me. Who am I pretending to be anyway? That was the most cliché line ever. My fists are clenched, my hair is raised, and my heart is beating so fast that I’m sure they can hear it.

The speaker of the group smiles, and motions to two of his friends. “Kill this asshole.”

Laughter. Mind numbing hateful laughter fills my ears. They really shouldn’t laugh at me. I may not be able to beat them all, but I can definitely let them know they’ve been in a fight. The two advance. One is short and stocky, built like a wrestler with a huge back and a low center of gravity. He’s got a scar over his right eye, a sure sign of an experienced fighter. The other is taller, almost lanky, but he’s got shoulders that belong on a shock putter. My thoughts go clear; my body begins moving on its own.

“Have it your way.” A mad smile covers my face. As terrified as I am, I’m enjoying this. Hell, I’m loving it. I almost laugh as I sprint forward. “It’s important to land the first shot fellas.” I whisper this quietly as I launch myself into the air with my lead foot, twisting a graceful 180 to plant my back heel into the shorty’s forehead. He falls backwards in blinding pain. Still grinning psychotically, I rush the lanky bastard. He swings his club as I slip forward and left, dodging it by millimeters. I return with a clenched left hand directly into his kidney. I listen to the satisfying gush of air leaving his lungs and watch him crumble. I look up, and fire from my eyes burns a permanent memory into the brains of the remaining thugs. My head tilts upward. I stare at the sky for a moment, and still a trademark lunatic smirk spreads ever wider over my face. I stand with my arms limp and I lazily turn my gaze down at them.

“Well, that was stupid. Now there are only three of you. It would have been better if you’d all rushed me in a group. Then you might have had a chance.” The three have dropped their jaws in shock. They regain their composure and forget the girl. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

“Chance, mother fuckers!” I slide in between them firing rapid jabs at their faces. I connect twice and then get caught. Flash. My whole world goes dark. I open my eyes again to find myself reeling backwards. No time for pain. There’s blood gushing from my nose. This is what I get for being cocky I suppose.

No time for pain! They’re still advancing. I fall backwards and roll for space. I’m on my feet again and in a fighting stance in less than a second. My eyes are wild, the smile is gone, replaced with a sneer of primal hatred and aggression. The three are all around me swinging bats. I’m moving with grace I never knew I had, dancing on light feet a knife’s edge away from the blurred words: Louisville slugger.

“Too slow.” I grab the nearest bat and twist my body into the outstretched joint of an elbow. The bat comes free. I continue with my spin and connect the bat with a kneecap. I’m not sure who’s. There’s a face in front of me, and a bat headed downward in a sledge-hammer motion. I hold the slugger aloft with both hands to block the oncoming onslaught and proceed to kick forward with all of my might. My bat snaps against his hammer strike, while my kick connects agreeably with his solar plexus. The second assailant is flung to the ground. That’s two down with body shots today, I’m on a roll.

My bat has become an edged weapon, I toss the blunt piece aside and wield the remaining wood like a blade. My final opponent is already swinging. I drop to one knee to narrowly dodge again. I stab fiercely into the bastard’s thigh. He squeals and my smile returns. I grab him by the throat and begin striking him rapidly in the eyes with my right hand. I release my grip after a long moment and he folds noisily to the ground. I turn to face the man who broke my bat. He is slowly getting back up. He stares at me again, and his eyes widen. He begins to look around for support, but finds himself alone.

“Run along, little puppy.” I quietly hiss. He politely obeys. The girl is nowhere to be seen.

“Well isn’t that peachy? My goal accomplished, but my reward all vanished. Why couldn’t they have tied her up? Then I’d be getting my tense-gratitude blow job right about now.” I laugh aloud at my own wit, and then I fall to my knees, clenching my bleeding face. The swelling’s already started and my pulse is pounding against my temples, compounding the already excruciating headache. I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop laughing. This was the most fun I’ll have all week.

To Everyone Who Knows What's Up.

To everyone who knows what’s up,

If you’re lost, help is on the way. If you’re found, let’s get a drink—I’ve been waiting for you. If you’re somewhere in between, I think the end of the tunnel is about 5,000 miles east of nowhere, and I’ve got a compass without an arrow telling us both to relax.

If you’re in jail, I’m busting you out. The file is in the cake; now don’t ask too many more questions the wheel-man's waiting. If you’re taking fire in the trenches, don’t worry. I’m flanking them from the left, prepare to charge. We’ll take this hill together. If you need a kind word, I’ll write you a sonnet. Don’t like sonnets? I’ll make it a limerick.

Please, ask me for help. How dare you not let me know you’re suffering? How can I do anything for you when you leave me in the dark? As a mediocre rapper once said: “If there was a problem, yo I'll solve it. Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it.”

I’m your shoulder to cry on, a well-timed joke when you’re humorless, and if I can ease your pain you’d best say hello while you’re hurting. Because if I find out you went through the fire alone, I’ll punch you in the shoulder.

For all the handshakes, high-fives, leg-ups, and once overs—thank you. You’ve made a friend for life in me. I’ll never forget what you’ve done, I’ll never forget where we’ve been, and I will never let you go wanting when I can do something about it.

Utilize the network kids.

Undercurrents

Start Listening
I feel something happening. I have a friend who once was greedy, offering to house and clothe his girlfriend for free until she gets back on her feet. I have a mentor, who is dragging himself out from under the specter of self-pity. I know a girl whom I love, who I can't follow across an ocean, and I broke both of our hearts. I know a woman who's husband refuses to pay child support. My friends and I took an offering for her. A small dent in the despair, but we must keep the love flowing. I know a man who so indulges in the whims of his lady love that he has long ignored his personal passions. He just bought a lap-top with which he plans to compose music. I know a girl, battered by life. I see her swimming against a strong current and floundering.

I sat in my room with five individuals I would die for. I sat and wondered at the compliance and coincidence of life. The little occurrences that go unnoticed, the prodigal friend standing in the doorway rather than sitting on the bed with the rest of us, standing, afraid of rejection. Her body language extolling her apprehension. No one could tell. I might have imagined it. At the moment it was true all the same. There is a bountiful energy in the room. Everyone connects beautifully, just enjoying the glow of one another's company. I hear the music that matches the moment. And my cynical friend begins a whimsical rhyme castigating the talents of Oasis, in order to bring me back down to Earth.

Thank you?

I sit and I compliment, I brazenly flout my opinion as if it matters. I give and receive love, the world turns, and slowly something changes. Realization takes hold. People experience epiphany. Everyone looks around and notices the unacceptability of the situation. We all decide to treat one another with respect.

I wake up.

Things are the same. Hopefully something subtle has taken hold of me, and I endeavor to effect positive change today. Hopefully, but not realistically. I am kept so busy. So self-absorbed. Nothing penetrates the shell of my apathy like it used to. Don't be like me. Fight the impulse to be worthless. Work towards generosity, and hope that it takes hold. Because if it doesn't, we are truly doomed.

If we can't give when we need, then how can we expect to ever give? When aren't we in need? There is so much pain out there. Children left fatherless for one reason or another: death, apathy, love betrayed, poverty, etc. Women abused, faith forgotten, men with the boots of their masters pressed tightly against parched throats.

How long will we take it America? How sick and tired of being sick and tired do we get? When do we draw a line in the sand, stand as men and roar: "No more lies! We are not stupid, we know that things are worse, that we could be making them better, that we are outlawed from doing so. Persecuted for screaming aloud the anguish in our souls! No more! I call thee Molech! False prophet! Seven headed beast of the Earth! Fury and destruction! Fear us for we are united!"

When do we kick the assholes out of office (all of them), and start running things ourselves again? When do we put down the six-pack, the remote control, the smut filled neo-idiot box, the sports illustrated, the numerous layers of distraction? When do we demand truth? I think it's soon.
I pray I'm not imagining things.

Oil spill

It just hit me today. There is about 40 million gallons of oil in the Gulf of Mexico, and that figure is growing at a very rapid rate. That spells a lot of trouble for all my favorite vacation spots. Moreover there is an epic amount of lost undersea life. 40 million gallons of black, slick, viscous poison spilling onto a vast vivid variety of organisms, destroying intricate unexplored communities. It's really very depressing.

What's more depressing is the storm it has created above sea level. Government is bumble-fucking it's way around the situation as usual. Acting tough, slinging mud, completely ignoring it's dual debt to this disaster: architect and savior. Architect, because of the irresponsible legislation allowing for oil drilling a mile deep into the ocean, forcing it, in fact. Savior because the only thing they've been doing to solve it is fining the people trying to solve it.

I'm not saying BP has no responsibility, they do. They need to be more open about the repair process, and the lax safety conditions and procedures that led to this disaster were obviously insufficient and should never have been allowed. However, we are where we are and this problem's got to get solved. The only one's working on it right now are the engineers employed by that company. Unless I'm sadly uninformed, (entirely possible) good ol' Uncle Sam isn't doing much in the way of employing environmental engineers to aid in the process. Nor are they pumping any money into the problem, yet the pockets of our senators grow ever deeper.

No, as always the citizens of our great nation will be the ones to quell this shit-storm. After the fact, unfortunately. The problem will be solved at least by August when the relief wells will be finished. Then the recovery process begins. An outpouring of philanthropy from John Q. Public. We'll all band together, clean up our beaches, and communally lament the ugliness of our own incompetence at not only electing but also employing politicians and captains of industry so prone to excelling in only two things: making money and ignoring/understating gargantuan problems.

Speaking of things that aren't helping: I hate the constant criticism of everyone handling the problem. I am more anxious to see the world united in the denouncement of those responsible after we've solved the problem. Let the circus start after we've fed the elephants, or cleaned the seagulls, as the case may be. The American media bothers me as well. They put all of these terrible pictures on TV and deliver these emotionally charged editorials on the lasting effect and irreparable damage to the coast.

Again, forgive me if I'm mistaken, but doesn't oil dissolve in saltwater? If we all just pull together and make it happen, can't we minimize the loss of life and duration of the disaster somewhere between six and eighteen months? I'm not saying this isn't a catastrophic tragedy the likes of which the world has never seen because it is, but doesn't some of the kowtowing that cable news perpetuates sound somewhat disingenuous and inflammatory to anybody else?

Call me a skeptic but it seems to me they're just trying to get everyone all riled up in order to start a witch hunt. I don't think anyone meant for this to happen and I certainly don't think that there are any BP executives laughing about this while they count their money. I suppose I'm just a bit more distrustful of the people who've been trying to tell me how to think my entire life, rather than the guys who've been trying to get me to buy their gasoline for the last eight years, (the amount of time that's passed since I could drive.)

I'm not saying anything no one hasn't already thought of though. Really the only reason I write about a subject like this is to prove to myself that I'm not the selfish American that the rest of the world says I am. I do care about this. I want to help. My life isn't directly affected yet I hold sympathy for the plight of the entire gulf.

I think I may actually try to do something about this. If I don't I'm still just complaining like everyone else. I have family in Fort Walton Beach, they've informed me that the oil has reached them and if anyone sees any of it the can call 311 and clean up crews will be notified. I wonder how difficult it would be to go down for a long weekend and volunteer? If anyone manages to read this with any pertinent information I'd really appreciate it. If not, I guess I can always count on the almighty Google to help me out with my altruistic fit of fancy.