My favorite band of all time
My favorite band of all time
-(Winter in a long yellow motel turned treatment center)
I hear the distant sound of central Minnesota slowing down, and talk radio gargling from my open apartment door. I smoke slowly into night with everything cold, awake, and collecting under a lone streetlight. I smoke slowly into night with everything before me, as it’s always been, only suspended, illuminated, almost waiting for me to speak.
My roommate up and left yesterday during a break from group, to go continue what we do best, knowing in the back of mind that the law is only a few steps behind. And they caught up to him, he used his only phone call and let us know where he ended up, not to his mom, not to his dad, but to his us, his brothers, our family, the residents that had no other choice but to set aside past lives and live together like the children we are, just as we left them.
The phone was past around from resident to counselor to resident again, and when it was my turn, I expected him to sound down and out, but he seemed happier than ever, telling jokes, telling me about the last run, about how all his friends are still right where he left them, and I believe he feels more at home now than ever.
(Institutional bound, around and around, around and around)-
(Where is home, when what you once knew as home, is no longer an option?)
(Around and around, around and around)-
Friday night and the world shuffles in bed, under a clean white sheet. The world laid out in front of me, weakly breathing, simple as itself since birth, but so much more than myself, so much still without me. I’m not waiting for a ride out, no, that’s not what I’m saying. Not tonight, not now, not come morning where I’ll wake from another dream buried to my waist in sand, or paralyzed, with all my friends signaling to follow, and as hard as I try, I remain still as ever. These dream’s hold no underlying meaning, they are obvious, and I know enough just to let them pass me by, for the sake of a new day’s sun, and a new day’s revelation, that too, will pass me by in time.
Its night’s like these, with the orange street light glow, snow falling slowly, smoke milky white and fading to black, It’s nights like these that speak so sweetly to me. On night’s like tonight, I try holding onto a moment forever, forcing myself to listen, breath, and observe, despite cold hand’s and an empty stomach. I think of all those mad, suffering souls that, before my time, continued on for no reason, but their own passion burning in cold air. Burning for something or someone with no direction in mind, and no true concept of home. With the clock, fallen from the wall and ticking over shattered glass, changing not a thing, and they continue on into morning, with no deadline, creating a beautiful reflection of themselves, that one day… they hope that somebody might see too, but if not, it’ll remain to be, a confession that couldn’t possibly sit still. With no destination in mind, but the burning, burning, burning somewhere, for the sake of themselves, lit up and drunk with every last heartfelt confession flushed, and them feeling lighter maybe, for a short time at least
I think of where this seemingly hopeless journey brought them, and I smile, I begin to consider myself otherwise than now, and it’s on night’s like these that I think of running with no destination in mind, but to just remind myself that I have leg’s, and that i’m still capable of something.
-(Institutional bound, around and around)
Running, writing, with nothing to find but home.
Anywhere home, while still moving, in any direction I know
And I must remember this…
-(Around and around, around and around, around and around)
Wherever it takes me
(True story.) When I had my wisdom teeth taken out, the first thing I did following surgery was ask my mom for a pen and paper… and here was the result.
Static fill’s my dream’s
(Completed mostly with stolen markers)