On the Road to Austin Pt 1

“They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

There’s a sudden strange magic that happens when one is enveloped in living, and technology is suddenly an empty threat at the end of a corridor. Living on my way to Austin and back was that miracle, and this blog was forgotten in the grandeur of what life could be, the unimaginably expansive hope. I felt the touch of others so fully alive that their very breath upon my set me to breathing, their very closeness brought me to the orgasmic future without the head stocks of time. For a moment in time, I was real.

It began with a petty road trip wrought with the nerves of one who just wanted to be alive again, and one who was haunted by what lay in wait at the end of the days. Two set off in the lust of a God-given bond that surpassed the gloom of how much weight rested upon them. Reminiscing times before their own lives, with Marilyn Monroe on their eyes and Thelma and Louise on their hearts, the fights were bearable because the road was unfolding and would become so much more.

It took two days to get to Austin. A stop in Dallas on the way provided solace for the one who had been there before, but continued the high-wrought nerves in its lack of kindness to their bagged eyes. Loping to the car one last time, the two made it-I in a half dream state. The entry itself was naught but another city like so many, but what would reveal so much more was the life inside. 

Appearing before me was a vision of two I had only seen in the dreams given to me by the constant bombardment in other worlds. They were like pixies, living the fullness of life, caught in the illustrious being of the now. Even their names departed from a world I had never known. Juliet and Bjorn showed us into a house that Monroe must have lived in, if not Hepburn herself. 

We spent days within those walls, languid in the moments of being alive in a dream. Breathing the solid air scented with God’s presence mixed with all the dreams that one could have, like living and God could coexist without crushing each other out of existence. In those moments, we were alive, but I was not yet breathing, just gasping for air out of the life support of friends I held dear. 

A Plea

The_great_gatsby The green light

What if it wouldn’t die?
What if the corpse waking up inside your chest,
Could breathe one more time?

What if one more time didn’t have to mean
Another death, another axe to grind,
Maybe it wouldn’t have to mean
Hanging your head for eternity?

What would you do?
Would you just breathe easy and smile for just one day?
Would you sing and chant and take your own breath away?
Would you cry?

Would you take away everything you know hurts inside?
Would you stab that pain in a heart it doesn’t have?
Would you live one day like you could see?
Would you be great?

What if one more time didn’t have to mean
Another death, another axe to grind,
Maybe it wouldn’t have to mean
Hanging your head for eternity?

Catherine of Siena said
“If you are what you are meant to be,
You’ll set the world on fire.”
So many of us are afraid of that incandescent light.

I won’t pretend, my fear is strong, my friend.
I’d be a hypocrite to say that I breathe every day.
No, I’m writing because I suffocate.
Because every breath I take is precious

My breaths are few and far between,
But sometimes for just a moment I see paradise
But I’ve been afraid that maybe now I’ll never see it again
That’s why I have to cry out
In longing and despair,
Save me from this nightmare

What if one more time didn’t have to mean
Another death, another axe to grind,
Maybe it wouldn’t have to mean
Hanging your head for eternity?(4x)

Maybe it wouldn’t have to mean hanging your head for eternity.
If God is a person, Lord, Jesus, let me breathe.


I just want to write what I really feel,
Don’t really want to talk tonight.
I just wanted to talk about what’s sneaking
out my windowpanes I can’t express.

I wanted to see your name on the ID again,
I wanted that picture to great my eyes again.
Everytime I see it, I see you and it’s like,
Well it’s like maybe I’m in love again.

But this time I know that the scars are deeper,
I saw in my eyes when you called,
That heart’s still broken from all you said and didn’t do,
From the very first time you fell.

You were the trustworthy one, the only one
I could trust you no matter what, believe in you,
You would always be there, if you said you would,
But then, you weren’t.

It had been so long, I thought you wouldn’t fall
But tonight it seems like you had to,
Like maybe I had you on a pedestal,
But only one that made you a man.

I asked myself then if your old monsters had come back
Was the gatorade bottle to cool the stench
Of nights of vodka, tequila and lime,
And the tired, sick excuse for something worse?

I almost cried out to you, or screamed at you one time,
It was long ago, but it was there.
I thought I had the courage to say something,
But then I realized it was a lie.

I don’t know, but I think I just loved you,
And I was so angry because you didn’t love me too,
And I thought it hurt so bad to be betrayed,
But maybe I asked too much,

Maybe I shouldn’t ask anything of you.
Maybe I should just turn away.
That’s what I told myself that cold December night,
And caved, and let you go.


Something is so unutterably lonely
About the American way.
I saw it in the longing gaze of Daisy Faye.

She cried to her lover, begging for hope
That only he could find
Seas of chocolate sorrow begged his aid.

These seas of sadness languished in opulence
Surpassing all imagining
Tears inside a diamond box of anguish.

That’s when I saw the American Dream,
In all it’s haunting life,
As one sees it, both within and without.

Come to the land with cobblestones of gold,
Flowing with milk and honey,
And long for something else in the land of plenty.

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