Fresh Air From The Age

“I see a harbor filled with masts and sails, wearied by the sea wind that wearies me.”

Archive for July, 2007

I Know What Ill Do.

Ill go to the beach because I cant sleep– just a half hour drive to peace. Ive always done it; maybe 3 or 4 in the morning, id sneak out of my house and drive to Dania beach. Music my only company and the road entirely mine, id cruise past vacant parking lots, dark houses and businesses, to reach a place that gives me a sense of home. Id walk the pier, receiving casual glances from faceless fishermen.

I did it tonight– I made a call to have someone there with me and I walked through the sand to piss in the ocean. I could see my 2 cigarette butts floating in the tide from the height of the pier.

The night was mine,

with which I could do whatever I wanted.

I could cruise through Hollywood,

and remember fun nights here and there.

I could spark small talk with the lone fisherman,

and realize that theres much more to fishing that it seems.

I could realize there was much more to be seen– everywhere and in everyone.

I could shake the sand off my feet as I snuck back into my house and write about my night.

Patience

Is just another way of getting old. Nothing great happened by being patient. The greatest feats and blunders were made possible by impatience.  I always thought the way out of this slump is being patient. ”Bring yourself to a patient mind when lost in the night” -Baudelaire. Well, it´s not. In fact, it´s the absolute worst idea i´ve ever had. Bringing myself to a patient mood means feigning the happiness, feigning some excuses, feigning an indescribable experience. Bringing myself to a patient mind means studying Journalism– it means faking an opinion. It means that ill never be happy. But here I am, waiting for nothing, expecting nothing, doing nothing, and i´ve never been happier. Ill always do everything on a whim, and ill never fucking regret it. Im gonna study English cause the world is round and everyone has their place and im not gonna fucking regret it. Im gonna move out of my town and not regret it. Ill work the shit jobs and live a life others wont without any fucking regret. Theres an incredible boredom dominating everything lately. I feel it on nights like this– lost in routine, (work in the morning, tired at night, not eating, smoking too much, not sleeping), and you know what? Done.

I have a home, a car, and a debit card. I live in America as an American. You want a quote? Here´s a quote– THE quote:

¨Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who’ve ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.¨

Im leaving this city, this state, and this country. Im gonna go places ive never been to before to speak to people ive never spoken to before. As far as money goes, I dunno. I wont be going anywhere for money, ill be going there because a friend has someplace i can stay, or because a favorite author lives there, or even because theres a great place to go for dinner. Ill find a way just like anybody would. I dont wanna meet someone because I should, Dad. I dont want an entry level position with promises of promotion here and there. I am no prodigal son. I am no promising youth. I am no white-collar slave. I am no blue-collar joe.

What a time to be godless and impatient. I am here. What will I do?

The Great American Blunder

Ive seen the institutions all over the nation,

packed with a mass of future young proffesionals.

But they dont have a Brooks Brothers wardrobe,

Or an antique ferrari.

 Yet.

Tonight a party, tomorrow the world.

Ask me if i’ve read any Oscar Wilde,

And i’ll tell you how much I love Dan Brown.

Crime and punishment means nothing to me,

For I lead a cushioned existence,

I need nothing but what I have and what I can get. 

I almost feel left out. Its almost magical.

What a state,

Of shit and power,

DUI’s and Visa.

Its no wonder CEO’s run from the law,

And spend time on farms for tax evasion or inside trading–

They were doing keg stands a few years back.

Wonder not why the many get little and the few get so much more.

You might wonder,

“what is the great American blunder?”

Well, I can’t say for sure because all I see is a decayed land,

Full of conflict, revolution,

And a spreading, uncontrolled fire rolling through towns,

through main streets,

and every Whitman dream ever imagined.

As far as I can tell,

One of our blunders was to put our children in charge.

but go ahead and fuck that

I have an early memory of a visit to my godfather’s house. It was in the outskirts of some city in Cuba and the area was pretty rural. I remember they would make little trees made of wire, rocks and glass bits. I went looking for rocks with their oldest son and i dropped a bunch of them and he yelled at me. I thought living there must suck, with all the work and shit but we ate and i fell asleep in a hammock. I woke up a while later and there was a bunny bouncing by me. They raised bunnies. And the searing sun that made everything shine white had descended, starting its daily retreat. A few rays of light penetrated a canopy of palm fronds above me and looked so solid in the dust and dirt below. A mellow breeze fell through us all, melting eyelids. It was so relaxing. I thought, it might not be so bad to live here.

some air

I went out into the night a short time ago,

It was a hot july night.

A night in which the humidity clings to your every pore.

These are my Florida nights,

The nights full of wonder and,

most of the time, muses.

Muses that cling to every tree like leaves,

or shoot from the sky like stars.

Muses within.

Still, i can only hunch over a useless keyboard,

thoughts of anything but words cloud my mind and the kid goes west.

no more an audience

Nor an orchestra. No more a maestro puppeteer. No more ghastly white faces peering from the balconies. No more polite mingling. No more dress shirts. No more schedules. No more appointments. No more bumper-to-bumper traffic every morning and afternoon. No more grade point averages. No more “we gotta go”.

I came here tonight for a grand concert. A concert unlike any other, where the song is a word and the dance is a person. I hope one day to maintain this wonder as i live a longer life than any man alive ever lived.