9-30-15 with sitting in a restuarant

All these random conversations going on around me,  

I find myself as the grumpy old man. Sitting in Denny's, 

waiting for food to come, in the corner alienated and away from the rest. 

Although currently I'm not grumpy or mad, mostly melancholy with a 

hint of sadness. Conversations of politics in one area, the mention 

of "conspiracy nuts". In another area, parents teaching, disciplining, 

and praising their child all in the same sentence after she said the 

word "motherfucker". Yet another conversation of an older couple talking 

about their daughters boyfriend/significant other treating their daughter 

well, taking care of her. "He's a good kid." A couple nearby in love, her arms 

wrapped around him as they sit side by side. The loving kisses, the squeezes. 

He with a smile of strong contentment. She with the gaze of love, smitten. 

Another man with his parents, "How are you, Dad? and you, Mom?" 

he talking loudly of songs playing, movies watched, politics, and the likes. 

Me, sitting alone, silent as I randomly hear all these conversations. 

Waiters scurrying around with a slight sense of frantic panic. 

Perhaps nearing the end of their shifts. A baby elsewhere in the restaurant 

begins to cry, I wonder what he or she is thinking or feeling. The young couples 

embracing postures change as a salad arrives for her to eat.
Only the embrace of her hand around her fork. I sit waiting for my food,
nothing but these conversations going on around me. I wonder how
it would be to be in any of  their shoes, to be one of them instead of me.
I wonder how it feels to be them, I wonder what they're thinking.
i wonder what they've been through. 

The clinking of glasses and dishes in the air, phone ringing, and the 

occasional breaks of silence. the food arrives.
Well, i sit at home now and fall is here, but the temperatures don't 

reflect this just yet. Only at night when the sun has gone down and
the moon rises. I have those cooler temperatures to look forward to.
The malaise of better days. the super blood moon came and went,
the splendor and enchantment. the boy cat is off in the backrooms somewhere

and the girl cat sits on the end table near the couch, grooming herself

i was ill for a day or two with some kind of chest cold type thing.

the raspy voice and minor congestion remain
well, today is dad's bday at 69 years now
a strange feeling of the reality of his age, his health/heart problems,
and the mortality of us all. death is uncontrolled when it's your time,
no matter what happens, no matter what maneuvers or procedures
are performed, you die, a reality we all avoid, we all dance around
till it hits us like a bullet. and me? well i'll be 40 in some months to come.
my mind blazing like the stream of headlights caught in time lapse videography

right now, thoughts of heaven.

i try still, the best i can muster

a persistent feeling

life is more cruel than the cruelest of us
the damage it deals lasts thousands of lifetimes
each one of us hands it down to our children
and they hand it down to theirs, but with added
intensity, added damage, redefined damage.
the actions or inactions
life tortures some more than others
our mental bears are bigger than mountains
one swipe and we're flattened for years
our eyes filled with tears, covered with liquor or beers
some of us are tortured with only a crumb
only a sample of what could be, what should be
a taste of the purest love, the most beautiful of beauty
a glimpse into the eyes of god
then it's taken away, jerked out of our hands,
slapped out of our hands so hard that our hands sting forever
the persistence of loss
over and over again precious things taken away
the anxiety and desperation sweeps us away
to float and drift into the cobwebs of the corners of life
while all else, most others, flow flawlessly through the stream
stuck in the cobwebs we're forced to watch, more torture
then comes the loss of family and friends
more loss, more desperation, more alienation
the sense of being alone so great
the loneliness of being invisible
the loneliness of Chernobyl
the loneliness an orphan feels
the loneliness of the homeless man rejected by all
a sadness most might not know
those mental bears, those infinite stairs
those powerful and deep cutting stares
im there in the middle of them
in the middle of them and still i dream
why? even those dreams are, sometimes, like a torture
like a bullet hitting my target heart
my target heart, my target heart
withstanding the barrage of life's
bullets and darts and spears
and yes, sometimes even bombs that flatten it for a while
my target heart
of course in the end, no one wins
life takes us all, eventually
and most of the time we're never ready for it

9-7-15 an elongated journal entry

the times are changing fast
faster still the older we get
i look at my life thus far and i see the realities
that all of us have to face yet none of us want to face
coming into my view, those harsh realities
my father has a weak heart and doctors say he could die at any moment
he will have an angiogram and then doctors will figure out
what will come next
the realities of stepping into the shoes of our parents
although for me, i have no kids, no significant other
these realities i face alone, not even a best friend to hear my cries
the wandering in a darkened cave at night alone
the creaks and strange sounds and the fear of inevitability
the fear of the unknown
and currently im not a beautiful ballet at the opera house
im a hobo jumping onto a train
im a distraught boy that's lost his way
im a drunken dancer that falls with each step
ive begun to accept the reality of things
the whole, not everyone gets the happy ending
some of us get the other end of the picture
the homeless man in the gutters searching for the bottle
the alcoholic, the drug addicts, the ones we see everyday
at work, working for a living and yet killing themselves working
it's been the hardest pill for me to swallow
stayed stuck in my throat for a good long while
maybe one day i'll feel the relief i dream about
maybe relief will never come, no reprieve
maybe one day i'll stop torturing myself with the dreams
maybe one day the end of the world will come
i wished i could paint a better picture
a flawless copy of Rembrandt
or Dali or M.C. Escher or even Beksinski
i wished my works were of beautiful golden
fields of timelessness
of the natural beauty in the world
of the most serene scenes of magical passion
but this is not my reality
reality, huh, maybe it's just a made up word to
make us all feel better about inevitability
well, i feel melancholy with a touch of numbness
i find myself struggling to sleep most nights
wrestling with the mental bears that prowl my mind
i try though, i really try
the boy cat lays with a look of total contentment
the girl cat watches out the front bay window
her observant focus is a beauty in itself
the wasps are really active today, coming and going
their jittery flight movements
i imagine them as beams of light, colorful light
reds and blues and greens all chiming together
as i watch them, i wonder how life would be as a wasp
the flying, defending, gathering, and dying.....
oh wait, same as us humans, yeah
well, the days are slowly getting shorter
night fall coming earlier and earlier, and then the time change
comes to rudely rearrange our sleep, twice every year
the sunsets of exploding colorful skies
i cant help but to maintain some positiveness in spite of all things
a small ember inside somewhere still smolders with a slight warmth
who knows what will come
i try the best i can, i try i try