BLANKETS

"Many of these times were

during those frigid months

of winter, when the windows

would film up with condensation

from the battle of the warmth

inside our cozy little home

versus the freezing temperatures

outside. Although the world around

us was dying and retreating, inside our home,

was full of life!"

As a kid I remember how much I looked forward to the winter months. I grew up in small towns all over Southern Illinois, the son of a methodist minister and stay at home mom. My Father was and is a very good man, but during my childhood, he was continuously busy, whether it be with the church, the elderly, finishing his seminary degree, or one of the many tiring tasks associated with the profession he chose. That being said, I grew very close to my mother, some would say momma's boy. Call it what you will, my mom and I had good times and made some great memories. Many of these times where during those frigid months of winter, when the windows would film up with condensation from the battle of the warmth inside our cozy little home versus the freezing temperatures outside. Although the natural world around us was dying and retreating, inside our home was full of life.

It did get very cold and often our heater was not efficient. We would wear layers around the house and always had blankets, lots of blankets. MY most favorite time during those cold evenings is when my mom would grab one of our many blankets and neatly tuck it around and over one of the heat vents on the floor. She would let me pick out the T.V. show, then her and I would snuggle under the covers and wait patiently for the heat to kick on. And when it did, it was heavenly and deliciously warm. I remember feeling so good, I never wanted that feeling to go away. To this day I have trouble explaining the sheer joy of that feeling. I also felt very safe and protected especially being next to one of my heroes, my mother. It seems like a small thing and to many people this memory of mine carries no weight or significance, but recently this certain memory has been replaying in my mind regularly and today I figured out why.

Blankets can symbolize many things; warmth, protection/security, love, etc. For me, its all of the above. One of the best physical feelings I can think of, is the feeling of being wrapped up in a blanket. The euphoria of your body heat rising and the way it feels to rub your toes against the fabric of your blanket. Its all very comforting and peaceful. I also remember as a child, my blanket kept me safe. It was my shelter and my body armor against whatever lurked in the dark, of course of which was all in my tiny head. But if I awoke scared I would put my head under and fall back asleep. The blanket has significant power.

Recently I have met a woman. I am 29 and have been in many relationships and dated my fair share of girls and those that think they are women. Regardless, this one is different. She is genuine, she is true to herself, and in doing so, is true to everyone around her. She embodies everything that is lovely about a woman. She is honest and loyal, incredibly beautiful and feisty which makes her sexy as hell. She has heart and soul and she is giving without expectation. She is in fact a WOMAN.

I have come along way in my journey through life. I have learned many tough lessons, been slung through shit and been burned by the devil's minions just like anyone else. Along with those life lessons, one of the most important, is how I have learned to interact with a woman, how to really listen to her, and how important it is to make her feel beautiful and desired. Communication with the opposite sex seems to be one of man's greatest difficulties and mysteries. I will admit that it was a challenge for me most of my adult life. I won't get into details(that is for another time), so you will just have to trust me that I have grown much and gained much wisdom from my good and bad interactions with women. This woman though, makes every mistake, bump in the road, trial and lesson learned WORTH it. She has made me see what a relationship is supposed to be like with a woman. Her compassion and kindness, honesty and love makes me feel like a kid again; wrapped up in that blanket, snuggled up against my mom, hoping the feeling never ends. It feels good, and it feels right.

note:I know this may seem like a strange analogy, but to me this is one of best compliments I could ever fathom giving someone. AND men, Communication is the key to a woman's heart!

Sep.12 Thunder! Lightning! in San Francisco!!

Somedays it saddens me to think of how many people around us strive for a life full of fame, fortune, status or whatever it may be that society deems worthy. I wonder if they can feel the warmth of the sun on a indian summers day or the crisp air of the fog rolling over the bay? Do they appreciate it? Do I?

I do not claim fame, fortune or status nor do these things keep absent from my mind. I can say that I am included because I am a product of my society, of which I fight on a daily basis. But today there was thunder and lightning in San Francisco and when I stepped out my back door the fresh scent of the light rain perched upon the green leaves of the courtyard magnolia tree induced a high that the best California weed could never produce. This feeling, "this high" is what I long for. Inspiration!

cAlifornication

Its a dreary Saturday in San Francisco California. As I walk along Polk street my eyes behold the colorful mixup of degenerates begging for change, the occasional glamrock princess in gold spandex, the "hipster" defecating an intoxicated philosophy, the wannabe singer-songwriters and rock stars vomiting so called sexual vitality all over the sidewalks, right where it belongs with the shit and piss of the homeless.

One such singer-songwriter, a loner, lives two blocks from my middle class apartment in Nob Hill. This 42 year old boy, I once admired has made it very clear to me what money and self-loathing can do to a man. His words mean nothing. He sings of lost love that was never love at all, and of romance that is only a figment of his imagination. Doors Locked and one hand down the front of his pants, a 23 year old blonde girl has to make her escape from his closed off sanctuary of antiques, oddities, and perversion. I sit here, drink my coffee and digress of how happy I am that I am not that man; lonely and empty, trapped in his own prison, built by his own two hands, a foundation laid by his very lyrics that make him "known."

Home sweet home

Cape Girardeau Missouri, what a place! As far as I can remember our tattered home on the corner with its faded paint, chipped siding, roach infested corners,rat haven basement and haunted attic was a vital part of my childhood.
Like a long, lost, first love trapped in my soul, I still think and even dream about that house. Many of my fondest and most innocent memories from that time have been etched into the fabric of my being. The old saying goes, "if these walls could only talk". Oh! and they would, as if they absorbed every single breath, action, thought and dream! My life would not be the same without those walls.
When i close my eyes I don't see the rats, the roaches or the faded paint. I see an infinite image of a little blonde headed boy with a huge smile stretched across his face, holding the rest of life in the palm of his hands. With the entire world eagerly awaiting his strength and vitality as a whole and compassionate man. He has no pain, no suffering, no worries or responsibilities. What he has is magical and serene. He has his tricycle and the sidewalk paved in front of him.

shallow inspiration for shallow hearts

Thrust me into oblivion! This thought, often conjures in the forefront of my mind on a daily basis when encountering the sea of countless selfish individuals across the coffee counter where I earn my living, if you can call it that. Lets just say, it pays the bills.

Today I had the pleasure of encountering one of these absolutely pleasant "humans." Humans in quotations because I am not completely sure I can justify actually referring to this woman as being anything close to that, but I'll let you be the judge.

Her name I do not know, so for lack of a better description lets just refer to her as Consumer Whore.

Consumer Whore, third back in line yells up to me. "Can I get an iced americano in less than two minutes?"

Barista replies somewhat annoyed "I don't know!"

Consumer Whore."Well I guess we will just have to see then won't we?"

Barista."I guess so!!"

What the Barista was thinking"Why dont you go pray about it, come back tomorrow and tell me what you find out...... Bitch!!"

Writing this out, I laugh to myself, but where does it end, when was it that a barista was reduced to the likes of a robot instead of a counterpart. Society cries hope, freedom, equal rights while swiftly contradicting themselves at every turn. I am not angry. I feel pity for all the children that have to grow up in these disillusioned "united states of america"

America has and always will be a destination for thousands, millions, maybe more. It is a country filledwith, entrepreneurship, legacy, fame and fortune. And we cant forget the meth or

porn, just to name a few. Yes! America has much to offer and i understand why one would

seek it out, after all I am included, I live in San Francisco California and I adore it....most of the time.