Moist...

As I drove up highway 270 on my way to Pittsburg, the yellow dashes snapped by the front corner of my hood only to reappear a moment later in my mirror like the blinking yield light early in the morning. The music seemed uncommonly empty no matter how loud I turned it up, so I tried the radio. NPR was talking about another murder, only a few minutes before I had turned on the radio, by the snipers that were terrorizing the DC area. The magic Ranger’s entertainment system was providing me with little escape from life that night, so I just turned it off for a while.

Pittsburg was not a city that I had ever thought of visiting. During my thoughts of places like Melbourne, Seattle, Missoula and Savanna I had never thought “Pittsburg, now that’s a city I would love to spend some time in!” I had never seen pictures of nor heard anything good or bad about it. Now I was on my way there for the first time to take part in an act that I never thought I would ever have to take part in. In a way it was a perfect city to take care of a some business that, to this day, is still not real to me. A trash can for an event that scared enough without blemishing any city I really care about. An uncommon dream like city for an uncommon dream like act.

It was late as I pulled onto the off ramp and began to follow the directions given to me by Anna earlier that day. Only my left hand was driving my truck while the rest of me twisted within a bipolar conversation…

(This is an excerpt from a book I'm working on. Feedback would be appreciated.)

Bartenders Corner

“Damn bartender,” I grumbled. “All I wanted was a beer to celebrate opening weekend.”

Having been a professional ski-bum for eight years, I knew how to do two things very well – find the free beer and drive roads better suited as GS courses. I was new to Snowbowl, so I hadn’t developed the bro-bra-beer connections yet. So, my pride was a little wounded when I couldn’t get a beer.

“But,” I consoled myself, “that’s o.k. I’m trying to quit smoking anyways.”

I climbed in my truck and entered the Snowbowl road GS course. “Conditions are perfect today,” I heard an imaginary commentator say. “But, only the most focused will make it to the finish line.” The only thing missing on this course were the gates. I guess that’s what the trees are for.

I exited the first set of turns in perfect form and entered the long straight stretch
before the infamous ‘bartenders corner’.

“Not another bartender,” I groaned.

I had heard of this corner but I wasn’t scared of no stinkin’ bartender. They may control the beer but they will never control my freedom! As my nemesis approached I gently pumped the brakes…

Too late! The bartender juked right. The rear end began to pass the front end. I counter steered. Nothing. I needed edges instead of tires on this brutal course. But the sharp corner was working to my advantage. My slide closely matched the turn. Maybe this bartender would give me a little lovin’.

Nope. I felt the front end drop. Then the whole truck got sucked off the edge. Branches clawed at my windshield, snow and brush jumped over my hood and little trees smacked off my brush guard. As the forest played pickup pinball, I bounced around in the cab like a ball in a spray-paint can. I screamed and cursed about my sobriety.

The truck stopped suddenly. I thanked everything from the Great Pumpkin to Buddha. The door wouldn’t budge so I rolled down the window and crawled out Dukes of Hazard style.

I gaped at my beat up truck like a neon Texan in a terrain park. This would have been much cooler with a buzz.

“Hey! Are you ok?” somebody shouted down from the road.

“Yea,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”

“Do you need anything besides a ride to town?”

“I need a beer.”

“Sorry man, we don’t have any beer. Do you want a cigarette?”

I cursed bartenders everywhere for wounding my pride twice in a day and decided I’d quit smoking next week.

Spring Semester

Well, I've been crazy busy. No deep thoughts unless you want to read my latest exciting paper on "Christabel's Lack". It is a Lacanian analysis of Coleridges "Christabel". Very interesting if you have a phd in english lit or you are any kind of a english geek like me. I can post it if someone really wants to read it but...

Why don't you check out my flickr site instead -
flickr

xoxo

btw - It was my Mf'in' B-day yesterday, so wish me happy birthday.

namaste

Spring Break

I flew down to Santa Fe New Mexico last week to visit my mom. On my last day there we visited Bandelier National Monument. It was great to get out of Missoula for a little while. I was hoping for a little of that southwest sunshine but as you can see from the pics it was overcast.

Victorians Don’t Pierce Their Septums, Except for love

This is Sestina 1 of 2 that I wrote about a punk rock chick falling in love with a victorian man. My friend wrote a matching sestina about the victorian man falling in love with this punk rock chick. Hopefully, I'll be able to post her's soon so ya'll can see them together.


When I first saw you in those light
plaid pants, tight fitting to your form,
my friends wanted to kick your ass. “Where
did this Bozo come from? Let’s waste
him,” they said. But that smell… Your smell…
Strangely attractive, yet beyond my conception.
I called my boys off their conception
and walked towards you, my combat boots suddenly light.
I slammed my PBR, and grabbed your smelly
butt. I couldn’t resist. You didn’t conform,
in style or attitude, with the rest of these waist-
oid punk rockers. You were so punk in your odd wear.

Oh, my pasty, rebel lover… Where
the hell did I put my con(tra)ception?
I misplaced it that night while wasted
and thrashing to punk. I broke the light
with my head, bouncing on the bed. “Bad Form!”
you yelled, as I rubbed my smell
on you while grabbing your mutton chops. “Smell
me!” I screamed. You lost the where-
withal to speak as you tried to imagine my dark form.

“Don’t burn your time with this rebel.” I said. “Misconceptions
of society…” You interrupted me. “Your tender light
has defiled me in a most delicious waste.”
As you grabbed my waist
again, I could smell
your sweat – sweet, salty and light.

That morning I was naked, so I wore
your frock to the bathroom. It’s a preconception,
I know, but this love form
is a mohawk in a frock. Your form
of dirty talk makes me waste
all my fuckin’ conceptions
of guys with tattoos and smelly
cigarette breath. But I’ll always wear
leather and avoid the light.

You make me high, like a light huff off chloroform.
I don’t know where, or how, this love could ever waste
away, but someday, I want our smells to end in a conception.

Missoula and a VD Sonnet

It's been a while since I've been able to update this site. 17 credits has been making me a little crazy. I took these pics from MT Sentinel a few weeks back. Hopefully I'll have some more essays and poetry coming up in the next couple weeks. BTW - thanks a ton JMD for the props and the brief link on your blog. When I get a little more time I'll cruse your blog some more. I've barely had time for my blog.


But here's a Single's Appreciation (Valentine's) Day sonnet, DeTrav style, just for shits and giggles. I'm still revising but.. Well, you'll get the idea. Maybe. (p.s. You know, if you abbreviate Valentine's Day you get VD. Just thought you should know.)


Promise of a Heart
(Shaking Hands with Shakespeare)


A lifting veil concluded with a kiss
The palms are spooning near sunset and sand
Pinky swear the promise of eternal bliss
Put the condom wrapper on the nightstand
The cream-colored sheets look white in the dark
And lips taste like salty sugar
An operatic voice sings in wild barks
The curtains lift to broken wine stemware

The film jumps it’s teeth and melts away
Sucking chest wound grazes on the void
Teasing rap on the tin man’s body
He doesn’t mind, he’s frozen and bored
The O’s in Hollywood ooze green lies
For what is love after you have died

Daily Routine

Dear face
I always recognize but never know
stares back once again
I bump my head, but which side am I on?
Are his thoughts my thoughts
only backwards?
I sure wish it was cloudy
I hope she hates me cuz I think she’s ugly
Grow nose hair! Grooooww…

I wish
he knew the answer to my question
Stupid face! Show your true self.
Where’s that damn toothpaste,
and floss?
I hope I don’t have a cavity
Man, look at the veins in my forearms
I love it when you can see the tops of girls g-strings
It’s better than cleavage, which is still good but tired
Fuckin’ Bush, NPR should just marry the fucker…

I know
that face with the blue eyes flecked with yellow
and crows feet that grow more every year
I have my dad’s crows feet and hands
Hey man?
Are you listening?
You sure are easier to talk to now
I need a haircut
Maybe I’ll shave my beard
A zit! I haven’t had one of those in awhile…

Hey face
What are you really thinking?
Are eyes really windows to the soul?
Can I see my own soul in a mirror?
My eyes look a little dull today
Time to change the razor and buy more soap
Was the Buddha able to meditate his way out of shaving?
I don’t feel very transcendent today…
I need a cup of coffee…

Change

“The only thing constant is change” quotes on of my favorite music groups. I’m sure that many a Buddhist holy men have said this as well. Change has been the source of every significant event, every memorable moment of my life. If my life feels too stagnant I crave change. I’ll often take a road trip, shave my head or clean the bathroom. Change has been responsible for the most memorable experiences in my life – whether a crushing set back or a beautiful random encounter.

Awareness of change has allowed me to be flexible and open with life. This awareness has also allowed me to cultivate and respect my free will. Some say free will is an illusion. But I believe that through awareness of change a person has free will. By choosing how to react to change a person exercises free will. Also by making conscious choices a person can influence how some changes will impact them. It doesn’t seem like much but when living in the chaotic world of constant change any little influence we can have around a change can make a huge difference – even if it just influences our peace of mind.

I don’t bounce out of bed every day exclaiming with a smile “what wonderful change will I encounter today?” I wish I could be so ebullient and enlightened. Unfortunately, life is filled with the day-to-day tedium that makes it life. So instead, I wake up every day with the realization that although I have certain things (like Spanish assignments and paying the bills) I need to accomplish or appointments (like going to class or feeding the dog) I have to keep, I need to maintain flexibility for the unexpected. This has allowed me to not be in a hurry and forgiving of myself if I don’t finish something on time. It also allows me to be more open to life and to the random experiences life tends to throw my way whether it’s drinking a beer with a long lost buddy or dealing with a traffic accident. I have found that these random experiences are not only the source for many a story but are also the meat of life and existence.

Don’t get me wrong. Some days I absolutely resent change - I just want to get up and know what to expect. But I guess that’s where routine comes in. I get up every day and make a cup of chai, listen to NPR while I make my breakfast, toss the ball for the dog, pack my bag and head out the door. But knowing that ‘the only constant is change’ helps me be comfortable with, and even look forward to, what’s on the other side of that door.

Song for the Coffee Shop Window

Oh wise, wide window looking into oblivion,
How long until you grant the holy inspiration?

Long enough for the French bread to fly
From bowl to oven to nose to belly
Long enough for nicotine to eat a lung
In self-righteous instant gratification
Long enough for me to find my muse
Then loose it again in a swirl of bad idea ooze
Long enough for a future ex-girlfriend to walk in
And out of my silk daydream skin
Long enough for the hills to turn gold to green
As a frame on time’s movie screen

At least convince me I have talent
At least convince me I have talent

Oh wise, wide window looking into oblivion,
How long until you grant the holy inspiration?

Long enough for a cup of coffee to go pee
From nervous stalling insecurity
Long enough for my pod to switch up the rhythm
In the sound track of my life’s silent mayhem
Long enough for paint to fade into chips
I eat to poison ideas with under rotated flips
Long enough for a nap to take the dog
Twitching after squirrels in synapse fog
Long enough for a cloud to dance with the sun
Rolling light and shadow on the hills for fun

At least convince me I have talent
At least convince me I have talent

Freedom Part 2 "Our Public Lands"

Public lands – i.e. BLM land, national forests, national parks and wilderness areas or lands owned by the public. public lands definition

What do public lands mean to me, and to us, as a country? Our public lands are one of the things that guarantees our freedom. Without publicly owned lands and the right to use then whenever we choose, we become just a bunch of peasants because only the richest people are able to use and benefit from the land.

Think back to the times of feudal systems when only rich lords owned the lands. The peasants owned no land and had to pay rent (usually in the form of crops or a skilled trade) to the lords for use of the land. The peasants could take nothing from the land, like lumber or game, without permission from, or paying a tax to, the lord. Kept perpetually poor and working for the lord, the peasants were never able to enjoy the land they worked so hard on. While, the lords and aristocrats could roam the land freely, taking what they wanted and traveling where they wanted.

With the quickly rising cost and development of precious open space and the increasing fees on our public land that is happening in the west these days, land is quickly becoming the play ground for the rich again. How are poor college students, middle class families on a budget or poor urban families going to afford to visit and use their public land? The answer is they can’t.

Public land is land held in trust by the federal government for American citizens. Therefore, everyone who is a citizen owns public land. During most of our lives as citizens we pay taxes and vote. Through our taxes we own and fund the government. So if the government, that we elect and pay for, then tells use we need to pay an additional fee to use our lands, a fee that many Americans cannot afford, this government begins to look like the feudal systems of the past. It’s like paying your mortgage and the government then slapping a charge on you every time you want to enter your own house. Or, worse yet, the government telling you when you get to come and go from your own property.

When these families or college kids are denied access to land, they paid for, because of financial reasons, they are no longer owners of this land. They become peasants. Their rights and their freedoms have become compromised. Without access to our publicly owned lands we lose our freedom.

And all Americans are buying and paying for the natural resources extracted from our publicly owned lands. Buying because we put gas in our cars and build houses with wood. Paying because our tax money goes into building and maintaining the forest roads used to extract these resources. It doesn’t seem right that we pay twice for the same resource but this is a topic for another essay.

Since we are already paying twice for the right to own and travel our land how can the government justify making us pay a third time?

Without the option of being able to drop everything for a day or more and get away – whether it’s hunting, fishing, hiking, biking, or just a sight seeing rumble down a forest service road – we are forever caught up in the whirlwind of daily life which, unfortunately, revolves around the centripetal capitalist machine.

I don’t have too many beefs with capitalism, just with the way it’s used by some companies and individuals. Capitalism affords me a pretty decent lifestyle. I’m always working to pay bills, buy toys or take trips. But without an opportunity to break out of our everyday consumer based lives for a moment we loose a huge opportunity to gain perspective on our motivations. Without perspective we loose the ability make good choices. Not having land to exercise a lifestyle of freedom and reflection keeps us from being true Americans because with out access to our publicly owned lands we loose the freedom we Americans are so proud of. Without freedom the whole capitalist system is a mute point.

When we cannot use OUR public lands the capitalist system has then become just another form of slavery because all we are doing is working to pay taxes or pay for goods and services. If we are not allowed to travel our publicly owned lands then we no longer own them; we are no longer free. This sounds just like the feudal systems our ancestors died to overthrow.

Letter to Mountain Gazette

Here's a letter to one of my favorite journals, Mountain Gazette, illustrating part of the roll conflict facing both men and women these days. What she has to say could just as easily come from a man:

Dear Editor:

Influenced by Nicole Gordon’s “Twixter” piece (MG #116) and Stephen W. Studebaker’s letter to the editor requesting more female representation in the MG (same issue), I submit some insomnia-influenced thoughts. (The clock currently reads 4:20 am, no joking.) Call me a twixter, Gen-X-er, thirty something-er or whatever have me (a narcissist?), but I’ve yet to sense the proverbial tick-tock of my biological clock. My “sound” wisdom tells me that the so-called biological clock is only part of the reason why humans jump on the baby bandwagon. In my opinion, I believe a larger part of this drive comes from external influences — like the “tender” coaxing from one’s family and close friends, more tax deductions and credits, boredom in the relationship and the “mini-me” aspect stemming from romantic pillow talks of perfect little offspring with perfect little features full of perfect potential. Never mind the not-so-perfect state of affairs on our planet upon which they’ll live. But, I digress.

In thinking about all this — this nagging search for deeper meaning so typical of my “type” — and knowing it will not be fulfilled by the creation of offspring, I’m forced to focus on what is. Not the what can be, could be or hopefully will be of my 20-something mind. What is. What is is the aforementioned planet we’ve all sucked nearly dry for our own short-term benefit. The old cliché “live for the day” seems to have been taken literally by most of the earth’s inhabitants. Build more, consume more, acquire more, improve more, more, bigger, better … We are living the tomorrow created by this way of thinking and continue to perpetuate it. I suppose one could argue with my earlier point — that we need offspring to mastermind the next wave of scientific, genetically modified, homogenized and pasteurized discoveries to “band-aid” the messes created by earlier generations. (The pharmaceutical industry comes to mind). No, the impact I’ve had on this earth ends with me. Call it my contribution. It’s the least I can do.

Lauri B

Aspen, CO

Haiku Crazy

panting brindle sprawls
on shaded brick patio
sun and squirrels won

coffee and bagel
taste better when together
like pen and paper

smell rich emptiness
of lightly abandoned landscape
ridge runs to flake fog

The machine awakes
faces scowl nervousness
class begins today

jeweled blue reservoir
white peaks and soft green forest
chased by horsefly horde

Blueprint for Sunday -
hippy speedball draws the lines
of music for the sun

soft rhythm of sleep
curve of side gently breaths
I kiss naked hip

Freedom

I realize my last entry was a little sarcastic, but don't mistake sarcasm for anger. Sure there's a little anger there but most anger comes from fear. And I'm afraid for my freedom. The freedom to be socially upwardly mobile. I come from a poor rural family. I see the middle class that I'm trying to break into slowly shrinking right before my eyes from rising education and health care costs, just to mention a couple things. All I want is to have a middle class life and some leisure time. This is American freedom. All the other stuff, like the right to vote and freedom of speech, are satellite freedoms there to protect our basic American freedom - the right to be socially mobile and enjoy god's greatest gift which is life.

The true meaning of freedom is a topic that I've been thinking about for a long time. I don't want to scare people off by screaming. I just want people to start thinking about what freedom means to them and how it needs to be protected. Freedom is truth and it cannot be protected by lies and fear.

It's time for bed. I'll have more to say on this later...

oh my god... not... BIRD FLU!!!

Look America. Look over here at the shiiinnyy bird flu. Never mind that man behind the curtain playing you like a puppet. His lies and deceit hidden in the dark won't kill you or your children. That's what the terrorists are for. But this shiny, exotic creature will. Good thing we have a national health care system that will protect all those lower class people with the sons and daughters that are fighting for our *cough* freedom. We had better deal with this future pandemic before it wipes out our future *cough* volunteer army. (Sorry, for all the coughing. I think I have bird flu) Not to mention, if the poor don't have kids, who's going to work for the stale wages eaten away by tax cuts and rising health care costs (assuming you can afford such a luxury as health care these days). Not the kids. Nobody'll be able to afford them pretty soon. If nobody has kids then who'll fight the *cough* terrorists. There's no way to win. They’re either killed by bird flu or terrorists. It's tough being the most powerful country in the world. Especially without kids.

Fuckin' bird flu. I know it can kill but so can a lie. But the lie flu will sneak up behind you, slit your achilles and leave you flopping in the dirt, bleeding to death before you realize what happened. Now that's a horrible death. When I grew up the only way to get rid of the evil lie flu was to get your mouth washed out with soap.

No... wait... Look over here. It's so shiny... It's the new evil... I declare war on bird flu. If our main man does track it down and defeat this evil where it lies than I'm sure the media will beat the shit out of it.

(And the man behind the curtain plays on... Suckers.)

Purple Responds to Red and Blue

People, please. As proper Americans you know as well as I that wars are only fought in other people's countries. True to modern America there is no critical thought within these two comments, just hateful criticism. This is an essay and creative writing blog based not an election campaign. Save your attack adds for a politician. Within these two comments all I see is red states and blue states screaming at each other.

But I will admit both comment are pretty damn funny. I definitely laughed out loud when I read them. It sounded like a couple of my buddies bustin' on each other over beers. But this exchange also sounds like what politicians are truly saying to each other and to the American people. I wish politicians would quit trying to hide this uneducated, power-drunk dialogue with their pseudo-intellectual, spin lingo.

Politicians are corrupting language by turning every word into a lie. Americans can't trust anything politicians say. Collateral damage, healthy forests initiative, tax cuts, democracy, freedom, trust and public servant are just a few words and phrases they’ve turned into lies. I hope Americans relearn how to listen soon so they will laugh both parties right out of power.

We had better vote them out of office before they realize how uninformed and complacent most of us have become. Otherwise the politician may deem us unfit to vote and decide to take that right away from us.

I love my country. It's time to take it back from drunken liars.

(Translation for the two commenters: power drunk politicians talk like meatheads in a bar picking a fight.)

Comments

If you are moved in any way by my writing please post a comment. It would be great to know that people still have a capacity for thought these days.

Goin' South

Sestina
by
DeTrav

Flirtatious wind disrobes yellow dresses
As summer artfully slides to winter;
The sleepy days ask for Earl Grey tea,
Cold sunlight stretches the shadows,
Nights parch the air, leaving crystal moisture,
Song of drops become white floating silence.

The man cups his hands, turns in silence
And walks, ankle deep, in dresses
That snap and pop with lack of moisture.
He takes a deep breath and thinks of winter
Shattered red eyes hang above deep shadows
Coffee and whiskey stain his worn Tee.

Barbwire and chain link cross the T
At the end of the road. Boxcar rolls silent
Until its thunderous coupling with a shadowy
Engine. A distant yard boss dresses
Each car for travel below the blue winter
Clouds enveloping the feathery moisture.

The man leaves red moisture
On barbwire and sprints across tea
Leaves to his rust colored ticket from winter,
Into which he slides with silence.
With a dirty swath the man dresses
His hand, while smiling in the shadows.

The boss, his head in caboose shadows
And glasses fogged by breath moisture
Misses the man in salvaged dresses.
The boss signals the engineer to tee
Off with an oil stained mitt, in silent
Salute. Diesel smoke begins to battle winter

By tugging south towards mild winter
Where adobe softens the shadows;
The man dreams in nervous silence…
And put his lips to brown moisture…
And smokes the strong herb tea…
And the walls of rust with spray paint he dresses…

Each year the land dresses in lady winter
And it’s time for tea in shorter shadows.
The white moisture forever chases in silence.

(There's a picture that goes with this that I'll post in a few days. I need to edit it.)

(4/9/06 - Update - The photo is on my flickr! site.)

Missoula Transitions

Here's a few shot I've taken the last week or so around Missoula. Fall is such an active time. Weather constantly changes, shadows dramatically lengthen, trees change clothing colors than shed their clothes (you'd think they want to keep some clothes for the cold) and animals move towards winter habitats, whether a dirt bedroom or our next door neighbors in the hills. All prepare for the long, stagnant, cold that lies ahead. Get out the synthetics and the ice scraper. Switch from sandwiches to soup....

I personally don't care for fall. I can appreciate it but I don't care for it. The body needs to adjust to the light and cooling temperatures. I have an urge to eat and sleep constantly. Fall is a tease, a flirt, of the white giddiness soon to layer the land. Freshies. "Put out, already!" every bone screams. "Quite givin' me that pillow talk."

Transition times, like fall, are always hard. You never know what to expect and you're always saying goodbye to something. Some people don't like winter. It's long, dark and cold. But at least you know what to expect and it stays the same - long, cold and dark. I guess this is why I snowboard and tele. I have to do something to pass the time; otherwise, I would drink too much coffee and beer, smoke to many cigarettes, and sleep with all the wrong women. But the routine is set. Get up in the dark, put on the poly then the clothes, make some coffee and oatmeal, read the paper, take the dog for a quick, cold bike ride, and watch the sky get lighter as I head to where ever I'm going for the day...

Violence in Missoula, Violence in My Life

Two more men were beaten up on the streets of Missoula last weekend. That same night a friend had her purse stolen, after a rock was thrown through her car window. My friend Marcus is saddened by his friend lying in the hospital. My friend with the smashed window and stolen purse (who is handling it better than I would) must reassemble the life's contents that a purse contains. Both acts were violent and disruptive, but only one sent people to the hospital. This is the crime I will address.

I have so many reactions to violence and they are confusing each other. I want to deal out some justice Wild West style. I am nervous when walking the streets of the city I love and respect. I am pissed that I am scared my property or health might be stolen. I want to lash out. Go huntin' and kick some inbred ignorant asses. I know violence doesn't solve anything. It just generates more violence. I know TV commercials, speeches and essays, like this one, only preach to the choir because people who commit violent acts will only learn when they are incarcerated. But, even then, rehabilitation and education hardly ever work. It's frustrating, scary, emasculating and enraging. Hence the confusion.

So, what to do about violence? Marcus wants to educate and hold a benefit art sale. I applaud this. I'm going to help with this. We both despise violence. I appreciate his advanced evolutionary approach. I am trying to stay on his level because he and I share a similar background. But, I will continue to stay in shape. I will continue to imagine how I will mutilate a person if they ever threaten me or my friends and family with violence. More confusion.

Mutilate. Yes, that's what I said. This is where Marcus and I differ. It's a very strong word. It comes from fear and hate and powerlessness and red, blinding, self-hating RAGE. I will never hurt someone, physically or emotionally, on purpose, but I will defend myself with a force I may not be able to control. I will want to teach them a lesson. This scares the hell out of me. I am a big, self-hating, red head, itchin' to teach someone a lesson because as a child I lacked the power to defend myself...

I grew up in a suffocating, black and green world of violence and powerlessness. I drink, smoke cigarettes and I think about suicide everyday because I've refused to turn that powerlessness, hate and violence out into the world. So I turn it inside where it has created this big giant black hole. It's not just the void. It's a massive black hole and it eats at me everyday, threatening to consume a life that never felt like mine in the first place. This is the other extreme of violence. I don't want to live in a world of violence, internal or external, anymore. I am scared and confused by all of this.

I'm probably not much different from those thugs who beat up those two men. I just deal with it differently. But, like I said: confusion. Why do they turn their hate out and I turn mine in? Why does Marcus want to take the peaceful route and I want to go redneck huntin', even though I know it won't solve anything? Why do those assholes have to corrupt peace lovin', liberal minded, over-educated and under-paid Missoula with that shit? I want peace, but I also want to feel their cheekbones collapse under my knuckles.

It's very confusing. I don't want to live in a world of violence and hate anymore.

Smell Winter (Haiku)

by
DeTrav

Lightly abandoned
Landscape smells rich emptyness -
Ridge runs to flake fog