"Wore Out" (P.o.t.D. 7/29/17, no rev)

Once again, my shoes
Have been trampled to tatters
By all that walking...

Is Silence Not Enough?

There are events and causes and politics and more that I closet-support.

Because I do not want to publicly broadcast my support, out of fear of being considered a member of the cause instead of an ally...

Because I do not want to post support without being able to defend my views to those who see the post - no desire for flame wars...

Because I do not want to get into long arguments, especially online, with people who have almost alien backgrounds, compared to my own.

Because I'm already stretched thin on time, and I do not want to get drawn in to lengthy research and subsequent documentation to solidify my position, when it may just be ignored by the "aliens"...

Because I do not fully trust the validity of the "news" that is already broadcast around the issue.

As I do not wish to get into lengthy debates, or spend much of my time sifting through news in fields outside of my studies; I opt to be a passive, silent information consumer. I now think before I share, most of the time, and I try to read with a critical eye.

I guess that it boils down to thinking I have no influence over things outside of my hula hoop. If I thought I could sway the masses to change their mind, I'd be more prone to get on the soapbox...

Yet, I feel I work better in the shadows, where I can break my silence, one-on-one with those who I trust and who have come to trust me.

Unfortunately, there's a power juggernaut in our society trying to wreak havoc on all the things I hold dear.

"Exhausted" (P.o.t.D. 4/25/15, no rev)

It's one of those days,
When I'm wore out from my job
And writing is tough.

"Write-offs" (P.o.t.D. 4/1/15, no rev)

Sandwiches, brownies -
Surviving on last night's trash...
Still, thankful for them...

"Destiny's Leaves?" (P.o.t.D. 2/11/16 rev 2/11/17)

Youth's fair and fine leaves
Ride with the wind, as the bus
Trudges long its course...

Poems plucked from children,
Posted above riders' heads
To read and digest...

Spaghetti roads or
Spaghetti hair? Images
Of tangled skeins there.

Little do I know
From what branch I pick these lines -
Life's veins intertwined...

Thin delicate rib
Of a moon, or fingernail,
Or bowl in the sky?

Colorful reward,
To gorge, on poetry bus,
With nine rhymes, not one -

To be distracted
From a dull, brown life, riding
Round the town, head down,

Looking at the phone,
At senseless memes, in long lines -
Shadows of poems, See?

Let me look at leaves,
Left in the loft of the lift,
'less I leave, listless.

"Getting Older" (P.o.t.D. 2/3/15 rev 2/2/17)

Legs twisted up in strange pretzel shapes
To reduce their nerve and muscle aches.
As I sleep, drool drains out
Wet pillows are all 'bout...
Just a couple bad signs of old age.

"Just another night" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15 rev 1/31/17)

2:03 a.m. finds me awake, 'gain...
I thought I was working tonight, but noooo!
I made an effort, to show that I can...
Alas, the worker I would replace showed.

Putter around with my armies, thru my
Phone app, lost five hundred thousand, like that!
This makes me question, "What's the point, and why?"
Alas, that won't save them, as they go "Splat!"

What's the value of a poem that journals?
Sure, it can work for a prompt, but then what?
Can it sow a few dramatic kernels,
That grow images? I'm stuck in a rut...

There I go 'gain, talking in meta-words
When I ought to be "entertaining birds"...

"Expectations" (P.o.t.D. 1/28/15 rev 1/28/17)

If I could be a free spirit,
Living in the moment
From moment to moment,
With no chains linking
My past deeds to future expectations,

THEN...
Then...
then...
I live!
...without worries, in each
Moment lived so free.

Yet, Chains do bind!
The past makes promises
And people predict
"Great Things" to come,
Because I did so well
At my challenges undone.

In school, I was a scholar
Who excelled,
Who bubbled to the top.
I did quite well
In science and math.

Was this why they voted me
"Most Likely to Succeed"?

Twenty-five years later,
I'm no rocket scientist
Nor a genius programmer.

Instead, I sling beer and smokes,
Earning a paltry eight dollars per hour...

My inner voice trilly chides me:
"Such a disappointment..."

On another set of scales,
I'm coming up short:
No marriage, no kids, no house, no car,
NO...
No...
no...
"American Dream"
Perpetuated by Big Media
Over and over and over again.

...and paranoia would have me believe,
That I'm my friends' disappointment, too.

Fed by these futile frustrations,
I want to turn my back
On our measures of success.

I hear whispers in my ear,
When I lay down, troubled:
"Give it all up,
Find the Tao,
BE...
Be...
be...
One, like the monks.
A humble life is the best life."

"Seven Hours Passed" (P.o.t.D. 1/10/17)

Looks like 7 hours await,
But will some coffee, before,
Serve as possible dream bait?
In 7, I wake, with more...

...

well.
3 hours...
and Awake!
As brain stumbles,
Sub-conscience mumbles,
"Your business plans call -
Away! To the computer!
Search to find a better career!

...

Now, 7 hours are almost passed.
Only half got spent in dreams.
3, I gave to computers -
Scrolling through Facebook, instead
Of an earnest career search...
Because...? I fear new careers?

OK.. I'm off to eat and meet!

...

Now, Upon my phone, I breed frogs...
Then, I spend time to write blogs,
Some inventory logs -
Scared to look for jobs...
My, how sloth robs...
My heart sobs...
Tears fall...
Stalled...

...

Since I work all through the night,
Morning jobs give me fright...
I'm addicted to caffeine
I know from the headaches mean...

"Destiny's Leaves?" (P.o.t.D. 2/11/16)

Youth's fair and fine leaves
Ride with the wind, as the bus
Trudges long its course...

Poems plucked from children,
Posted above riders' heads
To read and digest...

Spaghetti roads or
Spaghetti hair? Images
Of tangled skeins there.

Little do I know
From what branch I pick these lines -
Life's veins intertwined...

Thin delicate rib
Of a moon, or fingernail,
Or bowl in the sky?

Colorful reward,
To gorge, on poetry bus,
With nine rhymes, not one -

To be distracted
From a dull, brown life, riding
Round the town, head down,

Looking at the phone,
At senseless memes, in long lines -
Shadows of poems, See?

Let me look at leaves,
Left in the loft of the lift,
'less I leave, listless.

"isolated in AA" (P.o.t.D. 2/5/16)

just string the words together,
and wonder if any thoughts appear...

isolated at an AA meeting,
despite a couple of warm greetings -
always wanting to be in the spotlight,
the center of attention:
the guy who makes everyone laugh,
or who says something so profound.

hooey on that...
just trying to pump the chest out,
without speaking from the heart...
without vulnerability and weakness,
although it could be weakness
to cloak one's self in pretty words,
devoid of real meaning, real experience.

great chasm, great gulf, great void
between them and me -
Lack of sincerity.

i feel a little charred,
because I asked for help,
and i got no response.
"For God's sake,
It was only a chili cookoff!"

...or, floundering, flopping in the deep,
wishing for some relief,
but the steps sit unworked,
the phone sits silent,
and the never-ending quest for more
packs my schedule full of games and work -
no room left to breathe,
to sort out the medicine madness,
the deceptively cheap insurance
that does not provide any takers -
damn those doctors and their high fees!

i looked at the white board,
and i saw that i hadn't been to a meeting,
all this week, despite rules that I attend three.
so i went to the late-night tonight,
and i plan on an early one tomorrow,
capped by a speaker in the evening...
part of me wonders if i'll follow through.
I used to go religiously to 1313,
but, lately...?
it seems that fears of missing work
have been keeping me away,
or, so I claim.
it could also be...
that I don't feel a part of, any more -
ever since I quit smoking cigarettes,
or started sporting grey hair,
or just watching my mind fall apart...

why do i hide in this cave?
why do i settle
for so little,
when great things could be me?

the thoughts are out there, now...
mostly my low-lying anger at AA -
How I feel so separate, almost betrayed...
wondering if that's, for me, a valid place.

On a bright note,
I really do enjoy my gaming nights -
So much more interaction...

I'm not so fond of work nights,
slinging beer and cigarettes
to people who don't realize,
"The party's over, 'lest you never grow old..."
I suspect, one day,
I'll see some of these customers
In future AA meetings...
If I'm still going, that is....

So, I don't feel alone, or lonely,
as i do have happy places to go to;
but i do feel isolated and unaccepted -
like my boat has drifted to uncharted waters,
away from the fleet

maybe i'm just hungry,
as I fast tonight,
for the doctor's tests, tomorrow.
I've noticed how twisted off I become,
when i've not had food for a bit.

"Exhausted" (P.o.t.D. 4/25/15)

It's one of those days,
When I'm wore out from my job
And writing is tough.

"Write-offs" (P.o.t.D. 4/1/15)

Sandwiches, brownies -
Surviving on last night's trash...
Still, thankful for them...

"Dad's disappointment" (P.o.t.D. 2/5/15)

Did I disappoint Dad?
He never says so directly,
But the hints are in his hopes:

"Why don't you get a car?
You can't live on minimum wage...
You are capable of so much more..."

He wants the best for me,
And he knows I can do so much better;
He's stuck by my side
In some truly tough situations.

So, I get wrapped up in guilt
About my slacker lifestyle...

"No whining" was a slogan he had
On a placard hanging on a wall,
And it is so appropriate.

Don't wish for a better job,
Or more mental stability,
If I'm not going to take the steps
To leave my "local happiness maximum".

Some people spite their parents
From futile teen feuds.
Not I, though... some times,
I think my teen years were happy years.
Dad went to bat for me,
And my school finally recognized
Academic excellence,
Through awarding me
The first letter jacket therein.

...

I just want to scream,
"How did I accumulate
This Karmic crap of a life?!?"
Experience says,
"It's because you're easily distracted."

Even now...
If I can't finish this poem
In five minutes flat,
Then it's an epic failure.
Faced with doubt on which direction
To lead it, I slide into commentary -
"OK, whining..." -
And in my heart, I feel that's a cop out,
Detracting rather than adding
To the punch of the poem.

...

I spent a summer working with my Dad,
In the high-tech industry -
He was Elder Bean, and I was Chick Pea,
And my brother got to be known as Garbanzo.
It was a fun job, and I learned some technical skills,
And Dad would pick up my lunch tab,
When going out for lunch was the engineers' wills.

My brother pegged my Dad's gift to his sons
One Christmas, with a hand-crafted set of puzzle blocks.
Our childhood had been liberally sprinkled
With games and puzzles and science magazines,
And we were probably the first kids to play with PC's...
My Dad is an engineer, and he succeeded
At passing on that love of "how things work".

When I tried to take myself out,
With a month's worth of Depakote pills;
My Dad sat by my bed side,
Through the month of coma and recovery.
We talked it out, and really tried
To understand why I did what I did.
Actually, my Dad spent many a night
Over the next ten years, treating us
To dinner and a movie, once a week.

...

Chronological order at play,
Or should it be a buildup of impacts?
I think I meta-write these comments,
If ever I make it back to do edits...

...

When I was running through the mental hospitals,
For the fourth time,
I could not comprehend my Dad
Telling me that he might have to cut off contact -
Because He'd always been by my side.
Heck, the first time in the hospitals,
He was the one who convinced me to go in.
I trust my Dad, when I can not always trust myself.

So, when it sounds like my Dad does not approve,
I die a little death,
A realization that I am not doing the best that I can;
And maybe it's time to get off of the couch and move...

"Getting Older" (P.o.t.D. 2/3/15)

Twisted up in strange pretzel shapes
To minimize leg's muscle aches,
Sleeping so that mouth's drool drains out
On my side is how that comes 'bout...
Just a couple bad signs of age.

"Just another night" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15)

2:03 a.m. finds me awake, 'gain.
I thought I was working tonight, but noooo!
I made an effort, to show that I can,
Alas, the worker I would replace showed.

Putter around with my armies, thru my
Phone app, lost five hundred thousand, like that!
This makes me question, "What's the point, and why?"
Alas, that won't save them, as they go "Splat!"

What's the value of a poem that journals?
Sure, it can work for a prompt, but then what?
Can it sew a few dramatic kernels,
That grow images, not stuck in a rut?

There I go 'gain, talking in meta-words
When I ought to be "entertaining birds"...

"Expectations" (P.o.t.D. 1/28/15)

Expectations.
They can cause much more trouble
Than the rewards that they promise,
Especially if they go unfulfilled...
Some times, for years at a time.

If I'm a free spirit,
Floating through life,
Moment to moment,
With no chains linking
Past deeds to future rewards -
Then... then... then I live
Without worry, in each
Moment lived so free.

Yet, the chains do bind,
The past does promise,
And the people do predict
"Great Things" to come
Because I did so well
At the challenges undone.

In school, I was a scholar
Who excelled,
Who bubbled to the top;
I competed in science, in math,
And a smattering of other fields,
Usually ranking in the top three,
Across the state as well as locally.
Was this why my class voted me
"Most Likely to Succeed"?

So, a quarter of a century later,
I'm not a rocket scientist,
Nor a genius computer programmer.
Instead, I sell beer and smokes,
Earning eight dollars an hour...
My inner voice trilly chides me:
"Such a disappointment..."

I know we can measure
Success by other metrics.
Even so, they're coming up short:
No marriage, no house, no kids,
No savings, no car,
NO... No... no...
American dream,
Perpetuated by a culture
Thru song, film, and print
Over and over and over again.

There's a part of me,
Fed by futile frustrations,
That wants to turn my back
On what the man on the street
Considers a successful life.
That bit whispers in my ear,
At night, when I lay down in trouble,
"Give up everything,
Seek Enlightenment,
Become a monk"...
For a humble life
Is an honorable life.

Conflicting goals... (life/work plans)

"...what is really important...?"

To predict..? To create..? To interpret..? To model..?

What was the appeal underlying studying math? Why do I enjoy science? ...and yet, there's an artist inside of me who wants to write, draw, act, and make music; because I'm drawn to the fantastical, too - and sometimes, art does NOT imitate reality.

I was thinking about this (a touch) when I revived my case at DARS. I would love to write, or at least, I've enjoyed some of the writing I've done in the past. Perhaps one career path is to become a textbook writer, or a popular science writer. Then again, it could be interesting to critique food and entertainment. Heck - who's to say I can't do both...

I have a voice. I want to shout from the mountaintops, and whisper in the valleys, that I may be a channel for my and others' meager understanding(s) of this great big universe. That, I think, is the appeal of teaching; and yet I detest having to constrict myself to a set of standards like the TEKS.

Note to the reader: This is a first draft, and may not be grammatically correct, or even well-organized; as I'm writing on the fly and partially streaming my conscious thoughts. A weakness and a strength, perhaps?

So, I have enjoyed tutoring immensely, although I don't think tutoring or teaching are high-profit fields, monetarily. I did not enjoy admin/clerical work, thus far, as it seemed to be so much rote document production without creative outlets. I liked writing for the Wylie News, and I've liked writing on topics that interest me... however, still not sure how to impose the discipline to even become 1/100th as successful as Asimov or Bradbury.

I wonder who might have ideas about a career in writing and/or teaching? I'll tag my first suspects...

Reflecting on Past / Thinking about next 5 years...

When I came to Austin, to attend university, I had the major dilemma - as in, "What's my major going to be?"

Some of the ideas I tossed around:
- attending seminary, to become a priest,
- studying journalism, to continue my forays in that field
- acting, because I had done a bit of that too
- engineering, to better apply my scientific expertise (specifically chemical engineering)

What happened was that I started school as a double major in math and physics. I think I added math to meet the requirements of an Air Force ROTC scholarship, as I was more interested in science than in math...

However, after one year of school where I had a great calculus teacher and yet a poor electro-magnetics teacher, I changed to being just a math student. My later experiences with tutoring led me to consider a teaching certificate, too.

However, I was still actively engaged with the sciences, and some acting on the side, and more non-class activities. I think that because I didn't stay focused on math, I got off track, and took much longer than normal...

----------------------------------------------

So, what DO I want to do with the next five years of my life?

Part of me feels a creativity void, causing me to crave making art. Whether that be drama, or writing, or graphic arts, or a mix - I'm not sure. However, looking for a creative outlet has motivated prior career searches, and yet..? Those led to admin/clerical jobs which didn't have much deviation from "filling out forms" or other mundane work.

I'd consider teaching and/or tutoring, too. I've been trying to get tutoring rolling, but there hasn't been a lot of online student leads generated from the web site I'm trying, so I probably have to rethink how I'm marketing myself. I could probably substitute teach, although I'm not sure about summer hours. Getting a certificate requires some extra education, and that, in turn, requires extra money -difficult when my student loans have gone into default.

I'm not thrilled with the wide world of retail. Honestly, I don't want to try to sell you on the linear consumer economy, where we're making stuff just to throw it away in a year or two. :(

I'm curious how to connect with food, a la grocers and restaurants...

Getting sleepy. Going to bed. Be back at it in 5 hours... Ciao!

Seeking middle ground...

FOR ME, the best state to be in is "quiet serenity".

I have to be aware that, left to their own devices, both MY elation and MY depression can spin out to dangerous extremes.

Unfortunately, that elusive elation is something I crave, for its gifts of creativity and boosts to confidence, but I forget that it can also bring some pretty flawed thinking, too...

*SIGH*