I am an exit...I am an exit...I am an exit... I'm tired of being an exit.

We’re going to skip around a little bit, hold strong, but it’s kind of pertinent and straight in my mind at the moment.

What this trip was all about. Life changing events.

Sounds kind of ominous doesn’t it? We connect the phrase with tragic moments, bad things, tears…

Well, things just don’t change, do they? As I’ve said many times. Nothing surprises me anymore.

Nobody surprises me.

My heart has always been the worst part of me. It loves, it hopes, and it dreams. No matter what. The television, the games, the books, they all warn you, yet push you on to follow it and not your mind. Being raised on at least games and books, I’ve always kind of thought it was my duty to live as the ideas I admire so much, and to go with my heart.

My mind screams at me half the time. I listen to it, and it tells me everything I need to know. Every little quip and quirk. I’ve dealt with too many people in my life, too many situations, to not fill in the blanks everyone leaves out. I could tell you exactly what you did, exactly what you think, but I don’t. My heart knows the truth as well, but it beats. Love. Hope. Dreams. And I follow its rhythm. It’s what I do.

And it all ends the same way.
Because nobody has the ability to be surprising.
But it still beats, even though it knows it’s going to hurt with every single throb.

I knew the situation even before I came to Florida. I knew the past events that were never told to me. I filled in the ideas, thoughts, the feelings, from the looks in peoples eyes. But my heart beats. It wants to trust. And I drove. I followed my hopes here, even though my mind was telling me the whole story.

The one nobody surprises you with.

I respect the people who tell it how it should be told. Without switching the words around to make it seem favorable. Without holding back. Coming clean. But nobody does that to me. Am I an easy person to lie to? No. It may seem like it, but that’s just my heart holding words back. Love. Am I an easy person to fool? No. My mind works quite well.

I grew up to early for that shit. My mind is cynical and hateful, but my heart, I let it lead me. My heart will always be the little boy running around in the same green shorts for months, digging into the dirt just for the feel of it, and being captivated by that one darling person.

I love my heart.
I love my mind.
But they never agree.
Life.

I became a man last night, strolling through the fog. My heart and head snapped. They can at least agree on that.

My head snapped and said “Toldja. Down to the last detail, I fucking TOLD YOU BRIAN! And now I’m hurt.”

My heart snapped and said “That’s it. I’ve hurt you too many times, and I can’t take it again. I’m not leading anymore. Loving. Hoping. Dreaming.”

My eyes snapped, saying nothing, opting to instead play their watery strings across my cheeks and down to the corners of my mouth.

I guess there’s nothing boyish about me anymore. My heart kind of folds in on itself, my mind shakes its head in despair.

“He was a fool, but he was entertaining. The memories I have, the love I’ve felt, the things we’ve seen.”

My mind actually weeps for my heart. Maybe that was the only thing keeping me innocent. Maybe it’s what made me happy on many occasions.

But now, through and through, I think I’ve grown up. My body still hurts, my heart huddled into the corner of my self, shut down. Some things are just too much for it to take still, I suppose. I almost feel sorry for it. But my heart has caused me so much pain. Following it to women, places, religions.

My innocence is dead. My memories of fun filled, exhausting, boyish times have all been had. I…

Well, I’m a man now.
Following my head.
Never my heart.

All the decisions I’ve made with my heart have turned to hell.

I doubt there’s much to expect from the ones I will make with my head.
But that’s what an adult does right? Heh…


A house on a hill, comfortably made, comfortably lived in. A spreading lawn in the front, a well built vanity fence surrounding the back. Red shingles on the roof, green gutters, white siding, green trim around the windows. A loving wife. Laughing kids. A loyal dog. A good life.

Yeah. Boyish dreams.

Those are gone now.

Comments are open to all. What do you see in my eyes?

Believe in me, cuz I don't believe in anything, and I, wanna be someone, who believes...

Something hangs in the air, a heavy piano dangling delicately by a slender string threatening to crush whatever passes beneath.

Instead of a piano we have words, held back by a breath hoping for a better tomorrow. A breath which is corked by dreams and gagged under the threat of all that we have hoped for, all that we’ve planned, will be crushed by the words building in our hearts.

I refuse to delude myself, right Josh? No matter the cost.

Some days I wish I could though. For the happiness, the ability to turn a blind eye to problems, to not notice the little quiver on the edge of the lips, to not see the slight glean hovering behind someone’s eyes.

To not hear the full story coming through in quips and quirks.

To never break down again, to never have to question my reasoning.
To accept the shortcomings.
To accept how my life is going to be.

There was a point in my life, not so long ago, where I would think back, and picture events in my life which I thought were quite important. But I would imagine them as if I weren’t there.

Now here’s where perception kicks in.

I told him, eyes boiling with tears, that “I just think, sometimes, that things would just be simpler if I didn’t exist.”

And I find with each person I encounter.
Each person I fail to impress.
Each life I influence.
Each god that I question.
Each time I fail to believe in myself.
In others.
Every time I plan my future.
Every time I fail to be a good man.
A human.
A god.


I find that I’ve been right all along. But then again, maybe I’m here to cause disarray. Maybe my past life had shitty karma, and this is penance.

Ah fuck it, don’t come out and say anything about anything. I’ll find out sooner or later the words that never come out of peoples mouths.

Nobody surprises me anymore.

Wherein and herein, between us and near us, zero and zero, is nothing but zero...

Seattle was really everything I could have asked for. A tall, bright skyline, plenty of social activity, and things to look at. Not just big pretty displays, but stuff most people just kinda skim over now and then. The open air soup kitchen not three blocks from some of the tallest, flashiest buildings. Three middle aged men on the stoop of a closed down shop, passing a joint back and forth. A mass of holiday shoppers streaming into the crosswalks, hellbent on beating the traffic across. What’s the hurry? Take a hit, imagine how much you’d have to spend on Christmas presents or Hanukkah dreidels once you get the settlement. The terraced streets would put San Fran to shame, the close proximity each house is to the next, the steam rising from the sewers, the lavish Christmas lights decorating the shopping centers, the gleam of the streetlights radiating in through the windshield, the sheer activity of the entire city is…obscene, almost.

I love obscenities.

The things we turn a blind eye to, the things I’ve been looking for, I’ve found here in Seattle. I love this place. People are outwardly nice. But there’s an actual force behind it, there feels like there’s some truth. Sure, there’s a dick here and there, but for the most part, I’ve found genuinely good people in this city. The views from the top of the main streets is wonderful, the wharfs and the ports easily visible, the open air markets, the slackers sitting on the steps of their apartments having one last cigarette before they shuttle off to sleep, the hipsters in their uggs with their louis vuiton custom made handbags scurrying along to their next credit-crushing destination, businessmen standing around in their black felt trenches, cradling their gourmet coffee in genuine leather wrapped hands, the mothers and their children, the performers and their music, the boys and their girls. Actual people.

And us fiends with our dogs.

Feeling better about this already. Seattle is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

The Space Needle was a big disappointment. Never believe what you see on the T.V. because it’s tiny compared to the one in your mind. Ah well.



Freezing rain, have to keep the wipers going or else it starts to stack up, crystallizing my vision, but mainly, annoying the hell out of me. Back on the road out of Seattle the morning after with the snow piling up against the concrete barriers, rising well above my chest in certain places.



Eins was not amused with the pet area.



The mist started to fade slightly, but thankfully we were slammed right back into it near the north western corner of Oregon. A crystal white/slate grey world, visibility just at the right level to make you feel secure, restricted enough to make you feel important. Weiter.



Things flatten and clear, the night starts to fall as we creep along towards Idaho. Vast stretchs of white land, rolling hills, factories lighting up nowhere like a brand new sun.

We settle again for the night, a decent day of driving. Not enough pictures taken, but enough thoughts played out, situations assessed, processed, categorized, prioritized.

I like to be ready for whatever may come. Maybe someone will actually surprise me one day.

Heh.



We wake and zoom past Boise, snagging a few shots on our way in, and hit the highway north to Stanley. I’m not quite sure what to expect, except beauty. I am not disappointed as I gently guide my car through the winding base of the mountains, admiring the snow covered pines, and the semi-frozen river that seems to ebb and flow in time with my hands on the wheel.



This is peace.

I don’t have many pictures of my trip INTO Stanley. Why?



Idaho doesn’t believe in guard rails on mountains with a 15% grade and 120* turns. Talk about damn near crapping yourself. The view from the road on the way up and on the way down was astounding. One of those beauties that could captivate you, like the perfect set of eyes that you just can’t seem to stop looking at…

Of course, this beauty will send you flying off a god damn cliff and sure as shit end you quick. So we kept it to glances when we could.

We settled off the slopes and started cruising into the valley nestled in the sawtooths.


Wicked looking aren’t they?
Shortly after that nice little view we roll into…



Stanley.



Notice the population. Sounds like my kinda place some days. Quite beautiful, log cabins everywhere. We don’t stop, this is a rolling tour.



According to dad, this MOTEL is spelled out in dice. Jesus.



Guess who lived here!? It’s a historical site now, mom.



Lower Stanley, with lots of buildings from way back when.

After a few phone calls, and getting stuck in a driveway for a few minutes, we roll up Galena. I’ve got a nice big smile on my face as we start heading up, as I can’t wait to see the view coming off the other side of this beastie. I chuckle to myself as I ready my camera and look back to Eins when something catchs my eye.



GOD DAMN.



The summit view was nice, but jesus christ the sawtooths are beautiful.

Off to sun valley for the night, only to get pissed that every single slope in the area closes at 4. What a friggin jip.

More to come, no worries chittlin.

When I'm a walkin, I strut my stuff, and I'm so strung out...

Where to begin? I don’t even know anymore.

Eugene seemed lovely at first. Easy going traffic, joggers littering the cold streets in the dimming light, plenty of trees around to give the city a nice, organic, healthy feel. The receptionist at the hotel was very pleasant, with a baritone voice that conveyed quite a bit of mirth, and not at all business-like, whatever the tie lead you to believe. After a few calls, I leashed up the puppy and decided to do a bit of strolling, since the streets seemed fit for it. Plenty of room, plenty of grass, plenty to see.

Freezing ass cold, but the atmosphere of the place helped warm the heart a bit. A nice, sizeable college town with a pleasant face. Plenty of local businesses along the strip, a nice wide bike path through a park, Eins and I took it all in. People sitting out on their condo’s patio chatting about college and work. Don’t see that often anymore. It was pleasant to eavesdrop and see things through someone else’s eyes for the few minutes we took walking by.

Back in the room, the evening was looking up. The pure pleasantness of the place seemed to open everything up, to invite me around. I assembled Eins’ crate, warmed my hands up a bit, and decided to walk around for some food. A take-out Chinese restaurant was easily found, but I didn’t think much about getting something to drink from them, so I walked on a bit further until I found a grocery store, easily accessible from the main drag, and close by the college. They were sure to have something in store for me.

I walk up and step through the automated doors and am greeted by the warmth of the heaters working their little mechanical selves to death. I smile gently and look around, and everything starts to shrink from me. Classical music playing over the PA system, custom made wooden stock shelves, organic vegetables, high class yuppies strolling along the aisles with their ‘homegrown’ vegetables, their no fat milk, their twenty dollar shakers of spices, college kids decked out in the latest fashions, hair perfectly groomed and patent leather shoes shined, scarves with that ‘casual’ look which probably took an hour to get just right, designer toques, the works. Upscale. Very nice.

I search through the aisles looking for something to drink, and come across the wine section. Might as well see if they have any decent Merlot. As I zigzag my way through the oak cabinets searching for the right section, I can feel the pressure start to build, agitating that little voice in my head. As I try to find a decent wine, it started to increase exponentially.

The force people use to ignore you.

Standing their looking at the bottles, the little voice pipes up and starts to point out things.
Ratty vans that need replaced, slightly worn cargos, carhartts jacket, dirty driving cap, five-o-clock shadow, dry hands, imperfections.

I excuse myself from the wine section and head towards the back, looking for at least a decent beer.

The pressure of the eyes not following me begins to pound a little beat on my brain.

I look around again. Everyone dressed exquisitely, perfectly coordinating their shoes with their pants with their shirt with their fashionably unbuttoned jacket with their perfectly tousled hair. The social elite, the accepted beauty, the American dream.

Then the worst thing happened. The one feeling I loathe, can’t stand, and don’t know how to deal with. I felt embarrassed. Ashamed. It was like I was staying with relatives all over again, or meeting people from high school for the first time in a while. I don’t fit, don’t belong, the hell am I thinking. I feel fucking embarrassed about who I am. Nobody has a fucking right to make me feel that way. The hell is wrong with these people? Maybe it’s all in my head. The hell is wrong with me? I try to keep my hands from shaking and stuff them in my coat pockets and lower my head.
God damnit.

At least they have Spaten here. I snatch two bottles from the show case and head to the checkout. I wait shortly in line behind a middle aged lady with too much makeup and at least ten pounds of jewelry. I slap my two bottles and my ID down on the conveyer belt and try to keep an eye on my toes and the conveyer at the same time.

“Paper or plastic?”
“Paper is fine, thank you.”
I can almost hear the contempt in the air from the entire place. Did they slap a microphone on me or something? I nod to the cashier and try to exit without much haste. I’m not sure I succeeded.

I go back to my room and drop the bag off and check on Eins. Alright, so ya went to a snooty organic market with a few bad eggs, shake it off. You’ve been in these situations before.

I walk back to the restaurant and step inside the doors and look around.

Please wait to be seated.

Well, I don’t want a seat, just want some food at to go. I can hear the chatter of another group of college students as I stand around waiting.

“You can’t fail that, you’re a History major!” says one girl.
“True,” comes from one of the guys.
“Well hell, I’m an English major,” comes from another.

I listen in for about six or seven minutes, sounds like the usual college academic scholar conversation. A couple comes in behind me and I step aside since I’m not exactly looking for a seat. From the corner of my eye as I admired the collection of liquor bottles the restaurant store front had, I see a waitress come up quickly and begin to seat the couple. Eh, I was kinda off to the side, no biggie. I stand around a few more minutes, this time in plain sight of most of the main room, grinding my teeth at every single glance from one of the staff. Finally a man comes out from behind one of the silk screens and I get a menu from him. I spend a few minutes deciding what I want, he comes back out, takes my order and my money, and shuffles off. There’s a waiting room here, done nicely in what seem to be authentic silk prints, and I stow myself in the corner, pointedly putting a dressing screen between myself and the table with the college students.

Another group comes in, five and a kid, and sit around near the waiting room talking until a waitress comes. The same pressure from the store is there. Ignore the bum in the corner. I can almost hear my teeth crack, my hands shake, the sweat start to edge towards my skin…but thank god, there’s my food. I stand quickly and slide into my jacket, thank the pompous little twit sincerely, and make another slow-yet-god-get-me-outta-here exit.

I get back to my room and open my drink via the bathroom counter-top. I take a long drink, break my chopsticks, and begin to work on my fried rice. I can feel a slight burning in my eyes.

Failure.

Such a nice place, beautiful, but why do I feel so out of place in a community of intellectuals and businessmen?

Same reason I feel that burning when I get to tell people I’m a farmhand, a construction worker, that I’m not in college at the moment, that I don’t know how to do something, that ‘Yes, I do plan to go back to college’ answer.

Because I am neither an intellectual or business-like person.

That god damn feeling, when people ask me “Are you really going back to college?”
“What are you going to do with an English major?”
“So where do you work?”
“So what are your grades like?”

I haven’t taken any pictures today. Nothing looks good anymore. This is why I don’t talk to people bro.

S’why I wanna fuckin go home.