I love multiple successful runs laid out over days when the moon is rising just as my route leads me back to my house.  My house painted in dark greens, surrounded by plants whose names I routinely fail to remember.  Orion showing his sheath and bow. 
When timed right my runs help me sleep better and keep my legs from running restless trots within my bedsheets.  Tossing and turning.  These instances produce various dreams.  One such dream involved me searching in vain through a grocery store for food.  Turning up dried glass after dried glass onto my parched mouth.  Flies buzzing around me. 
Skinny jeans on large girls.
Hooded sweat shirts; black.  Worn tightly around my shoulders with exposed wrists. 
Not a real winter but just nice days that I only see through my window.  I haven't seen the cormorants this year.  They should still be out there at the lakes, with their winged arms thrown jagged into the sunlight; drying.  The roseate spoon bill I saw that time, a passing stranger claimed good luck.

Tyler adjusts his neck in his collar, and then grasps at his tongue with the tips of this fingers.  He makes a slight spitting sound as he tries to grasp the imaginary hair from his mouth.  It sounds like, "thpt,"only softer.  He thinks its a blonde hair but he really can't remember if she spent the night last night with him or not.  Was he dreaming last night?  He stares blankly ahead, trying to find this hair. Its a blonde hair, or its brown.
His colleagues sit around the table eating doughnuts and talking about the show "Friends."  Tyler wants to watch this show, but he can't.  Francis brings out his huge phone and starts waving it in front of Tyler's face.  A picture of Francis with his kid.  They are making faces.
"Erm," Tyler says.  He likes kids fine.  He doesn't like looking at picture on peoples phones.  Or he doesn't really mind it.  Its just meaningless to him.
"We were taking pictures of ourselves making faces," Francis says. 
"Ah," Tyler says.  The hair has vanished.  Tyler hears his co-workers asking different questions, getting ready for the meeting.  Something about computers.  Did Tyler have similar problems?  He didn't know.  He decided to act like he is trying to fish something out of his coffee.  His phone started buzzing in his pocket.  He pushes back his chair and stands up, making the "I have to take this call," face to the table.  He steps outside with the phone to his head.
"Bro, hey, Dad's gonna be fine.  He just had a panic attack.  Too much weed or something.  He is gonna stay here for another 20 minutes or so, then he is going home.  It's nothing."
Tyler cleared his throat.  "Thank god.  Ok.  That is great news.  I may swing by his house and bring him a coke or something.  Glad he is ok."
He pops back into the meeting room and mentions his dad is in the hospital.  Someone says "that is awful."  Tyler assures them that its nothing but he told his mom he would drop by and help out.  They completely understand.
Tyler tries to hide the joy in his quick walk as he bounds down the two flights of stairs to the 4th floor.  He slows to a crawl right before passing Veronica's door.  A slower crawl.  He half turns into her office.
"Hey," he says.  Sorta hanging on the "ay", exaggerating his southerness. 
"Hi," she says.  Staring up at him from her desk.  Eyes locked.  He drums triplets on the door jam. 
"I'm getting out of here.  Wanna get lunch or something?"
"Right," she says, sitting back in her chair, still looking at him.
"Right," he says.  He walks towards the elevator at the end of the hall, pressing the down button.  His left eye twitches a little and he rubs his hand over his face near his jaw line.  He thinks he hears birds calling.  He isn't sure. 

"Searching for beautiful truths, wishing there was someway to put it back to be with you," he said, sliding into the booth across the table from the lovely Anne Rolands, varsity queen, valedictorian, star basketball player, home coming queen, farmers daughter, and accomplished amateur poet.  She had won the local poetry contest in her town's paper the past three years running.  She had one poem published by a well known state publication, and had, currently, one poem up for an award nationally.  Tyler loved her.  Loved her as only a 17 year old can; completely, and without false pretense.  He would kill for her.
"What the fuck does that mean," Anne said; she had her father's mouth.
Tyler tore at his muffin and pondered the sharpness of her nose, her tiny mouth, and the way her hair parted close to the middle.  He had loved her since he was 15, an age of falling down, stubbing your feet, and adjusting your body into clothes and shoes that never seem to fit.  Light fell into the cafe from a 50 degree angle, filtering loosely through the dust and into the back of Anne's hair, giving her a angel quality.  This was not lost on Tyler. 
"I love you, Anne," Tyler said. 
In dreams sometimes it becomes apparent that nothing is real.

As a kid some cousins and myself set about doing some minor role playing.  My older cousin was the dungeon master, so to speak, having created the little world we played in.  I was a wizard, and my name was xanax.  I had no idea what anti-depressives were, or anti-anxiety medication, etc...  I am not sure where the name came from.  Perhaps my older cousin had heard it somewhere and just suggested it?  Regardless I thought it was a pretty sweet wizard name.  I don't remember much else from the gaming we did, and it was the only time i ever got to role play in that setting.  But it was fun.

Serenity Now

Xanax Machine

I can hear the clock on the wall humming, not ticking.  It should probably be ticking. Its a slight whine; its high pitched.  The hum from the lights duets with it.  Hum.  And then the light comes in; hum.  It is very different from Hall and Oates, or other famous duos.  There is nothing musical happening.  Actually, that is not true, it is musical.  I think its safe to say two notes being played at the same time is music, after all. 

I love this kitchen, with the table we stained.  A rough job.  We should have stained with something water based, and then gone back with a coat of polymer, but its our job after all.  The counters are white, roomy.  Just a general air of space in here that I don't have in other rooms.  You can see the trees out the front window.  I will often just sit here with my tea and listen to the birds.  We put up a black martin bird house a few months ago but there just isn't really enough space for them.  After several weeks of chasing out sparrows we gave him; its their home now.  I could hear birds chirping last night around 3:00 a.m.  Just out and about.  I couldn't sleep.  I over did it a little the night before which is great for following asleep but also great for restlessness.  I woke all night. 
I suppose summer is coming and that always means more heat but it also brings a somewhat juvenile mindset.  Think back to school. 

happy new year

My dog refused to be anywhere but my lap right now.  For reasons outside of my control, my work is canceled.  I think somewhere on I90 there was spotted .05 inches of snow like dust, resulting in the closing of the entire school system in the parish of Livingston.  I have touched slightly, in the few short hours that I have been home, the following:
1. Moby Dick.  I read one page, did half a push up, then read half another page.
2, The collected poems of Kenneth Patchen.  This one looks good on my table.  I opened it to a poem, read two lines, then decided to play guitar.
3.  I plugged in my electric guitar, allowed the cool tubes to warm up in the amp I am trying to sell, then decided to place said amp on craigslist.
4.  I swept my bedroom.
5.  I did more pushups, maybe 10?
6. I placed Moby Dick in front of me.  Starbuck, he is an odd sort no?  I wonder when Ahab makes an appearance?
7. Somewhere in there I took a shower.
8. I sit down with an empty coffee cup...ah, coffee.  I remember drinking coffee last Saturday with similar results to the ones I am dealing with now:  a kind of attention deficit (oh, an arm hair...let me remove that) that allows me to do a great number of tasks, but only in short, 1-3 minute intervals.
9.  I consider going record shopping.  What record do I need though?  For a while I was considering White Light White Heat by the Velvet Underground, but I remember I just found a bootleg copy just this last week.  I listened to it approx. .4 times. 
10.  Did I mention the weather?  It must have started in the early morning.  The gates of Baton Rouge airspace broken open to the immense pleasure of mother nature...as she is, to what can only be described as slightly less cool than freezing water dripping in the amount of a slightly open tarp, raised from the bed of rainbow gathering trustafarian, after nights of jive dancing, pill popping, placated love interests, (googling placated...ok, that may work here.  A love interest can be made "less angry or hostile," I am keen to imagine) where was I?
11. Oatmeal.  Be sure to add brown sugar, sometimes walnuts, always a milk substitute...
12. Did I drink more than one cup of coffee?  My fingers are numb right now
13. Social media updates, "journal" inquiries, blogs, "news," sports updates, the front offices of sports departments around the country, prospering ever so diligently off the backs of poor males with mothers like tree stumps, running every day, every day, getting stronger, drinking milk, washing it down with buttered eggs and toast.