What's It Worth?

I walked up on it in the park.
It didn't look like I had remembered.
The full, vibrant foliage,
It swayed in the wind,
Brown and dying.
The limbs and leaves
Crackled
Through the strain.
I swear that first branch
Was way
Way
Higher.
Now it dropped below my elbow.
It was broken half way and
Sitting on the ground.
The grass at its base,
As brown as the leaves.

The Gypsy's Songbird

The lone bird chirps
In the woods
Beside the road.
Cars rush past
All late for work
All oblivious.
No one knows
She's there.
No one knows
She sings.
No one but the wanderer
Who woke in the woods
As the bird chirps.

Somewhere out there...

It was a place that I had
Never been.
A quiet place, a place
Hard to find.
Like those you hear of
Or only read.
It was a place I'd truly
Never seen.
Discovered and shared by
Drifting friends.
Indifferent at first to this place
I had found.
But what was there and
What I saw.
It was a place I will surely
Find again.

Circled 'A's and Chaos Stars

When asked, "what does it mean?" He'd simply look at them and say, "everything," and elaborate no further. He never really gave them a chance to understand what everything really means. See, to him, it really has everything he believes in. He believes that at the beginning, there would be chaos and through the chaos kids from all races, both men and womyn will unite and fight for what they believe in. That would be a society free of masters and lords. No governments to oppress humankind and they are, in turn, free to live there lives out in peace along side nature. That is exactly what he fails to explain and the inquisitor never learns anything. The only thing that comes from their sidewalk debate of neo-con politics and new age televangelist world domination, that the symbol toting punk would have the gumption to stick out his hand and ask for some change.

     Trying to sum up all of one's beliefs into a simple little symbol in hopes that brandishing it on one's arm would be an easy way to convey those belief is a cute idea. It's simply the monkey-see-monkey-do philosophy played out again. Monkey see symbol, monkey know. I think it's sad to say but in our society, not too many people really understand a lot of the symbols they see. It seems to me that Americans only understand the middle finger, bald eagle, football logos, the flag, brand logos and the little yellow ribbons that every SUV lovingly brandishes. So when they get confused, pissed off or, even worse, both, their reaction renders the symbol completely useless.

     I am saying this though with what my parents and older brother (and probably my younger fiancée) would refer to as youthful prejudice and probably a little bit of leftover angst. Well, I'm a twenty-two year old, unemployed, college dropout that's struggling to get into the tattoo industry and about to get married. Thank god! Thank satan! Thank the flying-spaghetti monster that I've got a little bit of angst left in me. I could be a bitter, pissed-off alcoholic whithering away in the cold basement of an apartment with no running water. I'm glad I've got that angst left damn it! It's probably the only thing that really keeps me going. It's just that youthful prejudice term that bugs me so I'm going to digress and break down that last paragraph.

     Of course I've got a few stereotypes about America, what it is and what it means to be an American. I'll also be the first to say that my feelings on that subject are prejudiced of me. That's what makes me creative and drives me in general. I am not, however, passing this prejudiced judgement on a people and holding my prejudices against anyone. I'm creating these prejudices about the society that I've been oh so privileged to grow up in. So is it really that fucked up of me?

     Let me get back to my main point here, the only real use of a symbol is identification. When we affiliate ourselves to anything we automatically identify ourselves to that symbol. For example, I'm on a casual stroll down the street and my endless horizon staring day-dream is interrupted by someone walking down the street with crass symbol on their t-shirt. I know the symbol. I know the band. So I wonder if maybe I know the person. The only way a symbol really works is if the viewer already knows what it means, an easy enough thought that still needs to be pointed out.

     It really is the association of symbols that can completely destroy most political movements. I speak mainly, about anarchism and its notorious circled 'a'. I would dare to say the circled 'a' is as commonly seen in American pop culture as the middle finger. Actually, I would go farther to say you'll see more circled 'a's in  the allies of Chicago than middle fingers on the Jersey turnpike. To me, that's a huge problem. Most people, the elusive non-anarchist type, have seen it played out in dodgey spray paint on the overpasses near our cities for years. It's carved into high school desks and scribbled on bathroom stalls next to Susie's fun-time phone number. It's also patched on the clothes and tattooed on the skin of travelers, squatters, and outlaw cyclists.

     I don't want my words to be manipulated into me dogging on people I know or could be very good friends with. I've got a circled 'a' tattoo myself. Hell, I can see it drawn two other times around me and it's even spray painted on my wall. I know, how cliche? Stand on the outside and look in though. If I step into the shoes of my grandmother, I can imagine what she sees: a dirty, godless child of ill-dispute living a life lacking in respect for authority. Funny thing about her association to our symbol is that it's pretty much true. We just look at it through a little more glamorous light. What she fails to acknowledge are the good things coming from a few circled 'a' bearing kids.
     Out there are a handful of kids making an immense difference in their communities. They're working at the grassroots level to take care of the less fortunate of their communities. They're out there running organizations like Food Not Bombs and starting programs like really really free markets, all-age venues, art communities, and public gardens. They're out there busting their asses to make our city more fun for all of us. They're also improving the lives of others with free handouts of food, clothing, books, music and more. These symbol toting kids are vital to the movement. They're the ones that are building the underground network of roots for our anarchic redwood forest. These kids doing all this good and being spattered with anarchic symbols are causing others to think, "does the bomb-throwing anarchist really exist?"
     That's an open window.
     An open window to expose the uneducated to a belief they may have never known they could even get behind. Yes, any one can be an anarchist. The ideals of living free of oppressive governments, laws and city codes, a place where people take care of themselves, their friends, and their family. Ideals that America was founded on, ideals every American, every person, wants for themselves. That is why this open window system is crucial. They see the circled 'a' accompanied with good natured people, instead of painted on our city's abandoned buildings, we will have the opportunity to educate. These peaked interest "converts" should be embraced, educated, and looked after, they will be important pieces to the puzzle when our time comes.

The Westbound Train

The Westbound Train
My grandmother died.
     It was not too long ago but I haven't seen her in over a year. If you wanted to be pedantic, I haven't really seen here since I was a teenager. Nobody in my family had really seen Granny since then either. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's before I'd grow into the man I am today.
     Granny would never know me ever again.
     The image she held onto of me, was a young twelve year old, boy, not the pierced and tattoo covered freak she had only seen at sideshows while growing up in Kentucky. Inevitably, I scared the living daylights out of my grandmother for years, just by showing up. Then I would remind her who I was, only to get a, "what happened?!"
     She really was a sweet woman though. Not a mean bone in her body. Alzheimer's Disease has a pretty serious impact on the personality of its victims though. Unfortunately, Granny went from the sweetheart she was, to a rugged woman ready to run away or gun you down with words. She was a sweet old woman that took care of me when I was sick, taught me to sew and sat and laughed as Pa and I would try to play bluegrass music on a banjo and juice harp. She would bake biscuits with hot chocolate pudding drizzled over top of them for my cousins and I regularly. She liked to call it biscuits and chocolate gravy. All these memories of her would flash through my head and I couldn't stand the look of fear on her face every time I saw her or the disgruntled remarks to all of us.
     It really made family gatherings hard.

     It was actually so hard for me that I even hid away from my extended family.

     She left the struggles of this shiftless and tragic world at the break of the new year.

     Now, I've never been much for religion and never once called myself agnostic either. Plain and simple, I don't believe in any god, or gods for that matter. There is, however, an unexplainable connection that exists between humanity, our world and our universe. I've never cared for an explanation, scientists saying we are all derived from cosmic star dust has always been good enough for me. The power of the human mind is also far beyond our grasp and this has always forced me to feel if you believe in heaven or hell, you will create one for your soul to move on to after death. 

     She would live free of Alzheimer's once again in the heaven she has created.

     I didn't come to this conclusion on religion by luck. I researched. I went to all different kinds of churches and read my fair share of holy books. A fairly common thing I came across was the belief that the spirit will take hold in an animal. The animal changes with each specific group of people but a pretty common one would be crows and ravens. I have to say that this has always been a pretty far off concept to me but one fact holds true: since my grandmother has passed, I've been greeted each morning by a raven in my yard.