With relief I slept the last flight away and upon arrival met my old friend Jay at the terminal mile. Lines of luxury cars dropped blonde bombshells and business suits off in search of a lesser life than the one they were leaving. My immediate concern after pushing through the exit door was that the two feet of snow had mysteriously disappeared from the streets and I was very confused. It then struck me that there would be none in California my entire stay and a wash of ease rushed me. I had left Nebraska in the grip of the heaviest snowfall that I’ve seen in years, crushing the city in panicked drivers and drooping trees. 

The sight of my childhood friend and adolescent equal brought around the flooding memories and nostalgia wave that we all ride after time spent away. No matter how many years or miles apart the only thing that changes between best friends is where we are and how we stand. After several troubling years of persistence and adamant progression, Jay was now a successful internet programmer and had acclimated to that success by remaining business savvy and becoming a entrepreneurial force to be reckoned with. For all the broken bank accounts, homelessness and family fall outs Jay had come from rags to riches with an integrity matched by few to none. It was because of these successes that he had urged my visiting during my own hard times and for all of his hospitality and honest friendship I am forever thankful.

A hearty hug and initial social business about the flight led to our eating at a pub above Harbor Boulevard just down the road from the airport. Drinks were sipped and laughs were spit as we caught up on current situations and plans for my stay. 

My fascination with city and suburban design were triggered as soon as we made our way to his apartment complex. Racing quick and turning sharp at every instance it could, the brand new BMW burnt the Costa Mesa streets with its gripping tread. Taking note of the street names and looming buildings that sprung up between the pine trees, Jay informed me that while he was at work during the days that I would be in command of the BMW to tout about the city. Suffice to say, my humble driving skills and necessity of simplicity sparked anxiety about driving a $70,000 vehicle through the crowded boulevards filled with Orange County natives and their pricy motored steads. My hesitation to man the vehicle would be a source of comedic situations throughout the remainder of my stay. 

Along with the sea of shiny cars and four lane streets, the apartment communities in his neighborhood awed me with their sheer presence. After entering through two electronic gates with a welcoming two story fountain for their neighbor, we swung into an underground parking garage. Immediately exiting his vehicle, two distinct thoughts overpowered all others. The first was the void like quiet of the area. Not just the kind of night quiet at 10 p.m. to be expected, but considering the size of the city we were in and the amount of traffic I had seen on the way, you could hear a mouse fart if you listened in. In my 5 bedroom punk house in Lincoln you could hear the roar of traffic on 27th street at all hours of the morning and the creaking of floorboards next door. Here, it was simply dead. Entering his penthouse apartment provided another glimpse of housing differences from my own existence in how simple, yet effective the design of it was. Unblemished hardwood floors stretched from the entrance towards a gas fireplace and comfortable living area. The floor space was adequate and filled appropriately with light brown furniture, eggshell walls and matte black lamps and table to accentuate the modern feel. But, the warm living room space was only a mask for the true wonder of the suite. Looking up from the center of the room, the thirty foot ceilings made you feel as if you were falling up and would never feel the ground again. Every whisper and foot fall echoed strong and pierced the living space with amplified exuberance. This wind tunnel sound effect would be a difficult audial situation for me during the stay as the reverberations made people’s speech indecipherable to my hearing loss. 

We kept a quiet night in, I on the long couch enough to stretch my cramped jet legs and weary back and he in a sparse bedroom that consisted of a floor bed and nothing else. I left the porch door open to sleep with the smell of the city air. And in the morning was woken by the California sun which seemed to beam just a little brighter once it knew I was in its midst. 

February 6th, 2012

You left with a kiss, or rather I did. You’d been wearing a maroon shade smeared on them all evening and it was driving my calm senses crazy not being able to part them with my own. In a show of class and caring you took an old t-shirt and scraped the colored crust away from your pout and let me in for a few minutes. This is my first departure leaving a woman behind instead of racing off in search of one who probably won’t fit. That in itself is a blessing of some magnitude, knowing you’ll be just as beautiful to me when I bed back in the midwest.

A pang of panic struck me as I heard the boarding call. An ominous vocal tone that set my thoughts alight with terror and ambiguity. I’m off to see my best friend and warm on coastal beaches; what kind of horrors could that enfold? I sunk a pill deep into my knotted stomach pit and wandered the fake granite tiles until my heart rate settled.

Crowds of Ugg boots and business suits cluttered the black chairs as welcoming as the electric one when the line began to form. Pushing past other bored assholes who looked as lost flying to elsewhere as they do wandering about their own life. Where’s the wonder in defying physics and God himself by the miracle of flight? These concerns couldn’t calm me as my legs took to uncontrolled tremors and that sickening stomach flare hit again. The stretched boarding tunnel loomed like a birth canal into the black soul of manned air flight. I could feel my hands shake around my bag handles and breathing deepen in my clutched chest. But as soon as my knees swung into the economy seat and my headphones grabbed my ears, the alert and anxiety abated enough to let me settle into solace.

John, the flight attendant, was a handsome man of mid 50’s, who’s flamboyant mannerisms and habit of picking up every small child into his suited arms pointed to a degree of gay and glee. Figuratively and literally, John couldn’t walk by a woman’s weave without gently touching it longingly and exclaiming how “simply wonderful” it was. Even a stranger on a plane wasn’t enough to deter a mother’s instinct to allow a perfectly safe, well groomed gay man from blowing raspberries on their child’s cheeks and playing peek-a-boo with their babies. He even baked chocolate chip cookies for every passenger on the flight. And still who says that homosexuals are the bane of God’s mistakes? I bet that man never liked cookies in the first place.

I have 

seen

a world or two

in my time

but not the

world of

waking

working

shitting

eating

repeating

but lakes of

southern manners

and street musicians

lost in stir

and the movements

of the 

people

towards the 

hope of

greater good

The broken tires

beating west

to anywhere

with lack 

of snow

the freedom

of an

easy sleep

to 

music

in my

soul

And through 

the steady

paces I have

faltered strong

at things

no man

should see

The lack of

human spirit

and the loss

of light

in a

dying

mother’s eye

and from this

I am

grateful

for

release

Hey friends, I crawled out of my hole and made music again. 

This life thing is kinda cool, maybe I’ll try having it more often.

The reason why all dinosaurs died.

An entire day off work to jam Groovie Ghoulies and build ramps in my backyard.

These are the only two records that are acceptable to play from the autumnal equinox to Halloween day.

I gave Hadyn a chance

it’s what Hank would do

it moves

waves

blends into the blue curtains

my words are in time

and sprinting with ease

but the strings aren’t

that good

WHATISTHISIDONTEVEN.