Trace William Cowen.

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huge (The Distance Between Big and Small)

In a small town, everyone knows your face. They may not know your names, all of you. But your face is imprinted and everyone knows. Everyone knows your face. In traffic and empty parking lots. In darkened theaters and bursting fluorescent frozen foods.
Faces.
Faces.
Occasional names.
Reliable patchwork in a mathematical quilt.
One color.
Easy stitching.
You know it.
You know it all by heart.
By mind.
By feeling.
You know it all.

In a small town, everyone knows your money. They may not know your payers, all of you. But your money is settled and everyone knows. Everyone knows your money. In trailer parks and rented one-stories. In food stamps and pajamas.
Money.
Money.
Occasional interest.
Reliable roots support a rotting tree.
Two leaves.
Crooked branches.
You know it.
You know it all by heart.
By soul.
By relation.
You know it all.

In a small town, everyone knows your future. They may not know your god, all of you. But your future is inarguable and everyone knows. Everyone knows your future. In trade schools and community colleges. In The Real World and adulthood.
Future.
Future.
Occasional choices.
Reliable silver in a fistful of gold.
Three stones.
An island alone.
You know it.
You know it all by heart.
By education.
By training.
You know it all.

In a small town, I dream of a big city.
In a small town, I dream big.
Dream big.

Big dreams.

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First Steps

My first steps were firm and determined.
A subtle wobble, a slight teetering - but nothing detrimental.
Among the bricked Baptist churches, a Hardee’s, and the public library - there was enough for any young mind to soak and grow.
I refused the welcomed cliches of boyhood and instead matured between the pages of a comic book.
I spoke with the language of the motion picture, and wept with tears of music.
Each note drops.
Every note fades.
I discovered sex through a Michelle Pfeiffer Entertainment Weekly cover and a series of marathon brainstorms.
My first steps were firm and determined.
Those steps now are quickened.
Jarring bones.
Now, I run.
I run from it all.
But you know I’ll be home soon.
You know I’m coming
Home.

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Heard at Reverse-Interventions

“I just can’t…stand by…I can’t just stand by and watch you improve your life with these accomplishments!”

“We can see it, (insert name here). We know you. You come in at 6 o’clock sharp; your shirt tucked in, your hair all perfect, smiling. Talking in logical, complete sentences. I can’t stand to see you this way.”

“You’re so much worse than this and you know it.”

“Well, I guess you can just kiss decorated criminal record goodbye! You could’ve had possession, intent to sale, anything you wanted. You had so much potential!”

“Yes, but sobriety is a…it’s a…gateway self-improvement. First you’re sober, then you’re…you’re getting promotions at work, you’re salaried in two years flat. Then, that’s not enough. Before you know it, you’re into marriage, you got kids. And then the hard stuff; you retire early. You’re feeling great. Great! You get to be 50, 60 years old - if not older - and you’re able to relax, you’re healthy. Don’t say, you know, don’t say we didn’t warn you. “

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how to be an island and influence the ocean.

I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.

I will not let others dictate my choices.
I will not let religion dictate my choices.
I will not let television
I will not let novels
I will not let emotion
I will not let blindness
dictate my choices.

I will live the life I’ve been given, and it is mine alone.
No one has lived this life and no one will live it after I am gone.

I will not let others decide for me, as only I know what makes me happy.
Only I know what I require to be happy, to be fruitful, to be important, to truly matter.
Not merely to exist, not simply to get by.
But to matter.
To truly matter.

To say I’ve felt the world come together around me, because my perception of this world is mine and mine alone. I am unique in this, I am unique because I am me.

There will never be another.
There has never been another.
There is not another now.

I am the only one.

I see the world through eyes that are only mine and this gives me my own.

My very own world.

I will not let expectations dictate my choices.
I will not let impossibilities or inevitabilities dictate my choices.
Probabilities. Surefire.
I will not let them.

I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.

I will not wake up and regret the day ahead of me.
I will not fall asleep and regret the day behind.
I will not wake up and dread the day ahead of me.
I will not fall asleep and dread the day that comes.
If it comes.

I am here for a definitive, certain period of time.
And then I am gone.

Only then shall I cease. Only then am I forgotten and I will be forgotten.

I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.

I will not let commercials dictate my choices.
I will not let advertising dictate my choices.
I will not let pornography dictate my choices.

I am bound by nothing.

I am bound by nothing but myself.
The hand that chokes is my own. The words that condemn are my own. The doubts that rise are my own. The confidence that bursts is my own.

The only thing that stops me
The only thing that holds me
Back
The only reason
Not
The only argument
Against

Is me.
Is me.
Is me.

I will not be beaten down.

Nothing matters but this heart.

The words or the papers. The favorites and discarded. The remembered and forgotten. Nothing matters but
Expression.

I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.

I will not let influence dictate my choices.
I will not let family dictate my choices.
I will not let substance dictate my choices.
I will not let curves dictate my choices.
I will not let math dictate my choices.

I will not learn to survive because life is not a skill. Life cannot be learned it must be felt. Life cannot be learned it must be lived. I will not get by. This will not do. I am not alright. Things are not okay. I am either alive or I am not. I am either a waste or a good spend. I will not know what lies between. I will know nothing of this void. Of this absence of everything. I will know nothing but myself and myself alone.

I am not an island but I will influence the ocean.
I am not an island but I will influence the ocean.
I am not an island but I will influence the ocean.

I will not let prayer dictate my choices.
I will not let confession dictate my choices.
I will not let guilt dictate my choices.
I will not let innocence
I will not let saviors
I will not let friends
I will not let goals
I will not let accomplishments dictate my choices.

I am living and this is my life and it is mine. It is mine alone. This life will never again begin and never again end. It is one.

This life is mine and it is not repetition.

This life is mine and it is not repeated.
This life is mine and it is not repeated.
This life is mine and it is not repeated.

Life is uncomfortable. I am fidgeting.

I am not parts of a routine. I am not pieces of a tradition. I will not repeat. Life is unpredictable. And I have no idea.

I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.
I will not be beaten down.

For I am now and never again.
For I am once and then not.
For I am running where I should crawl.

I am alive.
I am alive.
I am alive.
With the riot of me
I am alive.

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An Argument Against Not Being A Nudist (Hey Genesis)

The weather here is mindless. There is not enough intellect left in the winds, not enough care in the clouds, not enough feeling in the rain to give us a proper atmosphere. Or at least some logic. At least some sense of self. To Alabama. You were so seasoned once. You were summers and falls and winters and springs. One into the other with clear division. One into the other with grand entrances, but appropriately subtle exits. To Alabama. What happened? It’s so hot. I immediately regret clothes. I immediately blame Adam. Or Eve.

But then I remember the inconsistencies of the male body, its limitations in visual tolerability. Patches of Okay right into sporadic fits of hair. Sporadic fits of hair into lumps and lines which combined and at close enough inspection could possibly pass for another person altogether.

The male body is just as beautiful as the female, until you see it naked.

I remember this and immediately regret the title of this post.

The weather here is mindless. It is so hot, etc. But these clothes may have been a good idea, after all. For now. Until athleticism claims us all.

To Adam. To Eve.

I hope it was the best damn apple you’ve ever tasted.

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an excerpt.

The stars I crafted in my head were brighter. The rockets that reached them, faster. The buildings that housed them, stronger. The roads that lead there, wider. And us, we were fearless. Invincible. So aware that we are not just a loosely connected web of accidents. That everything happens for a reason, but mostly – everything just happens. Only we can give it reason. For Purpose is an illusive beauty indeed. And she runs. I follow, but mostly in vain. Hey, Purpose. I wrote you a song. But no one heard. I took that song across the state. I took that song to Atlanta but no one came. The sexiest filth of a nightclub one could possibly fathom, but I mostly just hid in the bathroom reading pseudo-political graffiti. I waited for you outside. I called your name. But you were still running. Hey, Purpose. Are you out of breath? Do you even breathe? I follow, but mostly I’m tamed. I follow, but I’m so tired. Will you wait for me? Or shall we run.

Shall we run forever.

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But Nothing

You think you will be the exception
But you will not.
You think you will be the first
But you will not.
You think you will be yourself
But you will not.
You think you will revolution
But you will not.
You think you will ignore
But you will not.

You think you won’t subscribe
But you will.
You think you won’t belong
But you will.
You think you’re not like them
But you are.
You think you’re not the same
But you are.

You think the numbers are for counters
But they’re for you.
You think the maps are just colors
But they’re for you too.
You think the talking heads just babble
But they’re talking. They’re answering you.

You think these days are long
But they always end.
You think your heart on fire
But what’s another flame in Hell.

You think you are the one
But there’s so many.

There’s so many.

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Things get slow sometimes.  Life seems to stop.  I take a few breaths, make a few dollars, miss a few friends; and suddenly I am 22.  Suddenly, I am responsible.  I am counted on and waited for.  I am numbers in an equation.  An equation no one cares to solve as we are too preoccupied with the math within the math it takes to get us there.  But we will surely get there.  In throwbacks and flash forwards.  In favorite songs and movie lines.  The way the girl tasted when we kissed.  In her car behind a tanning salon.  The way he made me laugh.  To get through.  The steam of a hot plate against legs, crossed in the carpet.  Just happy to be home.  It is striking me now, more than ever.  More than ever, because it never really struck me before.  But the days passed like epics then.  Chapters of a story and you knew where it was going.  So you read slowly.  The further we drive, the smaller the child in the rearview mirror becomes.  Waving, poking his belly forward in a faded purple tee.  The kind with a baggy pocket near the heart.  Striped shorts.  Tube socks rolling like clouds above poorly laced tennis shoes.  He waves, watching us go.  We slow down, we try to wait for him.  But we never stop.  We never stop.

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All I ever want is to wake up and know that I am in the right place.

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