jpaulgorman

plenty of times we drank until 2 always waiting for the next gag slowing down to back over the damage next time that dude'll think twice carry a crowbar under the driver's seat pull it out if you need to back 'em up be ready for a bloody nose and knuckle wounds be ready to let the adrenaline loose flung women around and went for gold realizing the tradgedy that was inevitable racing over rocks and rivers and pavement scabs are shed and ligaments jarred don't get the shakedown over in new mexico those border bums paid by the speeders felt like the fix was in in texline sorry 'bout the cancer, call the number on tuesdays

no one has ever walked in my shoes felt the vast deperation of the void no one has ever lived my blues been provoked and annoyed no one has ever seen the visions i have paradise awaits the perseverers no one has ever heard my real laugh until i convince them to look in the mirror

behind our faces we shutter so lonely those nights knowing the road of glass shards awaits cuts and blood and slices and bone behind our smiles we groan for the losses not yet lost the end will find every one of us sickness and death and toasts and prayers behind these bars we think the mind constantly directing the senses still alive and craving tasting and hearing and seeing and smelling and touching and balancing gemgemgemdd

at the end of the road a liar awaits, trembling because he knows the deception. the ease of the believing generation, ready to have the road paved. torches atop lion's heads on both sides, damp surface and hazy air. no one to plead to but other pleaders, desperate they look in rags and bare feet. chains locked around their necks and blood seeping, every few feet another reaches out. no doors to be seen as the vastness overwhelms, so many souls.

last night i dreamed i forgave everybody for anything ever done anytime before. there were fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers, not to mention extended family. then the people all around -- toilers, drivers, watchers, lovers, maniacs, and friends. things they did, said, implied, yelled, things they ignored, they insisted, they resisted. i was talking with each of them individually, taking my time, and we were committed. nods and shakes, aknowledgments accepted and replaced with a debt of some sort. a responsibility to forgive others in the same manner, slate picked clean and put up. minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and generations will pass either way.

yesterday she asked my how my day was told her the same thing as the day before 'things are good' the other morning her silky hair, combed and combed, seemed to wave at me as she passed 'things are good' perfectly shaped eyebrows above gushing blue the oval shaped face full of beaming smiles 'things are good' she'll stomp by tomorrow, some injustice endured and every few times she'll lean over and glance 'things are good' we keep the same time, we let it smolder smoke, smoke, smoke 'til it catches again 'things are good'

bam! bam!..it was fast just like that gone, but not quite forgotten the stillness of the memories faces hiding from each other showing us our own fleeting lives a blizzard hit last night everything is white and calm now like a cover between what used to be and what will be the full range of heartbreak and joy

communication by words or facial expressions using inflexion in your presentation eye contact takes turns, following a reasonable flow important points accented by hand gestures a heading, tell them what you are about to tell them, or ask them delivery is the case for needing or wanting this communication a summary, tell them what you told them, or asked of them talking points the same throughout and no more than a trinity followed by the written expansion, a better audience is curious let the content be the offer, audience be the judge if followup is needed, failure is validated action items restated, with deadlines and expectations.

saw maw at the hootnhanny, fired up and mean said twenty of her chickens went missing and 'someone was gonna git it'. the room stood still, except for the curtins near an open window waving white like a surrender instruments stopped and dancers unimbraced. 'who d' hell you think you are?', wanting no response 'comin' up in here takin' my chickins, you need some food, i'll cook you up some livers, but my babies eat the chickins'. a rush of ease hit the room, maw seemed more relaxed, more forgiving than when she entered suddenly, a man stepped forward and confessed. 'i's sorry miss dessie, i reck'n it was me who took them chickins' maw came over to the man, the room quieted again, she stood there, nose to nose with the short and ragged looking man. rage and empathy filled her eyes with tears, the man stood weakly and awkwardly wondering if he was going to eat fried livers tonight. 'you a damned sorry excuse ...