Back on Pathetic...kind of
09/27/2004 04:01 p.m.
It has been awhile since I've even looked at Pathetic or my library, crazy.

I took a little break from writing poetry and I am now only slowly coming back into it.

But I think it's good, I think I dried up my well again, I only have so much feeling to wet the pen and I wrote a lot of stuff so it kind of drained it.

I was looking at my library and came to a stark realization, half of the total reads of my all my work comes from one poem. I don't know how to take that, but I do like that piece, "The Sun Will Shine Through," so I guess it isn't all bad.

I have written a few weird things, that may never be witnessed by anyone but me, but at least a lot of it is coming naturally.

Eh, who am I kidding, it's not like I'm that well known here anyway, no one is reading this. ;)

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She Died
08/14/2003 07:09 p.m.
My dad called me yesterday while I was at work. He received a phone call that his sister had been killed. I could hear in his voice how upset he was; my pillar of strength, which has a foundation forged out of my dad's strength, was shaking. I didn't really know my aunt, the last time I saw her I can't even remember, but that isn't the point, she was my aunt. He didn't know if it was true or not, he didn't know who called him, so he asked me to call my grandpa (his dad) and see what he knew, because dad's cell phone was acting up. So I called, several times and finally got an answer, my grandpa had not heard anything, and I felt sick having to even mention to him that one of his children might have been hurt, let alone killed. He tried her home number but no one answered. So then I searched the internet and found several places to call in Ohio to see if there was any place that could confirm it. No where could, 'maybe it was a fluke' I was hoping. The lady that called my dad gave him a number to call, so I called that, and got the answer, from my grandma, who I also haven't seen in a long time. I noticed, as I was explaining to her who I was, that she was sobbing.
My first thought right then, "Oh shit, I have to tell my grandpa that his daughter is dead." I felt bad that she had died, but it wrenched my guts to even think about telling my grandpa. And I had to do it over the phone, what a horrible bastard way to do something like that. I should have drove to his house, its far away, but jesus, his only daughter was killed and I gave him the news like some dopey loser trying to sell magazines.


This is the second time that someone in my family has died, this time was far, far less painful for me, because I was very close to my grandpa that died. But both times I had this urge to flee, I knew that I had to spend time with my dad because he shouldn't have been by himself, even though he wanted to be, but I felt this deep rooted urge to run to my friends. The same thing happened with my grandpa, my mom told me he had all these tumors, and was going to die, and I stood in the kitchen for about two minutes before I turned around a left to go see my friends Nick & Tamisha. Around my family I didn't drop one tear, because I felt like I had to be strong for them, but when I walked into Nick & Tamisha's living room and told them, I just sank to the floor and started crying. Since then, those two and I have had a lot of problems, but I've always felt like I've owed them so much just for being there for me. In fact a lot of the love I developed for Tamisha was out of the fact that she held me as I was dealing with my grandpa.
But now, parts of the family are coming closer together, as they do when someone dies, and I just want to run away.
I am currently Bothered
I am listening to Nothing Else Matters - MetallicA

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From within a concussion
07/21/2003 08:01 p.m.
I've never had what I thought would be a concussion before. I am betting that when I was in a car accident a long time ago I did, because I was knocked out for a little while, but never realized it was probably a concussion or sought medical attention, for some stupid reason (I was a tough 12 year old, I didn't need it), which seems to have cost me some memory.

But now, I am almost positive that what I have now is a concussion. But I still have not gone to the doctor, now 21, still stupid. It happened on the 4th of July, I managed to push and fight my way to the front row so I could be as close as possible when Metallica came on stage at the Summer Sanitarium show at the Pontiac Silverdome. Well, I got tagged in the back of the head by a couple crowd surfers. I managed to hold out for a couple songs of Metallica's set, but by then I was so out of it that I am surprised I asked to be pulled out. My head hurt for awhile, but the latest thing to happen is extreme dizziness and nausea, this started about a week after, and has gone back and forth in severity.

I don't know what kind of point I had with this when I started, but like I said, I have a concussion, I'm surprised I found the damn site.

So there you go, short, but pointless.










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Black Dog (my poet intro for an recent anthology)
04/24/2003 08:15 p.m.
I have myself a black dog. It has been around awhile, sometimes I don’t realize it is there, sometimes I jumps on my chest and gnaws at my throat. More often than anything else it scares people away, leaving me to myself. Until my discovery of poetry I was on a course of self-destruction; now, though self-depreciating, I am on a better course and I actually have something to show for my scars. I can’t get rid of the black dog, but I am starting to tame it and I have found a leash that will restrain it.

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- REvon's Rant - Fortitude
03/31/2003 06:45 a.m.
I wish I had somewhere nearby that I could escape to, where I could be free from the glowing presence of all these electronic time wasters that seem to clutch at every shred of my attention. I want a tree fort. That's what I need! A tree fort, I've never had one before. The best I could ever come to was some hunter's abandoned deer blind, in all its rotten wood glory, surrounded by empty Bud Light cans and cigarette butts. There I would sit for as long as it took me to feel disconnected from whatever looming cloud of woe had formed and began pounding down on the fraile existance that was my family life. I always felt severe jealousy towards kids that had real tree forts. I felt jealous of kids that had trees! Back yards and trees, and a fort. Lucky bastards. Somehow I doubt mom would have let me convert the balcony of our 3rd floor apartment into a fort. I was forced out away from our "home" to find somewhere to let my mind wander beyond spackled ceilings and drywall. Most times the best I could do was some kind of utility shed that was wedged on a small peninsula that was surrounded by three large placid trash ridden drainage ponds. This shed was not a place I should have been, broken glass from windows and beer bottles, an assortment of porno magazines, bugs, and tetanus nightmare of nails, screws, and jagged metal.
Maybe it made me tough, but I think maybe it twisted me out of the easygoing innocence that other kids enjoyed in their tree forts, family picnics, and nightlights, it forced me to realize that I would have to take care of myself, because even as young as I was, I felt that I was the only person I could trust to always be there. Anyone else was just temporary. I'm trying to break that way of thinking, but it's like trying to scratch out what someone wrote in cement twelve years ago, it never really goes away, it just gets worn by footprints.


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Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys!
03/14/2003 09:41 p.m.
I think that we as American's have the right, founded in blood spilled and tears shed to be as damn proud and even more protective of our way of life. I salute Gavin for having the American Flag on the main page, and I hope he puts it back up.

If other countries don't agree with us, fine, let them not agree, but when it comes time that they need a favor, who the hell do you think they are going to ask? Yeah, I'm sure Iraq will help them out if they need a favor.
It's very similar to a situation I am in right now. I'm doing what I have to, trying to get by, and it comes time that I need some help from someone. Well, do I get it? Hell no! I get a bunch of baby type hissy fits from someone that has been floating along without having to do much of anything, that I have repeatedly helped out when ever I was able, and sometimes when I wasn't.

Payback? Well aparently this is a notion not understood by some people.

Oh so that card has been played to death? The hell it has! I, like this country, have bent over backwards to help out who I could, and what is there in return? No real thank you or honor, more like whispered insults and cowardly behavior. It is a sad fact that some don't have the character to be worthy of much. It's pretty easy to knock everything that isn't yours and hate everyone who isn't you, but it is ignorant behavior that ultimately gets you nothing.

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Just tell me
10/10/2002 08:14 p.m.
If it were that simple. A closed mouth gathers no foot, which is a good point but not the one I am trying to make. I can feel what I want to say and somewhat think it, but I can't say it, especially if it is at all serious. If I'm just joking around or something mundane, I can be somewhat clear headed, but the moment it starts to hinge onto the verge of seriousness, I fall apart.

Earlier this week I was photographing a girl from my photography class, she is nice and we seem to be becoming friends. She is really nice and very pretty and easy to get along with. Anyway, we went into the studio together so we could help each other figure out how to work the flashes and meters. She comes in with her brother, who was her model for the project. And I didn't have anyone to shoot. I had a couple possiblities, but I figured I would end up taking pictures of myself, which was fine with me I guess. So she goes first and I'm helping out, moving lights and props, and she finishes up. Her brother is leaving and I mention to her that if she would like to help me out that would be great. She says yes, and I explain to her what I would like her to wear, so she left and got some different shirts.

When we started shooting I was nervous as all hell. I didn't want to tell her what to do, because I felt weird about it. I came out and told her that I wasn't really comfortable with directing someone, which is why I mainly shoot natural scenes. I don't need to tell a tree what to do, it is already doing what it can.
So she tells me, "I'll do anything you want me to do. Just tell me."

Now, I must point out, I said before that I thought she was very pretty. Well, looking at her through my lens, in the dimmed model lighting I realized she is not pretty. She is beautiful. I mean, I know she was posing, and trying to get into her "picture" face. But a couple times she was posing for me, her eyes just pierced through my lens and I was amazed. I felt like my camera disappeared, and we were standing face to face and she wanted it that way. No camera, no project, no one else, just me and her, I could see her clearly, she reached out and touched my face lightly and I felt a burning in my chest, the good kind that I haven't felt in awhile, everything else burned away into the deepest black of the Zero of the Zone System and we were alone.
Then the shutter would open, the flashes would trigger, and I would lose sight of her for 1/80th of a second. After the model lights came back we would be in the studio, my camera on a big steel tripod, the crappy art building's industrial style ceiling overhead, and what felt like a mile of space between us. I blinked, stood up and realized the burning was still in my chest.

I wanted to tell her what I had seen, what I had felt. How truly beautiful I thought she was. But I didn't. I couldn't. It just wouldn't come out. I can be a complete idiot in class all day long, cracking jokes, being a goof ball, and talking about class and fucking stabbings, shootings, and bombings, but as soon as I would like to tell her I think she is gorgeous, nice, or a hundred other things, I clam up.

Just tell me,
If only it were that easy,
If only I could.

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On a Day Like Today
09/23/2002 06:20 p.m.

Beatiful days were made for people like me.  I hadn't the ability to enjoy them so much before I started fighting my (to borrow Churchill's phrase) "Black Dog" of depression.  But I think I'm better now, at least I feel better. So I stand outside today and just stop and stare at the clouds reflecting off the glass curve of the library and I think, DAMN! I don't have my camera. DAMN! I don't have any paper.

My photographer/poet traits only work if I have the proper equipment at hand. And now I'm back indoors in my office staring at this god awful screen.

There should be such a thing as a "Great Day Leave." 

"Sorry boss, I can't come in, it's just too nice of a day, see ya tomorrow."

I think today might be a day I'm checking out of work early to enjoy what is to enjoy.

My Baby has Come Home!!!!
08/13/2002 04:56 p.m.
I can't wait, after all this time, love has once again come back into the foreground of my life. Its been a long time, but I still remember all the good times we had, even some of the bad times, but they all shape the memories of times we've shared.

It's such a good feeling I have inside, this kind of anxious burning to be out doing things again, with others it's been okay, but not like it was. Never that serious and never so enjoyable. I don't care who stares or says anything about me or my baby, I'm just glad we're back together again.

I realize my attitude wasn't great before, I said and did somethings I shouldn't have, and I regret it, but it's behind me now and all that is in front of us is the wide open road.

It's so good to have my Camaro back. It's always been "my car." Other cars I've had are okay, but never like this one. "Lethal, the Junk Yard Dog" that is my car's name. Lea for short. Just sitting in those mushy vinyl seats makes me smile, the smell over takes my senses and I remember times I taught people how to drive a manual in that car, or times crusing with my other friends.

It's been stuck at my mother's house for so long, in her crappy garage with a dirt floor and no electricity. I took the engine apart to fix a few things, and never put it back together. I hate that I waited this long, mice have been living in it, there were spiders under my hood, and the rust, oh my it was a sad sight, but the engine is coming along, probably in the next couple days I'll have it out on the road again. Give Lea a good bath and clean out the interior (can you say, parts storage for 6 months...eeewww, nasty), then I can get back to properly restoring it.

Ah, how it brings a smile to my face.
I am currently Anxious

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Fight All for Love Series
06/12/2002 05:23 p.m.
I have begun a series of poems that are based on a dream I had awhile ago. It was one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had and I tried to write about it before, but it never worked out.

Well, today I started it, somewhat backwards, I posted the last piece of series first, because I wrote it first, and I'm currently starting a third piece. Its more of a story then a poem, but its a poem. When I tried to write it before, I couldn't understand what some of it could mean, but now I understand more, and I am adding some info to make it more interesting.

I hope people who read it like it as much as I do.
I am currently Poetic

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