Thirteen Years
It all started with my 19-year old self
eating a chocolate bar at the Food Co-Op
of Binghamton University in 2008.
I’m wearing a custom spray-paint T-shirt
I had gotten at “Six Flags” for $30.
I said “I want a Penguin with a palm tree
AND coconuts.” And that’s what I got.
(Note: not sure if the bowtie was artistic flare).
The picture title is “godfather of snickers,”
so I shouldn’t disagree with history
but that would mean I bought a Snickers
and BROUGHT it to an organic eatery.
Now that I think about it:
I WOULD do that.
Back then I did what I wanted
rarely even realizing
if I stepped on toes.
(This made ball-room dancing
difficult: but let’s NOT go there).
Yes, as you can imagine,
this habit of stepping on toes
while often unawares,
would bite me MANY times
and in many ways:
BUT LET’S STAY FOR NOW:
in the “good old days.”
These are days just BEFORE
cell phone cameras took over.
The days when ironically,
I saw no need to take my own photos
and rarely had to even ask.
I would do my “crazy” thing
and others would take care of
pictures AND tagging.
Some were friends,
some were random, thus:
some photos I NEVER got.
I can recall ONE I never saw.
I was watching the sunset
from a brick ledge near Fine Arts.
I was coping with “unrequited love,”
but again, let’s SKIP that part,
as an army of other poems
ALREADY cover it.
Anyway, back to the ledge/sunset.
I MUST have looked half-way decent
(or we can give all credit to the sky)
because someone asked permission
to take my photo and I said: “why not?”
These were the days when
musicians would still
plop down ALONE on the grass
and give impromptu concerts
for people they didn’t know;
not for money OR survival:
just to express themselves.
Yes, this might still happen
but I’ve been to several colleges
and Universities since withdrawing
from Binghamton for health-reasons.
Rarely, have I seen
that kind of passion.
The few times, years later,
everyone who pulled out a guitar
seemed guilt-ridden: like they needed
to be forgiven for self-expression.
At Binghamton, I WAS reprimanded
ONCE for playing music too loud:
and it was actually my fault.
I was learning to play my djembe drum
in a courtyard: and it was class-time.
The Professor was very nice.
Yes, he didn’t think twice
about doing the job
of telling me off himself!
True, professors can be intimidating
but I was just happy
that from the effected party
a representative was chosen
or a volunteer willingly appeared
and status was not factored in
in a way where this task was
“below him.”
He was obviously a bit annoyed
but he was friendly,
mentioned music faculty
AND other students
who I could connect with
before politely telling me:
not to bother students trying to study.
Am I wrong to think,
that these days (2020-2021),
that my “music”
might be considered
increasingly offensive?
Perhaps, very much akin to
“the drums of war,”
and masked campus police
might have confiscated
the new drum
I was happy to be learning
how to play?
Just let that sink in:
the situation isn’t “wrong” as
either way, there is “justification.”
However, ONE scenario ends up
with both sides more or less happy
AND with mutual understanding
(it even got through my thick head).
The OTHER can leave both sides
much more annoyed
maybe even hating their lot in life
and feeling crappy.
So yes: when people say “be nice,”
because “it can change a life”
they often mean it literally.
MOVING this event forward
over a decade
might CHANGE it drastically.
That’s why I feel bad
for the masked kid in the snow
waiting alone, in the dark, for the bus
to high school in 2021.
I’m literally in pajamas making waffles
AND I REMEMBER: so damn well.
I NEVER wanted to go to that hell.
Mom had a good point: “maybe he’s happy.”
I said: happy or not, I saw myself in him.
Almost no teen likes waking up before the sun,
to wait alone in the cold, with a mask
to get their first-period “education.”
I’ve SLEPT through MANY “1st period(s),”
so I know. Not the BEST time to:
absorb information.
But MOVING ON: all I wanted to do:
was give the poor kid a (sealed) bottle
or Organic Honey Crisp Apple Juice.
But I knew it might make me a criminal.
So I stayed in my warm kitchen.
I don’t remember what tunes
Alexa was spinning.
I couldn’t stop thinking how:
we’re told to love our neighbors
BUT NOW there are all these barriers.
WE’RE ALL “carriers” of pathogens:
NOT human beings, that’s secondary.
And fear is so rife,
that I suppose it’s “normal”
to think I could have spiked
the kid’s apple juice
with just about anything.
I MIGHT NOT have been
helping at all.
The kid could have been:
traumatized.
So I did the “spiritual” thing.
I was sending lots of “good energy”
lots of “good vibes,”
and I felt SO DAMN guilty
for what I felt was a cop-out.
Nowadays, cops have A LOT
of jobs because
we rarely speak to each other.
So I hear those sirens blaring
every night when I lie down.
Medical emergencies: yes.
Domestic violence: yes
Breaking and entering: perhaps…
But WHO’S going to go
INTO someone else’s house
EVEN if it’s to steal something?
In the looming threat of “the virus”
many of the people that love us:
don’t even visit us.
So I’m pretty sure thieves
in this neighborhood
will stick to robbing places
with more cash reserves
higher “cleanliness standards.”
Getting back to this picture:
it’s one of my earliest “profile photos.”
This was about the time I got Facebook.
Never before did I have friends
I felt I needed “a social network” for.
Now I get it: Facebook is not inherently bad.
It’s basically like how LIFE got awful 2020-21
in many ways: but LIFE IS NOT BAD.
In the SAME WAY, life also got: amazing.
It’s hard to believe: but it’s really true.
I was morbidly depressed for 14 years
and 2021 is the first year I started
free from depression
and actually, full of hope.
Ironically, I was sick with:
“the Coronavirus,”
so I was ALSO miserable.
But we can feel miserable
without being depressed.
I kept telling my parents:
“I’m fine.”
Even when I wasn’t, physically.
Because when I needed help:
I’D ASK, and sometimes:
IT WAS NOT GIVEN.
For the longest time:
I wanted Organic Fruit Juice.
They just didn’t get it.
They kept offering Mucinex,
telling me I should see a doctor,
to ask for an antibiotic
that if I didn’t, I’d end up hospitalized:
just like I did in the past.
Because hospitalization: that’s my thing.
It seems once you’re known for it,
it’s expected of you: I’m hospital-bound.
I don’t remember what pill it was
but my mom would tell me to swallow
before bed, because “your fever can
get so high that you die.”
I literally had to put it in my mouth
and then spit it into a tissue upstairs.
Otherwise the fear of my:
fever-induced-demise
would keep mom so worried that
it would actually keep me from sleep.
But getting back to Organic Apple Juice,
I DID eventually get tons of it:
when my parents realized I wouldn’t quit.
When I basically told them:
kick me out or let me make
my own health decisions.
Yes, it DID help
that I was underweight.
I had become vegetarian
in mid-November, got Covid
mid-December and suddenly:
cooking rarely seemed appealing
and shopping was out of the question
because I needed to quarantine.
In addition to not swallowing
OTC medication,
I was also not swallowing
meat-based dinner.
Swallowing anything was hard.
So, I was also struggling to swallow:
my Organic Whole Food supplements.
I would choke on them, again and again.
Coughing was a nightmare:
if only because other people heard.
EXPECTORATING was seen
as a bad thing and “proof”
that my way was wrong
and I needed more “advice,”
and more intervention.
My dad was convinced
I was “eating tissues,”
and I thought, but didn’t tell him:
“if that were the case,
At 31 years old, 5’9” or 5’10,”
I never would have hit 140 lbs,”
which likely was my lowest
since middle school.
Yes! You are right!
I COULD USE that Snickers!
Tell it to travel through time:
but it would STILL BE inappropriate.
Because I’ve learned my lessons,
since then I’ve tried to be myself
WHILE NOT stepping on people’s toes.
NO, I DON’T succeed all the time.
But I know immediately when I screw up.
And I DON’T usually need a professor
to show up and patiently teach me:
to be considerate.
I THANK that man who’s probably
and old-guy now.
I never did “lookup” that “great”
harmonica player, he talked about.
THUS: I still really suck at harmonica.
I CARRIED that harmonica
on my vacation walk
back and forth to Whaler’s Village.
Filled with hypocritical signs like:
ALOHA: is an acronym.
And they BROKE IT DOWN
SO EACH LETTER:
STOOD FOR A COVID RULE.
Keep your distance, don’t touch
WHEN YOU DO say “hello:”
just use your elbow as a greeting.
And the people that I was meeting
were all juggling this “nonsense”
OR “perfect sense” depending.
(Never did get to practice harmonica,
just like I never got to sit on all
the benches that said "no sitting,"
and I held my smoothie until
I got to a "safe" place to drink it,
lest I make anyone uncomfortable
with my mask-pulled down).
THE NEW ME takes lots of photos,
as you all know.
Apparently, I’m not photogenic anymore,
because MOST times I have to ask,
and even give people my phone-camera,
just to get a shot.
I was trying to realize WHY that was.
I was THINKING that maybe it was penance.
After, admittedly being a self-absorbed jerk
MAYBE I needed to see the beauty in others
and study how the world works:
even with all its own cracks and fallibility.
Photo-taking was hard for EVERYONE
as almost NO ONE wanted to touch:
someone else’s phone.
Apparently, the rule is nearly written
in DNA at this point or soaked in our bones.
Thus I found myself taking pics
for strangers, when I wandered off
from my family (and was later scolded
for taking the wrong path to follow my dad).
Yet, I didn’t care much
because I knew where I was,
told them how much time I wanted
at this park and my path
had led me somewhere
very beautiful.
Their path led:
to where I’ve been before.
Mine led:
to where I had not.
Very simple: so I’ll move on
TO THE CLIFF GUY.
Yes, there was a cliff guy.
(or was he a “bluff” guy?
a “dais” guy? Not sure,
as I never got his name,
so I HAVE to describe
the man by the terrain
where I found him).
But hey, I TOOK his picture.
I met him alone, on this awesome
bluff/cliff/dias – whatever
and he seemed to really be enjoying
his perch above a black sand cove.
I did want to see the view,
but RESPECT for spots is paramount.
He discovered the spot: so it’s his spot.
That is, until he is done enjoying it.
I had a man (at the next stop
on The Road to Hana)
tell me and Chrissy (my sister)
that we’re “hogging the best spot”
and that we should move.
I looked at that man and said:
“We’ll be GONE in 60 seconds.”
FOR REFERENCE: we had only
been in this spot by the “Sacred Pools”
for about one minute and 30 seconds.
MAYBE two minutes, AT MOST.
I digress, but just a “life lesson,”
nature is not about “the best spot.”
This also can easily be applied to life.
Yes, there are obviously more:
impressive, seemingly beautiful,
wonderful situations to be in:
but so what?
First question: do you own that spot?
I know that the same could be said to me,
but that’s assuming I HAD been,
or was planning on hogging it all day.
Yes, someone made that assumption.
Their patience only spanned
1 min 30 seconds to at most, 2 minutes.
There were no substitutions for this man.
We need to drive home in our vans
maybe get back in our tour busses
and that’s all that went through his mind.
Some just need to check
every box they can to feel complete.
Alright, back to the guy on the cliff.
Pretty sure you got the point of “spots,”
it’s about ENJOYING where you are,
not about shoving people over
for “the best spot.”
Because FYI, Me and Chrissy
actually, WAITED our turn:
for “the best spot” (prior to
that man’s arrival, it seems).
It was funny though because
cliff guy wasn’t wearing a mask
AND I was okay with that
BUT I happened to be wearing one.
So he kept looking at me, nervously.
I kept nodding, but stepping a bit away,
so as to give him space, and not bother him.
Eventually, I found out “the problem.”
HE WANTED: his photo taken.
Yet he was worried I would be offended.
Once I understood, I awkwardly took
his tiny – but cool looking, actual camera.
This was a digital camera, but LIKELY
the first time I used a dedicated camera
since 13 YEARS ago when my friends
and acquaintances actually practiced:
“photography” on me.
I basically felt like my life
had come full circle
at this moment.
In a very awkward,
but very appropriate way.
I don’t know this guy
(hence why I call him “cliff guy,”)
but I hope he’s happy with his picture.
He might be an artist, a businessman,
a famous person or even a well-dressed
bum who happens to have
a tiny, waterproof, digital camera.
(Yes, my memory is returning,
I DID ask if it was waterproof,
and he said it was: so that may
or may-not kill the “bum” possibility).
Though, I mean, come-on writers:
“The Bum with a Waterproof
Digital Camera” does sound
like an interesting story, no?
Anyways, before I left,
he asked if I wanted
my photo taken.
Because I had mentioned
that I was always the one
taking my family’s photos
so I really knew how it felt
to wish that someone
would do that for me
more frequently.
I told him thanks,
but that was okay.
In my mind,
I had totally intruded
on the edge of
this man’s spot.
I am just the wandering fool.
I pull up my mask when
I see people coming
who are wearing them.
I keep it off when
I pass people
who are happily
enjoying
the unfiltered
Hawaiian Breeze.
And I am criticized
when I say
that I’m happy
that in a State Park
in the middle
of the most beautiful
nature: I can take off
my mask sometimes.
“Even 40-year old’s die
in my hospital without
co-morbidities.”
Is this new?
40-year old’s
were impervious before?
Oh, but I forgot.
This is Covid.
Covid killed the 40 y/o.
And somehow
a MASK could have
saved the man?
I supposed either that
or it can save “other people”
is the implication.
Here I was taking
what are likely
memorable photos,
of precious life moments
and I SHOULD have been
protecting them from Covid:
even if they would prefer
that I just take their picture.
MY MASK this past 13 years:
it’s just like how I was
in WaiÊ»Änapanapa State Park.
I never know when to wear it.
No one’s ever always happy
when I have it on or off.
But I keep toggling.
Sometimes, I THINK
my mask is off,
and it’s not.
I LITERALLY
had a long conversation
with a store manager
in Whaler’s Village
and he FORGOT
he wasn’t wearing a mask.
(not that I minded).
I actually didn’t notice.
If someone has a mask on
or off: the only reason
I notice is to MAKE SURE
I’m doing the “right” thing.
So, I was in a store,
so I had my mask on.
Because that’s what
they say we have to do.
But I ended up getting to see
without realizing any “problem,”
someone’s mouth move
as they were talking.
It was the beginning of the day,
and he had just opened up shop,
and he was 60+ years old.
I know this, because he said
that he was 10 years old
at Woodstock
when he went to see:
Jimi Hendrix.
Okay, I did the math,
he’s about 62 years old.
Basically, the same age
as my dad.
Dad is an awesome guy
but he tends to talk about
Woodstock like he was there.
Apparently, this guy,
as a 10-year-old kid,
really wanted to see
Jimi Hendrix.
I don’t think he had,
full access, or a ticket –
I don’t even know,
if they DID tickets
for Woodstock
because for all I know
some people could have paid
with cannabis. Like I said
don’t know, not sure.
What I do know:
is that he was close enough
to the source of something
that HE THOUGHT was special.
It doesn’t matter if his view
was BAD.
It doesn’t matter,
if he could BARELY hear
the guitar (I think the man
was a really good guitarist, right?)
He was there, he was part
of the history he wanted to be.
YES, he was working in retail
when we met in Whaler’s Village.
There are MANY artists,
especially in 2021,
who can no longer make
a living off of their craft,
due to bad luck, competition
not being perceived as
“good enough” OR
a combination of many factors.
I bought a coffee mug.
PS: it’s an awesome coffee mug.
And the next two times
that I visited, there was
a woman cashiering,
who was nice,
but a bit more businesslike.
Another person, I might not
see again, but so what?
It would have been great,
to catch up again
because I told him
about my last attempt
to see the sunrise
at HaleakalÄ Crater.
Two years ago,
it was pouring rain
on-top of that mountain
and I wanted to will the sky
to open just a bit
so I can see the sunrise from it.
In the end, I just got wet, cold
and then sick.
He said
“If it’s raining
when you go up
in the morning
it usually doesn’t stop.”
I said thanks, yes,
I won’t be that stupid
a second time.
If it rains:
I will accept my loss/
I will stay in the bus.
This brings us back,
to my “godfather of snickers”
picture from 2008.
We’ve discussed enough
about musical performance
about actually taking pictures
(or not taking but receiving them).
You MIGHT not believe this
BUT I HAVE chosen an “angle”
for this poem.
It might seem like it has nothing
to tie it together.
But it does: that’s my job.
It’s about how my life
has changed in 13 years,
how the world has changed
from my perspective,
especially now
when I’m no longer
feeling like I’m better,
than others or that I’m owed
something, or many things
that I don’t have.
“Net: net” as my Dad says,
the world situation
is ultimately comedic relief.
It’s not that it isn’t serious,
it’s not that it isn’t harrowing.
It’s that: I’m doing all I can
OR all I’m willing to do
in order to help.
The rest is just laughing
at all the increasingly
ridiculous happenings:
that we blame “Covid” for.
In the future,
this will be
an EPIC and hilarious
but also very SAD list.
Covid prevented me
from giving a high-school kid
a bottle of Organic Apple Juice?
Should I really say it that way?
NO. I don’t think so.
For a long time, I hated my town.
I stayed away from these people
for many reasons. One of them is:
We’re an upper-middle-class
mostly white neighborhood
and I heard a few “there goes
the neighborhood[s]”
when Hispanics or African
Americans moved in.
Yes, we all deny this.
It NEVER happened.
Okay, it didn’t.
I’m a LIAR.
But I’m also a Poet,
at this moment,
NOT a historian.
So I DON’T have
to have it recorded,
along with the date,
ALONG with WHO
and HOW MANY
people said it.
Aren’t you all (finally)
thankful that I’m a poet?
Nope, it was a joke.
Being able to say
what we want
is one of the big dangers
of being any kind of writer.
Even journalists or historians
who want to say the truth
can’t always do it.
They have to “prove it,”
even when they have
already “proven it”
then they can get “discredited,”
if what they say is unpalatable.
They can lose jobs,
if they have jobs,
they can be threatened
if there is something
that can be threatened.
Why do I say this?
Because I want
to bring you back
to that annoying guy
banging his drum
during class-time.
Let’s all be mindful,
of how we treat each-others.
Even if one of us
is without a doubt
being a jerk.
WE ALL are jerks sometimes.
So, like: next, it could be your turn.
I’ve spent many years,
learning not to be hurtful
and still be who I am –
which was actually
very difficult.
Because, I tend to point out
TRUTHS that we don’t want
to see. Just like now.
Some DO NOT want to see this.
But I just do it: write anyway:
when I feel compelled to.
Whether you believe it or not:
I aim for the nicest way
I can think of, and it becomes
that much harder to write
(yet very worthwhile).
I’ve actually,
become a fan of personal
“verbal” filters.
Few believe that,
but I actually have one on:
right now.
So, I’m sorry if
what comes off as
my slap in the face
couldn’t be any gentler.
Life has slapped me
many times, to various
degrees of pain:
and I needed them all.
But if you can’t deal
or don’t want to feel bad
and you often do with my art
then: we can try to stay apart.
I AVOIDED all the “unrequited
love” nonsense, in this poem:
but that doesn’t mean it never
actually happened.
Lots of experience feeling alone.
Lots of Exp. feeling misunderstood.
Again, so what?
If I have people who understand:
great! If I don’t: I’ll be just fine.
In fact, I can be happy.
For proof: watch me, or don’t.
But I give you permission,
right now: to take pictures.
Because for the love of God,
I’m not going to get a selfie stick.
Nothing against them:
at the moment, I just consider it
rather UN-artistic.
And one thing that always
ALWAYS made me feel better:
was art, expression, being who
we truly are or TRYING to.
Perhaps there’s a book called
“The Art of the Selfie Stick,”
and I’ve just never read it.
Even if there is, I’m not sure I will.
If I don’t look awful,
(but obviously can’t compare
to the sky at sunset)
take a pic and tag me.
I REALLY don’t care
if I see myself as “pretty.”
I used to tag others in photos.
Now I have to ask first.
Everyone has a reason,
not to be tagged.
So much deliberation
regarding a memory.
Not me. I am among the first:
to say I AM THAT MORON.
Really? Have you seen me?
I can be and AM, that guy.
They called me “crazy”
for (mostly) good reasons.
You might have realized,
how important “memory”
is to me. However, my memory
is FAR from photographic.
Which means I forget things,
just like everybody does.
Currently, I’m trying to remember,
exactly HOW MUCH I asked
that poor woman at Six Flags
to spray-paint on my shirt.
Because I think I might
have requested a rainbow too.
(See: I was a glutton).