"Repo Man Haiku for $700 Alex."

Car was repossessed
Yesterday made Tony sad
Knew it was coming

Yesterday my car was finally repossessed. I knew it was going to happen, but it still sucks. At least the Repo Man let me get my cd's out. Looks like I will be riding the metrolink to May Day.

My Complaints are Accompanied by a Six String

I have always enjoyed a good political song. In the past I have made attempts at writing them, but they always seemed a bit callow (Though the only ears to hear those songs were my own).
Any song that can not only touch people, but compel them to take action is truly a magnificent feat. I love those songs.

This is not one of those.

Simply some observations and opinions that are to be screamed over a guitar that is slightly out of tune.

We can wait
Until our problems
Have gone so long
its too late to solve them
Hesitate
Self-Medicate
The kids
Can fix it on their own

Our Attention
Undivided
On the topics
Media provides us
Stories Spun
A War Begun
Before Senate ever had a vote

And no asked how the fire started
We simply empathized for the broken hearted
While our rights are slowly stripped away
Privacy for freedom is the price that we pay

When illness
Is a business
Staying sick
Is what you live with
Pill and Prescriptions
Legal addictions
And a thank you for your time

Because finding cures lowers profit margins
So killing pain becomes your next best option
Your next fix comes in a pharmacy
24 hours, 7 days a week

Can't sleep, counting blessings, counting sheep.

What do you think about when you can't sleep?

Tonight my brain is overwhelmed with memories. They make my heart beat hard and slow. Each time it pumps, it hits the inside of my chest with force. It is the kind of strike that resonates through every bone and every muscle in my body. Like a prize fighter that slowly and surgically throws lefts, rights and uppercuts into the center of my being. There is nothing I can do, but sit awake and think about every punch that is thrown.

The problem is that everything running through my head is so random. The stripper that told about being raped by her father when she was eleven. My Mom's attempt at suicide (for the second time). Singing songs in backyards. My personal fears of failure and being alone. The list goes on.

I am forced to write. My personal little way of turning demons into words. Confessing. I pray silently that by writing this, I will somehow appease some of the dust covered skeletons that are rapping on the closet door.

I wonder if I will ever be brave enough to clean out that fucking closet?