Invisible Man

I wasn’t there
For myself
I was there
For the moment

When you needed proof
When you needed
A hammer to bring down

So I let you use me

Watched you get out
And confront my past

My proud passenger
“Right, Jake?”

Point to me.

Thumbs up as I sip
A cold brew, thinking
Of all the petty memories

Let it go
Run away

Like it always does

You’re stronger than it is
And I’m more invisible
Than I ever



Oly October

Just like the city, she’s

Not off, like the way you feel
walking down certain streets
downtown in the capitol city,
but different. A new flavor
of a coffee from Burial Grounds.

A book you never saw before,
In Bower’s library.

Indeed, a store or spot
that you never really had
visited yet, even through what
you’ve said.

You’ve been “up and down this place,
and know it like the back of
the hand”. For certain, but even
then no history can make up
for raw exploring. Don’t you
love it here?

You couldn’t count every
falling leaf in October
just like you could never
know what you don’t know
about your favorite city.

You have to find out. Be as
vulnerable as you first were,
when you were afraid of getting
mugged that one time on
3rd Street, and how uncertain
it felt to be out at night like
that for the first time.

You have to find out.


You can’t wear it
Like a coat
And not expect some
Holes to form
And stains to stay

Nor mud to cake
As you fall unto
Unbeaten paths

You can’t expect
To not stumble

Through the fields
Of the apex predator
Without damage incurred

You can’t wash it
Without losing memory

It’s clear but only
Goes so far when you
Abuse it every day

You can’t appreciate it
For what it was
And not be disappointed
When it doesn’t become
Anything it used to be

It moves and culls

The cullfield is
What was and will be

Not the now where you stand
Hole-stricken and haggard

But the next step
And the step before

Appreciate the foot
Which carried you
But it is no longer
As you stride further

It has been culled

Don’t fall into thought
When you walk
The cullfield

Zen Ana

Idea weapons
From legends of old

Slaying demons
Thinking they are so bold

This night is ensured
To grow as legends do
Telling the story
Of demons went through

Maybe I’ll be legendary

A star-writ story
Carved from enduring today

A threshold here
Defending you

Against a horde
Of demons I would

Do whatever
It could take

To become legend
Leaving stars in your sky

To become
Another footnote
In someone
Else’s book

At the bottom
Of a page
I’ll be an

To explain

What I did
And my name

What definitions
My impact has
In this book’s
Chapter’s verse

How the stars
Will be drawn
So long after
I’m gone


There are tears for things
That we don’t give away

A pause of breath as we
Save sentiments

Yet upon the coffers lie
An excess of counterfeit

Songs and music worth
Their movements in gold

Still, the greed to keep
What’s sweet lives on

As sicarios in the sun
Who can’t have enough

Denying the innocent who
Don’t solider for share

A greed that whips seeker
Souls into frenzy

To see from mezzanines
At last and finally

Lobbies flush with gold
Records of cherishables

Treasures to not let
Perish to the devil

Those sicarios battle
Called amnesia

“A duel of high wagers”

A Moment To Myself – Journal 8/27/17

Housesitting is happening again, but man that is the least of what’s been going on since the last journal. This is why I’m happy I have this thing. People might like to hear about this!

First thing’s first, I fixed up my car again. Thankfully my passenger was already gone by the time it overheated somewhere in Fife. Friday at about 6 pm, traffic in certain sections of Pierce County really bottleneck. My car was in a certain condition where it would dramatically overheat if I left it idle for a few minutes in traffic. Which was exactly what was going on on Friday. Twice. And since there was so much traffic, my Friday evening was exactly like that Jason Statham film Crank. Had to keep moving on the way home so the damn thing wouldn’t burn up. One thermostat and fan clutch later, it seems to be running pretty alright.

Well that was fun, BUT I also discovered something amazing thanks to Friday.

There is a place in Tacoma called the Mad Tea Co. House. It’s a tea house. Which I never thought persisted into modernity, but there I was. This place was amazing. Dark, dimly lit. Low coffee tables and old couches all over. Books stacked to the chest on every wall. It’s what drives me, these experiences. The guy behind the counter knows exactly what he’s doing, and imports tea leaves from all over. South America and Asia were in what I had; the mad snickerdoodle tea. Some modest teaspoons of sugar and drops of honey accompanied the brew.

It is here, at the Mad Tea Co., that I’m going to do my first exercise in providing a publication to a storefront. Anthem was a first choice, but I feel somewhat more comfortable with this place. It isn’t loud and hispterish like Anthem. It isn’t overbearing. The vibe is so perfectly chill. That’s what I’d call it. And I’m going to be formatting something to print a lot of and putting it in a box to take there.

Man, and that’s not all that’s gone on. I’ve found a few friends I can very much trust to be roommates with. So I might be staking my own claim in this city finally, and before the end of the year. Along with that is the excitement going into this promotion and the training for that, and the associate’s degree waiting for me to collect at the end of December. Life is progressing, and visibly it goes.

So I’m housesitting again and enjoying some stuff I haven’t seen in a while, and also stuff I simply haven’t seen. I’m catching up on Red Vs. Blue and just started One Punch Man on Netflix. If you’ve been following my journals, you might be able to guess what I think of One Punch Man! It’s fucking great!

There’s still so much I need to pull from my notebooks. Rest assured there is much coming. As for now I’m constantly surrounded by pretty people, insane experiences, and some of the most fun I’ve ever had. There will be poetry. Much more after this week, once September begins.

This journal’s excerpt is going to be from “ON 1: Revelation”:

“I wish to be under an
Orange blanket on the couch

I want you to be
Leaning against me

Getting comfortable
In my arms

While you’re cold and
Pull me close to warm you

Outside on a bench
At midnight”

And perhaps with this poem I mark a transition where I stop writing about the past and focus on the present. So much to do and so much to write.

I have my best friend currently working on a version of my logo in photoshop, and this is going to be fun manipulating the hell out of it. Into something great. Into something very befitting Radio Reality City.

There’s going to be a lot incoming. Year Four is shaping up to be fantastic.


Apartment living
Music ripping

Riding my Schwinn
To sophomore year

Glacier cherry

Back in my backpack
Next to lighthearted
Bags of summertide

Turning sixteen in
Washington heat

Never knew
I was new
Had to choose to
Do something with it

With this
First relationships
And apartment
My limit

Downtown Puyallup
I had no idea
That in the next
Four years

I’d go from
A helpless boy
To having no fear

Four straight years
Of conquering

No longer a
Shy teenager in a city
That seemed so
Massive and scary

In the backseats
Of cars where lights
Where whizzing by
Each a mile long

And I was still
Ripping songs
Missing “home”

When in Rome
You go to plays
Lakewood matinee

Seemed like so
Far away from
5/20 daze

No idea where
I could be

Slam, Bitch, Slam


And she’s still the only one
Who can make me feel
Like I’m doing something

That is why it is natural
I know what I feel
Should be the thing to
Make me doubt myself

Fuck it gets hard sometimes
When I’m reminded of her
Or you compare yourself
To her

She is a drug I am constantly
Trying to get clean from
Because those needle stabs
In my arm are still seeping


I haven’t ever really opened
Up about her because I’m
Scared of being fucking

I know that she has an effect on me
I don’t know what it is
I know I could make rash choices
And act impulsively

I just can’t help myself
When I am fed that mixture
I will flail and grasp for help
And will find no end

To this dose

Another dose of Lucy
That’s what it is
And I’ve been dancing around
It for so long I almost
Thought I could forget

I would love to think that
After we broke up
I moved on and could
Believe she was dead

But the truth is she strikes
Me silly without effort
And I turn to writing
To pour the bottle down
My throat again

This time I’m almost
A few months sober
And I thought it was it
And she would go away

I’d like to think I’ve moved on
I’ve gotten better
But these fucking words
Still hurt my fucking liver

When another wave of her
Crashes into my concious
Like an ocean of fury
And man, it is potent

Three years later…

And there’s something still bitter
About the thought that she’s
Out there and I’m not with her

Fuck, I know that sounds bad
But I’m always trying to forget
That I’m really just a god damn

I don’t go to meetings
With AA or NA
I don’t seek therapy
Or go out of my way

I go into my temple and I write
The good things away
Like they never happened
Or like I saw them in a cinema

I try to nurse my regrets
I try to fill the holes left
From something that did
Really mean something
To me at least

I’m a fucking addict
And the heroin beside me
Lays in needles
Just ready to load

Lucy I hope if you’re
Reading this or
Hearing this somehow

I really fucking hope
You know what you did

But I can’t blame you
For all of this
For my condition
I’m not wishing
This on you

You did something great
For me

You introduced me to you

But now I’m cold turkey
And every so often
Someone comes by my alley
And tosses tools beside me

Waiting to see how I handle
What comes next
How much I’m gonna inject
And if there’s any left

I’m addicted to Lucy
And I can fucking help
Think that I did something

She’s the only drug in my life
And whenever I get it
It goes right in
Like a neurotoxin

Paralyzed and dead alive
I’m walking with a fog in my head
I’m out
Lucy is in

And suddenly I’m not
Good enough
And don’t regret enough
And I pale in comparison

To whatever I’m doing now
Right now,
Because I’m not with her

I’ve got the infection
By an injection

Innoculated with her
I thought it was the cure
But for fuck’s sake
I want to be with the source
To see

If we’d work

Fuck you, man, quit thinking
Like that

You’ve moved on, far ahead
And have more important
Shit in your head
Than to think
About an ex that you’ve
Considered gone and dead

But maybe it isn’t
And three years later
That doubt still creeps in

Needles of
Doubt sticking out my chest
And they’re all drained

I’m limp on the alley ground
Waiting for the feeling
To go away

Writing the same damn thing
Again and again and again
Like I’m fucking insane

But I know I’m not insane

Walk past me
On the sidewalk
And you might see

I’m just an addict
Shameful to be full of
A chemical cocktail
That must have a
Half life of forever

My deepest secret
And abstract fantasy

I’m addicted

To Lucy

No More

She never really
Told me about where
She came from

I know where she was

But how she got
3000 miles away
I’ll never know

When she went into
Foster care

Why she hates her mother
And because of that
Why she hates her
First name

I’ll never hear more
About that time in El Paso
With the gang

Or hear more
The worst thing she’d
Ever done
Because she wouldn’t
Tell me

No more about
Her stalker
Or her robotics
Or those friends
Of hers

No more

Just kinda weird
To think about it,
Don’t you think?

So much and so fast
And then no more

You never think about it
Until you think about it

Then all the no mores
Hit you like
A flood of wine

One day

And the scar
Tears a little more
Forming a small canyon

Years old bloodletting
Opening again


Just a thought and then
A rift in that spot
Of the heart that was
Once so fond

And then there is
At once no more
As again it scars

I will know no more