Waxing, waning, wandering… waiting. Those four “double-you’s” best describe the last few months for yours truly. Like a piece of play-dough, I have been kneaded, stretched, smashed together and rolled into a ball. All within the confines of my mind.

I have let my mind wander while my body has become stretched to points that could never be mistaken as thin. Sitting, thinking… mentally wasting away while I grow in ways that aren’t cohesive to my wardrobes limitations.

I have always been an introvert, but like most things I do, I believe I may have taken it to an extreme. Chalk it up to anxiety, laziness, what have you… It’s happened. It’s as if my favorite of all punctuations has firmly placed itself into my daily routine… I am eternally ellipses, stuck between this and that.

I keep waiting for something to change, all the while knowing I have to manifest the change within myself. I am stuck on this intellectual carousel. I go around and around, climbing and crashing, all while seated upon this Trojan horse.

Dust piles into the corners and crevices of the vacant convenience store… bursts/gusts of wind ushering each particle to it’s appropriate place. The lights that aren’t broken; burnt out, or missing… flicker as they begin to host lumens no more. Desolate doesn’t describe it.

The early morning air is rank, putrid odors seem to outnumber living beings. Yet it’s all strangely comforting and familiar, this is how I’ve grown to know Buffalo… I can’t remember it any other way honestly. There are vague snippets of “memories” (if you can even call them that) but I don’t trust my mind these days (or anyone’s for that matter).

Life before the outbreak is told to children as a mythical story while they’re put to bed at daybreak. It’s a fairytale told around refugee camps, and written on the walls of abandon buildings. A forgotten piece of humanity and our history. Remnants of past lives have long since been abandoned in culverts and back alleys. Once prized possessions are now merely an inconvenience, unless of course yours happens to be a Bushmaster AR-15 Carbine… like yours truly here. There’s something to be said about the simplicity and effectiveness of the .223 round if you ask me… it’s a shame nobody has in well…hmm…longer than I can remember it seems. Perhaps today I’ll find another living person, not going to give my hopes up though, pays to be a realist these days.

The sun’s coming up now, that’s my cue to try and get some shut eye. One thing we’ve learned since the outbreak is that it’s extremely dangerous to sleep at night, as that’s when they’re most active. So those of us who have a will to live usually rest and eat during the day. I’ve discovered that early morning, and mid afternoon are the safest times to be vulnerable. I think the sun has a debilitating effect on them, just not sure in what capacity or to what extent.

Stretching out, curling up beneath my sleeping bag, I take one last look around as I hug my beloved rifle in an almost futile attempt at rest… Only to struggle through what is sure to be another grueling dismal day, or night if you will.

…to be continued

ugh this was a draft that somehow got published… sorry

Well I know those aren’t the lyrics, but I still can’t help but feel that way. I woke up in the middle of the night, and was in quite a horrible mood. Troubleshot my way through connectivity issues with my ISP, lost and found files I was looking for on my HD. I accidentally deleted some files that I was trying to move… All in all it was a shakey start to a rough morning to say the least. Things seem to have come around in full swing though. Enjoying coffee as black and thick as an axle on a two-ton truck. (this coffee could no doubt grease said axle, fairly certain this is borderline sludge)

I had almost given up on the day, when in fact… the day is merely starting.

Here’s to today friends.

Found this on the free book cart a few winters ago. Going to peel back it’s pages and get to the bottom of Fiction and the Unconscious.

I’ve been thinking about the human condition recently. More specifically, how one’s immediate surroundings can influence certain aspects of their existence. The Harvest Moon’s passed. Months of hard-work and preparation has paid off for many, but for others… their work is about to start. I don’t believe it coincidence that after the Harvest Moon has passed, it’s diligently replaced by the Hunter’s Moon. The full Moon we are currently looking forward to.

One thing I’ve noticed within myself, is what appears to be an inherent primal state… a clearly predatory one. Some might describe it as bloodthirsty, but I myself, would not be so dramatic with labels. One symptom or trait that quickly comes to mind, is what I’d describe simply as “acute awareness”. Heightened senses. Think of a dog, who has just spotted a rabbit in his backyard. Ear’s perked, posture straight… purely offensive, absolute attention on the bunny. I found myself in such a situation with a similar fluffy animal just last night. He was helping himself to a midnight snack upon my lawn…well of my lawn actually. My initial reaction was “I should go get Jacque” (my dog who’s probably the worst rodent hunter of his species)… but then something clicked.

I stood tall and still. My eyes fixated on the rabbit, ears listening to the leaves rustle in the wind. The rabbit oblivious to my presence, or simply not caring I was there, sat and chewed grass with out a care in the world. My brain started reeling. First I thought about how I should walk when the wind blows, allowing the least amount of sound with my steps. Next, I thought about how the rabbits eyes are fixed on the side of his head, and what his proposed line of sight was. (more importantly I recognized that this makes him a prey species, how appropriate)

I waited for the wind to blow and made my first few steps towards the rabbit. Shortening the distance between us to roughly 15 feet. Wanting to get closer I stepped towards him, perhaps, too quickly. His head popped up and his ears shot towards the night sky. I froze. Catching me mid step, I let my foot hang in the air, not wanting to have come this far in vain, only to scare him off I waited. The rabbits nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air, combining all his senses to determine it safe to snack. Having dampened his fear of death, Mr. Rabbit resumed his meal with no worries.

I timed my steps carefully, desperately wanting to avoid another stand-off with the rabbit. Especially since I was quickly bridging the cap between us. My pulse began to accelerate, anxious of the ever advancing kill. Scenarios were considered, should the rabbit bound, and which direction he would go, where he might have escape routes… or if he even knew said routes. Unfortunately for Mr. Rabbit, my backyard is completely fenced in, however, cyclone fencing is rather easy for any rodent to navigate through.

That being said, I felt confident that I had the upper-hand. I had the element of surprise, and according to all war movies of the 20th century… this was the best element to posses. I also knew the lay of the land. Size, was also on my side, but its cousin speed… well I was feeling much too like the tortoise in this instance.

I walked when the wind blew, froze when I was spotted. I carried on this instinctive game of red light green light for about ten minutes before finally seeing some success. The distance between my fury victim was narrowed to only four or five feet. I bent my knees slightly, wanting to be able to spring at any moment. My breaths became deep and shallow, putting the reigns on my nerves not wanting to succumb to fight or flight, but to harness the fight should this rabbit grow wings.

It was then that my rational mind broke through. Why did I want to kill this rabbit? I didn’t really, I mean I thought to myself… “Well you could eat it? or make a hat?” Well, I could have, but it wasn’t logical. I have plenty of food in the fridge and pantry, and realistically the amount of meat wouldn’t be worth the amount of work to prepare it. I would have burned more calories hunting, killing, cleaning, and preparing the rabbit, than the rabbit would provide. Calorically speaking, not worth it. That brings up the idea of the rabbit pelt providing a material for say, gloves or a hat. Rabbits, they’re not that big in case you have failed to notice. The average rabbit fur hat is probably comprised of three if not five or six rabbit pelts. So, I wouldn’t eat the rabbit, or wear it.

Trophy kill. The last logical reason to kill this poor defenseless rabbit, well aside from the “hey I’m a psycho and kill small animals” one. I’ve never seen a stuffed (taxidermy version, not plush) rabbit, by itself. Perhaps as a motif to accompany a bear, or a deer… or other large game. But never a single solitary stuffed rabbit on a wall. (I know what you’re thinking here… rabbit foot key chains, but no. I have no key-chain accessories, or the necesssary dyes).

Not finding one good reason why I should kill this cute bunny, I relaxed my posture, let a long drawn out sigh… and watched as Mr. Rabbit bounced away to the next neighbors yard, to sample another’s lawn. I thought “Nice, you just stalked a rabbit in the middle of the night… weirdo.”

Hunter’s Moon influence? Inherent predatory nature? Or perhaps just an exploit of my inner-child in the attempt to catch that ever elusive hare. You be the judge.

I value the company of all my friends, but for quite different reasons… naturally. I find myself currently sitting across from my closest and dearest friend Alex, yet it is not he who I am presently thinking (preoccupied with?) about. It’s not that Alex is boring, or unable to keep my attention, it’s quite the opposite actually. Just his very presence sends my mind reeling, comparing, contrasting… con…

The lush aroma of finely ground espresso beans penetrates my nostrils, bringing my consciousness back to the here and now. Back to reality. My vision focuses on the figure seated my opposite; as compassion pushes itself to the forefront of my psyche I begin to take in the words being offered to me. My mind rehashes the minutes of the conversation up until this point, as if a tiny little court reporter deep within the crevices of my pink wrinkled brain carefully jotted down all the critical points and supporting data. Lucidity and this conversation reacquaint themselves, allowing me to rejoin the conversation with confidence.

“I know what you mean Alex, I’ve yet to fully understand the finer inner workings of our female counterparts myself. Hell, find me a man who claims he has, and I’ll… well we need not worry about hypothesis’ in this instance because we all know; the secret of understanding women is less of a secret, and more of a cruel shrouded mystery…no, a fable. A complete work of fiction.” I say, bringing the unsophisticated paper cup to my lips, reveling in its contents. The creamy rich espresso finding its way past my mouth, straight to my heart.

“You always were a cynic Jeff.” Alex seems almost displeased about this, much like myself. Perhaps he’s embarrassed for labeling me so harshly… so harshly appropriate it is though. (that much is known to us both.) There is a tinge of resentment in the air, no doubt prompted by friends judging one another. Or maybe it’s the stifling environment and those that currently populate it. The direct cause is a moot point, at least for myself.

“A cynic? Really Alex?” Spoken more out of shame rather than disbelief. “I haven’t always been cynical, in fact…I’d argue the fact that I am rarely cynical, and more often than not that I posses a vigorous optimistic outlook on life.” The last few syllables have just but left my lips before my cheeks are pushed upwards and out, causing my grin to widen giving birth to a bellowing laugh that forces it’s way through my painstakingly (and in my opinion a well executed attempt at a…) straight face.

We share a hearty laugh, allowing the moment to linger far too long, both of us equally at fault. Once genuine, larger than life smiles are retracted. Familiar…choreographed…, the forced smirks of contempt reaffirm themselves as we both don our friend-friendly appearances.

Over at whiteys enjoying the night fireside. Jay says I need to write more, so yeah getting the ball started I guess.

Laying In bed thinking about life. I feel much too old these days, run down almost. I dread that my best days are behind me now, and that’s fucked. I’m not sure if this is what a midlife crisis is like or not… if it is; that doesn’t say much about my life expectancy.