Tapped in.

The future.
Looking at it has re-awakened in me something I thought dead long ago.
The past.
It's re-imagining itself through the present.

You can't help life. It'll happen with you, never without you.

Nike.

Strangeness...

All of my friends are graduating, and I sit with people from '08.

Two friends have kids, one is getting married, others are still pairing up and splitting off with each coming day. Some are moving to California or the Cape for love, others are running from something at home.

Friends get careers, exotic jobs in far away places with impressive and alluring pay rates, and I sit in two failing businesses with rent to pay and three shifts a week. Jobs that aren't mentally stimulating, challenging, or allowing me to use my creativity at all.

I'm witnessing Classism take its root. In ten years the workers and the parents will be taking care of their personal lives, the busy bees will work their exotic jobs in locales that are impossible for a foreign tongue to pronounce, and there I'll be, sitting in with the young crowd.

I thought I'd grown up, I thought I'd be able to escape. But you win, Rhode Island, you win.

[EXIT]

Having run my course more heavily than ever before, I can see now the way things change.

New people are made, or not, as the old depart this earth, and they are left with the burden of the previous generation's mistakes on their backs.

Start pushing...

Static Shocks.

The world outside my window seems to change more relative to everything else. I see the grass grow and the leaves fall in a neat little arrangement underneath the shadows where the clothesline would have cast a shadow some time ago. The birds come and go from the feeder, never the same ones, and the woodchucks continue to ruin the tomato crop. Some of the lawn dressings dance in the moonlight and find themselves opposite their old locale. But this is only because the backyard is secluded and private. If anything's put there, it's because I put it there.

In the broader view of the world, the opposite is true, for most areas are not so secluded and private, and some are trafficked quite constantly by many a commuter. They are strewn with litter from inconsiderate pedestrians, broken bottles from our street prophets, and useless propaganda put up by the corporations and businesses of the modern world to convince YOU that you're not good enough as you are and that their product is the only true way to happiness. Consumerism really is the predominant religion of the 21st Century.

But even though the trash is different, the mess is constant. Day-by-day I find myself awaking to the same alarm, commuting along the same road to the same job to sell the same damn dishes over and over. But in two weeks this comfortable, albeit frustrating, little cycle will shatter.

Self-actualization is proving to be more difficult to achieve than originally assumed. Proceed with caution, ask no questions, take no prisoners.

Mismatch.

I know now tonight that you'll probably never call back,
And after you leave this place my face is nothing more
than a distant memory left to sands of abandoned beaches and swell tides
that never break more than three feet over the rock.

And I'm certain that after this break after whatever's been done
that my voice sounds hollow in the distant wake
of the waves crashing on a silent night in paradise,
Along the shore without disturbance or discomfort.

I don't care if you can't retell that perfect story
or whatever small nuance of social comfort you find,
But I'm here, and you're hear, and we make not a sound
lest I lose my composure and you let lights die in the fog.

You'll be a blur by the time I repent and think back to the days where this meant something,
Like a burning photograph spraying vapors across a dead world.
Like I didn't think you had the bite within you too,
But you wouldn't dare to catch my glance on the right night we both got called off.
Here's the end; I wish life didn't involve so many little, complex circles and I wish I could have my cabin where I wrote for the love of it and I never had a care in the world, but life doesn't work that way sweetheart. So wherever you are, and whyever you can't pick up the phone, I just can't deliver my dreams on a platter. Nor yours, so grab a rope and start helping me pull this weight, time will only be our enemy here.

Treadmill - 3

My sleep in the night was bitter and unfulfilling, when I awoke it was not by choice but by force. The light shining into the room seemed to burn through my eyelids and coerced my body to awaken. I felt the labors of my day weigh down upon me even before they had begun. The situation was dire, I needed to establish personal residence, try and secure some of my belongings from the storage space I had dumped it all in back home in the city. I took stock of my briefcase and other small belongings before eventually preparing to leave. That is, if the door was ever going to open. For all I knew I was dead in here. The windows were out of reach, and I've never been one for heights. Especially heights on twenty year old high rises.

Before long, the old man returned and started snooping around the building before quickly turning to me and ordering me into the car. I was ready to leave, but I sensed that something was amiss. I checked my pockets twice, and I was sure I had everything, but couldn't shake the feeling that I had left something behind.

The old man was very insistent on leaving. Being without transport in a foreign place I agreed to leave before I got to the bottom of my crisis. I knew I had left something there, but the most important thing in my life right now is my briefcase. Passport, License, unspeakable amounts of money, what more does a man really need?

The open road. There's nothing quite like it. This time the old man seemed to be more jovial and friendly. Perhaps he'd been left at some unfamiliar juncture at one point and knew what I was going through. "I'm not about to go prying into your personal life here, friend," he said lightly whilst fiddling about the radio, "but you're here for one reason or another. You obviously need some place to stay. You want me to drop you off at a motel or something? Closest inn is up a few miles, 'course you'd need to be going east to really find any big civilization."

"No," I said quietly, "a motel will do me good. I can't just up and go like I've been doing, I need a plan."

And with that, we rode on.

Benny and me.

Benny is my new furry friend. I met him two days ago while I was sitting around at home. He came back to the deck and started munching on some stranded blades of grass and prancing around rather slowly, as a bridge that extends itself one way and retracts back onto itself.

Slowly slinking 'cross the green garden grove Benny seemed to gaze upon some poor morsels growing out the ground. In seconds they were no more. Sitting on my workbench, I took a moment to observe his more peculiar maneuvers. Benny never met my gaze that first time, and ran beyond the hedges before I could interact with him.

Today, as I stopped my day to indulge in some literature, Benny came from beyond the brush whence he had left. Sensing his apprehension at seeing the large bipod towering over his bunny-ridden existence, I fled to the kitchen and procured some lettuce from the crisper before returning onto the porch and watching the yard. When Benny had retreated from the deck and onto the lawn once more, I quietly snuck out onto the deck and started scattering the lettuce leaves upon the ground. Halfway through I opened my book and began reading again, still keeping one eye on Benny for some kind of recognition or interaction. His pace was slow, like a cautious tightrope walker, but eventually he had finished what I had left on the ground.

For the next several minutes we sat in silence. I lit a cigarette and started to open communication to Benny. First I gave him my name, then his, and started playing with sounds. I whistled every time that I threw him another shred of lettuce, and I think I may have developed a way to summon his presence in my yard. Eventually, Benny left to go do rabbit things and I saw him make his way towards a thatch where I think he makes his home. Tomorrow I'll go and repeat my experiment and see if he'll give me some company again. Maybe one day he'll invite me over and we can do some rabbit things, so I can learn a new way of life.

Treadmill - 2

There was no answer on the other end of the line. At first I thought I had made a mistake, and flipped again through the phone book to the 'E' section. I tried everything I could think of. C Enfield. Charles Enfield. C & M Enfield. Each and every one out of service or a wrong number.

It was here that I started to have doubts about coming down South so quickly. I don't know if I ran away from the city because I can't stand seeing Laura's car any more, or if I really needed a change of scenery, but the fact is that I'm gone. I have a few million dollars to my name and absolutely nothing to do with it.

This could get ugly. I've never been good at handling money.

Another twenty minutes and I was on the road again, apparently heading towards town, or should I say, "town". There aren't many street signs down here, just plenty of open air and pavement. As I was walking down the road an older man in a beat up Chevy was nice enough to stop for me. All I could tell you about him was that his name was Brian and he'd lived in the area longer than I've been alive. I guess this Southern hospitality I'd heard so much about wasn't a myth at all, but it was too soon for me to be drawing such rash conclusions as to who I could trust. Just a few weeks before I read about this house in Tennessee that was raided; they found fourteen corpses buried behind this beat up old shed without fingers or teeth.

He was mostly silent for the ride, I take it that I wasn't the first stranger that he'd picked up on the side of the road. He must have had his apprehensions concerning my character as well. After all, I sounded like an outsider and I didn't know where I was going, but he promised to drop me off at a place to sleep for the night. I wasn't sure if he was going to bring me to his place or drop me off outside of some ratty motel, but I figured that I'm better off with a local than on my own.

To my surprise, my destination was nothing like I'd expected. We drove past a large group of barbed wire fences, through some industrial blocks, until we finally stopped at what looked like a long-abandoned building. My expectations walking in were bleak at best. I expected to see a group huddled around a flaming trash can, or a pack of rats three inches high, or at the very best an old manufacturing plant that looked like it could fall over at any second. But despite the rugged and disheveled exterior of the building, it seemed structurally sound when I walked inside.

The rafters seemed quiet, but it was still light out and there's no telling what sort of owl called this place home. Slowly lowering my gaze to eye-level I saw old elevator systems, heightened platforms and miscellaneous equipment that served God knows what purpose. Along the far wall there were some cots, and what looked like a bathroom area. It was here that the old man really opened up.

"Twenty years ago I used to manage this plant, you know." He said in a rustled tone, gazing around as if he was picturing the way things used to be back then. "We were a pretty successful tool making company, serviced all the department stores in the tri-county area for a while there. But those days are long gone." He motioned towards the cots and started babbling about how many workers would stay here at night and lots of other information I wasn't concerned with. I tried to be polite but I just couldn't listen to him go on any more. I needed sleep, I needed food, and I needed a plan. I had slept on the bus but this trip was seeming more and more stressful the more I thought about it. After a few minutes I guess he could tell I wasn't listening because he struck some metal on the ground and caused a racket.

"Now you can stay here a couple of days son," he started, "but there are some rules. First off, don't let nobody know you're here, this place hasn't been up to code for a while. Don't be using any of the equipment we got in the store room either, that stuff's dangerous you hear?" I nodded my head, wondering how long I'd have to keep these rules in mind for. "Now I can come pick you up tomorrow at 9 AM sharp to bring you somewhere else, get you some food, maybe even a job and you can start looking for somewhere real to live."

He turned to face the door and began a slow limp out of the factory. "One last thing," he turned to say, "whether or not you like this place or not you can't come back here much longer. This is a quick fix for now, I want you to forget about this factory after you leave tomorrow, you hear?"

Again I nodded, thankful that I would have some private time to set my priorities and establish a plan of action. "I'm lockin' you in here for the night," Brian shouted from the outside, "you don't wanna see what's out here after the sun goes down, and you sure as shit don't wanna be anywhere near it." Before I could raise my voice to protest, the door was shut and I heard the heavy latch come down from the other side.

The only thing that got me through that night were the words of good old FDR: "We have nothing to fear but fear itself", but I could only repeat the words, believing them would take a man made of steel.

Treadmill Prose on a Broken Belt - 1

Correspondence between James Connelly and Charles Enfield, Professor Emeritus of Sociology at UNC - Chapel Hill. Beginning February 16th, 1989:

Dear Charles,

It's been some time since we last talked. If memory serves me right it was the 10th reunion of our college graduating class. Back then you were still working for the grad school and I was just starting in the construction business. A lot's changed since then, and you're the only person I could think to come to with what faces me now.

I've grown sick of this concrete jungle. True, the city has expanded since my company first started work in the mid-70's, but I've seen everything natural that I loved about this place die off for my own goals of personal wealth. There was a time when I could walk down the street from my apartment and see rows of trees and hear the soft resonance of crickets and wildlife while I enjoyed the warm air. But today those trees are telephone poles, and the sounds of automobiles drowns out the natural beauty that I once held so sacred.

I meant to make this a better place to live, and now look at the slum it has become.

I need to escape, the city has finally taken its toll on me. There are too many people coming and going, like drones running circles above and below the ground. None of them interact or act outwardly, but they instead prefer to be left alone and work like machines for whatever drives them.

As a student of the human mind and our behavior, can you please give me some guidance? I seek a small town where I can find solace and peace of mind, a place that has not yet been corrupted by the constructs of man, a place where I won't have constant reminders of what I have ruined.

Sincerely,
J. Connelly

___

March 4th, 1989

Dear James,

I was surprised to return from my vacation to find a letter from you waiting in my mailbox, and I am sorry to say that old friends take a back seat to bills and the dreaded in-laws. I've been pondering your plight and I feel that the South might treat you right. When it strikes you proper, come and spend a weekend with Lucy and I. We could find you a nice place outside of Raleigh; it's a bit of a metropolitan area but you'd be surprised how often we take the city for granted. Twenty miles west of the city limits there's plenty of real estate waiting to get scooped up, and I doubt that the place will turn into another industrial area so close to an established city. There are lush fields, thick forests, old houses and architecture, a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of your life.

The only reason I suggest relocation is because your letter made it sound like you were desperate for a change. I don't know what you could do for money, unless you wanted to start up another construction company, but somehow that doesn't seem like it's up your alley any more.

This is a big decision. If I were you I would talk it over with my wife before I did anything drastic. They don't really appreciate upping and leaving without the proper consultation, as they are delicate creatures.

Hope to hear from you soon and wishing you the best,
Charles

___

March 11th, 1989

Charles,
I sold the company. I terminated my lease. I sold off most of my personal property save a few heirlooms and important personal resources. There's enough in my pocket for me to live comfortably for a few years and establish residency. I'm taking a Greyhound down to Raleigh in the morning, I can only hope that my letter reaches you before I do.

There's nothing for me here any more. Laura left me a year into our engagement, I have no children and now I am without a place to live, an occupation, and meaningless belongings to distract me from my existential crisis.

I'll look you up once I arrive.
- James.

___

I stepped off of the bus with my rucksack slung over my shoulder and a pocket full of hopes. Finding myself in unfamiliar territory I immediately began to take note of my surroundings. Here and there were interspersed shops and villas. The architect in me couldn't help but note that the zoning of this area was especially abnormal, as if nobody had planned for high volumes of traffic. The roads weren't organized in grids for easy navigation and some of the streets lacked signs telling you where they went. Although this place was foreign to my senses, I had no fear, but instead I thought I had finally found a place I could call home. This place didn't need neon signs and skyscrapers, it just needed some getting used to.

Not knowing where to go I started following the sun. By my estimations, it would set in a matter of a few hours and I needed to secure a place to stay, no matter how temporary. After walking what would have been five or six blocks I spotted a set of phone booths on the side of the road.

"Well," I said to nobody, "let's give old Chuck a call and see what he can do."

Impulse.

Every once in a while I get a rush
And let myself imagine a world such as this.
A world that bends to my will,
Bows at my command, is mine to crush.
But every once in a greater while
I fall in, forget where I am, who I am
And let it take over.
Lie in bed all day, just trying to get back,
Back into that dream
But it's harder than it seems.

The only remedy I see for me
Is to conquer this world that I live in
Slash and burn it,
Burn it to the ground,
And restart on my own.

So my world starts anew here,
From the ashes rises a single flower,
And I'll sit here and admire it for a while
It's a simpler way to pass my hours.
And when the flower sees nothing else on the horizon
Maybe she'll look my way too.

Until then, I guess I just have to wait.