Señores (Man Flower)

Today rose quite like any other: darkness before dawn. The forecast said and was confirmed as I hopped out onto the asphalt driveway – fog laid low to the earth where above was an open sky of stars against a deepening space. The air was wet – so when I rode, it coated my eye lashes.

As I blinked, cool drops of water washed my skin and gathered with the mist around my cheeks that streamed down my face. There was a quiet this Saturday morning when, on the east bank, no cars passed by or could be heard on either side and through the barrier of precipitation. Noise was muffled. I was speaking out loud, but hushed to savor the silence.

When civil light broke to an illuminated dawn, the sun came up afterwards. Through the layers of atmosphere, I saw a waterfall of orange light roll over the coverage of clouds that weakened as the day continued in stretch.

Throughout the morning, before noon, the sun got brighter as its globe was outlined against the cloth of white that broke way to pools of blue. By twelve, the day was in full glory and the temperature rose to a late fifties. By then until my shift was up (2:30), I wore just a short sleeve and threw water bottles to my cohorts.

The prize of all: I was favored two concept ideas to write screenplays for that I have gotten started on. This marks the end of a work week as I turn toward a new one where I will hear back about my position in produce or not, as well write, read, and discover the section of life ahead. Other than that, I'm still in love with my ex-girls.

Califlores (California Flowers)

At work, the sun had come degrees from rising when it illuminated black to a lighter dark blue. Then, I saw a sky full of gray clouds that stretched from west at the mountains to the eastern tree line. This section of morning until sunrise casts a dynamic spectacle of light that colors the atmosphere.

On this particular morning, I saw a sliver of radiant orange light stream from north to south above the tree line. Just above where the sun hinged it was fiery that stretched out to an Easter pink and danced blossoms into the fogged distance. As the minutes went by, the shades shifted as an active light show carried a flood of color like a purple blanket to the western clouds above the coastal foothills.

My coworker was at the pump, starting a transaction, and I called out to him: "Bonez!" I went around to where he was standing and pointed out west. Hanging in the sky was a reddened rainbow that streamed down from the sky against the violet colored background. He was breathless and so the morning rose. 

It didn't last. It never does. As soon that the sun rises, the entire sky becomes a shade of yellow that gleams shadows, harsh light, or a variant luminescence of overcast skies. By then, we are busy enough on the concrete pad of work to stay busy and pass time with the beauty of people and the spectrum in them. 

With great salutations, you amaze me. I am thankful for a new day that has come to a close as I prepare to post this and send off to slumber. The best part of today was being interviewed for the produce position at the Fred Meyer store in Corvallis that will prepare me for a position at a Kroger company for work in Hollywood, California. Yeah. I miss New Orleans.

Chase What You Kill

This morning, at five, I rode my bicycle in the wet air through farmland on the east bank of the Willamette River toward it. Throughout the ride, I coordinated my thoughts and arranged sentences that impressed me and was drenched in the open silence that washed me. Pebbles shot out from under the pressure of my tires as I rolled over asphalt past quivers in the brush from small animals. The ride from my home to the river is a mile and it ascends a bridge that crosses into the town of Corvallis. 

It never slept, but the river raged north in heavy currents that depend on the rainfall. Thank God, it's been a moderate winter without snow, much rain, and the temperature has stayed at an average of forty-five. With a job outside, the thanks given increases with the length of my shift. Other times, and is in most cases before work, I stay indoors to write, read (I'm reading Django Unchained – the screenplay), wake up, or wind down. I digress. The river is impressive. I look to it and talk: sometimes about how I miss seeing it in the morning sunrise opposed to the darkened outline with a glaze from the warm pools shed from dim streetlights around us.

If I start my descent from the bridge peak when the southbound streetlight below turns yellow, I can gain speed through five blocks to Fifth Street which I take a right on toward the bike path. By then, I am closer to Ninth Street (where my job is) and head north for its cross street location. At this hour, no one is on the path that winds through woods with me – just the occasional car that passes on the roadway nearby. Even then, I am left alone. 

My job starts hours before most others do and I am off work when people's after-lunch-crash comes on. I spend eight hours catering to hundreds of separate personalities that I need the strength of God to work through. Otherwise, I get aggressive about how people treat me with baggage they take from uncomfortable experiences they ever had with fuel attendants elsewhere. Here, I could be more meek, as the opportunity for God to move through me is profound when that light of Him in me shines,

Altogether, I wanted to practice writing and share about my daily routine. My shift ends when high school does and I am in bed by 6:30. I take that time in between to write (I'm writing a feature film right now), read, and wind down before bed. That's about it. I'm very passionate about cinema and zealous to improve my talent. Yesterday, I called a mentor from film school, and he asked if I was in Los Angeles yet. I want to be.   

Midnight Momentz Reinventing Love

At the four way intersection on a foot slope to a mountain range that touched territory of two states, I stood at the distance we have gone in either direction on many occasions, thinking to myself, "What will mean most to us?" Will the open air of a frosted morning in silence outweigh your drive to make noise in gleam headlights past open windows at midnight? 

In the gentle of December, we found a foothold on the roadside of asphalt without a shoulder, but found a place to keep on with the scattering of remainders leftover from cracks across the expanse of terrain down from a faraway peak. The ascent rose on the inside to conquer what I spent a lifetime laying groundwork for.

When you got on the bus, your first step from ground level peered down the double sided aisles that reached back to where your friends were. From the front seat, I noticed you. With the most hope of intention, I'd bring a cultivated passion for you to the classroom of our history lesson before lunch hour that same day. After school, it took months later, but you invited me over in a desolate time when on both sides your mind changed – or mine did. 

It took a year after, this rapid succession of adolescent motivation found desolation left isolated in the months leading up to meeting you. Without a hesitation, but sensation, I felt with eyes closed through troubled times to find you in waiting out the dark hallways of light that we'd hate further on – or I would.

From the pummel of gross rubble, the ground broke open in moments from nights left alone. With a display in a rotation through my left brain to right placement, I lay awake in wait of a second occasion. From the overlook of a crumbling ridge, I could see valleys carved open by broken hearts in ice castles, the wind gallops in passes from each direction until what matters breaks down and crackles.

Dedicated to Yesterday

From the low porch, I jumped off the steps and onto the concrete sidewalk where roots from trees exposed cracks and jagged slabs. Ahead of me, in a red windbreaker clothed tight around him, was my good friend – a young fellow raking leaves. 

The valley of Oregon in the winter sees deep fog or snow storms, short days and wet leaves fastened close to where they fell from. His arms dug the rake head against the thin grass and swept in long strokes to gather a thick line of the dark leaves. We met eyes while he stood up straight to shake away the full amount of leaves stuck in the rake's teeth – he did this often enough that it obtained a rhythm with the strokes and developed muscle memory from the afternoon.

It was sunset. The light of day had fallen west by southwest behind the coastal hills and illuminated an Easter colored sky spread out around the darkened silhouette of a building across the road. My good friend and I stood and spoke about our lives for some time. Dinner was soon and I planned to join with him there, so I headed away but stopped back when he asked about my book. 

"It is well," I embarked. "I plan to use it as fundraiser for my transition back to Hollywood. Otherwise, I plan to make it a movie before I release it as a book."

My honesty gave way to a crowded silence. My young fellow exclaimed the need of creators and our need as humans to learn and read, I respected him more at that moment. The conversation was done – I had taken away knowledge. With my farewell, I told him that I would make a new blog post because he inspired me, then came the token with excitement from this fellow's lips:    

"Quote me: 'Readers are leaders.'"

  

           Without him, I smiled and hopped along to the house where I hoped we would meet again. I so much hoped that it wasn't a concern of mine to see him, but apart of the plan. That night, I never saw him again, and I now hope the best that he come alive wherever he is. The sun set even more that night and gave way to starlight. The stars twinkled from their distance and look nice where they were.

The Crucifixion of 2014

"We dedicate 2015 to You God."

This post comes after I bound faith with a brother at my home on the east bank of a river that splits Oregon at its valley. The most of my past year was spent working my first full time job and writing a book about what God did with me when I was homeless in leading me into restoration with community. The reflection of that has been fruitful to invigorate my relationship I found with Him when no one else was around me in my travels. 

When there is a book to write for that long, as well loans from film school to pay back and the daily grind of life – this night we spent in prayer together was a place for me to mine for gems that supersede the circumstances of life. My brother spoke prophesy over my life that I could receive for the New Year and it was well with my soul to transition in this manner.

This New Year for me has the exercise with it of what characteristics God has spoken over me with self control. How I plan to demonstrate this is by trimming the fruit of my life that is not beneficial so to make room for the will of God to abound. If God is willing, come the end of summer, I will ride my bicycle to California with Marilyn for me to finish my associate degree in the science of film. 

Valley

“That’s what I wanted tonight,” the young man watches traffic stop as she crosses the street, “I wanted to lean over the boat and slit the rope from anything else besides this.”

She smiles to him with an open glance that he studies in all shades of light from the shops they pass that wash over her.

“There’s writing – where I have the pressure to improve, and work – where I have to perform, and even by myself – I become my own critic.” He looks with vigor toward her, “But this – this is dynamic.”

“I looked forward to this," she whispers, "but I felt bad because it’s right before I leave.”

“But that’s good – that’s exciting.”

In two days she’ll be on a flight back halfway across the country to live out semesters of her life that are left wide open to the will of God.

At her car, he hugs her with the grip of months since, and leaves a store for the months left until they see each other again. His hands fall to his waist side first, but hers tremble from their grasp to the material of his jacket.

“Is this locked?” He stretches around her for the door. It is.

He fades from the light of a nearby restaurant into the cold of a clear winter night.

In between them both was a passion to commence in a relationship they both had seen at arm’s length for the past year. Her move to study across the country put itself up against all reasonable hope and left them to live on the surface when together – with slivers of explosive light to slip from within them to acknowledge the other’s feeling.

When alone, the imagination of this relationship working out plays itself an exploratory plot line and holds them over where possibility may lay ahead or just be – for him – a scene to write about. That’s all it is for me.