Old Man Walt

You left
us
too quickly
old man,
quietly
disappearing
into the
wildness of
the
night,
leaving us
thirsty
and dry
to
the touch.
You
also didn’t
give
Mother Time
enough
motivation
to
stir
herself
into
the
right
direction,
fearful to
move
inside
those walls
I suppose.

Like
the
time you
said “Hold on,
I’ll be right back”,
I’m still
here
waiting
in a
shadow’s cast.
Like the
time you
whispered, “Let’s
take some time
for
this”, I’m
still
here chasing
our
paper trail.

You left
us too
quickly
old man, and
I’m jealous
in
knowing
you’re
just around
the
corner.

M.C. Davis

An Excerpt…

Chapter Two: The Smelling Type
Greyhound Diary

So, today I woke up in such a contorted state that my back felt more like an ankle tightly wrapped inside of a very tiny jar of nails. As the day lingered into the evening with about 35 passengers in tow, I felt the need to relax further but just as I made that dreadful decision, I was stricken by an abrupt jolt of a rank smell that one would only find buried deep in the bowels of two pigs sexing it up in a pit of their own crap.

“What’s that smell?”, my friend whispered to me with cautious eyes.
“I have no idea but I do know it doesn’t belong on this bus”, I whispered back.

We passed judgment like some old pros.

“Geez’us christ!”, someone whispered from the front of the bus but not in the normal whispering voice one would expect. A few packs of cigarettes a day took care of that ability years ago.

By this time, the smell was getting to be a little out of control. People were moving in their seats, others started moving their heads back and forth like they were in the middle of a 3-hour Baptist church preaching session. Finally, the smell came to the presence of the driver who took to the speakerphone quietly nestled between his steering wheel and the window–which he quickly opened.

“Now, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything”, the driver yelled through the speakerphone like an old crusty drill sergeant, “but whoever took to passing gas without going into the bathroom to do so will find themselves at the next bustop looking for another ride home.”

The driver, which up until this point, didn’t budge other than a few Greyhound notices of not smoking, drugging, or sexing on the bus. He spoke with a drawl that went beyond the South. He drew out syllables and made words with one syllable into incredible two or three layers of syllables. Listening to him made me think back to days where simple guttural grunts translated to paragraphs and essays of commands for food, water, or shelter.

When he finished speaking, and the laughter departed from our rolling tomb, most of the passengers felt at ease in knowing that the driver took to the situation with a fist and not an open hand. By this time, the smell was quietly leaving but not even 15 minutes later, the smell returned and it seemed as if it brought along its family members and a few side friends for color because it was fiercer, and more nuclear than its early introduction.

By the time we realized that the smell had reached the driver again, the bus was already pulling to the side of the road…

M.C. Davis

A Little Uncertainty Goes A Long Way

We all need to feel secure every now and then. Right?

In fact, the sheer magnitude of a secure safe feeling is almost erotic to the touch, where intimate flesh-toned layers let go of their grip so that clarity, peace, and a little bit of freedom is allowed to slip right into the warm sheets.

Jus’ sayin’.

The idea of a thing becoming certain is not only a beacon from which we can look into our perspective future, but a testament to the details in our lives that either propel us forward or carry us back to the crib screaming for our pacifiers. Certainty is no different than uncertanity because in essence, they both yield a comfort of sorts. Giving us a sense of being in control, having freedom, and making all the right decisions; whether they’re wrong from the onset.

Even the right wrong decisions feel incredibly right at times. Being certain of a thing is power unlimited. It’s power that gives us that noise we need in our lives to feel energetic and alive with our choices and feelings. So, make a wrong decision from being certain, it’ll give you the same rush from making a right decision from being uncertain.

It’s all in the recovery, and at the same time, it’s not in the recovery.

See, I’m just like anyone else but a little uncertainty has never given me the hebby gebby’s to actually act differently when I’m confronted with the possible failure of my decision. If anything, I’m empowered to act like the truest of heroes because that’s what heroes do.

They behave themselves even when failure’s afoot.

I’m learning to embrace those failed moments since they give way to the depth, field of view, and vivid color of learning from those failures.

M.C. Davis

A New Day

A
day isn’t
new
unless
we call
it
such, and
for one,
I’m
not in
the
mood
to
call this
day
new until
the
oldness
of the
newness
of
yesterday
lends
itself
so.

Jus’ sayin’.

M.C. Davis

I Have No Choice But To Wait

I’m
at a
crossroads
and
watchin’
you
dance in
between
my
words
ain’t
helpin’.
See,
we built
this
city
and we
may just
tear
it
down
like
wax does
to
honey bees,
but
you
ain’t
got to
worry
sweet
lips,
I’m
on my
way
to
sit back
and
watch
you
smile.

Just
like you
did when
we
first
saw
light of
each
other’s
path.

I have
no choice
but
to wait
for
you, even
if
the
days turn
themselves
back
to
minutes
of
confessions
we’re
so
not
used
to tellin’…

M.C. Davis

Uncertain About The Choice

Many years ago, I read an article about choices and how a choice is often viewed be a spiritual defining collective of other choices. With each choice, as with all of our thoughts that we form, there exists a type of cloud that we simply pick from; which–if I may be so bold to say–eliminates the notion that one thought is in itself an original thought.In fact, it gives slight credence to the notion that what I’ve typed even in this blog, is only borrowed from other experiences in conjunction with the article I read, and the layers and layers of factors that came to give birth to the article.

…and me.

In other words, is there’s ample room to say that nothing comes from nothing. An original thought or choice only happens at the behest of another choice that was made prior? And prior to that…and prior to that.

Perhaps the universe needed only a small reminder in how to see itself as God. Perhaps it was the universe’s choice to make Man in order for it to see it own self as Man. Nothing begats nothing right? Well, perhaps someone needed to make a choice to even create the nothing we’re speaking of.

I only know one thing: my choices, no matter the repercussions, feel damn good to make. Each time I make one–like the publishing on this blog–I’m joining the amazing club of other choice makers who also feel the need to join the collective in making that cloud just a little bit broader.

M.C. Davis

Thinking About The Times

When I was much younger, I thought of myself–like most kids my age–as invincible.

I mean, I was a superhero even as the street lights urged my skinny black ass back home to find food waiting, a woman who adored the hell out of me, and a room full of toys, gadgets, and other things that drew much jealousy from those “others” finding themselves in my room.

See, I think about those times often and without sounding like a walking Hallmark card, those were the “building blocks” of who I am today as a grown ass man. Those moments of sharing, finding space, and realizing the world didn’t revolve around me have finally found a home in my now thirsty-something year old soul.

Yeah, I meant thirsty.

I’ve also realized that those younger moments were not in vain or unfeeling to the touch. Everything mattered then, and everything matters now. So, I’m sticking to the present and tackling the past when it shows itself up with its tougue sticking far beyond the threshold. I’m staring at myself in the face and loving what I see. I’m running towards the finish line of an super-duper ultra-marathon and in a few moments,  I will run right into my own loving arms.

No worries, I’m still seeing more sitting still than chasing after this dream.

M.C. Davis