Another day goes by
A week, a month, then a season
They always say time flies
But they never tell us the reason
I’m writing a letter to Time
Asking why I should believe him
When he says “Child of mine,
I swear your youth is never leaving”
Only ten days remain
Until my teenage years are over
By now, my mind has been trained
To count the petals on my clovers
And see wonder in the rain
Not just the beauty that’s leftover
I was drunk on guilt and pain
But I think I’m finally sober
Because I see my past and future with astounding clarity
I mapped out my next five years, I won’t let purpose be a rarity
Reconnecting with my passions, so my inner flame burns daily
Sailing a boat of my ambitions, confident that it won’t fail me
In this age of forward thinking, our hindsight we’re sure to lose
So I’ve been delving through history, tapping into my Nordic roots
Finding our minds, bodies, and stories are all shaped by Time’s passage
We grow with each rose that blooms and every wave that crashes
But not all can be romanticized
Not everything’s idealistic
Over half my life I’ve fantasized
Now is it time to be realistic?
Each day I look more like my father
And act more like my mom
With all the wisdom that I’ve gathered
Can my youth really be gone?
With all the moments I’ve collected
I feel rich in Time’s currency
With all the thoughts I’ve dissected
To stop my mind from hurting me
I feel seasoned, I feel weathered
By my newly formed maturity
Yet I remain partially tethered
To my inner child’s purity
Time, why are we molded by curses and blessings from youth?
Why do we spend our fleeting days seeking impossible truths?
How do we know when the time for which we strive has arrived?
And how can we fully acknowledge the privilege of being alive?
If I am the man my younger self always dreamed I’d become
Then why do I feel as though my story arc has barely begun?
And why the hell is each year so much shorter than the last?
Plans become moments, moments become memories of the past
And is there a reason for death?
When a soul departs, do flowers grow by the grave that’s left?
Do you mend the wound of a heart tumbling out of a chest?
’Til I know, I cannot rest
And what is the purpose of loss?
To love a living being, why must you assign a cost?
Why can’t you grant every wish tied to these coins we toss?
Am I not meant to have these thoughts?
Why do we feel such stress?
The weight we carry on our backs is needlessly immense
Why must we feel the world depends on our success?
The truth is so much less
What’s the point of wars fought?
The heavy heads, calloused hands, and ink blots?
We all run from nothingness until we get caught
Is meaning just a facade?
Perhaps the flipping of calendar pages amounts to very little
Maybe the answers we seek are part of an unsolvable riddle
But dwindling years, faces soaked in tears, and blissful cheers
Bring us something more sincere than a purpose that’s clear
Time, you give us well-earned love and powerful connections
You give us revelations on life’s wondrous imperfections
You grant us growth and a place in the cycles of existence
We plead for you to stand still, but require your resistance
There are lessons rolled in rainclouds
And truths in scathing summers
As these holidays all fall away
Hopes for stagnation sink under
We are free-falling through open skies
With no parachute instructions
In these frighteningly brief lives
We must make our own deductions
But there lies the secret, I suppose
Everyone speaks it, yet no one knows
How to live without bounds and baggage
And make it through each daunting passage
Accept that some moments will be lost
Vows will break, lines will be crossed
Despite efforts from young and old
Time, you can’t be tamed or controlled
Seven books you read to me, over countless weary nights
I drifted into dreams listening by orange lamplight
Stories of great ogres, trolls, dragons, fairies, and elves
We were gifted from my grandmother’s wooden bookshelves
She passed along words of wonder for us to explore
We sought a bedtime story, yet we found something more
Tales that spoke truths about our most unusual lives
And chapters that allowed my imagination to thrive
To this day, I return to those pages for inspiration
When I embark on my own quests of worldly creation
It is a delight to dive into a rich fictional history
And wander the wild lands of witchcraft and wizardry
These days, I so scarcely write strictly as a fan
But I so deeply appreciate these books on my nightstand
Somehow magic wands, dark lords, and forbidden forests
Have formed real bonds and friendships, the very purest
Though it is rare for a writer to achieve such reach
Before my life ends, a unique tale I hope to unleash
One that resonates with children and old souls as well
It is a story with a glowing core of truth I hope to tell
A story that transcends generations and cultures
Reigniting childhood for those living through adulthood
An adventure weaving together events both lovely and tragic
I want to thank these seven books for granting me the gift of magic
Not only have we been climbing this hill
We’ve been pushing bone-crushing stones to the top
Sometimes we make progress, other times we stand still
And on occasion, we feel the pressure to stop
But there’s a chorus of voices cheering us from all sides
And new forces have joined us to carry the weight
Yet perhaps it’s a ruse, are they just loyal online?
Because if so, not much has changed in our fate
These are feelings I’ve heard have been felt by minorities
Living in this land built on overt oppression
In the face of danger, they’re expected to stay orderly
But you’ll never hear the government give that confession
I am a white man living in America
I possess the privilege to discard these thoughts
I could spend my life pretending racism is hysteria
But the people directly impacted cannot
I could live a life of deliberate ignorance
Never recognizing my skin tone is beneficial
Because being caucasian somehow makes a difference
To employers and law enforcement officials
So thank you to the past and present activists
Who frequently remind me to combat the violence
That includes every protestor, not just the pacifists
Because actions are needed when words are silenced
There will likely never be a flawless President
But the last one set quite a dangerous precedent
I saw January 6th unfold live on the internet
A full year has passed, punishment hasn’t been given yet
If anything vital came from those four years
It would be the exposure of our corrupt system
The most concealed faults were made crystal clear
And it became known which citizens remain victims
The nation is unfinished may be an understatement
Because united is in the word nation’s definition
How can we be a country when our disunion is so blatant?
We require foundational rebuilding and revision
We’ve been climbing this hill for countless sunsets
But it turns out the hill was an entire mountain range
When the finish seems near, we find the journey isn’t done yet
But it must be worth the trek if the destination is change
Some Americans claim to be guilt-free and virtuous
Saying how can I be racist, I’m completely color-blind
But ignoring past injustice is ignorance, not perfectness
So all you’re really doing is turning a blind eye
One of the greatest deterrents to improvement
Is deceiving one’s self into thinking all is well
And lately in this country, I’ve witnessed a movement
To claim our nation is a Heaven, and silence those who feel it’s Hell
Derek Chauvin was imprisoned for murdering George Floyd
He knelt on a man’s neck for nearly ten minutes
Yet when he received his sentence, there was massive shock and joy
That a cop was held accountable for crimes he committed
White Americans, this offended defensiveness must halt
I assure you, we are not the ones under attack
It’s easy to say our generation is not at fault
But addressing our race’s wrongs is the only ask
We live in the shade, leaps and bounds from the light
We’re at the base of the mountain, our climb has just begun
Let’s applaud our remarkable progress and might
But we must continue climbing until we reach the sun
Combining my passions for film, photography, editing, poetry/story writing, voiceover, travel, and daydreaming into one series! This video is the culmination of many days spent brainstorming new ways to document moments in a beautiful and imaginative way that would fulfill me as an artist while also bringing something new and meaningful to my audience.
We don’t know how, in this merciless void
Through all that’s been created and destroyed
The needed ingredients and conditions insist
On existing, allowing human life to persist
If Earth moved too far forward or backward
We’d be frozen over or scorched by the sun
It’s a miracle we were given just the right factors
To build all we’ve built and do all that’s been done
Several seasons ago, in a suburb in the states
There lived a gentleman named Trent Coulter Gates
From the outside of his home, he appeared quite well
But he was enduring a most miserable spell
Just a few weeks before, he had lost his dear wife
Charlotte Gates was his best friend and partner in life
Trent spent his days alone, unsure how to grieve
Until he decided it would be best to leave
I am as old as I’ve ever been
But I’ll never be this young again
My teenage years will reach an end
As infamous adulthood begins
But I refuse to conform to the
World’s demands to be ordinary
Ever since I swam in the Nordic Sea
I’ve understood there’s more to see
Many ages ago, in a distant land without snow
A humid seaside nation where traders would go
Seeking pearls for their wives, mothers, and daughters
Or weapons and tools for their trips on the water
There reigned a powerful bronze-skinned King
Draped in gold-plated robes and royal rings
He ruled over his citizens with true compassion
Yet his conquering style was quite old-fashioned
I’ve driven and trekked across the nation
In several cities, I’ve set up station
I’m so impressed by Mother Earth’s creations
and humankind’s boundless imagination
I’ve wandered the Windy City at night
and in New York skies, I’ve seen the sunlight
To swim beneath cliffs, I had to fight
You said this world was wide, and you were right
What do we leave behind?
A question not often asked in this modern daily grind
Is now the best time to be a creator, or the worst?
It feels like a race to reach a massive fanbase first
We move with urgency to obtain this human currency
Somehow we all converge in our attempts at divergency
In this digital landscape, we all bleed together
Making throw-away content that will live forever
Every word I’ve spoken
Has been an attempt
To let you know I’m broken
I am not exempt
From the tumultuous highs
And lows of our being
Much more always lies
Beneath what you’re seeing
Love is a choice, not just a feeling, Hollywood told us a lie
That once we meet the perfect person, we’re guaranteed joy for life
But even if I met somebody who was, in all the right ways, like me
Contentment has to be far more than just similarities
Contentment has to be more than just a few things in common
Of course there should be alignment, and yes, joy should come often
But I don’t know two people on Earth who constantly see eye to eye
So I get a strange feeling that all perfect couples are draped in disguise
I have existed for nineteen years
I’ll be twenty soon
I checked, and the average human
lives to seventy-two
Assuming that age for me is true,
I have already done a fourth
of everything I will ever do
Someone once said a poet
always has thoughts of death encroaching
And whether or not we know it
that raven is always approaching
This short story, featuring a young boy named Carlos and an ancient skeleton named Zokulus, was written last October during my stay in Milwaukee. It takes inspiration from my surroundings at the time, and my Halloween spirit (which truthfully lasts year-round.) May you be transported to another world as you give it a listen!
After climbing the perilous green crystal mountain, a weary traveler discovers a greatly sought-after elixir, which will supposedly grant him an epic mythic power… But drinking the magic fluid does not have the intended effect. Enjoy this immersive reading of a short fable.
A janitor visits an office building after-hours to do his usual rounds of cleaning… but of course, something is off. This horror story is short and to the point, and there’s a mystery left for your imagination to solve after listening. Enjoy the production and let me know your thoughts!
Do you believe it’s necessary and/or healthy for the average American to have a 4k camera in their pocket at all times? Does it alter our psyche to constantly be thinking about documenting life in pristine quality for the sake of sharing with others? This is a powerful (and in many ways, awesome) change to our technological culture. But will it have unintended effects?
Can you decipher the hidden meaning of this short story? Hint… the two kingdoms are not literal kingdoms. Let me know your theories, and enjoy this immersive short story reading!
We will never see ourselves outside of reflections and photographs. We are forever confined to the perspective of our own two eyes, and therefore we cannot see ourselves from the side, from behind, from afar, or from any angle besides THIS one. It’s fascinating that the ONLY thing in the world a person cannot see is themselves. Perhaps this is by design.