Some days I feel like things have become too serious and people have forgotten how to have fun. Some days I run myself tired pouring energy into the wrong subjects, others I don't put enough into the right. Some days I lack compassion and everyday, empathy. Some days I find myself on a path that leads nowhere but one that still has everything I need. Some days feel brand new like the plastic has just been removed. Everyday should feel brand new but sometimes I feel like I've seen this all before, with plastic over my eyes and mouth trying to breathe deep, I travel an extra mile or three to realize saints didn't have it easy, hurricanes come and go like smiles on playgrounds but on good days they come more than they go when everything isn't taken so seriously, I mean smiles not hurricanes but those come too and should be taken seriously. Some days I feel like everyone has become too worried, other days I think it's me. I correct myself about 45 times a day in order not to offend anybody. Everyday the flesh is weak but the mind is strong when it's self-regulated and not ruled by another mans thoughts, or woman, or affiliation, or energy, or vibe, etc. Some days I feel like we loose too much control to others, tying nooses around our necks for some that don't even know our names, what's the key to the madness that unlocks doors hidden inside? Some days the walls are built too high, and some days it sucks to climb. Some days I feel like I can feel the fire coming, in my mind we're in hell and most days I just want to inhale and not care. When did things become so serious and people forget how to have fun? Some days I think about that a lot, others I'm too busy smiling.
This is about you. Yes you, the dreamer, thinker, creative, artist, construction worker, security guard, teacher, author, you, out there working hard making forward progress towards your goal. This is a thank you to show appreciation to all of you out there. To the inspired and gifted, family and friends who support, to those that uplift without even knowing, to the Warriors, lightworkers, healers and the powerful. Thank you those injecting the universe with a positive energy that seems to escape the grasp of the unmindful at times. Thank you to those who don't believe in others too, for you give extra drive to the focused and dedicated, and to the rebels with a distain for authority that challenge status quo. Thank you to you all. To show our appreciation further, all digital prints in the LZY Shop will be free for two weeks.
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June 2nd 2000
Oh that shit is on?
Let me drop some shit like this here, real smooth
At night I can't sleep, I toss and turn
Candlesticks in the dark, visions of bodies being burned
Four walls just staring at a nigga
I'm paranoid, sleeping with my finger on the trigger
My mother's always stressin' I ain't living right
But I ain't goin' out without a fight
See, every time my eyes close
I start sweating and blood starts coming out my nose…”
(wipes blood from nose)
One day I will get past that part.
It’s been 17 years. No, no, that number is too small. It’s been 6thousand, 2hundred, 5 days. No! It’s 148thousand, 9hundred, 20 hours since, wait, wait, you still wouldn’t grasp the amount of time with that small of a number…
It’s been 536 million, 112 thousand seconds since sister sleep has danced through the cold, silent nights. She has avoided this temple like the deadly plague, or more like, this temple has avoided her as if she possessed the deadliest virus known to man. The routine never differs, not even a hint of deviation. Watch the sunrise, watch it set. In the same spot every day, his spot. If only it were still his to claim. Every bill collector has my numbers on speed dial, and my property considered the eyesore of the ever-luxurious gated community. That has always tickled me, due to the fact these people will never understand the true pain of sore eyes. The four-bedroom Victorian that use to be all the comfort I needed, hasn’t seen touched comfort in serval seasons. My parents drop in, ahhh whom to fool, they haven’t even sent a postcard in over a decade. Visits went from every day, to once a month, to once a year. My wife left with my best friend, and the boys are both away in college. Karen, my beautiful Karen. She’ll be fine! She has the looks, as well as the drive to get whatever she wants out of life, but my boys, my boys… life has really dealt up a mean mix for them, I pray for their strength all the time. The Lone Ranger in the flesh, that’s me. Clayton Moore wouldn’t be able to see me on his best day.
Yesterday a package arrived on my doorstep. Of all places, it was from this care group Karen helped fund a few years back. One of her many attempts to help ease my pain, so to say. Pain, a word that sounds just as foreign as the feeling does. My numbness has skyrocketed pass frost bite levels, as if I were the only crash survivor in the movie ‘Alive’. Nothing, and I mean nothing, in a place where one has access to almost everything, can take a fraction of whatever this is away. There was a name on the return address that I remember hearing, but I know nothing of the person. Kara Jones, Kara Jones. Inside were news clippings, clippings that dated back to childhood. The more exploring of the package, the more things became uneasy. The years on the news clippings are the same year that life claimed me as it’s sleepless toy. The same year my other me died, and left me lonely. The year sleep scared me to death, literally.
Ahh, the tape is playing again, I need to sit down…
“See, every time my eyes close
I start sweating and blood starts coming out my nose…”
Friday, 2nd of February 1983
A family of five was involved in a major accident Monday morning, after a father fell asleep behind the wheel of the vehicle.
The father, along with the mother of the family, 16-year-old twin daughter, and 9-year-old son were pronounced dead at the scene. The other twin daughter is in critical condition.
At approximately 6:48 a.m., a yellow VW Camper occupied by its driver, Gerry Grace, his wife, Silvia Grace, and their three children – two twin girls, age 16, and a 9-year-old boy – was northbound on I-95, Boston State Highway Patrol Sgt. Tedd Royal said.
The family was traveling through Essex County, when the driver apparently fell asleep, Highway Patrol officials said.
As the camper began drifting off the Interstate to the left and into the median, the driver awoke and overcorrected, Royal said, crossing back over the Interstate to the right into oncoming traffic. As the vehicle swerved, a freight truck struck the camper, causing the camper to roll at least four times.
Silvia Grace and her 9-year-old son were ejected as it rolled, Royal said. The camper then came to rest on its wheels, facing westbound on the Interstate.
The 16-year-old girl, suffered internal bleeding, was then transported by Life Flight medical helicopter to University Medical Center in Connecticut.
Highway Patrol officials said they believe Silva Grace and the 9-year-old boy were not wearing seat belts at the time of the crash and that the other three occupants appeared to have been seat belted.
This article shook me to the core. 1983, the same year my twin brother passed away in his sleep. We’d just turned 17. Tre had received a full ride to Stanford on the swim team. He could move like a shark in the water. It was the morning of graduation, Tre normally was the first person up out of everyone in the house. It was 7:30am, and he hadn’t bust in my room yet. I’d figured he was still tired from the swim meet a few days ago. When I opened his room door, a chill ran through my body. I called his name a few times, no answer. The minute I made a move for his covers, I could tell something wasn’t right. I blacked out after touching his face. The cops led an investigation that went on for 6 months. After they ruled me out as a suspect, things begin to change. The fear of not knowing what caused my brother’s death, is what has held me captive in this sleepless torment. I’ve tried everything from writing, to knitting, to spiritual cleansing's in search to get things in order. There is still something that isn’t being released, something that’s still sinking its claws deep down within me.
(Knock at Front Door)
“Hi I’m Kara, Kara Jones. I sent the package to you earlier this week. I reached out to you because I remember hearing your wife speak of what happened years ago. No way am I trying to pry, or force my way into your life or personal business. I just want to know; aren’t you sleepy?”
I stood in complete silence. It’s been 17 years since I’ve heard that question. She continued.
“The news clippings in the package, are of my family. My birth name is Kara Grace. I switched to Jones when my Aunt adopted me after the whole ordeal, to avoid reliving what happened over and over. Listen Trevor, it took me 8 years to finally close my eyes, take a deep breath and sleep. I want to share with you what helped me get a hold of things once again, my catharsis so to say.”
June 2nd, 2017
She went on to tell me about the feelings she felt after losing her twin, how she felt as though half of her was missing. I haven’t had a conversation with an actual person in a long time until Kara came along. We started to meet up three times a week, just to catch each other up on life, and its wonders.
Well, I get to watch both of my sons graduate tomorrow morning, and also ask Kara the big question. She has been my magic. Wish me luck!!
It’s been 17 years, since I’ve made peace with sleep.
From the dishwasher to the restaurant tycoon. Super rich in more ways than one, with the insight to nothing, but keys to everything...
As a child I understood the concept of having money, and the things that having money brought forward. Everyone wanted to befriend the kid with the fresh kicks every other month, the sharp line up, and latest gadgets. Whatever one wanted but couldn't acquire, they'd live the hype through the 'chosen one'. Ignorant to what pillaging took place, to drape all of that material on an innocent frame. A frame to fragile to hold the weight that would eventually pile on.
Years pass, and the 'chosen one' is out in the cold, with a rich understanding of where those materials came from in his younger years. Now his pillaging biopic commences. Shutoff from the potential possessed within, the need for the outside to comfort and massage the battered innocent child still trapped within, the lashing out is trifold.
Severing of all hope or thoughts of changing has seeped through generations on generations of DNA, with just enough kick to power well into the 23rd century.
When will the tape stop, and eject pressed.
One is never their past, nor choices. Persistently chase peace. The puzzle will assemble itself. From the 'chosen one', to the world healer. Everything is possible.
Over the past few years I've changed locations multiple times. Now on the eve of another move, I began to think about how each has elevated me creatively. Each city/state becomes a blank canvas, and the possibilities of what's to come is not only exciting, but endless.
When I turned 10 years old I finally got my own room. Being not only the youngest of three children, but most importantly the only boy, my own room was the greatest thing ever. My parents realized the interest I put into creating (I drew in class, church, at home, on the bus, on walls, on anything I could get my hands on). Eventually they allowed me to turn my room into a hub exclusively for my imagination. My mom actually let me paint a mural on the wall with left over house paint, and my dad also let me hang one of his paintings (which was extremely rare). Then I started hanging my own work. When the time came for us to move out of that house, I was crushed. I had recently turned 17, and losing the space I felt most comfortable in wasn't fun, not one bit. I felt as though I left a huge part of myself in that room. For years after the move I remained in a shell, and lost all desire to create. I needed a space I felt comfortable in to do what I loved to do, which was create. By 18 creating was on the back burner as I bounced from one location to the next, trying to find a place to settle and just live. Sports always came natural to me, so eventually I ended up playing football in college. Living with up to 12 other players at a time, in a three bedroom apartment, it was too easy to lose myself behind a mask. Times I felt the want to create, which were rare, I would attempt to travel back to that room where creating was second nature to me, but nothing ever happened. At 18, I couldn't see how being uncomfortable was valuable. 19 through 24 yielded the same thoughts, but I soon realized losing my comfortability was best creatively.
In that room, I was able to lock out anyone or anything I didn't agree with. The comfort I built up allowed me to escape, but also create a trap for myself. I loved what I was doing, but looking back I realize I created from what was around me, and from seeing the same stuff all I did was recreate the same things over and over. Losing that comfort zone forced me to lose a hold on the locational contentment I was fostering, and I found comfort within. The locational discomfort became inspiring, and the comfort within became my peace. Finding that peace opened my eyes to the opportunities a location has to offer instead of shunning it. Let's see whats to come...
Where do you feel most comfortable creating?
I found life on the other side of moon. I was whisked away from a life I vaguely remember at the age of eight. One of the only things I remember is my mother's voice as she would hold me up in front of the kitchen sink window as a baby singing, "this little light of mine...". The entire world belonged to us and only us then, and nothing can take those moments away from us. Besides those moments everything else is a figment of my imagination. I can't remember anything about who I was, my first name, last name, I don't even have an idea of what my parents faces even look like. False images made to feel true, who I am was put together in the unknown, and who I am is Tubi.
"If you never turned around would you always be prepared for the future or unaware of what's to come?", Master Tubi quietly whispered to his students. Only a class of three, these where the top warriors from around the land. They come to Master Tubi to learn from one of the greatest unknown masters. The story of Master Tubi is unknown because he has never reveled where he comes from. He rarely speaks of himself, always about what's to come. With a cloud of alluring mystery around him, everything about Tubi has become legendary myth. Many say he was a light that appeared from the dark on a quiet night in town. Some say he's the half son of an ancient warrior and a healing Goddess. Others believe that he was his parents blood sacrifice into the, "I Society", but every attempt to end his life at a young age failed and only after the third failed attempt Tubi escaped into the unknown.
I watched time pass sitting alone in caves drinking rain water. I fell in love with self over the years in the dark. I couldn't see much when I looked around but with deep breathes and closed eyes an open mind showed me another side of life. Meditation was all I had. It was everything I looked forward to. It helped me gain the power needed to survive in the unknown. I learned all I knew from the images displayed inside my mind; still aware of my surroundings, the unknown. So many things disappeared from mind during this time of my life. But I felt at home, alone in the dark, finding light.
"Master Tubi, why don't you ever tell us where you've come from?", a student asked. "Does where I've come from matter to where we're going? From the looks of it, I see no evidence of truth in that. What I see are minds concerned with the past and not enough with the future, but if you must know, I'm from the unknown.", Master Tubi responded. Each student let out a huge sigh as the answer from Tubi was once again what they've heard from him each time they've asked before hand. "If there is any fear that we wouldn't understand or accept your past Master Tubi, that is false", a student uttered with his head down. "My past isn't for you to understand or accept, once you realize that you'll realize that we are sitting here together today, for a reason. A reason bigger than the unknown where I've come from. A reason bigger than us both, but are you ready to let go of thoughts of the old to build a new?", Master Tubi ask his students.
A lost place of love is all I've known for years. I watched time pass alone in the trees as the winds whispered Mother Nature's secrets in my ear. I fell in love with her then and still in love with her now. She was all I knew, all I looked forward to. She was my everything, my life source. She lifted me when I felt too weak to walk. When food was low she fed me. This bond with you is one I can never let go of, Mother Nature.
Days passed as Master Tubi sat alone in his room in silence. He woke all of his students up one morning before the dark had completely rolled away and the light had taken its place. He sat up tall with his legs crossed and began to speak, "I can tell you more about where I am not from than where I'm from. The place where greed, lust, and sin meet and breed offspring to finish the destructive plans set for this world by their parent's parents. The place where dreams go to die and nightmares feed off the ash.", Master Tubi stood up and walked to the furthest window in his villa. He signaled to one of his students to bring him some tea. He sipped slow and gazed out the window as if his next words were being shown to him in the clouds. "We must escape this rock and build our own. The city I've come from is called Dou. I went back after years away to find our home on the corner of Fear Ave. and Fucking Fear Dr., where fear and pain seeped from the gutters and found itself planted on top of milk crates selling moon rocks and spewing lyrics about the life they lead and one they hope to live. They picked on kids who don't believe in same, and used words to shame the righteous. That city wasn't built for everyone, more evident in the decayed buildings and abandon houses. I slept in those houses the first few nights after capture had taken place. I lost all hope and figured I was living in Hades so I had to find a way to escape. Yes it's true my father a strong warrior was captured by the, "I Society", and my mother was never seen again. I eventually escaped into the mountains. I needed the unknown as the unknown needed me. I needed to gain the power needed to build a empire strong enough to dismantle the city of Dou and destroy the "I Society". This was the first time ears got a chance to hear Master Tubi reveal anything about where he was from or wasn't, and also his plans to build anew. "A world in the clouds", Master Tubi uttered, "a world in the clouds."
To be continue...
FrankDutch presents the sequel to his "Beats" tape, "Beats VOL. 2 (Remixes)". With Vol. 2 Dutch showcases his individual style which at times seems to be lost in music these days. With tracks that give you a nostalgic feel, to others that make you think deeper than surface level and question the state of the world around us. Dutch delivers all of this while keeping your head bobbing. Like with his "Beats" tape, Dutch gives us a tape that can be played in the car while riding around, something you can feel, and learn from. Click on the album cover above and take a listen to "Beats VOL. 2 (Remixes), exclusively on www.frankdutchmusic.com.
I've heard it takes a lot of hard work and sacrifice to be great and see your dreams come to life, but how committed are you to your dreams? How many meals are you willing to miss? Is there a difference between dreams and passion? How much time are you willing to dedicate to your overall dream?
I've watched from a far over the years, as different friends set out into their endeavors. Only to watch about 96% percent of them give up and go in a different direction. I always ask myself the same question, did they really love it? Did they really believe in themselves, or did they see their dream as dollar signs, which turned their dream into a nightmare. I understand having other interest and people changing their mind, but what's the use of putting so much energy into a dream only to give up. I wonder how many of those who decided to give up, made that choice themselves. Was the motive lack of finances, patience, or just plain circumstances?
Think about the decision of buying food with your last ten dollars, versus buying paint. What would be your move? I know common sense would be food, a so called necessity for survival. What's common these days? And what really makes sense? I do know this, I am that guy who would not eat for days on in in order to buy supplies to create. Food doesn't give me the satisfaction that creating does. How many can relate? How many meals have you, and or are you willing to miss in the pursuit of your dreams? Does missing meals blur the lines between dreams and passion?
Dreams and passion are forgotten entities. The diversion away from the two have left nothing but countless drones. There definitely is a difference between the two. We grow a passion to pursue our dreams, but need more than passion to see our dreams through. Passion can come and go like the wind, your dreams will haunt you.
To exist in a world where dreams are shot down on a daily basis has become the norm, and therefore became acceptable. How can we understand the potential of what we've created in our dreams, if at the first hint of struggle we fold. In most cases we tend to turn back to safety before an attempt is even made. If you believe in this system we are currently wrapped up in; why not believe in your own systems that's screaming to be functional? Are you scared? What could possibly happen? We've been failed over and over. Why be afraid to fail?
Time is the only thing we have, what we do with that time is up to us. How we waste time is on us, as well as how much time we dedicate to a certain person, place, or dream, is up to us. How much time are you willing to allocate towards your dreams? There will be family outings, birthdays, or just times where everyone is ready to let loose and have a blast. How much of that are you willing to sacrifice to achieve your dreams?
I had a conversation with a friend, and he told me that I've sacrificed too much to just do work. I've missed weddings, funerals, birthdays, hospital visits and every other moment that most see as important. I've had too many sleepless nights to tally up, I've slept in cars, even missed meals, but some how I made due with what I had. Nothing seemed to matter, as long as I continued to push forward and positioned myself closer to my dreams. All I have is what I dream, so instead of waking up and giving up I'll stay asleep.
How committed are you to your dreams?
Death to philosophy and hello truth, the tumble of thoughts cascading the streets as if similar emotions weren't felt. We've watched blood shed in the back of houses and covered up wounds with Luther King's dream, spent backwards in attempts to catch up, but spin backwards every time we get paid, I feel underwhelmed in a world where it's ok to comprise soul to get paid, thoughts shouldn't feel this old, toes shouldn't be so cold, tip toeing heaven and hell, light on the dark side of a paper plane trying to make it home, smoke in the wind off the mind of Socrates, bullet holes in the back of the heels of Achilles, be a nightmares dream, a removed spleen in the body of life, take, eat, remembering everything you learned and forgot in the pews of churches, seats, chairs, down a isle, married to the thought of revolution and death to pupated Kings, don't know truth if it's code name is philosophy, neurological refrain from the diseased, get closer to life, far from deceased. Get closer to life, far from philosophy...
Don't overthink, live
The Mind of the Traveling Poet is a collection of poems collected over years of travels to different locations.Read More