Good words are worth much, and cost little...

It's been a bit since the last post but a baby being born into our lives will do that!  Welcome to this world: Nathan Christopher Maurer, born 5/1/14 at 6:17pm EST, 8lbs 12oz and 20.5 inches long!

The joy of my life...best thing that ever happened to me no doubt!  Now onto to the words of a much younger me, 20 years ago or so I'd measure. Whether good or bad, coal or a diamond, these were my words:

-=-=-=-=-=-

SEARCH
Past the Realm of narrow thought
slipping through a past not fought
trip the light fantastic pain
ripping through like raging train
stopped by hope's undying truth
peaceful bliss storming loose
like a reign of holy calm
the presence like a healing balm
yet your doubts still plague the mind
searching for answers none can ever find
unnecessary doubts, unquestioning faith
searching for your one true place
still can't help that nagging sound
while growing pains yet drive you down
to grow, must question, to question - learn
with knowledge past experience burns
now continue on this path true st
this never ending, winding trek

INNER CONFUSION/INNER PEACE
Simple desires, complicated minds
Always searching for what you may never find
Eternal fighting, searching for love
Forever reaching for what you dream of
Living your life with pain teaching you
Constantly changing all that you knew
Learning from mistakes, your pride they can't take
Forever adapting through each heart break
now by yourself, self assurance is made
Pieces of your sanity, the coin you have paid
Now finally collecting pieces of you
Puzzle fit perfect, the one and the true
Finding yourself somewhere underneath
Fighting and struggling to reach inner peace

LIBERATION
Simple games of the mind
Dance to a tune that cannot bind
Uncontrolled by civil ways
Playing in their piercing gaze
Break the noose, the ties that bind
No limitations for you to find
Deny the corruption you see all around
Whilst your mind, you imagine unbound
No matter the source, darkness can't toiuch
Forever denying man's unseen crutch
Yet unlike the others, you can play the game
While keeping soul safe, and remaining sane
Untouchably pure, innocent as the babe
Unlike the others, accept what you've made
Denial and fear, the others will learn
Without acceptance these feelings will burn
Still within this dark Hell, you sense some small hope
If with their mistakes these people can hope
To grow and to learn man's ultimate goal
Still their humanity, from Eden once stole
Whether Biblical source, or true test of time
Humanity's curse has hidden the signs
A goodness inherent trapped in us all
Fighting society, with this stop the fall
Still pulling you down, many will try
Fighting their ignorance, with light, till you die
Then embracing eternal, the mark you will leave
A memory of hope that many will see

GAME OF FAITH
Play the deadly, dancing game
Faith is lost on the insane
Tip-toe past the realm of what
With the blade of truth - clear cut
Faith, a game - taught few can win
Yet unredeemed, still based on sin
Baptized at birth, choice then stole
Again in youth, still what you're told
Growing now, this faith you question
World teach all, a daily lesson
In your mind, your faith will grow
With the seeds experience sews

The Poetry Years Begin...

So after that "scholarly" piece of work on Scientology from my college days, it's not time to backtrack into the beginning of what I can only call my poetry years.  It all started my Sophomore year of High School (94/95) and continued on pretty hardcore for most of my HS career. It dwindled off in part due to a god awful visiting professor at Michigan State my Junior year who I let kind of crush whatever aspirations I had then but it still rears its chaotic head from time-to-time.  So here's a few pieces that marked the beginning of this road (forgive me, I was 15):

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TWISTER
circle of pain begins again
repeats of the same old sin
heart will break, hope will die
as the last drops from your eye
now twisted love arise again
to be destroyed...why begin
pain flows freely through the haze
living life in a daze
stop the madness, but cannot
always hits that same old spot
memories of happiness torn to shreds
love born again, better off dead
reach for help, kicked in the face
laughed at, hit, and spit in disgrace
no time to breath, it happened too fast
and once again it's over...at last
now contact is made, it begins again
the same old trip, this circle of sin

BETRAYAL
friends you used to love and trust
now they leave you in the dust
you see yourself holding back
this urge to strike and attack
hate, rage, pain, and hurt
after all this time, you're less than dirt
You've been with them through good and bad
and when you need them most, so sad
you need their help to get back up
they kick you like some worthless pup
and as they walk past in disgust
you start to learn what you must
don't ever put such blind faith into a friend
they'll never be there in the end

THE DYING OF A LIGHT
as shadows creep, your hand it falls
from the inner depths it crawls
a tear of blood drops from your eye
this is the last you'll ever cry
this time as your eyes close tight
from me you'll see no kiss goodnight
the light, it dies as it must
the last you see turned in disgust
the easy way--you never said goodbye
and in the end I still won't cry

Diary #1 from Omega 2 C-4

Welcome to the 2nd edition of my ongoing dig through my personal literary archives. This one comes from either 7th or 8th Grade, apparently from whatever my 7th hour class was that year at Potterville Jr/Sr. High School.  I vaguely remember that the assignment was to write a journal entry (possibly multiple journal entries since this paper is labeled numero uno) from the perspective of either someone in the future, someone who lives in space, or possibly both.

Not to pat myself on the back or anything (which is always what someone says before they do exactly that) I did get a 99/100 on this paper.  The one point deducted from this hand-written piece, and anyone who has seen my handwriting will find this funny, was actually for neatness.  Sad thing is that the handwriting on this thing is light years ahead of the state of my current scribbles.

So here it is, from sometime between the fall of and summer of 1993....


DIARY #1 - OMEGA 2 C-4

I just returned from home. Tales of an upcoming war have frightened me.  People are talking of rebellion. They say the Federation is slowly dissolving, that other planets are also very upset over their treatment. It scares me.

My solar system, like the federation, is crumbling.  Pollution, over-population, and loss of plant and animal life.  My planet in particular is, I mean was, an observatory, but because of major pollution and over-population the observatories were closed.  Through my planet's problems are small compare to the galaxy's. Food shortage, over-population, and pollution just to name a few. Some people feel the Federation has violated their rights.

On the bright side, my family's doing well.  After the observatories closed, my dad became a leader of the people that are against the Federation.  Even though he's wanted for crimes against the Federation, he has managed to avoid capture.  My mother recently had another child.  This means I'm no longer an only child.

Finally, the one thing I'm mixed up about.  Even though it's great to be home after three years, I didn't enjoy this visit much.  My father wants me to quit academy and join him.  Even though I agree with my father's ideas, I refused.  His life of running and hiding is not for me.

So I guess that's it for now.  Till next time.

The Framing of Blackjack Mahoney (Where It All Began I Suppose)

Rifling through my belongings as we prepared our second bedroom to become baby Nathan's nursery in a few short months, I came across a stash of various short stories, poems, and school papers I had written over the years.  Most of them are terrible, some of them might be half-decent, but all of them are part of what led to any writing I do in the here-and-now.  Some of it is college aged, some of it high school, and this one...the oldest one I found in the stash, I actually wrote in 5th grade!

So I decided to put these literary experiments some place they can exist in perpetuity, some place more secure than the pieces of paper in which they exist currently, and perhaps one day down the line I can show Nathan what just his Dad did when he was younger.

I warn you in advance, this one in particular, my 5th grade story, it is probably something quite terrible but I wish I had a scanner so I could share the hand-drawn illustrations that accompanied the text. These awful etching did earn me a "Cleverest Title Page" sticker on the front cover though!

So here you go, the oldest piece of writing I found in my stash, circa 1990 and my 5th grade class at Potterville Elementary School, I give to you a transcription of The Framing Of Blackjack Mahoney, complete with whatever spelling and grammar mistakes I made when I was 10 or 11 years old!

------------------------------

The Framing Of Blackjack Mahoney

It's Saturday night around 10.  The wind is rustling through the leaves and there were trees everywhere.  It's raining hard and everything is wet or damp.

Jack was at a party with Chris and Zac. The guy having the party had a Nintendo and over 80 games.  Chris beat them all.

"What a drag!" Zac exclaimed "Let's leave."

Just then the place was gassed.

Everybody was knocked out but Zac, Chris, and Jack.  Jack went after the gasser and caught him. He saw the crook had stolen cash and jewels.

"Blackjack!" Zac said surprised "I see we finally caught you!"

"You can't take me in" Mahoney protested "You aren't cops any more!"

"I know that" Jack replied, "We're helping them though, so we can arrest you"

"Well that stinks!"

Chris took Blackjack in and put him away.

The man has 60 aliases, the most common is Ace.  He has many others including Jack, Poker Man, and Ace Jack.

Ten days later, BOOM! Blackjack's broken out!

"After him" a man ordered "he's a criminal!"

Click, boom, arrgh! A shot rang out. The man lay dead.  Blackjack was now wanted for murder and fraud.

It was broadcast over a 110 mile area that he had broken out.

At the station Jack investigated the murder.

"Blackjack didn't kill the man." Jack announced

"Then who did?" Zac inquired

"I don't know."

They all thought. Jack shouted,

"Officer Mann!"

"Who?"

"Mike Mann, the head honcho at the station on New York Boulevard or our boss!"

"What, why?"

"Because he was bent on getting revenge, the man murdered had taken his old job."

In the morning, Jack and Chris spoke to their boss. When they left, Jack was waiting outside.

When the guys walked home, Jack took at "shortcut". On the shortcut Jack walked past the jailhouse just as a part of the wall came down and out came Blackjack.

"How did you get caught, Blackjack?"

"Cops barricaded my hideout and caught me."

"Hey...!"  Blackjack had knocked out Jack.  Zac and Chris wondered where Jack was and went looking for him.  They retraced the shortcut and saw the wall and Jack's hat was near it. Chris examined for finger and footprints.  He found footprints and followed them to Blackjack's hideout.  When Zac and Chris found the hideout and Jack, they told Blackjack he was being framed.

"Figures, a guy like me, everybody wants me put away."

"Will you help us Blackjack to find out who framed you?"

"Yeah I guess."

Blackjack, along with Chris, talked to Officer Mann.  While Jack and Zac investigated the boss's quarters.  Blackjack and Chris got some leads.  Jack and Zac found the murder weapon.  There were leads to both men.

The next day, Jack and Chris went to their boss's place.

"Why couldn't we go?" Blackjack asked.

"Beats me."

Jack told their boss there leads to him and Officer Mann on the murder. The boss turned around but before Zac and Jack could see him, they were punched hard.  While they were dazed, their boss made his getaway.  Blackjack and Chris saw their boss running and chased after him.  When they caught him, Blackjack saw his face.

"You...how could you?"

"Who is it Black..I mean Ace?"

"Believe me you don't want to know!"

"Yes I do!"

"Ok Chris, it's your father!"

Thud! A gun was fired, a body dropped, and a cop was dead.

"Get him!" Zac yelled "now!"

Shots rang out and they ran down the dark, steamy and grotesque alley.  Zac, Chris, and Jack grabbed trash can lids as shields, more shots.

It was now night.

Zac, Chris, Jack, and another officer threw the lids at the gunman.  He dodged two and was nailed by the others.

It was Officer Mann.

"Spill your guts Mann, why?"

"You know I hated him!"

"So, you murdered him?"

"No, Chris' dad did!"

"With your help?"

"Yes!"

The cops arrested Chris' dad and Officer Mann.

The next day Chris, Jack, and Zac became honorary officers and the murderers were given the death penalty.  Chris protested his father getting the electric chair but to no avail.

The next night, Officer Mann was gassed.  Just as Chris' father was going to die, Chris rushed in.

"Stop!"

"Why?" the man questioned.

"He's my father, that's why!"

"So."

"So, I...I...I...I."

"Out!"

So Chris left, depressed and alone. He got over the depression, after about a week or two, but he was still alone.

Chris though, "Dad's dead, Mom's gone, and sis moved, who do I have?"  Chris started talking out loud, "I don't have anybody!"

"You have me" a voice said

"Dad you're alive, but how?"

"They let me go because the felt sorry for you and I talked them into it."

"Great!"

They walked down to the station and told everybody.  Zac wanted to throw a party and invite Ace.

"Fine by me." Chris answered

"By the way where's he live?" Jack questioned

"In the condos at Sacramento Heights." Chris replied.

"Let's go!" everybody screamed.

The party went on through the night.  Everybody was partyed out in the morning.

"Great party, Chris." Zac said drowsily. Zzzzzzz. Within thirty minutes Jack, Zac, Pop, Ace, and Chris were out and asleep.

THE END

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Yeah, so while that may not be the first thing I ever wrote, it is definitely the oldest one that is somehow still in my possession.  I suppose I will continue to make my way through the various stuff I found stashed away in storage.  

This ought to be one long, strange, and occasionally whiny (especially once I get to the "poetry") trip...  ;-)