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Expressionism – 12-28-14


My 25th birthday. Scary.

Do most people live this much in 25 years?
They may accomplish more in societies eyes; careers, marriages, babies, mortgages, 401ks, etc – all that bullshit needed to build a cookie-cutter blueprint around white picket fences.
Those people fit society like a glove.
What about the rest of us?
Never content with the idea that building and investing so far into one life could squander the dreams of another.
This can’t only be a quarter.
Do you know what I have accomplished?
At some point you’ve got to stop learning lessons, right?
Assuming that the meaning of life is simply to learn all these lessons, makes me beg to differ.
We’ve still got plenty to learn, every day.
Those people make me laugh.
25, in my eyes, seems like three-fucking-quarters. If not more.
Positive I won’t see the “mid-life” of 50.
Don’t really need to.
Can’t imagine how many of your peoples so-called “quarter-lives” bunched together 50 would be in my shoes.
The thought alone is enough to cause a mild panic attack.
Whenever people speak on the future, they seem so excited.
They’re so ecstatic to encounter the unknown.
Holding onto the idea that the dark-unfamiliar-could-be-would-be-should-be is going to bring hope.
Something fantastic.
Something great.
Something that tops it all.
What if our best has already come though?
What if we’ve experienced the happiest moments we’re meant for?
What if that was it?
It could be all downhill from here.
Great things still may come.
They may still be written into your path.
Probably scattered.
You know, to force you to put the puzzle together.
To give life some sort of sick roller-coaster based balance.
Who knows.
If sayings are true (which, clearly, us romanticizing writer-types totally buy into), then when it rains, it indeed pours.
Shit piled on shit.
Issue after issue.
Tear by tear.
Fight to the next fight.
Anger turned to argument.
Argument turned to action.
Action turned to reaction.
When it rains, it pours.
How can it not be true?
I’ve watched some of the best people have the hardest of years, and for what reason?
Karmatically, they did not owe a penny.
They hadn’t wronged the innocent.
They hadn’t stolen a thing.
They had been honest.
They had been hard-working.
They needed a change.
Think we found the link.
One piece to bind all these seemingly normal, yet undeserved tragedies together back like glue.
Thinking about my worst years (’07,’09, ’12, ’13, and let’s be honest, some of ’14) it makes sense.
Of course, many of those years when tragedy struck, it was in result of my own behavior, or karma.
Those “bad years” full of unforeseen and soul-crushing tragedies are there for a reason.
They come around cause you need change.
You need to understand that there is a bigger picture to this whole life thing.
Sometimes it’s too easy to get caught up in the selfish ways of thinking.
It’s not always all about you.

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Expressionism – 11-11-14


Finding as I’m growing,
Want to invest.
Done with the days,
When I was obsessed
With seeing how quick,
She could undress.
Was so stuck, situated,
Fixated, staring at the naked chest.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Breast to breast.
Depressed really, gotta confess.
Too much wasted time,
On a simple conquest.
Got lonely sex at best.
What a mess.

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Expressionism – 5-31-15

Lucky for not one, but two.
Metropolitan playgrounds, feeding off each other.
Saint Paul.
My love.
My fair hearted, timeless, home on the East of the Mississippi.
Your skyline glows as I sit at one of my favorite look-out points.
Watching you.
This spot was haunted by her.
Still one of the best things she left me.
Not only this spot, but for the deep-rooted appreciation of this city.
Hell, her parents practically own this city so it felt rightful that she was the one to teach me it’s hidden secrets and passive ways.
It’s always been home, but she showed me how to properly love it.
On a richer and intricate level.
Funny that she taught me the same about women;
Our relationship wasn’t one-sided though.
We paralleled the Twin Cities.
She represented that tradition.
That culture.
Those whole-some, albiet, emotionally draining values.
I represented the other half.
The sister city.
My mistress.
My naughty, trendy, getaway on the West of the Mississippi.
The side of the river that spelled out debauchery, nightclubs, a laundry list of sexually explorative liberal feminists, addictions to club drugs and cocaine.
It was the side of the river that brought out the devious side of me.
The side that threatened to drown me.
I introduced her to my world, as a new-found hip-hop promoter, she was always my plus one.
We partied with local celebrities in Minneapolis, just like we did in Saint Paul.
Only Minneapolis parties were attended due to my schmoozing, not like the Saint Paul ones, where we had special treatment due to her last name.
Minneapolis turned us wild.
Often, we’d end up somewhere like the Fine Line, slugging beers and matching shots while our dancing to my buddies playing on stage got a little too provocative.
We’d get horny.
Fuck in a bathroom stall.
Continue drinking.
Go home.
Then she’d yell about me socializing with people throughout the night.
No wonder people from Minneapolis don’t go to Saint Paul.
It’s where love is made, but it’s also where hearts are broken.
Minneapolis is just so busy. There’s always something to do.
Here in Saint Paul, we’re in the house after 9.

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Expressionism – 11-16-14


To every woman I ever felt something more than superficial attraction for, that I let go of for some blind, selfish, unthunk reason, I’m sorry.
You and myself could have had something special.
Maybe we could have had something worthwhile.
Maybe we would have brought out the best in each other.
Maybe we would have fizzled into nothingness.
Maybe we would have grown to hate each other.
Maybe you would forever resent the things I did.
Maybe we would be the greatest love story ever told.
Maybe our future was never that bright.
Maybe we would have been doomed.
Maybe we were meant to fail, miserably.
Time could have told what we could have been, really; but I wasn’t willing to see it out.
What we have now, is something.
What we have now, is respect.
What we have now, is a basic understanding.
What we have now, is not each other.
Don’t you think it’s better that way?

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Expressionism – Cont. – 2014 and beyond.

Hey everyone.

Long time no see, right? Hope whoever is reading this is doing well. Life, as you know, gets busy and these last few months have been packed. Making it a point to set some time aside and get back to sharing some writing though. Earlier this year I released raw versions of my random writings and ramblings. They were pretty well received and I’m excited to announce there’s more to come!

This last year I’ve done a lot of growing and changing and have written about it in the process. Also I had made a major move across the country, and have since moved back home. Got to do quite a bit of travel as well. It’s been a very good year, so you may notice some more positivity.

Good changes here people, good changes.

Among the expressionism posts, you can be on the lookout for some updates and visuals from Long Legs in the Twin Cities. It’s running back and forth through the editing process, but I promise to keep you guys and gals in the loop. Until then, keep up with where I’ve been and what I’ve learned through these daily posts. Going to keep it going until I’m out of content.

Enjoy. Like things. Share them. Drop some comments. Interact. Or do whatever the hell you want because I don’t dictate your life.


October 2014 has been quite the month. Somehow mustered up the strength to move my slightly-unstable ass 2,000 miles away from everyone and everything I knew in Minnesota to start fresh on the tropical island of Key West.
You’d never know you were in Florida if you were just placed here.
It’s kitschy.
The locals and frequent visitors have deemed it “Key Weird”, for a reason.
Always knew my hometown, Saint Paul, was a strange place, but that was mainly on account of the residents. The architecture there resembled the set of an early 20’s gangster flick. Loaded with history, that of speakeasies, hide-outs, secret tunnels – most hidden among the famous river-way; that’s one thing home and my new home-ish type place share – history.
Key West arguably has an abundance of stories involving their own speakeasies and hide-outs, though visually, they differ extremely.
This island is only 70 miles from Cuba.
When migration to the US began, the first, and last, stop for many Cuban immigrants.
The ones that stayed, brought chickens with them.
Yes, chickens.
They still run rampant on the island to this day.
Be careful not to kill one.
You’ll do time.
Other than the chickens, they had a large tobacco influence.
They brought an entire industry to that little island.
Before that, it was ship wrecker territory.
Too inconsistent to make it last.
People needed more.
What more do you need than nicotine?
Not much more, once you’re addicted.
Most of “Old Town”, which is part of the downtown area of Key West just off of Duval St., still resembles Cuba in many ways.
Shot-gun houses.
Designed and built for quick getaways from looters.
Bright, pastel painted brick buildings.
Tin roofs.
Roofs that were replaced after a couple large fires threatened to wipe the town out.
Those chickens.
Just one part of history they don’t fuck with here.
The island still enforces strict laws that holds the owners of these buildings to making little to no changes to their property.
You must pull permits, or you’ll be fined.
They have no mercy on that here.
The entire downtown area is a historic district, which makes it difficult to get-by any of those regulations. They’re set in place so corporations don’t set up shop and start plopping Walmarts on every other fucking corner.
There’s a fair share of familiar names, but mostly, it’s Mom and Pop.
Not a lot of families truly live here.

But it’s definitely one, big, family-less, family.

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Expressionism – 1-13-14

Still up late at night
You knew that’d never change
Aged and rearranged
But some things stay the same.
You’re still on my mind,
You just may never leave.
Reminded, redefined,
Quest to know what’s on your mind
What you still believe
See if just maybe
You’ve got some tricks left,
Hidden up your sleeve.
Wonder where time brought you,
Always meaning to call you.
Even though, your sound proof
Advice is to, not to.
Want me to drop you.
Forget about you, want me to move on too.
Well girl, I’d love to.
I just don’t know how to.
Can’t think without you.
Quit drinking, now too.
Got too hard to, forget not to call you.

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Expressionism – 1-8-14

Stuck in this seat. Plane’s been flying and for some reason during the mid-altitude ride I never stood up, stretched legs or moved feet. Stayed here watching; Movies pirated from the infamous Swedish site first, clouded skies interrupted by the g-force and wingspan second. Reminds me of life and existence. Sometimes the wings are necessary, no other way to fly to your destination, regardless of the clouds they interrupt. They don’t care. Clouds are the least of their worries. As an object, those wings have one main focus, to glide their way from destination A to destination B.

You’re the only one worried and fazed by what’s between.

It’s pretty obvious, the more you fly, the more clouds you’ll travel through. Again, just like life. The more of it you live, the more decisions and influences you have. More doesn’t always equal merrier. More clouds tend to confuse pilots, causing them to question their radars and due diligence so it only makes sense that life and the problems we face in it confuse people as well.

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Expressionism – Waist Deep Wading – 10-30-13

A lake of nothingness.
Pure vapor rests on the water.
Waiting for a tide, but this is no ocean.
No freshwater.
No tropical island.
Clear of sharks, but trapped by land.
Stuck on ground.
Miles move in hours here.
Allowing the wind to create direction.
Push north,
It may bring you south.
Causing constant wading,
Deep enough to drown,
Waist deep.
Paddle against belief and destiny.
Swim to any destination.
Don’t let being confined define you.
Travel at your pace.

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Expressionism – 10-24-13

Can I keep blaming this on you?
Probably not anymore, huh.
A year, 365 long fucking days, I’ve been squeezing heartbreak for all it’s worth. And you’re far from aching. Healed over time while it’s just reopened wounds for me. Or maybe you’re aching just as hard, if not harder.

That’s a scary thought.

Just downright unhealthy.

You should move on, then maybe I can.
Not to a new city, you already tried that. I know it won’t change a thing.

Not to someone new, you tried that one too. I can’t seem to give a shit about another woman for long enough to try.

Just SOMEWHERE. ANYWHERE. Really, not sure anymore.

2,000 miles and still consumed with thoughts of you. 400 something days, if we’re counting, and the mere imagination of your face is still intoxicating as ever.

Just don’t get it. Tried to have plenty of people stand where you did, only to be reminded of you.

Still dreaming of you.

Still writing to you.

Still up at night alone, fighting myself into the corner about you.

Still seeing images of you.

Eyes cool blue, piercing my heart, it’s you.

You hating me so much,

Ignoring every chance to talk or touch,

Not responding when I say I still love you

Proves you just may love me too.

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Expressionism – Summer 2013

Somehow things got mis-communicated.
Maybe it was because trying to pull words from stone is only plausible in fairy tales.
Maybe I’m guilty of wearing by heart bare,
From artery to artery,
Action to action-hoping someone picks up vocal-less verbiage.
Maybe you just don’t care.
It’s honestly easier to blame me, at least that leaves some hope for change.
Some room for progress.
A possible way to conquer this.
Torn I stand, face to face with ideas that the latter is the truth.
It’s funny because we don’t even speak about it.
We ignore those awkward moments, replacing them with kisses as if to bandage the inevitable.
Do hearts break easier with care or something?
There really is no one I can blame this one on.
Full blown alarms alerted,
Flags waved,
Storms grew around the little eye we’ve been nesting in.
I’ve hoped sunshine overcomes.
Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.
Better take cover stat,
There go the sirens.


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