A Light in the Mirror

Our possessions separated in cardboard boxes
marked with big red letters
Stacked up all around
“Things will get better”

I slide through the hall, blood pressure
rising up in side of me
Sitting across, you in Argyle sweater
Reading from a script like a well trained actor

We’ve known it’s time to separate
Why do we ignore this fate
For a year you’ve tried to suffocate
My spirit, my soul can’t rejouvinate
Don’t tell me you’re sorry,
“Things will get better”,
Just give me my termination letter.

I smile and nod with grace, knowing it’s just a false face
Part of me is relieved beyond measure
Part of me wants to burn it down for pleasure
Part of me wants your head on a platter

But I know deep down that I am better.
Better than you ever appreciated.
Your daily mantra of propaganda in big red letters
“All employees are appreciated.”

We’ve known it’s time to separate
Why do we ignore this fate
For a year you’ve tried to suffocate
My spirit, my soul can’t rejouvinate
Don’t tell me you’re sorry,
“Things will get better”,
Just give me my termination letter.

Walking alone across the asphalt,
In my hand my box with big red letters,
Standing in the sunlight I can see
What my future holds for me

You may have bankrupt me,
Cast me deep into poverty
But to bitch, moan, and complain
Is to grant satisfaction for misery.

We’ve known it’s time to separate
Why do we ignore this fate
For a year you’ve tried to suffocate
My spirit, my soul can’t rejouvinate
Don’t tell me you’re sorry,
“Things will get better”,
Just give me my termination letter.

I decided to upgrade A Light in the Mirror to a new design, as the last one was a little too constricting. I hope this new theme goes well!

You know, there are somethings in life that afterwards you feel really, really dumb.

I’m not talking about life changing, earth shattering things like letting your car roll
downhill into a lake, or, forgetting to take that kilo of plastique out of your luggage
before an important flight (it is actually playdoe done up as a prop, but it still would get you shot),
I’m talking about the little, almost inconsequential things you forget

untill you’re naked.

dripping wet.

In a barely lit bathroom using light coming in from a lamp outside,
making it feel just a little bit USSR.

In that moment your brain has two thoughs:
Why am I in a Soviet bathroom in the middle of Arizona? and,
Damn it sucks to be wet and naked, I wish I had a towel.

And while your brain would love to begin the mindtrek about being in a
Soviet bathroom in the middle of Arizona which would eventually explode into a
self-dictation of the benefits of socialism, why it has failed, and the virtues of owning a left handed spoon…

you find the pressing topic is the towel.

It is too cold (and your hair is too long) to adequately drip dry, but not cold enough that it is uncomfortable.

Instead, you are simply wet, naked, in a dark bathroom.

The questions bombard the part of the brain in charge of remembering this shit:

Why didn’t you finish the laundry?
Why didn’t you suspend the laundry and get a towel?
Why don’t you have more towels?

As with any time one forgets something of this nature, the inquisition begins immediately.

So, after enough excess water has met gravity and plunged into the bathtub, you slowly exit and dash,
naked and wet, into the next room to the clothes hamper and find… any towel. Right now, it doesn’t matter.

Returning, triumphant, to the Soviet bathroom you towel off and proceed to start your day.

But, around every corner waits yet another such incident, another small detail to be forgotten,
that will in one-way or another leave you naked and dripping wet. Hopefully, you can find a towel each time.

Sitting alone in this cavernous room
in the desert wastes far from home
when lonliness creeps up from within
and the war rages on

I remember a place
where life seemed easier
seemed simpler
a long, long time ago

playing in the trails along Quil Ceda
the creek was a new dimension
where brave soldiers fought and adventurers forged new trails

We walked to school, just under a mile
to and from, dead of winter
when snow fell from the sky
and halloween was something to enjoy

where independence was celebrated
on the street, and in the sky
where friends were always nearby,
and bikes could fly.

That was 143rd Place Northeast
a thousand miles from here
decades in the past
a place long changed, a place long forgotten.

Outside, bounce bounce
happy shiny people
dancing in the crowd
smiling, smiling, always smiling

Outside, strong, steel and iron
fearless, brave
confident
outspoken

Inside, a different story
homesick for a land
stressed and strained
depressed just the same

afraid, sad
lonely
afraid of what may
afraid of not knowing

lonely
always alone
even in a crowd
of millions, alone

friends, none
acquaintences abound
all around
except now

inside, on the inside.

I woke before dawn yesterday morning
and sat there looking, breathlessly
your motionless figure outlined and shadowed
by oil lamp light

I sat there and watched you breathing
so perfectly in the early morning light
your skin as soft as velvet
glowing a pale white

And you capture me
and fill my memory
like all the stars in the heavens
my compass in the night

I traced your face by finger
I saw your grace
like a ghost I sat and lingered
by oil lamp light

One day you took my hand
and smiled so bright
you were all a glow
dressed in white

And now the days grow darker
and the air is cold
but my eyes are like a camera
taking in your glow

And you capture me
and fill my memory
like all the stars in the heavens
my compass in the night

Once I was a Stranger
working with the Forest rangers
Just outside Cashmere
In the cascade heights

And you capture me
and fill my memory
like all the stars in the heavens
my compass in the night

The rising sun of anger
the setting moon of life
that’s the way I felt
when you walked into my life

I was a lonely stranger
looking down a wishing well
breathing softly a prayer whisper
in the glowing fire light

Then the clouds they parted
and the sky grew wide
and I saw all of the stars
in Chelan County moonlight

I’ve walked this lonely trail
I’ve crossed the alpine pass
who knew I would find you
beneath ponderosa pine

Then the clouts they parted
and the sky grew wide
and I saw all of the stars
in Chelan County moonlight

You know there’s something special
About that Columbia River
From Wenatchee to dams
 that turn the dark into light

The clouds they have parted
and the sky grew wide
and I saw all of the stars
in Chelan County moonlight

You know there’s something special
about that Columbia River
from Wenatchee to the dams
that turn the dark into light

When the clouds have parted
and the sky grows wide
you can see all the stars
in Chelan County moonlight.

spinning round spinning round
my wold is spinning round
rotating faster faster
rotating

my thoughts are clamoring, clamoring
like a traffic jam
with no traffic man
no eye in the sky

what do i need to do to get through to you
why won’t you talk to me
why can’t i get this to work
damn he stole my domain name

all c o l l a p s i n g
into the river
into the flood
burning, turning into mud

this melancholy brain
suffering from strain
suffering from rest
not knowing east from west

c e n t e r e d
focused
ready to go
ready to go

a mile a minute a minute a mile
fantasy and reality
never crossing
never mixing

as the week comes close
as the time does s l o w
thoughts come clear
priorities come c l e a r

i know what needs to be done
transition project begin
develop myself and win
and sweep her off her feet, show her the real you within

might as well be
a mission to mars
but at least its not
a mission to hell

some people say they want to go to space
as i look them in the face
and say that is no place
for me

they talk about being amongst the moon and stars
and galaxies so very far
planets and planets here and there
and all i do is stare

with mouth Sahara dry
i ask a question, stare in your eyes
it all sounds great and beautiful still
its just vast of nothing void of life

you’re afraid of radiation they say
you’re afraid of the cold of space
you’re afraid to get off the ground
you’re afraid of the dark around

i shake my head and grin
its none of those things, my friend
space is a lonely place
very much like this place

why would i trade one lonely vacuum
for another, lonely vacuum
darker
and colder

and that’s about when
the conversation ends
their eyes turned down as i walk away
with nothing more intended to say

when we are young
we dream of superheros
of brave soldiers
police and firemen

their pictures in the paper
songs in their name
parades in their fame
and days of remembrance

we never look to the 2 a.m. pager
red and white vest
thick soled boots
hard hats and papers

the simple soldiers of mercy
the guardians of peace
a cross on their back they bear
humbled in the streets

we pat on the back
the weekend warrior
the reservist cop
the volunteer fireman

we thank the doctors and the nurses
the clergy and the herses
the soldiers alive and dead
and the wives that carry them

we never look to the 2 a.m. pager
red and white vest
thick soled boots
hard hats and papers

the simple soldiers of mercy
the guardians of peace
a cross on their back they bear
humbled in the streets

slogging through the streets of town
the shell of a burned down home
lives erased by wind and rain
the crack of thunder, volcanic pain

never a dime paid
never a praise sang
never a day of thanks
never

they may not always risk life and limb
but in harms way they come
risking all they can risk
risking their job, their family

we never look to the 2 a.m. pager
red and white vest
thick soled boots
hard hats and papers

the simple soldiers of mercy
the guardians of peace
a cross on their back they bear
humbled in the streets

in defence of our people they stand
allied not with a government
ready, waiting
moment to moment to moment to moment

next to you at the grocery store
your manager you work for
the neighbor down the street
your kids teacher, the list incomplete

they walk amongst us
humbled folks, but in debt we are
to their service
to their cause

for they are the 2 a.m. pager
red and white vests
thick soled boots
hard hats and papers

they are the simple soldiers of mercy
the guardians of peace
a cross of red on their back they bear 
silent through the streets

they make not a cent
spending more on equipment
to serve, to prepare
to ready to provide care

taken for granted
but they are there
show the volunteers
we really do care.