there was a man, who yet was a boy
this man confused for child..though he no longer played with toys
Everything he did, everyone he knew, clapped at his laughter, and cried at his song.
march a full circle, round and round and right back he begins.
Not chiseled, not tall. Not large nor small,
sincere eyes of blue..
tired of being seen as a catch twenty two..
That fire, the part of man that drives to dream
it glows.. dance a dance of passion and gleam
the man wants what others have. He wants for what friends have not.
To have some, and to give, and represent for all.
his shoulders are strong.
The man's smile the future, and his backpack lesson
when there's a stumble, he braces to pickup, dust off his knees,
no matter how damp, and to endure the coolest breeze.

I'll speak for this man, I'll veer up from this slouch..
contagious as his flame,this heart this revival,
a spark to flicker, a gentle shove for kindling, point out the stage.
I pronounce a change,
and I'll face the steady climb. Though my onlookers how patient you have "be", your support, for me you gave.
This man will be proud, I'll honor his name.
Be quick now I say,
today point out that stage
Character is hard to find.

wetlands

Clinging to hope, stretching for life..
sound of silence.. but on a loud-ly course.
Dark ooze thwarting the strays of light
Reeds no longer dancers in the wind,
instead a base of rusted wire... a place where day has left, and night no longer imagines.
Song of the wetlands mute.
Hum of the insects, vacant.
a million homes unraveled..
Ejected, falling apart..
Life here to tears,
While a spill, away they have turned,
hoping resolve,
it is nowhere near. Urgency not in vocabulary...
Those who play, play this playground, has lost its face.
Lost its smiling slide.. Lost her name.
Bullied, a fast begins


What is the plan? we go from here

vent

what does it take to get there? Accomplished.

I don't think I've tried hard enough. I don't think I have accomplished one thing. I've started a whole hell of a lot, and sometimes I get lucky everyone just so happens to forget where I left off. But in the grand scheme of it...I haven't finished a damn thing.
"when you want it so bad.... Put forth the effort, start with an inch."
Advice I have not applied myself towards.
It's great to see so many people i've known grow. It's comforting to see them do well. Makes me feel like that its' out there for us. For me. For who tries.

I give a damn. Thats the difference between. I truly give a damn. I have that at least. Knowing that, it does something for me...
Now I need to layout some ground for what I it is. With Questions and Answers....

How about a CF awareness / Sib's and classmates with CF?
An educational day where CF young and old give REAL insight to their stories of success, and misfortune.
4groups:
group #1 ) Expecting mother/fathers....
group #2) Siblings with CF what its like ...
group #3) Graduate (HS) or College
group #4) families with CF, that have CF kids...


At park, scavenger hunt.. It will give a chance to Give Back ,and make a difference for others in lArger capacity... I just want to make it big. BIG big....need to ind that place.

Auction. getting y hands on items others would play a raffle for.....

It's time to really try.

weird wedding...

"We're gonna be late babes" ....she continues to straighten her hair with little regard for urgency.

"are you sure we weren't supposed to turn right back there?!? " more of a fact than a question...
"yes, yes babe..this is what the mapquest said..Just..I know , okay..Stop!"..she leans into her chair, and bites her lip.

The gravel road, and the scent of egg farms shimmy their way into the Corolla.
"oh my god..." we both cover our mouths, and swallow down the urge of vomit. She pulls out hand lotion to mask the stench.. Useless.

"you gotta be kiddin...." her voice stymies to a whisper as we pull up to the church. The place is surrounded by 1975 Ford Broncos, a collection of 1980's Camarro', rickety pickup trucks, and men, women, children, babies wearing only diapers..all sporting a version of a vintage mullet. And darting inches from getting hit by our car, a teen age boy running after his mutt. His rat tail in a french braid.

we pull in next to my fathers Nissan Ultima, and walk up to the "church". I say "church"..but it's really an old pizza shop, converted.
The doors are locked. And the wedding party congregates along the front yard. The piano lady is about 30 seconds from knocking on deaths door, as she puffs away at a cigarette...I found it fascinating she was still using her portable oxygen.

The sun beats down, but it's the humidity that's deadly. And we had to be like a rock throw away from a retention pond, judging by the amount of mosquitos....That smell of egg farm burning through our nostrils. I wanted to be sick.

What the hell is that noise? It sounds like aluminum cans being kicked across the street... And the noise grows closer.
And around the corner comes a black and grey spotted goat. He pushes his way through the congregation. Pellets dribble from his rear end. He stumbles along. He doesn't give a shit, and stands right in the center of the mass. Chomping away at the grass.... he doesn't flinch a lick at the swarm of flies and nats.

The church was unlocked, but after nearly 20 minutes of sitting in the old style movie theater seats, we all marched back outside to catch our breaths...at least there was a slight breeze. The piano lady stood like a smoke stack cradling near a rusted coffee can for her "butts"..it was propping open the screen door to the entrance.
45 minutes late to her own wedding, the bride and her mother pull up... The piano lady had to be related to the mother.

"well shit! Told ya'll she'd be here..damn. Lets get dis done..come on in ya'll! " and the groom grabbed his orange baseball cap, and galloped into the church.
We all followed...like cattle.
The service crawled along. Babies deafened my dad's words. He had been asked to "marry" the shotgun wedding...Being this was family, how could he decline. ( If he had found a way, he certainly would have ...found a way)

When it was about all i could bare...the chirping of Nextels, and the snoring of the old guy in the front...We were finally dismissed.
Never seen so much joy.
It didn't shock me the slight bit that not a single person knew what the plan was after the ceremony. We had received a message on our voicemail about the reception *(they didn't send out invitations to everyone because of the cost of postage...)
So gathering round the parking lot, trying to gain some hint of destination, I over hear the groom and his friend chatting away about the his new Chevy Belt Buckle.
"When ja get dat Billy?"
"well I got this from Susan fer the wedd'n"
"i'd give you this wedding ring for it Billy" said the groom..this is like not even 10 minutes after he put the damn thing on!

So as we begin to drive out of there, lots of people from the service decide they have better things to do then head to the reception. God, i know I did... we were going anyhow,

At the wedding, the bride is told how Lovely she looks in her dress
"oh, this! I got it for 25 dollars at the second hand store! Isn't that amazing! It fits me like a glove"
Why on earth would someone be inclined to tell someone they got their wedding dress from a second hand store for 25 dolllars, on their wedding day? Wouldn't a "thank you..I really appreciate you coming today" been sufficient?!

The center pieces are those tissue paper cards that open up, and say "celebrate". Their is a "here comes the bride" banner taped to the wallpaper above the head "card table".... The bride and groom are no longer present because they had t ogo back home to the mobile home park 30 minutes away to get the marriage certificate for my dad to sign. They didn't know it was needed to legalize the marriage.
The "dj" is a best of Hall and Oats album.... played over and over and over...all 12 tracks.

The cake is a carrot cake roll..melting in the heat. And the bride strangling the groom statue begins to slide towards one side of the cake.....

Once they arrived, they stuck around about 20 minutes, before their hormones (the same ones that were the root cause of the 6 month belly she was trying to loose in her dress) became to much to handle.. So they went into the bathroom and made love. We know this because the bathroom is not sound proof the least little bit. So after about ten minutes of awkward conversation to mask the noise echoing from the stalls... we say goodbye to the bride and groom as they prance out the front door.
"this will be the ONLY TIME, and the LAST time I ever open the door for you women" shouts the groom as he slams the door to the T-bird.

"Please take one of the goldfish at your tables' home withcha all when you go...they cost us like 80 cents a fish..thanks guys"
A few tables had fish bowls in the center.... we already discussed what we were going to do. We were leaving the fish. Besides the fish at our table was eaten by some 30 year old guy in a bet while we were being seated...so it didn't matter anyhow.

He throws his can of keystone into the air, and we all watch it explode as it hits the pavement.. They speed away.

LOVE.

MASKED mayhem

I was out tonight, and that's when I got to thinking about the past few months...
While being sick so often as of late, I started wondering how some of the kids I grew up with were doing. I started to think how bad it really sucks, that I only remember them. All I have are distant memories. I currently do not know anyone with CF. I mean, I know of them..I see them in the clinic as I walk to an assigned room. I hear them coughing down the hall when I am a patient. And I see their pictures and profiles on Facebook or CF websites... But there is nothing I can connect with on a personal level. I haven't bonded with any of them. For me it's not the same to read some blog, or message online in some support chat room. It's just not the same. It may work for others. Maybe for families of those with children that have been newly diagnosed. For me it just doesn't work. I have been there when it was so much different.....if that makes sense. The only connection that I seem to truly feel any sense of attachment towards, are the pictures I see in the clinic, or on the bulletin board hanging on 5 tower..Familiar faces of the kids that no longer are with us.

We are forced to wear masks when we are within proximity of one another. We can not shake hands. We can not hug, or console one another. We fight the same battle, but always apart.

The disease is consuming, and during our most fragile hours, overwhelming and discouraging.

It was hard to cope when it was all taken away.

I was in fifth grade when everything changed. I know alienating us from one another wasn't a deliberate act or measure of cruelty. I understand why it was done, and I get the importance of it having been addressed. The result of Cf-er's interacting with one another in close quarters, pose a greater risk of spreading Pseudomonas aeruginosa lung infections. We are highly susceptible to the mutations of this bacteria, that are proven deadly to the CF community. So, they did away with all activities. No more CF camp. No holiday parties.
I remember how hard it was to go into the hospital for weeks at a time. And I know that's an obvious statement...As a kid, age 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 whatever years old...being yanked from school for long periods of time. Missing out on relationships, and digging holes academically that were forever overwhelming to dig out of...But the thing that always made it tolerable..The part that made 3 weeks at a time,in the hospital, bearable and not so lonely...

well, that was having "friends" when I was in there.

We knew each other when we went in. When we were sick, we had each other to pass the time. We went to physical therapy together. We were able to eat dinner in the same room. There wasn't anything we felt like hiding. HIPPA didn't exist. Good and bad I suppose, but as kids we could care less about that sort of privacy. We were able to share things. When we had to get an IV, we could ask to hold each others hand. When we were scared to ask, we knew we had each other to turn to. I remember watching the older guys do their treatments.

I remember seeing those who were sicker. It was important for me to see the varying stages of the illness.

Over time it was hard not to notice the physical challenges I saw as my friends grew older. I knew there was a separation there. At an early age, I was made very aware of the kids who showed varying severity of the illness. I was lucky to be healthier then most, though it terrified me to think where I could end up. Some guys took great care of themselves, and it was obvious. While for some it was clear that they were slacking on their regimen. Personally, I've sat on both sides of the glass.

When we were in the "joint", we played all kinds of things to pass the time. I remember running around the hallways playing football. One armed, dragging an IV pole, while hacking up a lung, touch...sometimes even tackle football! We knew how much air we could put on the deep ball so that it didn't hit the information signs hanging along the ceilings. It looked like some kind of screwed up version of Arena Football the way we played down the narrow hallways. The nursing station, and a wheelchair were opposite end zones. It was a blast.

CF camp was something I was fortunate to be apart of. I was lucky enough to attend from age 5 all the way until I was 11. After that, camp was no more. It was one week without parents. And one week with each other. The councilors were great. The week was amazing.

Who's there?

A beam of light shears through creases in the drapes. And rolls from one corner of the room to the other. The television reflects the scurrying light. You could watch all the shadow puppets along the wall return to their places; behind the lampshade, and coat hanger racks. Refocusing to the dark is only momentary. Once we adjust, we are wide eyed with ears pealed back. Our senses are on high alert. I'm scared to breath. That a single breath will reverberate like a drum roll, and break our dark cover. My eyes manage to catch hers, as I strain to make out the curvature of her hips. I can make out cheek bones, and where her lips tremble. I try to tell her with gentle motions that it will be okay, but I know by my pounding heart beat, my fear can't lie. She's scared, and I don't blame her. So was I. She was who they're after. I wasn't there. In fact before tonight, I slept with no fright at all. I slept comfortably with out disruptions day in day out. What if i just yelled? Broke the darkness with cutting rage for everyone within hearing distance? I know any rooms this side of the motel would have to hear, and call for help.
Wouldn't they? Someone would have to...Someone,right?
The car outside came to a stop. The engine then came to a tinkering die. The first door opened, and shut. Once the second door opened and shut, there was a very brief lapse of silence. Then a trunk door slammed shut. Followed by the sound of metal scrapping across blacktop pavement. She had held her breath as long as she could manage, and she released a gasp of air in terror.
We could hear two voices outside the door marked 217. Large men. Stringy hair,and greasy. Two clashing styles. One obeisant figure reaking of tar and nicotine. The other man, chiseled and wearing a tweed coat. The two of them at wits end with the chase...Ready to settle a score past due. A hardened man. A liar and cheat...
"this is their car isn't it?" said the man in tweed
His partner exhaled smmoke from his joint, and paused, showing the face of a man putting serious thought into something.
"slice the tires...and call Mark" he took another hit. "then we go in, and we talk....she can make our next move. It's on her."
"okay, done and done"
The quiet lasted about 5 seconds.....
And then there was a knock. A light rapper on the door.....
The

LANE KIFFIN

January 12, 2011
Said Lane Kiffin at yesterdays press conference "I'm really looking forward to embracing some of the great traditions at the University of Southern, eh I mean, together we share, at the University of Florida, for instance the Gator Walk, running through the tunnel to the theme of jaws, chanting Orange and Blue all night long after we beat the Seminoles next year ... it will be a blast". Kiffin was hired by the University of Florida, after coaching one year as the head coach at USC. His record was (5-7). Former Florida coach, Urban Meyer stepped away from coaching, declaring "he was done." The university has voided the last remaining years of his contract. He has since changed his name to Oscar, and fallen into seclusion.
It is also reported that with him, Kiffin has appointed Offensive guru Norm Chow to head the offense, and as Defensive Coordinator, his father, Monte Kiffin. It is not known the specifics of the deal, but reports from Florida alum claim Kiffin signed a 6 year/7.5million dollar contract with incentives; one of which, to remain coach of the university for more than one season. Many speculate his committment to the university will follow his recent history.


January 20th, 2013

In the aftermath of this countries apocalyptyc election, it was by no surprise that once sworn in, President Kiffin addressed his decision to appoint father, and former USC defensive coordinator, Monte Kiffin Secretary of Defense. The selection left many many shocked and bewildered. Monte Kiffin, is best known for his imitated version of Tampa Cover 2. His "bend -but-not-break" philosophy, though proven to be effective at times on the football field, brings about a concerning uncertainty as to how he will implement it into our nations Foreign Affairs.

Kiffin Sr., when asked how he would execute the US defense strategy, he confidently stated "stress is put on speed, smarts and flawless tackling. […] A quick defensive line is a must, but the middle linebacker position is the straw that stirs the drink."

Political analysts unanimously agree our country is going to suffer more than just economically...

President Kiffin has appointed Norm Chow as Secretary of State. He spent a greater portion of his life at the helm of a bitter state rivalry, otherwise referred to as the "Holly War". While many believe his aggressive West Coast tactics, not only seem to be utterly irrelavant on many, many levels, it may also engage us with an even stronger hatred towards the United States. There are others however, that are confident his football IQ will easily transition over, for effective and efficient military strategy.