I feel as a weary wanderer amidst a long road

Who comes to the base of a hill and rests his head.

Though the journey may still continue on,

He thinks not of what lies ahead.


He sits and ponders the wonders around him,

Content now to rest a while.

His bones ache and his muscles clench, 

As though he has walked many a mile. 


It’s here he sees the road ahead,

And knows he must go on. 

For stories of the past still haunt him, 

Of love once had, and love now gone.


Each time he wakes under a large tree or bush,

Barely sheltered from the wind and rain

He checks his mind to find her there,

But he finds only pain.


And it’s in his mind she now dwells, 

A faint touch upon his demeanor.

In his heart she resides, too,

And one day he will again meet her.


The road he walks is lonely.

The steps he takes are forced.

The enemy all around him is creeping,

But he sways not from his course.


Each day he hears her calling him,

In distant days that have past.

Each day he bears his burden again,

Each day may be his last.


In searching again for a love once lost,

He’s come to know the truth.

Though he carries his burdens on his back,

His face shows none to you.


The weary wanderer waddles wildly

Through wind and snow and rain.

Where once he felt the warmth of love, 

Now he feels only pain.


He’s come to rest here, upon the hill,

Where once, with another, he rested before.

His love, here it originated,

And now passes into lore.


I feel like this great traveler. 

The one that bears the weight.

I am this weary wanderer, 

But my hour is not so late.


In pain I can find the happiness

Of knowing what once was love.

Through pain I know the real reward 

Of knowing what I am made of.


Each scar shows as a trophy now,

Where once the pain was hidden.

And each who look upon my brow

See now what once was forbidden.


I wish once again to see the light,

To have a love again.

I wish once again to know the love 

From which this all began.


The road lay ahead of me,

Long and dark and winding.

Though I know not what lie ahead,

I know that love is worth finding.


This is silly and maybe you shouldn’t read it.

I wander sometimes by myself

In lands of static and chaos

Amidst dreams once dreamt 

And memories now faded.

Your face is pale and beautiful.

Your body presses softly against mine.

For a minute, we can be one.

For a minute. Oh, for a minute more.

And suddenly, I’m waking.

I’m startled and alone here.

I close my eyes to again feel you near -

These fucking memories - nightmares in the making.

I sleep again, and dream, perchance

To find you once again.

I search those nightmares up and down,

To find out what we meant.

Where do you fit in to life?

And where do I fit, too?

What did it mean when we got together?

And did you feel it, too?


These guys transformed my life.

Reblogged from *RHCP*




Freaky Styley 

Freakey Styley was the best Pre-John Album. FUCK ‘EM, JUST TO SEE THE LOOK ON THEIR FACE.

Reblogged from *RHCP*

Number 13.

Spark. Fire. Lips. Breathe. Smoke.

To my lips you go.

Lucky thirteen - the best smoke.

Flick. Ash. Lips. Breathe. Smoke.

In my lungs you go.

Check that ash then take a toke.

Flick. Ash. Lips. Breathe. Smoke.

Where did this thing go? Thirteen?

Flick. Time for a new pack.


Because jokes.

In the morning I can hear the Earth waking up. Feel the gentle brush of the morning sun rays falling from a golden fiery expanse of clouds and open sky. I can feel the breeze on my cheek, gently floating by and hurrying along to its unknown destination. The trees, previously dark and ominous, now spring each to life. The green shows cautiously through the breaking dusk. And suddenly, a motor in the distance. That sort of dull humming that won’t pass. And still yammers on and on until it leaves you in silence once more. But wait, here is that humming again, and again it passes you, but this time it is continued anew! Oh, the cars have awoken! The people are awake and living in a new day. Each possesses in him the ability to touch positively the lives of each and every person he meets. But today he wants to run this stupid fuck ahead of him off the road.

…That’s my attempt at comedy. You’re welcome. 


Oh hell, I don’t know.

Why doesn’t anybody ever stop to watch the sun rise? Have you ever seen it? The red clouds bleed over a crisp winter sky. The snow lays heavy on the ground. The first light of day has reached us, and no one seems to notice it. 

Why doesn’t anybody ever stop and see the beauty in every day? We’ve been sold a lie. From the day we were born, my generation has been fed a lie. When you get older, you have to go do mindless work for minimal money and minimal happiness. It’s for your good. It’s for the country’s good. Get an education you can’t pay for. Find a crappy job that doesn’t pay you enough to eat. Drive a car that’s too expensive. Happiness is always around the corner!

Why can’t we just be happy now? What is stopping each and every person from just being happy? Why is it so hard to see that each day we are presented with millions of modern and prehistoric miracles, and we should appreciate each of these miracles in their own rights? Have you ever ridden in a car? Me too. Once or twice. You know who never rode in a car? Genghis Khan. Just for a second, try to explain to me how a car works as though I’m Genghis Khan. I’ll wait for you to come up with something.

Nothing, right? It’s like trying to explain to a blind person what the color green looks like. It’s impossible to explain to someone with that background because they’re a modern miracle. Technology itself has exploded in the last century. And it grows EXPONENTIALLY. That means in 50 years, technology will be unrecognizable. There is no ceiling to the things that we can do with technology. Death itself might be surpassed in the near future. Technology is a miracle that has been crafted by humanity’s own hands, and we complain about it being too slow. 


Now, try to remember the last time you went camping. Do you remember a bon fire? Maybe you had a hot dog or a hamburger cooked over the fire. A s’more even? Did you live in that moment? Did you really just enjoy yourself, sitting there with the fire crackling and throwing light on your circle of friends and family? Were you truly happy in that moment? 

We should each try to make an effort to live each day like a camping trip. Let’s each of us try to sit around and watch the sun creep past the line of trees that shoot up from the mountain overlooking a vast expanse of glistening water. Every moment of every day is a miracle. We (humans) should, as a species, act accordingly. Remember that you exist once a day. Remember the bon fire. 

You may say I’m a dreamer,

But I’m not the only one. 

I hope some day you’ll join us, 

And the world can live as one. 


They’ve paralyzed us with paranoia.
They’ve washed our brains clean.
They’ve told you all the things you need to know,
And exactly what they mean.

They’ve told you exactly who you are.
They’ve told you who to be.
They’ve packed you in a little box,
But you can be set free.


I heard your voice through a photograph. 

I thought I’d up and brought up the past. 



Caught between flux and flow,

A young man rides his day away.

Time stands still, and no one knows

What drives him through the heat today.

He aims it West, that charriet of his,

And puts the pedal to the floor.

He knows the way is hit or miss,

But he doesn’t care much anymore.

They took her from him in the night,

Those men, they dressed in black.

Beat her when she tried to fight,

And dared him to take her back.

So here he goes now on his way,

His lady in the balance.

Those men in black, they will all pay,

For his eyes are filled with malace.

He drives the car up to their base,

The house which he knows it to be.

He knows that there’s no time to waste,

And now’s not a time to flee.

He strides quickly to the door,

A shotgun firm in hand.

He kicks the frame down to the floor,

And yells “Face me like a man!”

“It’s her I want, not your life.”

Another voice is heard.

“She was my  girl before your wife.”

Then not another word.

Two shots rung out in the air,

Two men fell amidst the noise.

Two dead men lay, a bloody pair,

It’s the scene her eyes avoid.

Her lover, though, was standing there,

A monument to man.

He hugged her tight, and held her hair,

And he took her by the hand.

The men in black they lay there,

Their black suits stained dark red.

Never was the gunfight fair,

And the two in black were dead.