S.R. 60 East

crossing county lines

cream provides a soundtrack for ears to travel

moonroof open, with head back

no stars tonight

passing through nowhere towns

I glance up from my laid back position

the glow from store front neons hits me in the face

like one of those mournings of first days sun

after a heavy night of smoking tea and drinking booze

I put my head back again.

Share the Good

riding with good friends

the doors play musique on the radio

a reminder of non-existent new mexico memories

going to pick up another good friend at a skatepark,

to meet with more good friends at another skatepark

out of town

the air was crisp filled

with cool breezes

tonight's one of those for adventures.

A Text Message

oh the sweet Bluegrass...

a few mile drive home from a friend's

feelin' a bit tipsy

reminding me of the country highways

of southern Ohio

oh those sweet Ohio memories

I want to go there.

[untitled]

work

sleep, lack of sleep

no photos shot, art not being done

skate - like shit

in a rut, stuck

think of something else - more

feel like I have no home

wander, wander, wander

just always getting by in life,

it's not enough anymore

too much stillness

lay awake, staring at a cracked ceiling,

- out the window to a late night bright

blue sky

listen to snoring

[untitled]

time, time on my hands

lyrics to an old song

I do not even know

how I remember

vestby train station

I've sat here so many times

numerous

waiting

waiting for trains and buses

to go to work

to go to norsk language lessons

to go home

mornings, afternoons, nights

late nights

-

this night, friday

drunk

like the good old times

alone

-

outside, the air is cold

yet no snow

only wet sidewalks

and streets

kerouac memories

a party left to go on somewhere

what more is there to this life

in this world

just remember friends...

...forget the interruptions

the disturbances of human kind

thoughtless and careless

rude? perhaps?

what's next?

where to go from here? or

what now?

-

left alone.

[untitled]

sometimes to forget, but

always trying to remember...

to enjoy the most, the simpliest things

in life

a thirty minute bus trip

Son to Vestby, through Hølen

december winter

afternoon bright

clear sky sun shine

sleepy wooden village houses,

barns and farm fields

trees - all blanketed in glittering snow

taken photos

footprints only left

[untitled]

lonely dim, sad brown light

glowing in a second floor apartment window

old wooden houses line

the narrow one lane street of Løkkeveien

looking up the hill - high

remembering jack's words

a cold saturday night

four friends

walking, talking cheerfully

laughing

going back to that second floor tenement

home from the bar

the night had been joyus, wonderful

Recycled Words

recycled words

always used

lost, anxiety and

panic attacks

torment and frustration

beautiful

and sad life

been places

but going nowhere

trying to push life, always

I need more...inspiration.

[untitled]

october cold

gray damp morning

hours early

alone, sitting

in a closed cafe

written words to pass time

into a late morn

the cafe fills and empties

of people

I wait

to go to work

a long day awaits me

[untitled]

traded in those

longed for

drunken, stoned country

campfire nights with

the good 'ol boys

for

sober days

sitting alone

at train stations and

on trains

only thing that hasn't changed

I'm still heading nowhere

lost

[untitled]

late august

summer's coming to a close

autumn soon to come

the air is still warm

yet with cool breezes

back to norwegian language lessons

back to staring out

of train windows

sabbath blares into eardrums

as the rails run by

back to walking home

from the sonsveien station

Lived

from bristol connecticut

to valrico florida

out to san diego california

back to valrico florida

to tampa florida

to riverview florida

to son norway
to skövde sweden

?

[untitled]

skating from train stations

cool crisp air - breezes

blue skys

with flowing green treelines

perfect spring

cruise - everyday

pure and free

[untitled]

rained out spring scandinavian days

gray, cold

no skating home

from the train station today

a long wednesday

gray skys and

green treelines

the rails run a parallel blur

outside the window streaming

with rain drops

howling winds

these nights

[untitled]

always just another

nameless face

sitting, riding trains

trees

the scandinavian countryside

and small towns

are a passing, blurred

faded memory outside the windows

Random Thoughts from a Train

back on the train - to Son as usual

headphones on

mellow beats by 9th wonder

words from phonte

lost in thoughts, not translations

thirty-five years of walking -

still trying to figure life out

I always like staring

out the windows -

cars, planes, trains -

watching the scenery,

passing art (for me),

always wanting to shoot photos

- to capture the memory.

all for myself

- selfishness.

[untitled]

hate the loss

always lost, again

more ruts

way too much stress in these days

is it the homesickness -

of missing friends but not the place

No Words

a poem of no words?

nothing to say,

the worst tormented writer's block

remaining lost in a life

I went places but not going anywhere

A February Thursday

cold gray

snow covered city

ice and dirt slush - wet

the harbour of oslo is frozen over

walk alone

through crowds on the city sidewalks

with head down

still no work to be had

sit alone

on trains

staring out the window

into nothingness

the ground is a white blur

the sky is a gray haze - fog

the falling snow wouldn't come to an end

a february thursday

[untitled]

no good words to write

feeling so lost and dumb

numb

stomach in constant knots

almost wanting to vomit

thirty-five years and

still feeling like I have no true home

[untitled]

too much freetime

loss of life balance

I need to work - a regular job

that gritty raw haggard feel

something like bukowski

fight that disgusting urge

- to crawl back into a bottle

no smoke either

or would it help?

losing myself and my identity

everything feels too unknown these days,

- weeks and months

the years pass

what have I done?

what am I doing?

do I need more?

or something else

I didn't think I was lost anymore,

I guess I was wrong

[untitled]

trying to live more sober these days

out of work in norway

unfortunate boredom

still lost in life

stress and frustrations return

only to bring back a loss of motivation

my own work suffers - nothing gets done

[untitled]

a question of thought to my own self,

why it seems that all the randomness -

the gray and dreary - snow, cold, rain

feelings of sadness - that terrible depression

it all comes in norway on a tuesday or wednesday...

why is it so?

again, as usual just another tuesday...

sit on a train or

walk city blocks

just become another nameless face

or faceless name

either way, these people don't care

like the faded colourless blurred remains

of unwanted art

pass by outside the windows

the dirty snow melts away

only leaving puddles and slush

For Mom

that thursday it was steady gray , cold

it snowed all day

shaking

tears

calmness

all with headache

lost

found for brief moments by my loving wife

to be held.

not much sleep this night

lots of phone conversations with

family and friends

comforting

seeking but no answers to be found

four days passed so far

the numbness still lingers

I get lost in my thoughts

missing mom, sometimes talking to her and only her

is what will help - yet I can't, no phone calls

my own wife holds me close,

the voices of friends

it all does help, I am thankful for it all

but I still feel alone, lost

as if only my mom's touch is what can help me

yet no more hugs

[untitled]

I sat on a couch in a different part of the world

with mellow jazzy, funk beats and rhythms -

spoken poetic verses from common

snowfall outside on a gray cold sunday

- early afternoon

fresh bread baked in the oven

staring out the balcony window, over the

small quiet seaside village

[untitled]

keep on keeping on

stay real

stay positive

- in own ways

knowing how to walk among the gods

the spiritual

all, always for the creative

knowing great love

[untitled]

yes, bring back some - only some

old school ways

maybe a bit of drink with smoke

"born into this"

a bukowski documentary

a solo night in

the gallery house

having the balance back

from long days of blue collar work

it was all different these days, these weeks and

months

matured

grown

it is all different this time

...

a new way of life

[untitled]

mr. lif streams on grooveshark

I gaze up - out the back patio glass doors

up to the clouded florida evening sky

passed the palm trees and mangroves

that make me feel as if I'm living in a

retirement community

the sky has become sad and boring here

I long for those painted scandinavian skys

[untitled]

staring out of train windows

watch passing farm houses, country fields,

old world houses,

pass through mountain tunnels

colourful, faded blurs of graffiti go by

beyond coastline waters and the fjords

country to city - and back

wander the streets and snap photographic memories

get lost in my mind in a foreign city

wonder - is this all a dream

when I awake again,

will I remember?

[untitled]

first month lost

in scandinavia somewhere

solo cruises on a skateboard through

seaside village streets, and

other towns and cities

existing in their own worlds

in their own minds

always more lost words to be written and forgotten

always photos to steal souls

wander - a nameless face

feel curious watchful eyes gazing

needing more solo journeys

staring out windows of trains,

watching colourful blurs of graffiti pass

observe people, surroundings

wonder what stories could be told

[untitled]

sunny days

breezes

crisp cool evenings

wind blows

parties go on some where

out of town friends missed

give smiles and hugs

smoke and drink more

skate

no photographs, please

move on

enjoy life

forget regret

sitting by a pond

watching life pass

one's own reflection

getting older isn't easy

no one said it was

the blue notes ramble on

muddy waters on guitar

thanks dad for the soul

but what's next, where to go from here?

[untitled]

strange day

laughter and frustration

good times had

the fast rollercoaster

barging urban cement

the streets and parks

concrete jungle gyms

the world over is our playgrounds

reach a bit farther and touch a coastline

the day nears it's closing

cold, windy sunset beach

three mates

brews

and of course stories

[pt. II]

chilly city nights

three friends cruising

back on city streets

keep on pushing

like a mantra

for a weekend wonderland

on top of four wheels

turn to crisp cool

refreshing blue skys

sunbeamed city streets

lined with the remains of ending art

more city streets to cruise

pushing in and out of traffick

knowing pure happiness

just the thought

having good days.

[untitled]

the memory of

sitting in a room with nice hardwood floors

in an old house in seminole heights

listening to ella fitzgerald on record

a table with bottles of wine, some empty - others not

sat on the porch

a cobblestone street out front

standard conversations

art

musique

literature

just another life

I went for tacos

[untitled]

the usual late saturday morning rise

tea and fruit

avocado, banana, tofu and hashbrowns breakfast

dub morning with augustus pablo

a bit of smoke

short nature walk

news

jazz afternoon with lavern baker

the back patio listening to nature

skyward - watching great white clouds pass

over a bright crystal blue plain

[untitled]

wandering lost

stuck in traffick in a small town

with no where to really go

no photos taken

no stories written

just loneliness and boredom

too many thoughts to put in order

not enough motivation

distractions

digging deeper into a rut

the beer and wine are gone

stuck sober

yet still insane

[untitled]

when it's all said and done

the end of a late night

it's quiet in the house now

those times alone

an old black and white

film plays on in the background

pen touches notebook

the wrong words come

writing poems

not the story that should be written

stare through photographs

I shouldn't have stopped the ramble

back to reality...

[untitled - unfinished]

australians call it a walk-a-bout

americans say vacation

siesta is another word

waylon sang it ramblin' fever

the sleezy just say ramble

LBK wolf's it over seas

[untitled]

thompson like days

bukowski like days

waylon jennings music daze

lots of beer

skateboarding

work

peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

photos shot

out of town friends

new and old

just as them

I had to ramble

shake hands

give hugs

but never saying goodbye

[untitled]

hold fast

like the words tatted across

the fingers of one Jimmy the Greek

in my head

all the way live from seventy-nine

bad brains P.M.A.

blares loudly

Tradition Long Gone

the back patio at Roberto's folk's

holiday traditions

poolside with a pool table

random folks and old friends

beer wine herbals

and conversations

musique fills ambiance

surroundings become surreal

add more alcohol

people arrive in sequence

changes of musique

shadows flicker about

I sit  - movement is all around

the start of this night

it's early yet

many nights such as these

have continued on for years

musique for the pure soul

the longing for the good old times

of the youth

of freedom

tournaments of billiards go on

beer is drank

rambling conversations go on

life is passed

and dreams exist of

life's past

non-existent

confusion - interruption

lack of words

loss of place

not fitting in

kicked

never fitted in

pour in more alcohol, again

get lost 

get beat

no one cares. did they ever?

Part Three

continuing the night still

more games of billiards

funk musique played on now

I was still lost

too stoned-drunk

no cares

I already dried out one pen

so why not another

the words always went on

nothing ever came to an end

life always kept going

journeys rambled on

the dream of the open road

highways north to anywhere

midwest to out west

the drive

Act Thirty-Four, Scene Four

act thirty-four

scene four

ending of cold gray skys

a change, a move

waiting

not doing much to save the money

out of work

should be working on art

photos

words

drawings

too many films and

documentaries on art

are looked upon

during these down times.

though I find new inspiration in the end -

[untitled]

broken sleep patterns

broken awakeness

just bored

no depression this time around

unfortunate loss of motivation

keep life moving forward

keep the faith that is my own

the faith I know I've strayed from

to live for nothing but heart and soul

raw and pure

the art

films

photos

books

conversations with folk of great minds

a plank of hard rock maple and four small wheels

absolute freedom

with crystal blue skys

on city streets

laughing among gods

lost days

[untitled]

old friends

bonfires

wine and marijuana

clouded overcast sky

no stars or moon to show

there is no meaning to it all

a lonely man

wandering soul

saddened heart

no longer

no purpose

the art and words suffer so

[untitled]

autumn

still warm though

gray skys with slight rain

no depression today

but loneliness did linger

foreign films of art and love

played on from the night before

I know my soul is lost

I know my heart is alone

wandering dreams of journeys

let the musique play on

on into the dark of night

on into the sun rise of mourning

mourn for the forgotten dreams

of youthful playfulness

non-existent

I sit in a small room

the television is on

yet not watched

no one cares anymore

movement of thought and soul

is far beyond needed.

[untitled]

autumn cool breezes

slightly gray skys

a mid afternoon hike with

two old friends

[untitled]

written words

graffiti

sketches of stolen scenes

from memory

wine, weed

musique

thought processes

photos of city scapes

[untitled]

late in the afternoon

on a hot monday, sitting on the patio

of an alaskan taco shop drinking a beer

waiting for friends.

[untitled]

the art of losing one's mind

feelings of soul lost

knowing the lack of motivation

I'm not at rock bottom

but it sure feels like it at times

[untitled]

it rained all day

it was a thursday

another slow day of work at the photolab

an early day, cutting off leaving at four p.m.

stopped by the record store on the way

nothing. no bueno.

I always hated when record shops didn't

have what I wanted - on my mind.

no leadbelly. no general steele. no deathproof soundtrack.

no howlin' wolf.

nada. zip.

back out the door

across the pouring rain flooded parking lot

to my truck

traffick jammed drive home

the last glass of wine drank

straight from the bottle

a bit of smoke

it felt good to have an entire evening

I sat in my small room

old black and white films played on.

[untitled]

boxcar daydreams

why the trains

what is it about boxcar sessions

the rumbling of the ground under foot

knocking of steel boxcar wheels

against the ongoing rails

something about the trains

a strong memory from youth summer days

family road trips about the state of Florida

[untitled]

scars

rotting chipped teeth

dirty-blonde shagged hair

blue eyes

tattoos

tall and lanky

with knowledge

honest

raw and pure

take it or leave it

this is me.

[untitled]

inspired a lot by my own

- friends

euro train ticket scribblings

a random beast drawing

and the words

eat sumtin'

that's right, I need to eat

wandering the city streets

in Oslo

the search for work

a neverending search

give up or

give in

no.

shave my face off

and

shoot myself in

- the foot

[Jan. 14, '09]

yellow low heavy and big

three quarter

the moon on this cold january wednesday night

right kind of moon one would suspect on a night like

this one

the kind of night for a campfire and bluegrass show

that doesn't happen.

[untitled]

incense filled air

loud quiet loud

the pixies film supplied inspiration

visual

sound

chiller stuffed with schwag tea topped off

with thinning remains of keef

the tea drank was salada white

I look back up at the screen

a concert is going on

another song starts

unaware it is to be the last

[untitled]

I sometimes sketch scenes

stolen from life in real time

little windows peering into nowhere

flat images on paper

or a canvas - found in dusty old sketchbooks

given depth, brought to life only by

the love, the passion

[untitled]

riding in the backs of cars

staring out the windows

watching the landscape pass by

sometimes it's in the backs of pick-up trucks

no matter, it is always good

star gazing in a spring night

Ohio skys

[January 2009]

down time stuck

too many boxes

I need another new identity

I'm stealing the name of Juan Apagato

a random character from one of my favourite films

Slacker.

the first film from Richard Linklater.

I stay up late nights

too many random over played and shitty films

tend to fill the background

I wander lost in my own word flow

wasting away talent

More Lost Words

more lost words

driving random country back roads

abandoned over grown farm houses

photos steal the souls

leaving behind the ghosts

is it time now to move on?

what's this next place

another dive bar with over priced cheap beer

another Ma-n-Pop diner for breakfast

after another night sleeping under the stars

in an old musty-spray painted tent.

the skateparks are mere dreams we

don't want to awake from

the friends we make along the way and

run into later on while the same trip rambles on

grand times not to be forgotten