Being Young and Everything That Follows

I finally did it! I had made a decision; and to make it all the more better, I had stuck with it. At the moment I was flying down the highway doing about 88, heading for California. I had about two hundred dollars on me and few grand in the bank. I had left, and would be where ever I was going by the time my parents got back to hear the message.

“High Ma. Its me, Adam. Listen, I decided to leave. Yeah, ummmm. I don’t really care what you do with my stuff… If you sell it can you save the money for me? Not sure when Ill be back, not sure where I’m going… Don’t think Ill call when I get there. Any way, just know its not your fault, I just couldn’t stand it there any more. Love you ma.”

That’s it, that’s exactly how it was, and that’s exactly how I left it. The way it was. I couldn’t bear to spend another spring/summer seeking that one good love, eighteen and I hadn’t even been laid yet, or even intimately kissed. What was wrong with me? Why did I have to be everyone’s “Brother”. Fuck that! I wasn’t going to waste another moment in my life, working that tiresome job, seeking that summer romance. I was going to be a person who made decisions from that point on, no more deliberation.

The cool early spring breeze felt good on my face as I drove down the highway, slapping my hand to the beat of Patrick Park’s “Loneliness Knows my Name” along with my brown leather jacket that begged for me to retire it. I had one suitcase in the back, not even a big one, three shirts two pairs of pants, three pairs of boxers, some socks and a few T-Shirts. My hoodie was lying in the seat next to me, hopelessly enjoying its last days of relaxation before it was worn everyday, day in, day out. I had conveniently lost my cell phone, and I only had two pieces of electronic equipment with me, my iPod, and the shitty laptop I had bought off eBay.

I was free! Free from everyone else’s will, all the things they told me I needed to do, or I shouldn’t do, all the fucking ways I was screwing up my life. Well maybe that’s what I wanted to do, fuck it up really bad. But I knew that’s not what I wanted; I just wanted to experience the world for my self. The early taste of college had shown me what the real unsheltered world was like, or at least it seemed that way at the time, and it was hard; hard but exciting. I wanted to dive in head first.

My god! I didn’t even have a place to stay when I got there! None of that mattered; all I knew was that I wasn’t going to be anybody’s tool any more. I wasn’t going to be the one that everyone came to for advice, and never got anything back. I was fucking sick of all of them. Maybe when I got there I would get a lame job, a lame apartment, and live the rest of my life out reading books, and developing my own ideas and opinions. I would write, and experience all the emotions for my self, with out any fear of hurting, or disappointing them, maybe over time I would forget about them completely. Maybe, maybe I’d find a girl.

I mean, is it really that out of line!? I’m not a bad looking guy, I stand 5 ’10, dark black hair, nice hair I might add, green eye’s, and I have been told I am very funny. In my opinion I’m just too damn nice and respectful to any of the women for them to actually fall in love with me, they just grow fond of me and the respect I give them. Well, time for a new me, one who had decided to treat the women like the wrest of them, the ones that had girlfriends. I wouldn’t listen to you, I would stop seriously looking at you when you asked me how something looks, I would stop being patient, non of you fucking noticed it any way! So why bother!?

I couldn’t wait to meat all the people on the rode, and all the strange, new people I would find in California. It was perfect, like in a movie, the sun was setting at about 6:15, I was listening to “silver girl” by Patrick Parks, the cold air smelt beautiful, and everything seemed to shine in the magnificent sunset. It was right, I knew it. This is what I had needed to do all along. It was time to worry about me, time to live every moment for me. I was young and fully willingly to walk the road of the young; blindly.

Do we not understand one another? (Part 1)

The night was quiet and he was afraid to be poetic. In a culture so dumed down by peoples own self loathing sloth like demeanor they had all turned spiteful. Spiteful of anyone who sought something that was out of the ordinary and not in comparison with their tarnished and dead dreams. They wanted nothing more than to have those like them around so that they might feel ok once again. For never having tried anything was the biggest let down of all. To have never made oneself feel vulnerable is an aching anticlimactic end to an otherwise beautiful life. This was Mike’s life and he was only 22.

An intoxicating sense filled him as he struck familiar notes on the piano, alone late at night playing Longing-Love by George Winston. He didn’t care if it wasn’t a classic. It spoke to him and it was brilliant. Nothing lit his hands but the small lamp that resided on the corner of the piano. Everything in the moment was poetic perfection, but he was afraid. He was just as much afraid of his own self deprecating thoughts as he was of anyone else’s scornful remarks.

It wasn’t a world for poetry any more. Too many people had been damned by their ability to feel brilliance. Even when that brilliance was the brilliance of hurt and pain. Poetry was deemed, weak, faggy or whiny. But poetry wasn’t. Poetry was a strong resounding voice that took as much of the human spirit as it could and held it to the page so that it might impact the next person to read it. Poetry was more powerful than any other form of literature at people’s disposal. Nothing can capture humanities entropy quite like poetry. Nor can it evoke the human desire to feel. To yearn and hurt and love all in the same instant. To understand ones own complicated self is a tormented and arduous ecstasy of light and brilliance that makes you blind to the truth that is around you. Poetry rang out of every moment in that room; alone, with only the piano to keep him company.

For all of the good pop music had done it had turned poetry into a whiney, love sick kid. Real poetry was all about self exploration and investment in your discovery of the world. It was about facing ones own demons and laying bare your chest. Offering only your words to sway the axe mans hand. Real poetry meant you were lost, even from those who might pass judgment. And then it came to him.

Where is my face when it’s lost in the mirror?

I look onto my eyes and I do not see myself

I see someone who is lost

Not alone

Does my face not belong to me?

What is it beyond my eyes that beckons me?

Where do I loose myself and find the whole?

If I am not me than when will I become me?

Do I get to be?

Are my words lost upon your scared heart?

Don’t falter in your step

Where is my face when I am lost in my soul?

It may not have been brilliance or even coherent to those unwilling to look upon its inner workings. But to those who dared to venture, the truth was there. Somewhere, lost in a real between Nod and word. A secret lay there, waiting only to be scene and eclipsed by the brilliance of the love that would be bestowed upon it. Darkness can only consume us for so long. Just like the life breathing force that is water, light and love will find its way into our minds and our hearts. Fear not the beast that rides in on the dusk. What does that mean?

What is this beast?

And what is this tepid beast that resides upon my shoulders

Unrelenting is his focus and determined is his resonation

Is it the wisdom of age or the sorrow of the young and youthful?

Who is this to tell me I cannot

What happened to this voice that I used to hold so close in my cabinet

Am I buying in or selling out

What beast is this?

Crossing A Mountain Pass (Part 1)

"Where do we go from here?" Kris spoke hardly above a whisper, the fire still crackling behind him. It had been dark for over an hour now and it was almost time to start moving again. They had been moving only at night for almost a weeks time now and Kris thought felt as though he had forgotten all about what day looked like.

"I'm still trying to figure that out. No matter how much I look at this map in the dark it never gets any easier." Steven said.

"Are we still staying off the roads? We would make such better time if we could just use the road. Going the way of the crow has it's advantages and disadvantages." Kris uttered half to himself as he kicked some more snow over the fire.

"No. We're still staying off the roads" Erik said as he returned from relieving himself. "If we work hard we've only got two more days before we're there. The more north we get from here on out the longer it stays dark." It was only the three of them traveling anymore. They had lost the two others on bloodfoot crossing. They plummeted to their deaths after some spotty foot placement. It still lived on in Kris's head. Watching their bodies bounce lifelessly off the out cropping of rock as they rolled over and over towards the blood hoof river bed.

Kris was the youngest of the group. It was his first time away from home and he felt a bit out of sorts being the only one of them that wasn't human. He was however, the only one that could traverse the terrain, no matter what it put against him, completely in the dark. His bread had been built for living in the wild and he felt bad for the poor humans wrapped in all their garbs to stay warm in the harsh biting wind. His large Ox body was covered in a heavy fur that kept his body warm. He didn't require boots because of his hooves and his mighty hands were made from tough thick skin. The only parts of him that did get cold from time to time was the area right around the base of his horns, where the skin was bear.

"Alright Kris, it's time to go. You lead the way." Steven said as he looked into the dark unknown.

"Right. Lets be off then." Kris said as he began to walk in the direction Erik pointed. Kris, wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere, he only felt bad for the humans who had such a tuff time moving through the wooded areas in the dark. He kept hoping, for their sake that they would be able to take the roads, but it didn't seem like it was going to happen.

Erik was the leader of the group. He had traveled through more countryside's, in more places than almost anyone known, dead or alive. He was upwards of 100 years of age now and just coming out of his prime, but not very willingly. He stood well over six feet tall and hard strong broad shoulders. His head was build strong, with a very impressively chiseled jaw. He had short black hair and piercing light blue/ ivory eyes. He was the type of man that stories would be written about.

Steven was the opposite of Erik, although the two of them got along very well. Erik was quiet and kept mostly to himself and when Erik did speak it was usually an order or directive that came forcefully out of his lower abdomen. Steven was more light hearted and loved conversation, especially when they ate. He was by trade a tracker and was able to guide his way through the countryside even without the aid of a map. Steven, unlike Erik, was no great warrior either. He could hold men at bay with the use of his bow, but when it came to close quartered combat he wasn't very able bodied. Steven was just under six feet and had a very slender shape, which wasn't ideal for the cold situations they currently found themselves in. He had long dark hair, a well kept red beard and dark brown eyes. Unlike the rest of the group, he didn't seem to stick out in a crowd.

Both Erik and Steven came out of the east. The north east to be a bit more specific, which made both of them quite apt at dealing with the cold weather. Neither of them had been commissioned to do the work that lay behind or ahead of them. They had each been chosen, just like the other two men who had perished at bloodfoot canyon. The task at hand was very important; they had been the only four men to be expelled from The Keep.

Expelled is a bit of a harsh word. They had been the only four who were asked to leave, because of their good merit. They were chosen to leave, the last hopes of the McKreatee Empire lay with these four men. Two had already perished and they weren't long into their journey.

McKreatee laid in the North East, not three hundred yards from the Grand River and just over three hundred yards on the other coast of the river laid Tal. Neither empire had ever been well humored towards the other, but Tal was not the issue now. The issue now laid further to the south.

"Hold." Erik's voice shot out in a whisper. Still, the command halted the group at once. They sat in a dark dead silence, waiting for the ok to once again move. Nothing came and yet they held. None of them faltered. Still as statutes they stood and waited out the bitter ugly silence. This deep into the woods, this far north, there was no sound for long spells. It was a silence so pure it rang out in your head with a high pitched squeal. Kris began to wonder what they were waiting for. He wanted so badly to break the silence. His mind started to race as he strained to listen over the black noise of nothing. And then he heard it. They all heard it. On shrill movement in the snow that rang louder than all the bells in all the land. A single foot step crunched as it compacted the snow below it.

*This is the author speaking now. This is the first installment of this story and I'm hoping to learn a lot from it as well as entertain you all. Please give me any suggestions that come to mind while reading.

Thank you very much,

Adam Osterkamp

First Post

I only feel that I need to make one of these. Not sure why, but this is my first post. These are going to feel really stupid to write knowing that no one is going to be reading them at first... Or maybe ever :/ We'll see what happens.

Now I'm not sure how these blogs are supposed to work or how one is to get others interested in said Blog so I'm going to have to figure that part out. I doubt my title will get people interested, but it's the best I could do for the time being. If it's at all possible to change it I may change it later when I figure out what I want this to be about. But right now, I just want to right down the shit that keeps me entertained at work.

I should also make it clear that I'm not necessarily writing these at work. I may sometimes and I may not, but there will be no way of knowing.