Found Not What I'd Thought - lyric

Ok, maybe just due to a lack of time, but here is another lyric. This one also from the backroom college recroding sessions (not professional sessions). Again, perhaps a bit of negativity found here, but written at least a decade ago.

Not one of my favorites, but hopefully not horrible either.


Found Not What I'd Thought

Thought we'd found the arrogance to stand
Found we lack the persistence of time
Thought all had an innocence to hold
Found none keep the evidence of this

Even today finds disdain for tomorrow
Burrowed in the loss of yesterday

Thought if I held my stance it'd remain ... matter
Found what's the point resistence won't help
Thought if I filed a grievance it'd stand and speak
Found so few care, indifference is safe

Even the begger loves his change more than you
Even the leper loves his skin more than you
Still falls away

Thought reason and distance were tied ... a lie
Found nothing, no signifance for truth ... when

Even a lie whispers truth to grant belief
Even the truth lies to survive from deed to myth
Still falls away

Found the hope that you'd forgot ... I thought it meant more
Found the hate that we all fly ... the fear we embrace
Found you and your masked will ... thought it a promise you broke
Found the dollar we all serve ... the need for a flock

Still, growing old and more naive
Growing to realize I don't know anything ... not a thing ... or so I've found

Turn Your Head and Cough ... But Don't Bite the Nipple

I believe this was actually the first "article" I ever turned in to Fish. For reasons that are pretty solid, he decided not to use it (that's not intended to be snide - I understand and agree with his decision).

For some background, it was written at a time when there was a wealth of negativity floating around the DB.com message boards just prior to free agency.

I won't lie and pretend to have foreseen the wonderful Mavs-Championship World we live in now, especially considering the injury to Caron and the lack of impact from Roddy, but I did believe there was ample reason for hope. There is actually another version of this that I could not locate on my computer that had some further attempts to justify my hopes ... but this should suffice in this space.

Hopefully you can enjoy as is ...

Turn Your Head and Cough ... But Don't Bite the Nipple

I had another idea all laid out for this, and then my soon to be six-month-old son bit my wife's nipple. What made it really strange was that she wasn't even nursing at the time. Well, she was, but that would have been funnier.

I was going to write about the fact that this summer holds a great deal more hope than those in the recent past. I was going to point out that the quest for a championship is a race that spans beyond a single season, that blankets more than last year's regrets, that lingers beyond the riddled attention span of most fans, particularly the disenchanted; and in that race, the most recent Mavs strides have been good ones.

Then, my son bit my wife’s nipple.  Where this nipple bite lead me wasn't far off my intended course, but still a digression. Happenstance lead me to the fans nursing at the proverbial Mavs’ teat, to the fans that so often resort to biting.

Don't get me wrong. I am a fan as well.  I overreact at times. I get angry.  I’ve threatened my television. I hold grudges that may or may not be on the reasonable side ... I'm talking to you David West.

Given that, I am not seeking to condemn those who voice their displeasure.  That voice, and the actions (or inaction, when fans turn away) behind it are how we, the fans, contribute to the motivations of improvement.  

Without it, Kobe would be making his sneer-face (which doesn’t seem contrived at all, by the way) after persuading you to undergo unnecessary surgery.  Lebron would be throwing chalk in the air to have a better grip on his pen before a long day of paperwork.  Bruce Bowen would be kicking homeless people and laughing before the police decided it was ok for him to do that and no arrest need be made (No, I don’t have an anti-Spurs bias.  Why?).  Paul Pierce and Dwayne Wade would become millionaires after extended court battles and separate, but near identical, video footage showed them feigning 47 simultaneous broken bones after a harsh breeze knocked the hat from their head in the courtyard of wealthy business chains.

None of them would be making money as a paid athlete.  They have their jobs because the fans have granted them the opportunity to earn a living while playing a sport.  Still, in the realm of the fan there remains the line between the reasonable and those that bite the nipple despite the milk in their belly.

I’m a fan, and I can’t overlook the positive steps the Mavs have taken in the recent past, even if those positive steps have yet to yield the desired results.  The trades that brought in Shawn Marion, Caron Butler, Brendan Haywood and DeShawn Stevenson were the kind of moves we’ve all been looking for.  They were steps forward.

I’m not sure how many feel the way that I do, but I happen to agree with Caron Butler’s recent comments on this team (when he stated the Mavs were contenders).  Even if there are only minor moves this summer, even if the DUST Chip doesn’t return Lebron (ended up bringing Tyson Chandler to help topple LeBron and company), Wade or whoever sits atop your wishlist, this is a team that will begin the season among the elite.

Even if you don’t feel that way, just as you may have used other summer’s to justify your distrust for the Mavs’ front office, shouldn’t you use the last calendar year to at least relabel that with hope...even if you do so in pencil?  Personally, I have.

See You Tomorrow - Ok, one more lyric

Honestly, strange to listen to some of these old songs ... from the absurdly poorly done to a few that don't sound too bad (to me). Some of the singing on this one was awful (my fault), but the music is actually pretty good (again, to me) - the music for all of these was a collaboration with a good friend, Hardy (you can find his blog here: http://playingostrich.blogspot.com/), and the really old ones also included another good friend, Chris.

Written in early college - perhaps a bit of an angrier tone, but again - written long ago.


See You Tomorrow

Opened the front and back door
The same for all windows and shades
Left the keys on a filthy floor
And a note taped to the television
Said only, "Good bye"
Punched a sign in the yard, said "Take it all"

Now, a whisper sewn to the wind
feeds this starving parasite that
fears others share this perspective
where all to see is a dying fly lying on it's back
It's useless will ... is hideous
Punched a hole in the mirror and walked away

Watched with no wave as all fell away
Walked head down, to and from that place

Now, a will has it's legs
to deface the coming sun ...
Run for the treeline and the dark
to embrace where thoughts have no chains
in the hope it will make it easier
Find the mind has made the eye home
and it's hard to appear as perscribed

Bleed yourself dry ... bury it somewhere nice
Don't blame yourself, don't blame us now
It's all of no one's fault

Bleed the sun ... hoard what's yours now
Bottle the blood to drink on your own ... your private stock
wait ... wait ... wait, don't show them where

Bleed the sun ... all into one cup
A waste, pure waste, but who really cares .... right?
wait ... wait ... wait, don't share with them

And, be just like them

The Wanderer - Short Story - Repost

I actually posted this near the beginning of this blog, but assume those archives are buried too deep for any to find. I cleaned it up a little ... and thought, "why not post it one more time?"


P.S. Sorry, since I copied and pasted this from a Word Document there were problems getting the text to show up on both the standard and mobile version (one is a black and one is a white background - causing white or black text to not show up on one - so, red it is)

The Wanderer

I once met a man, who wasn’t a man. He stood about six-two and weighed in at about an even deuce. Two hundred pounds, that is. Wasn’t really wearing anything that would set him apart from anyone else, other than the small white flower peaking from his left breast pocket. Around these parts that is a rather strange thing in itself, but the contrast created by the canvass of solid black that was his entire dress seemed to paint a spotlight on an already glaring abnormality. Other than that, though, nothing set him apart from any other man. I mean, other than the fact that he was not a man.

He did breathe, did sleep, did think and feel, did abide, in his own way, by what he called the seasons of life; birth to death to birth and so on. By death he did not infer the definition you or I would recite, if asked, but would prefer to label it a door; nothing but a link from this face to the next. After describing this last line he was sure to make clear that, unlike a man, his face remained always as it was … as if to explain why I may or may not have found him vaguely familiar.

Of course, you have to understand that unlike you and I, memory did not rust and die for him. It lived on door after door, though he craved the amnesia that promises to cleanse us of us when the day comes, when that door opens. On this jealousy I am not speculating, for he told me himself. He did. Right out there. Just beyond the pumps, where the gravel starts to eat at the pavement. Perhaps I’ll invite my wife to convince you. No, I couldn’t deprive myself of the story. It is mine to tell, after all. Hers is altogether different.

He stood, this pseudo man, and told me of his envy. I don’t know if that was the strangest day of my life, but if it wasn’t, it was close. It’s certainly not everyday you meet a man who is just not a man. Though he seemed bound by the same sorrow in a strange way, he was left hollow of the happiness that can be everyday life, of change. Rather, held eternally by the confines of a single day he was left without variation, save the faces he came across, as he wandered not quite aimlessly.

--------

It was a Thursday, if I recall correctly. Maybe a little after two in the A.M.. So, you could call it Friday morning if you chose. I had stayed at the store with Jim and a small black and white television. It only got three channels, but that’s enough for me. Background noise was all it truly was anyway, a wall between the emptiness of silence and me.

That’s not right, now is it? Silence wasn’t empty. Not for me. Crowded by memory it whispered in a constant drain that night.

Jim sat before me beside the flickering television; I was sitting on a stool behind the main counter of my small store (Oz’s Map is its name, if you were wondering- No, my name isn’t Oz. Again, if you were wondering. It’s James.). Having spilled half its belly, I reached out and unscrewed Jim’s crown again to fill my glass, now barren, shimmering ice resting instead of floating.

As the liquor reached a quarter of an inch from the rim of the glass I stopped pouring and put the Jim Beam back on the counter, added a splash of water from the sink behind me (a sink built only to wash gas or oil coated hands and to top off my many drinks) and took a big sip. Nothing’s like that first sip from a fresh drink, quality alcohol or not. There’s nothing like it except, perhaps, a first kiss, should you be so lucky.

My wife passed nearly twenty years before that night and a kiss was something I hadn’t known between. You’d think I’d have missed it more. Sex, I mean. Don’t get me wrong. I missed it. Sometimes immensely, but I think after a certain period of time, once memory loses its texture, some things can quietly slide away. I’ll leave it at that, or I’ll melt your ear on the subject. Perhaps it was missed more than I’ll admit, but that said, I missed her far more than one act can encapsulate. Just a single mental glimpse of her sent a wish to be gone from this place pulsing through me.

Again I must digress, before I regress, as someone once said to me.

That night, the night I met a man who failed to be a man, I was drunk, but that’s not to say I was too drunk. It was a state I had grown accustomed to. I only say, because there is no need to lose trust in my words. What happened happened. There is no changing that. No explaining it away. No dismissing it.

Such an easy way out that would be. To say it was all Jim’s fault … easy, but not true. Right or wrong, who’s to say? Do true and false mirror right and wrong? I’d say it was wrong, but true. Everything about that night was somehow wrong, at first, a shadow where nothing lies.

In hindsight it was right and false.

--------

I was sitting behind the counter on my small bar stool when something caught my attention, a small glint at the extreme of my peripheral vision. Before I even saw him everything fell away, like the air had settled beneath the floor and failed its climb to me, leaving a vacuum that swallowed all sound and life. Space became empty, almost two-dimensional. Slight, yet overwhelming.

Most nights will pass with the crossing of a possum, raccoon or deer as the only traffic. So, when I saw what had grabbed my eye appeared to be a man, my first thought was of either a wreck or an empty, someone that’s run dry of gas, not far up the road. Empty seemed more plausible, lack of traffic and all, but the man’s gate was that of one left dazed and incoherent. He didn’t quite sway, but rather leaked along with brutal slowness.

Entranced by the vacant feel of the world around me, I wandered out of the unlocked front door of Oz’s Map towards the man. Forgive me for calling him such, but I think it’s of no concern to him. Though my suspicions were already raised, there was nothing to define them.

Once outside, the feel of being in a vacuum became even more intense as the very air pulled at my skin, threatening to tear me in all directions at once. The normal squeal for oil of the front door pulling closed behind me came wet and muddled, as if buried deep in a pool of honey. My footsteps and the clinking ice from the glass in my hand were ghosts whose cries went unnoticed.

Had the earth quit for a moment of respite from its endless, dizzy spin? Had the moon claimed the day for its own? Was I trapped in a dying bubble left in an ocean’s belly, left unsettled from continents swallowed? It was surreal in its haunting awkwardness, that night. Not dreamlike, but rather a painting gone awry.

“You alright?” I finally mustered with failing courage. Why didn’t I just turn and run, leave my spilled drink to accompany this that was clearly not a man.

No response. He only leaked a little farther along.

Regretting it as I did, I asked again. “You alright there?”

Like barely warmed wax his head dripped forward and his eyes stopped me mid-stride. His right eye, the one farther from me as I approached from his left, was a shiny almost bright gray or silver, like a cat’s eye reflecting bright light in the darkest throes of night.

While the left eye, closer to me, was still gray, it appeared lifeless and faded, long dead. Along with the small white flower against his complete black attire, his eyes added two complete contrasts within his features.

I stood frozen under his gaze, blazing and dead eye alike, having forgotten that a question had been asked.

“I am fine,” he said, leaving me oddly confused. “Is this your trading post?”

“My what? Ah, yes. I own and run Oz’s Map.”

“I have no cartomobile in need of sustenance, but could I barter for a beer. Flavor or ferment matters not.” He reminded me of a gunslinger entering a new town without fear, but tired of the fight none the same.

“I’m actually closed to trading for the night, but I don’t mind parting with a bottle if you’ll wait here for a second.” I was truly asking permission to leave, for a moment to find a breath outside of the vacuum.

“I’ll do so gratefully.”

It’s funny how things seem to work sometimes. I barely remember the walk back into the store and the thin walk-in cooler. Time simply leapt forward leaving me feeble and dreading the return trek, where it slowed down once more.

Enter the vacuum, but inhale deep before going because there’s no breath to find there.

Maybe a hundred years later, so it seemed, I was once again standing before the not-quite man. He took the bottle from my hand, opened it and took a sip with a slow bleeding grace.

“Thank you for your kindness,” he said while looking at the bottle with an eerie smile, as if he hadn’t had a beer in ages and hadn’t seen a bottle in much longer, if ever.

“Not a problem.” I wanted to ask his name, or what he was doing here, or comment on his eyes and their extreme polarity but the words would not come, instead they were taken back to sleep before their conception.

“You do well out here? Haven’t crossed any other travelers in awhile, and seen even less as far as homes go.”

“Enough to get by. I’m too old to try to get rich, and the seclusion of this place was half of its draw. Just a place to feed on my time.”

“Aye, it does you well.” His voice was quiet, but not small or meek.

“It does.” I couldn’t find where the will resided that was moving my vocal chords, but as the words themselves escaped, they did so without strain, though I couldn’t have screamed had I wanted to … not if my life and the lives of all those important to me depended on it. It was like his questions freed me to respond, but the surrounding emptiness took everything else.

There were no crickets. No isolated bird calls. No frogs or coyote in the distance, nothing at all beyond me and this near man. Nothing here but our two voices, his two opposing eyes and the balance held therein.

“Do you refer to your feeding of time, your structured leaving from this place, with your map?”

“What?” It took me a second, but I followed his dual gaze to the sign atop the storefront.

“The name? No, it…” I was still a little confused by the question.

“Your map, does it symbolize or refer to your plan with this storefront, your route for this last leg of your life? Does it chart the path to the land on the other side of the door?” he said and took another long sip of beer.

“No. Well, no. In a way, I guess it does, but not how you mean. Though that definitely fits, I just hadn’t thought of it that way before. My name’s not Oz. I actually came up with that name because of the desolate location. It feels misplaced and what could you use more than a map to or from the heart of Oz, to the wizard, when you’re lost … misplaced?”

“I understand. I’ve heard of this Oz. Why not Map to Oz then?” His question came without malice or sarcasm.

“I didn’t want to specify the coming or going part, leaving home to be at either end of the path.”

“I see. I am not sure that I would have chosen such a name, but it is strong none the less.” He said and took another sip from his more than half empty bottle.

I still couldn’t muster an unsolicited word.

We stood there in complete silence for a moment, and I noticed something strange. Though there was not a cloud in the sky, I could not find a single star. Only an unmarked seal of black wrapped us in.

“What name do you go by?”

“James, but you can call me Jimmy or Jim. Most people do.” I smiled but it didn’t fit and quickly faded.

“Are you married, James? Jimmy, Jim, if you prefer.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, and yes or at least I was.”

“Passed on has she, over the next hill and on? Do you think of Sandy often?” He spoke slowly and allowed a pause to break up the thoughts.

I’d not mentioned her name. I’m sure of it. Hadn’t spoke it aloud in over a decade, in fact. Yet, there it was.

“She is without pain, if it suits you to know.” he continued.

“It does. Thank you for saying.” My mind stalled.

I was aware of how things felt, was aware of the small oddities, such as the hiding stars and the complete silence, other than our words: Our feet did not scuff the ground, drinks did not whisper a sound and clothes ruffling was unfound. It was like being in a sound booth with only our heads enclosed and only our words caught but … having something as solid as her name said right out loud sent the weight of the situation crashing down.

This wasn’t a man. No matter the costume, this was not a man.

Again, I wanted to turn and run until my lungs burst and my legs fell strained and broken as my heart popped, but the connection between what I wanted and what I could do was lost. I stood, probably with my jaw agape, but unable to do anything about it. He must have noticed my silence for his eyes turned from the horizon to me, and I nearly did run, or at least faint.

“Sandy is in fact a happier version of you. She waits for you as you wait for her. You are merely caught in different seasons. Her in spring, and you in deep winter, but it won’t be long now. I can already see the door, the coming break of winter, but we’ll talk a little longer. You’ve impressed me, Jimmy, so far.”

“Thank you.” I said without really understanding why. I tried to take a sip of my Beam with a splash of water, found that steadying my hand was not a manageable task, and lowered the glass without touching it to my lips.

As I stood, the world around the road - we were on the edge of where the gravel still struggled to cover my paved lot - began to gray and dry. It was like watching a cigarette burn with a time motion camera. One moment there is a full cigarette and within seconds a small ring of glowing heat devours the white paper around the tobacco and leaves only a stick of dry, wilted ash.

It was slower than this, but the world seemed to burn away as I watched. Long lines of confined flame swept in from the horizon, like a digital scan, leaving gray lifeless things behind. Behind me, Oz’s Map developed a glowing horizontal line at its top that slowly began to descend its walls. Moments later there was a lifeless ash husk in its place.

The glowing line did not stop at the base of my store. Instead, in crept on towards where I stood, swallowing all in its path. Up and over the two pumps it came. From all directions this fiery line crept in, forming a giant ring around where I stood beside the stranger with a quarter of his beer left, broken only by the road to my right … away from where the almost stranger had approached.

It stopped at the other side of the road, but cut it off several feet to my left, behind the one wearing the costume of a man. Ash took all, up to about three feet from where I’d approached and all to the right except the untouched vein of road, which it left to stretch into the horizon.

I was beginning to understand. I raised my glass in an attempt at another sip, but once again nerves forced me to give up before doing so.

We stood a moment in complete silence. There was no smell of burning or truly, there was no smell at all. Like sound it had abandoned us.

“Do you know the seasons? Do they change here, or are we too far south?” His quiet voice came as a scream shattering the silence.

“I know them. Know them very well. Come to dread some of the changes for what they do to my joints.” I said.

“What I wouldn’t give for such pain. Nothing changes where I am. I adhere to the same seasons of life and death as you, but am left forever un-cleansed. Memory does not reset. I am forever in the winter of my tasks.”

I wanted to say something, to ask something. Anything, but my lips and tongue were limp and without will.

“Forgive my self pity, if that is what it is. We are all born to a task, and I fulfill mine same as anyone else. Same as you, but I’m just so tired.” He took a small sip of his beer, now maybe only an eighth full. “Why can’t my past wash away? Someday … someday.” As he said this he waved his arm and the ash skeletons of the world I’d known fell away. This only completed the feeling of being trapped in a vacuum. Now there was only the road, and it went in only one direction.

I stood unable to speak, and unsure of what I could have said anyway.

“Your door is close now, from this face to the next. Unlike me, you will soon find another place, another version of you, but fear not. For this particular rebirth is an easy change. You merely shed your skin, and little else. Your time of reward is near, and Sandy waits.”

I felt her name surge through me, along with his words. Could she be so near?

“As for me, my reward is not near; only another to hold the door open for. I’m so tired,” he said with a sigh. “Thank you for not fighting, for not running. That only makes the inevitable that much harder on me. You’ve lived a good life, Jimmy, and I’m sure your time of reward will not be short.” He had finished his beer. The bottle top glowed red, fell from his hand and disappeared into an ash that left no dust.

“Are you ready?” He said.

I tried once more to take a sip of my drink and this time it happened easily enough. With that done, the weight of my glass fell away and slipped like all else to ash.

On the horizon of a world swallowed in black, broken only by the road, there came a glint of light and a small laugh … Sandy’s laugh.

My heart leapt.

“I am.” I said.

“Let us begin our short walk together, then.” He turned and began to walk onto and down the road, slowly. I quickly caught up with anxious steps. Thoughts of her filled my head, though I still dared not speak her name, for fear of jinxing myself and waking from the dream. The glint at the horizon was still far off, but now I could almost smell her. The vacuum was breaking.

I found myself once again in control of my faculties.

“Where did you get that flower, or does it signify something I missed?” I asked.

“This,” he said and lightly stroked the flower, “This was a gift. Long ago it was given to me as a token of appreciation for the tasks I must complete. It is immune to my touch. It never dies. I love it with all that is me for it is both a mirror and the antithesis of me.”

She was all around me now. I could smell her. Hear her. Feel her with a sense of touch not caged by the hand.

And then this not quite man touched my wrist and there she stood with arms and smile wide.

The End -

written by Michael Dugat

Note:

I wrote this story shortly after my father passed away, and I suppose it was at least partially my way of making death not seem so bad. I also liked the idea of life being like the flame put to the end of a cigarette.

That's all. I hope you enjoyed it.

Circumstance - lyric

Ok, one more and I may move on from lyrics. This is another one from high school. Oddly, this is probably more apt to my life now than when it was written ... a fictional event with my father ...


Circumstance

Sitting on an old folding chair
thoughts feeding a lulling fire
when a man I'd seen before
appeared with a grin I'd returned before
Years had tarnished his look
like the binding of a read, re-read book
Strange how the ease was so encompassing

Looks from his watch to the falling moon
Pauses mid-sentence, in his eyes it shown
Too much to say ... too much
Before he'd be lifted away ... couldn't say

Promised a day we'd speak again
Says of how time and memory are wed
"Did you know the wind's a drifting woman
Caressing all beneath her gentle hum?"
 ... we share one last smile
Strange how we sat silent as he drifted off

Looks through his watch then leans slowly back
Lifted beyond this sky by some soft impact
Too much wasn't said ... too much
That was left unsaid ... too much

I Suppose - lyric

Yes, this exercise is mostly just for me, but it's been kind of fun going through these old notebooks. It's strange to get a glimpse into the mind of your adolescent self.

This one is definitely from high school - which is probably a little obvious.


I Suppose

Awoke to a blackened room
Sat wrapped around myself,
And can't displace this cold
Candle light, like a stolen sun
And a voice speaks from nowhere ... from everywhere
"Have you seen the light
Do the Birds sing to you"
Shows me a wingless fly far in the desert

"Would you kneel was your sun to go out ... or lie, just staring up while hoping it's not alone ..."

"Where do you believe this path opens up
Is to live without life allowed
Suppose stars are merely souls trying to return
Suppose it's a trip in vain,
And we return just as plain."

"Would you kneel was your sun to go out ... or lie, just staring up while hoping it's not alone ..."

"Perhaps we ride the tide to be set on another shore
Where eyes don't misconstrue ... and we sink right in"

Asked me my opinion ... for he's not sure

The Last Resort - "lyric"

These probably are of little interest to basically everyone, but here is another.

If any should read, feel free to deliver an interpretation and if interested, I can give a slight hint as to how it was intended when written ... or not.


The Last Resort

Scatched walls and crooked halls
Broken mirrors, a crumbling terrace
Cracked tiles, weathers miles
Around and around, there's no sign of the wealth once housed
Only the scar they left instead, their elegance long dead

Stacked hopes on slippery slopes
Burnt rooms or so it's assumed
Uprooted floors, unhinged doors
Around and around, there's no sign of the wealth once found
Only the masks they left to sort, here at the last resort

It was a warm day when the fire came
Fed all to ash without refrain
Now a cold wind and the ghosts remain
Wicked or divine the scent's the same

Around and around, it'll all burn down
Around and around, it's all burned down
Around and around, it'll come around
Around and around, to come around ... again

Old Lyrics - Please Now

Back in high school, I participated in a musical endeavor that never really amounted to anything more than a few friends using our "talents" as a method to pass time and strengthen our bonds.

This stretched into college, and again, was never really anything more than something we did while hanging out.

Anyway, for the fun of it, I thought I'd look back and post at some of the lyrics I contributed during that time (in no particular order), beginning with one of the few that may have carried some brand of significance to someone other than myself (or not).

I'll add to this list periodically.

Please Now

Please now excuse her, she's a dusk to catch
Chasing the loneliness seems her only reward
Fails to see the stray from logic

Tripped on a child, found that we're fertile too soon
Then, would you believe, found her savior in a mother's scripture

Still comes this cloud, rolls in the guise of a clean, pure thought
A false tongue given voice by spare time. It's the same as before ...
As always

Here it comes again in waves, she's eroded a little more
Hides her core, scarred but whole, buried deep, far from this ...

A subtle tone and violent show unwraps time and seals her womb
Finds herself, for what it's worth, far worse off ... 50 at 25

Can't cradle the sky, vacuum the desert
Throw your match to the sun
Or, appease the broken ones
It doesn't mean that you didn't try

Stirring the Constellations

   The constellations have been shuffled, mixed into ghosts of the undefined and the what-may-never-be. Yet, they still grasp at the ability to haunt the days looming in the wake of tomorrow. Connect the dots to perfect the silhouettes with those stars we chase in our farthest reaches of hope, of dream, and still we’re merely drawing shadows in the dark.

   But, we’re not alone.

   We can draw portraits in the dirt. Scratch diagrams in the walls of basketball dialogue. Etch our constructs in digital forums. But, in the end, we can only pretend to know just how the cannonballs will stack; can only feign to know how the first will fall, and how it will guide those that follow.

   The constellations remain shuffled, and in this moment definition has yet to claim, it’s easy to pick and choose what to make of the scattered dots spilled over the sky. 

   On the eve of the next race, the biggest we’ve seen – just as those held before, and those to come; a path eternally ascending – there is no shame in counter-weighing optimism with realism, but it isn’t the realist who never allows for a small room behind an unlocked door to store his hope. As it so often is, the pessimist hides his affair with doubt under the guise of knowledge he does not hold, of preaching the reality that has not come.

   I write now, not as a preacher, but as one who hopes to remind that until hope has shed the need to chase that next breath, there is nothing gained in refusing its acquaintance. 

   Until you accept the inevitability that some sketches may collapse into a pool of random stars before the image comes to life, you invite the petrified, paralyzed stance entrenched in disappointment.  You stand to miss most of the joy found in the connections that could echo down the corridors of NBA history; the joy kept in the moments before the sky wears the tattoo of a successful design and the fireworks take flight.

  You’ll stand welcomed in the celebratory songs found then, but you’ll have missed as we found the lines connecting the dots that brought the new constellations to life. 

Conclusions: Final Impressions of 2009/10 Mavs' Season

Conclusions:

For me, this Mavs’ team was a missed opportunity. While the roster was vastly overhauled, nothing changed. However, you can’t deny the affects of changing 2 key members of your rotation at the All Star break (or what should have been 40% of your starting 5). Give me a moment to explain:

For years now, we’ve seen the Mavs roster change piece by piece, and finally we had a change that impacted the core when Josh Howard was sent away, and Dampier should have been relegated to backup duties. Still, the style of play seems to have changed very little, particularly in the playoffs. In the end, this is still an offense heavily reliant on isolation play, mixed in with the two man game of Terry and Dirk.

Again, while the roster has been vastly upgraded, the game plan has not adapted to those players, rather those players are being asked to adapt or change to fill the same old roles those before them filled, the biggest example being Shawn Marion.

We’ve watched as Marion was forced into the Antoine Wright role, ignoring the vast difference in what they bring to the court. Butler was essentially forced into being Josh Howard. Haywood was asked to play exactly as Dampier has, ignoring his radically different areas of talent – such as hands and athletic ability. Roddy was treated like Ager, or any other untrustworthy rookie by a coach with an overreliance on what is known, even if what is known has been known to fail. Meanwhile, regardless of their effectiveness, Terry, Dampier, and other rotation players held strong to their previous roles.

While this formula may have gotten the Mavs to the Finals, it hasn’t worked in the playoffs since, and ignores those many roster changes that have taken place. When the pieces are not the same, you can’t continue to try to force them together in the precisely same manner.

Isolation offenses can work and work very well, but they can also cause a team to become stagnant, which is something we’ve all seen the Mavs do, regardless of personnel. How many times have we watched 4 guys stand still while Dirk is asked to shoulder the complete load on the offensive end. If Dirk doesn’t score, this likely means a contested jumpshot for another player for reasons I’ll elaborate on as I go, not good offense.

To go back to my original point:

Marion was often asked to stand motionless in the corner on offense, by design or action/reward (how many times do you make a cut when the pass continues to not come?), this would seem to sever most of his strongest assets from the game. Essentially, he’s Antoine Wright – not based on talent, but forced by design.

Haywood was ignored almost completely on the low block after an experience that would seem to alert most players that this was a bad idea, a 13 game win streak in which he continually delivered at the rim when given the chance. After that, whether it be by design or habit, players simply stopped looking for him. You can blame this on not starting, and thus not playing with Kidd (though Kidd wasn’t innocent of ignoring him either), but if you go back and watch, you can’t fairly blame him for this, at least not consistently (but what came first, inconsistency in chances or effort?). He continued to be open, or to successfully post up his man. The ball simply stopped coming.

Butler, a better passer and ball handler than Josh Howard, was rarely to never involved in any sort of pick-and-roll play, and often asked to stand in the opposite corner as Marion with little chance to contribute other than a corner 3 (not his biggest strength) or a desperate late shotclock attempt. More than he’s given credit for, Butler can create his own shot, and do so with a fairly strong level of success, but very few players can be asked to do nothing but isolation plays with great result, particularly in the playoffs. If you’re not one of those 10-15 best players in the league, it’s too easy to neutralize (ask Joe Johnson), especially when the you’re not a very strong 3 point shooting team, and the other four players are merely standing and watching.

On the other end of that, it felt like I noticed an unusually high number of stupid plays from a “high BBIQ”, veteran team. For example, Bonner switches on to Butler, the team starts to clear out and just as Butler starts to make a move someone will roll slowly down to the block, essentially cutting off Butler’s (or any other player’s) path to the rim. Combined with poor overall movement, unintelligent movement is a killer.

Jason Terry continues to be handed the ball in the playoffs and is often asked to lead the 4th quarter offense in the two man game with Dirk. Well, we’re going on four years of this failing as soon as the playoffs arrive (maybe it’s only two years, but it feels like four). Perhaps it’s time to go in another direction. Coach’s tend to stick with what has worked, but shouldn’t they also go away from what has not....especially when there are new capable alternatives available?

Given that Butler and Haywood didn’t join the team until the All-Star break, it’s not hard to understand why it may have been difficult to adjust to their styles in time for this year’s playoffs. It’s also not hard to understand why Carlisle may have had a hard time in trusting a rookie after making the mistake of not building that trust in the regular season (other than in game 6, where there is no defense of Roddy not playing until the final minutes of the fourth quarter).

That is a legitimate excuse for Carlisle, he may have not had time to truly implement the new talent as he would with a preseason of practices, just as you could say there wasn’t time for the rest of the players to properly adjust. Of course, that doesn’t explain trying to force Marion to be an Antoine Wright clone, which I wasn’t aware of being desirous for a “contender”.

On top of this, considering my own player grades, it’s hard to win in the playoffs when only 3 or 4 players (Dirk, Butler, Barea and I suppose you could count Najera – and two of those didn’t perform well, they just didn’t play any worse than they did in the regular season) perform at the level they did in the regular season…..and only 1 or 2 exceed their regular season performances (Dirk and Butler). Watch any other team that is currently having success, and you’ll find a plethora of examples showing different players stepping up and creating wins for their team. The stars tend to get the bulk of the credit and the blame, but without these other players stepping up when given the chance there is no success.

Is it Lebron’s fault Mo Williams is failing? Is it Dirk’s fault Terry, Kidd and Marion played so poorly? On the converse side, was it Nash’s skill that scored 26 points for Dragic in the final 14 minutes? Was it Duncan’s skill that hit those shots for Hill against the Mavs, and then his fault when Hill couldn’t duplicate that level of success in the second round?

All in all, I still think this can be a very good team next year, even with only minor roster moves and Carlisle returning, but it’s time to really look at the roster and build a plan of attack around that roster, rather than forcing a plan that was designed with different players in mind.

In the end, I feel that this was probably the most talented roster in the Dirk era, but that talent was bound and confined within an approach not designed to stress its strengths, rather constructed ignorant of them. While I place some of the blame on Carlisle and some on the players (for not throwing passes that were often there), you can’t ignore the constraints of time.

My hope remains high for next season, but things can’t stay the same.

2009-10 Season - Mav Player Grades - Reg. Season/Playoffs

This is my subjective assessment of the Mavs players on the roster when the season ended prematurely.  As I am writing this introduction, I have not researched any of this and will not be providing any statistical evidence to support my evaluations.  This is simply the impressions of each player that have remained with me as the disappointment of this season gradually washes away…..though I can’t seem to get this residue completely off.

Ok, now that I’m done, I should probably add to this intro:  Sorry this was so long.  Apparently, I did find the time for a couple of stats, but they were mostly things I’d found in previous research.  Again, this is purely editorial, and nothing more than my opinion.  Due to the length, I was going to break it up into a couple of posts, as most (if not all) people will now be turned away by its size (and I don’t blame them).  However, since I am not running a site that requires new content every day, I am just throwing it all out there at once.

Besides, this is as much a cathartic experience for me as anything.  Enjoy….hopefully.

Dirk Nowitzki –

Regular Season: A-

Why the minus?  Dirk was magnificent for stretches this season, and as has been the case for about a decade, was the primary reason this team finished the regular season as well as it did.  People choose to complain about the ending, but the Mavs never reach the position to disappoint without Dirk, they simply wither in the obscurity of the lottery. 

However, and this isn’t really an insult as I believe it is required of a player his size and age, but there were certainly times this season when he was prone to coast, particularly on the defensive end.  That said, he still played well enough for this team to earn the #2 seed in a very tough West race despite early season locker room turmoil (according to multiple articles) and enduring a face changing trade just before the deadline.    With “A+” being perfect, you can’t give Dirk that score for the reasons I state above, but he was outstanding.

Playoffs: A

Again, Dirk failed to shine in one game this series, and small portions of other games, but his defense was better than most give him credit for, as he showed the ability to protect the rim on multiple occasions and kept his guys from coming anywhere close to matching his level of production.  You can blame some open jumpshots made by McDyess or Bonner on Dirk, but to do so does not take into account why they were open in the first place – when Dirk was trying to help on the near endless forays to the rim by San Antonio’s guards.  If the defense doesn’t break elsewhere, Dirk isn’t forced to leave his man, and those shots aren’t there.

I’m not saying he never strayed too far, or rotated late or without full effort, only that these events were rarities, and not substantial enough for a severe downgrading of his grade.

Caron Butler

Regular Season: B-

As many have noted, Caron was often hit or miss in the regular season as far as offensive efficiency is concerned (at least if measured by FG%).  Of course, he ended up shooting 44% for the regular season as a Mav….only about 2% lower than Joe Johnson or Kobe Bryant managed this season, and higher that Johnson has shot in 2 of the last 3 seasons (just some food for thought for those saying they’d trade Butler and pieces for Johnson).

He also played solid defense, particularly considering he was playing out of position.  Ideally, he is best suited to guard opposing SFs, but managed to win his positional battles at both SG and SF.  For those, I hope you are reading this MBT, that don’t put much stock in the effect of a player being forced out of position – simply look at Kevin Durant.  You can attribute much of his success to maturation, but if you look back to their coaching change (when Brooks took over) you’ll find a nice bump in production there – which just happens to be when he was moved from SG to his natural SF position.

If you didn’t like him as a SG, your complaint is with management, not with Butler himself.

Playoffs: B

Butler had two poor games in the playoffs as he adjusted to the level of defense the Spurs threw at him, after he warranted that attention with a strong game one.  Once again, I’ll say the stats are horribly misleading for that game.  No one came away with anything but positive feelings for his performance, and his impact on the game.  Follow all of this up with a strong bounce back after being severely mishandled by the coach and adjusting to the defense, as he performed at a fairly elite level in games 5 and 6.

Given his situation on a new team, while playing out of position, 2 games to adjust is an acceptable learning curve.  Overall, Butler was the second best player for the Mavs in their lone series….while being their best player for at least one game (5).

Shawn Marion

Regular Season: B+

While many had unrealistic expectations for Marion on offense, which were only heightened by his preseason performances, he did make a very large impact on the Mavs’ defense as he was easily their top defender.  Hampered for much of the season by minor injuries, I put much of the blame (see Haywood) for his poor offensive performance in much of the regular season on a failure to properly utilize his skills…..as he was often sent to the corner to stand around and wait for the offensive possession to end.  Personally, I find that a horrible misuse of a player that may have been the most athletic on the team, other than Roddy…as well as a player no longer fully capable of consistently hit any open shot he may find while standing in the corner.

Combine this with a failure by the players to attempt the same passes that worked so well in the preseason on cuts towards the basket, regardless of whether or not a defender was at his hip, and removing him from the direct vicinity of the rim by putting him in the corner and not allowing him the proper number of chances for “garbage” points……and all this amounted to nearly neuter his offensive style and chances to contribute on a regular basis.

Regardless of his offensive consistency, or limited chances to contribute, what Marion provided on defense was more than any Mav in recent history.  That he not only didn’t make the NBA All Defensive teams, but didn’t receive a single vote, is a joke and a direct condemnation on the coach’s that voted. 

Playoffs: D+

I came close to giving him an incomplete due to how he was handled in the playoffs, but his proclivity to miss easy shots really hurt this team.  In multiple games, the score would have looked vastly different had he simply made most of his layups.  I’m not saying the Mavs are sure to win those games had he made them, but the leads would have been larger for the Mavs or significantly smaller for the Spurs entering the late game situations.

That said, after the first couple of games, he played solid defense and held Ginobli in check, for the most part.  I may be a little too hard on him here, as it’s not fair to criticize too much when a player has his minutes and role severely impacted by the decisions of the coach.  A key player in the Mavs getting the #2 seed, wasn’t given a legitimate chance to fill that role in the playoffs.

Still, he didn’t produce at the level most of us hoped and play through whatever the circumstances may have been.

Jason Kidd

Regular Season: A-

Often times this season we saw comments on how the Devin Harris trade was proven to be a good move, and read or witnessed testimonials to Kidd’s agelessness.  Included in this, we saw his best play as a Mav shortly after the trade that brought in Butler, Haywood and Stevenson.  If only considering the regular season, Kidd was great.

No doubt, he couldn’t guard many of the quicker guards, but still managed to be a positive influence on both ends of the court….and often showed us what people mean when they call a player a “Floor General”.  He epitomized leadership and BBIQ.  And, he became near deadly from the 3 point line.

Unfortunately, as many of us complained all year, his minutes were far too high for a player of his age.  This may have not hurt his performance in the playoffs, but how can you honestly know it didn’t? 

Playoffs: D-

Sadly, his regular season performance only translated to game 1 and some of game 5.  In all other games, Kidd looked closer to Derek Fisher three years from now than a certain Hall of Famer.  I’m going to ignore the claims of sickness, as I see them as irrelevant.  If they are true and the team was aware of it, they further condemn Carlisle’s decisions and the supposed depth of this team, but don’t excuse Kidd’s performance.  He played how he played, and seemed more than capable of forcing his game on the Spurs when the effort was there (see games 1 and 5).

Depending on the degree of sickness, something none of us know, I could be way off base – and he could honestly deserve a break.

That said, you can’t have your leader start to shy away from open shots, as Kidd did, especially when those shots have been a key to your offensive success all season.  We also saw Najera impact this series simply by having a physical presence, why didn’t we see something similar from Kidd?  Unlike Stevenson, Kidd had every opportunity to do this, and never asserted his toughness upon smaller, quicker guards….at least not with any consistency.

Erick Dampier

Regular Season: C

Contract Damp.  I’ll admit, early in the season he was better than I may have ever seen him.  Whether it was injuries or the arrival of a player clearly superior to him at his position, by the end of the season, he was the same old Dampier.  Sure, he sets nice screens (which is a big deal) and rebounds well (at times), but he was an anchor on defense (I mean that in a bad way – as he could not cover any ground and only managed to protect the rim if the offensive player directly attacked him, most of the time) and a complete liability on offense.

Damp seems like a great guy, but his effectiveness on the court is nothing more than a 10-15 minute backup.  Put bluntly, he’s an average to adequate player and nothing more.

Playoffs: F

When you start 4 games of series and only manage 5 points total, all coming on freethrows, you’ve hurt your team.  Maybe if he’d averaged 4 or 5 blocks and easily reached double digit rebounds every game this wouldn’t be the case, but he didn’t.

Put simply, Damp’s performance in these playoffs as a whole (with a nice effort in game 1, and the third quarter of game 6 aside) is near legendary in its level of crappiness.  Sure, you can find single examples or plays and point out something positive Dampier did – but when taken in context with everything he contributed, that small plus is supremely outweighed by the negatives.   Not to mention, the Mavs strongest performance came in a game Dampier did not play a single minute.

Jason Terry

Regular Season: C+

First, I can’t believe he finished second in the 6^th Man of the Year voting.  He certainly wasn’t deserving of it.  He slumped for large portions of the season, during which times he offered nothing positive to this team, other than his off the court attitude.  On the court, he was often off on offense and invisible on defense (sadly, on the defensive end he actually improved this season….just not enough to really upgrade his status as a defender).

Luckily, he did counter these long slumps with some very strong games or small stretches of high quality play, including hitting some game deciding shots.  And, we can’t ignore the fact that he did often produce well, even while slumping, in the fourth quarter of games.

Playoffs: D-

Other than one game, Terry was essentially worthless.  When a one dimensional player is struggling at that one dimension, that doesn’t leave much.  I may be wrong, but it feels like this is now 4 years in a row that Terry has underperformed in the playoffs, at best it’s two years.  This is a very disturbing trend, and reason enough to attempt to downgrade his role next season.  If he’s not going to be there for you in the playoffs, you can’t build your dependence upon him in the regular season.

Brendan Haywood

Regular Season: B

For stretches there were people saying he was already the best center to have ever worn a Mavs’ jersey, and they were doing so with little argument in return.  Haywood was key during the 13 game win streak.  However, after injuring his back his performance suffered to some degree, and I don’t think he handled the demotion to the bench with the greatest of grace.  While coming off of the bench, his consistency in effort seemed to waiver.

Again, however, I find much of Haywood’s “underperforming” on the performances and decisions of his teammates.  After those initial games the Mav players failed to get the ball to him at the rim.  I can’t find a reason for this, other than they forgot what he was capable of….and ignored his own comments expressing his belief that getting those early chances fed his energy level and helped him perform better.  Haywood didn’t start to underperform, at least on the offensive end, as much as he had his opportunities removed.

This is the fault of the guys on the court, and the coach for not forcing the issue more than was done.  Personally, I hope the Mavs re-sign Haywood and learn from their mistakes this year, where he often found himself wide open or with a much smaller defender trapped beneath the rim – only to not get the ball.

Playoffs: C

Again, I feel Carlisle horribly mishandled Haywood, and failed to properly use him.  As I stated above, the team also failed to get him the ball after game one, when he was able to score 10 points in a very short time.  For a veteran team, the Mavs seemed too often to forget the lessons presented them.  Much like they should have learned in game 5 that continually attacking the rim was something the Spurs had no answer for, they should have learned that Haywood is not Dampier, and deserved to get the ball at the post with more frequency.

Haywood was not all good, as he struggled at times with the pick and roll, though he also excelled at times.  Still, we could have cut off one of his hands and he would have struggled to perform as poorly as Dampier.   My argument that Haywood should have played more and started in the playoffs is as much to say he is clearly a superior player to Dampier as it is to comment on just how poorly Dampier played. 

JJ Barea

Regular Season: C

For stretches, Barea was more than any of us could have asked for, even filling in well as a starting SG for a few games.  Much like many things, however, he was allowed to do this beyond its time of effectiveness.  Many people seemed to turn on Barea this season, and he did have stretches where he struggled on offense.  As a one dimensional player, this is particularly hard to endure.

Barea once again showed a knack for drawing offensive fouls, but I still feel this is a poor defensive play most of the time.  Much like many steals, it is a gamble that just as often left his man wide open as it did get him a call. 

Finally, simply put, like Terry, Barea is a poor defender. 

That said, were there no Roddy on this team, I don’t think half as many people turn on Barea as they did.  He still filled his role adequately, though like Roddy, often showed that he is not a capable backup PG…..at least not capable enough to give Kidd the needed periods of rest on a consistent basis.  Much live everyone not named Kidd, he is a SG in a PG’s body.

Playoffs: C

I actually didn’t think Barea played that poorly in the playoffs, though the stats would not seem to back me up.  He certainly was not great, but in my opinion, he probably outplayed Jason Terry.

His defense was what we should expect from him, poor.  He did provide a spark from time to time, and his biggest detrimental influence was much more on the hands of the coach than himself, as he was left on the court beyond the point of exhaustion at times.

Rodrigue Beaubois

Regular Season: incomplete – Coach’s Decision

“What could have been” is the biggest question most Mav fans have pertaining to Roddy.  He showed flashes of brilliance at almost every glimpse.  In a season that saw Barea struggle at times on both ends of the court and Kidd playing far too many minutes, it’s hard to believe this kid didn’t get a little more burn.  So much potential, so little opportunity.

I can understand the lack of court time in a vacuum, but the more you look at the Mavs situation, the more you have to wonder why he wasn’t given more of a chance to play, and perhaps garner enough trust to be an early option in the playoffs. 

Or, did Carlisle play it perfectly and build up Roddy’s confidence level without the stain of failures?  It’s hard to say for certain, but the playoff results can’t help but affect your opinion here.

Playoffs: Incomplete – Coach’s Decsion

In a series which showed to key Mav guards severely struggle, Terry and Kidd, it’s hard to believe there weren’t a few more minutes to be found for Roddy.  In game 6 he did exactly what so many people thought he could do, and was then benched for almost the entire fourth quarter as we all watched Jason Terry continue to hurt this team at both ends of the court.

Where Butler, Haywood and Marion were all benched for extended periods, it’s hard to believe Terry continued to “earn” as many minutes as he did as he battled to out crapify any of those guys.

Roddy was great in game six, but there’s simply too small of a sample size to accurately assess how he would have performed.

DeShawn Stevenson

Regular Season: B-

As a perimeter defender and spot starter at SG, Stevenson provided much more than most of us expected when he came over in the trade.  He quickly showed that while he may not be as strong a defender as Marion, he could certainly challenge him for the title of best defender on this team.  Just before the playoffs, he even seemed to find his shooting stroke.

Stevenson was what many teams crave, a role player who has embraced his role and can excel at it.

Playoffs: DNP a single meaningful minute

In a series where Najera made a strong impact without gathering stats simply due to his disposition and general ability to play tough, it’s hard to believe there wasn’t a place for Stevenson.  Personally, I would have loved to see him out there getting in George Hill’s head – something no other Mav was capable of doing.  He could have pushed him around some, and given how little he played, I suppose even if he picked up six fouls in five minutes, it wouldn’t have hurt anything….in comparison.

Even over Roddy and Haywood (or at least at the same level), I see this as one of the largest mistakes by Carlisle in this series.  One guy was consistently killing the Mavs, and that one guy was not a wily veteran with years of experience dealing with guys like Stevenson on the biggest stage, it was a second year player with zero experience for it.  Carlisle let a huge asset go unused, untested and unappreciated.

Eddie Najera

Regular Season: C (compared to expectations, I’d give him an A)

I thought the Mavs acquired the corpse of a former player when they traded for Najera.  In comparison to that, he was great.  He found ways to impact games and assert his toughness.  He was what Stevenson was in the regular season, a role player that knew and embraced his role.

Playoffs: C

After a shaky start, Najera made an impact on this series.  While he didn’t make any friends in San Antonio, he did manage to change the feel of the series.  Had the rest of the team followed his lead in this area, we’d probably have just finished two home games against the Suns.

Matt Carroll

Regular Season: F

Who cares?

Playoffs: Incomplete

Again, who cares?

Rick Carlisle

Regular Season: B-

You can’t deny the results.  The Mavs finished as the #2 seed in an ultracompetitive Western Conference.  Those are good results, even if most of us find significant flaws in how he got there.  In the end, all that matters in the results.

Playoffs: F-

Of course, when considering results, you are ultimately lead to the playoffs……where Carlisle provided one of the worst coaching performances I have ever seen for a team I follow closely.  Just about every decision was late, unwarranted or just flat out wrong.  The examples are littered above.  What Dampier was on the court, Carlisle was worse beside it. 

Players performed poorly, but Carlisle failed to hold up his end of the bargain and did not frequently put them in positions to succeed.  Most of the time, he did quite the opposite.

Nothing is lo...Oh, crap....Part 3

Part 3

Well, I had the idea all planned out for Part 3 of “Nothing is Lost”, but the Mavs didn’t cooperate.  So, I’ve gone in another direction…. (and once again, this is supposed to be a “bit” melodramatic – and by bit, I mean a lot)…. 

EDIT:  Here are parts one and two, if anyone should be interested:  Part 1  and Part 2

 Part 3

The sun has set.  The tide retreated.  The stars swallowed by a darkness of unbound depths.  Veins are now hollow caverns carved into cold flesh, and the well has gone dry…..and for the moment we’ll ride the clichés into purgatory.  The battle is lost.

Tethered to this decaying moment, there is no solace, no room for peace of mind, and no comfort in what shall be.  There is only regret for what could have, what should have been.

With a severed ability to influence direction, no arms to grasp the steering wheel, we’ve watched our driver target and then drive off a cliff after placing his trust in cracked, worn and flattened tires….condemning those with the ability to support our weight and to veer away from the crash to the wasted realm of “what if”.

Passengers, we cheered and sought to inspire our warriors, who took to walking into battle, falling well behind our sprinting desires.  And when they did stand, when they did find our enemy’s blood on their fists, they were all too often pulled from the fight, or left to gasp for breath beneath exhausted frames.  No balance could be found.

Whether it be the detriment of near useless tools thrust into the trenches time and again by a leader with his head turned, the ebb and flow of official’s whims, or the failure to embrace lessons learned, the result is the same.  All is lost.

As we sit in the gray darkness found in between, we’re left with nothing but anger, sadness and the haunting whisper of “what if”.   Like a whisper caught in a cyclone of repetition, it tears a scraping path.  As with any question that cannot find an answer, it grants only the twisted destruction found in the helpless, futile search.  Bursting both eardrums in a silent scream, if embraced, it will drown all thought…..but it is all that’s left.

Fingernails lie ripped away to hang at the edge of that cliff falling higher and higher away, and the ghosts of turns not taken, of roads left untraveled plead their sacrificed memory with glowing waves above the undertow that takes us now.  Tossed like a ragdoll in the currents reasonless reasoning,  we can only dance in the itch of “what if” and what’s lost.

In the distance, there is a light.  A firefly fleeing some hidden sun.   A spark attempting to pierce the veil hiding tomorrow’s face, and the expression hidden there.  It comes with old promises made anew, and hopes revived and full of life.  It comes, but for the moment we are left here with nothing but the haunts of what never was, for it has not arrived.

All is lost….until it is found again.

Wah  (to be said with just the right amount of sarcasm and mockery)