Sir Day Walker
Praise Koolaid

More Quotes…by Me

     Posted on Tue ,29/09/2009 by Daywalker

To spend all day thinking about your tomorrow,
is to have dismissed the opportunity to live for your today…

If you can’t laugh at yourself, others will do it for you

Don’t follow the shadows, for they may only lead you backward

The truth is not always ugly…sometimes it can be fashionable

Tell me your secrets, and I will tell you your lies…

Never mistake one’s tolerance of you, for hospitality.

When coming to terms with your Demons,
make sure the terms are yours…not theirs.

I prefer to be hated by the likes of those who know what true hate is.
Anything else would be an insult.

If you are not going anywhere, then why all the baggage?

There are times when one must lose themselves, to find themselves…
it all becomes necessary, but never immediately evident

It is totally possible to have an adverse event occur that is the fault of no one.

Splinters

     Posted on Tue ,29/09/2009 by Daywalker

Floating
Floating in my head
Floating in my head
Are the dead
They serve me wine
They want my mind
And when they are done
All of us
Run
Through the door on the left
The floor beneath
I cannot seem
to connect
My feet
Have splinters
They are sprinters
I cannot keep up
They have great speed
Soon we shall feed
Upon each other
When we are done
We will all run
to the essential
To the eventual
Loss of control
Ah the beauty
Calls out for more
Just one more glass
Just one more door
Let me run with them
They are my splinters
They are my Zen

9 Words Used:
Essential ~ Connect ~ Control ~ Great ~ More ~ Just ~ Left ~ Run~ Done

Calypso_by_TemplaSimpina

Send The Pain Below

     Posted on Sun ,27/09/2009 by Daywalker

The following story is based on actual events.  It is the ugly tale of what happened to me while living in Maryville, Tennessee a few years ago…and it takes place inside the walls of the Blount County Justice Center.

The story was written in order to heal and purge the pain, but it also serves as a notice to those who who have no idea what goes on inside those walls and the changes that need to occur within the so called Justice system.

http://www.sirdaywalker.com/SendthePainBelow_2009.pdf

There is a song that inspired the title, please take a moment to hear the melody:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiaoV93zdlk

cover_01

Meander

     Posted on Sat ,26/09/2009 by Daywalker

Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you’ve just meandered through that other dimension, you know the one. It starts off with a low hum, background noises become the audible forefront and you begin to feel a little high. A little buzzed. The TV echoes talk show applause followed by laughter past the streaks of morning sun breaking through the blinds.

Please tell me I didn’t just hear some guy comparing the circumference of his penis to that of a cheese wheel. I refuse to be drawn in by that, but now I seem focused on the removal of whatever look on my face was induced by the cheese wheel situation. Surely I have stuff to do…but do I dare? So I continue about meandering small tasks, intent on shining the light of my now distracted state of mind unto the world outside.

Trying to ignore the evidence of atmospheric instability, I was compelled to move through it. At some point I took my eye off the ball, and was veered off track. I found myself strolling through some huge hobby shop, apparently absent of the fact I have no hobbies. Something smells kinda like sawdust, which reminds me of my Uncle’s old barn, which reminds me of how much I miss the sound of an entire field of crickets chirping the night away, which reminds me of running through those fields with my cousin, who had hobbies and used to have an ant farm. That’s a hobby, right? I have one somewhere, but I hate ants so I’ve been saving it for that perfect re-gifting opportunity to come along…for about 20 years now.

Here comes some young guy complete with a crooked name badge. Please tell me he’s not humming quietly to the beat of his own footsteps. He’s staring at me, eagerly anticipating eye contact but now I am focused on wiping my face clean from the ‘quietly humming to the beat of his own steps’ situation. Maybe if he took the iPod out of his ears, it would help things. Not to mention it’s just adding to the background noise factor already in progress. The hum of the intercom overhead crackled, someone’s breaking through the static to page assistance to the help counter. How funny. Assistance…to the help counter. The corner of my eye shifts it’s attention. Shit, he’s still on the slow humming approach, three or four feet at a time. I feel strangely hunted. I’ll need to distract him. So I turn to him, and in mid hum he stops frozen, attempts to compose himself, and asks if he could be of assistance. How much you wanna bet he’s the one their paging back to the help counter.

The rehearsed delivery of his words were a dead give away. So, too…were the obvious reasons not to let this guy wander off too far. I thought of my Uncle’s barn and running through the fields and so on, so I said “Yeah…I have this ant farm, and I’d like to know if I can trade it in for a field of crickets?”. I waited for him to bust out at least a chuckle, some sort of sign that he got the joke. He stared at me so long, the sound of a thousand crickets began to fill in the void like a commercial in my head. Finally, he announces that he’ll be right back and begins the journey down the aisle to the beat of his own song. It was like watching him play hopscotch without the squares. Where the hell is he going? Surely he understood the irony and sarcasm in my virtual quest for the unobtainable.

Now I wondered what look has descended upon this face of mine, and could it be repaired? Probably not, so in a sudden move of haste and the need to escape, I decided it would be best if I just left. I could barely contain the light hearted laughter that dwells beneath. The day’s not over, the background hum is still there, I still feel high, so I have to ditch the help counter guy. I head casually for the exit, and of course it loomed at me. Then I see him, over by the help counter, fumbling with the intercom attached to his waist. The automatic doors swished open and the outside air headed in like a breezeway, and through the noise of the busy street in front of me I could hear his voice. Please tell me I didn’t just hear him radioing in…for help. And then I hear him, clear as day all the way outside “I know there’s 12 in a dozen, and I know how many is in a 100 pack…but they need a field and I need to know how many equals a field…”

For the remainder of my meandering day, the verbal antics of the world around me continued to poke at the surface of absurd. Strange happenings and peculiar sounds ruled my world. My face was undone so many times that it still hurt the next morning. So…with that said, by the third cup of coffee, I had the ant farm packaged and ready to go. I hope my cousin likes it.

Meander2

The Summer of 72′

     Posted on Sat ,26/09/2009 by Daywalker

It was particularly warm and bright outside for fall.

Summer lingered in the air, the smell of fresh cut grass would soon be replaced by the smell of fireplaces and an earlier nightfall. Gus could hear the distant voices of the other children, the screams and squeals of the girls being chased by the boys, everyone still giddy from excitement of the new playground in the park. Like they only get let loose once a year or something.

Childish, he thought…Gus always thought of himself as more grown up than all the other “kids.” He was just 11 years old, but just couldn’t seem to relate to the other kids his age. He would watch them sometimes, observing them, just to make sure that he didn’t behave as dumb and childish as them. He liked to be by himself a lot. Some kids thought he was strange, but he was liked at a distance by most of them. Gus found, once again, he was bored and decided to wander off down one of the many paths that led from the park. Not something his Mom would approve of, but he was already in trouble for one of his wandering stunts from last week…so off he went again.

Gus loved the long and winding paths and all the never-ending trails of discovery within them…ever since he could remember. He headed down one of his favorite trails. Blinded by the sun cracking through the trees…he closed his eyes for a moment, listening now to just the sounds of his shoes crunching the dirt beneath them. He found himself reflecting back to that one summer day, way back when he was a mere 8 years old. His mind drifted into the lessons he had learned that day, memories so vivid it gave him a little shiver.

That was the summer he had stayed with his Grandparents, who lived just a block away from him, while his parents were off on vacation. A summer he would not soon forget…

He had gotten lost in the forest of trees behind their house, following a trail of course. He had walked for what seemed like many miles to an 8 year old…until a house appeared through the trees. It looked so very old and creepy, like no one had lived there for years.

He walked closer to the decrepit old house and climbed the creaky old stairs, up to the porch. It made a lot of noise…for sure if someone was in there, they’d hear him. There were cobwebs all over, yet for some reason he had this weird feeling someone had recently been there. Never minding that feeling, he went to the window and peered through the cracked glass. There were candles everywhere, broken cupboards, and a small kitchen with an aging chair and table set.

Curiosity got the best of Gus; he had to see more. He went to the side of the house and peeked through the window. There was an old rocking chair set up in front of the fireplace; it had an old quilt lying across it. He continued to scan the room for a moment. Wait!What was that he saw? There was a trunk sitting next to the chair. No way. That was too much for Gus, he was going to pass out from anxiety if he didn’t get in that house right now! Gus’s logic…that trunk was meant for him. Had to be, or why would it be there?

Ok, so how to get in? He looked around, sweating with anticipation. Maybe a stick? A rock? Yes…a big rock right through the window! Here goes. Gus threw the rock as hard as he could. The crash was so loud, he was sure his Mom heard it! No way, don’t be stupid…she’s miles away, remember? He kicked the glass out of his way, knocked the rest out of the window and climbed in. Not quite as graceful as he would have liked, it would take weeks to heal the bruise on his head. After he brushed off his clothes and felt to make sure his head was in one piece, he took a better look around.

The house was creepy all right. There were lots of old, dusty books lining the walls, containers and jars filled with dried foods and such in the kitchen. Probably witch potions for spells or something…Gus’s logic at work again. A big pile of wood next to what looked like a closet…there were probably spiders in it! Totally creeped out by the thought of spiders, he turned to zero in on the trunk.

Ah, yes…the whole reason he invited himself in.

He stood for a moment, staring at it…wondering if it was possible for the bump on his head to be both numb and hurting all at the same time. He moved slowly towards it, it got bigger as he got closer. A rat scurried across the floor, and Gus screamed out loud, jumping back a few feet. His heart pounded out of his chest and he began to cry. Not a real cry, just a quiet one…two, maybe three tears for the sake of releasing the fear. He approached again. He got two feet away…when suddenly he heard a car.

A car!
Oh my God!
It’s probably the man who lives here!
Big, he’s got to be big!
Wood…he chopped the wood in the corner!
Ax…there’s an ax here!
Dead…I’m so dead!
Hide…I have to hide!

Gus ran to the trunk and opened it. Oh, sure…it’s empty! All this for nothing! No time to think about all that…Gus climbed into the trunk. This is just great. The treasure hunt of his life, turns out to be the end of his life…he was sure of it!

After what must have been a decade…he heard footsteps. Big footsteps! Then, he heard the sound of a doorknob turning.

Hey! Why didn’t I think of that? What a concept…using the front door, this will be added to Gus’s logical list of options. The big man entered. Footsteps…big footsteps across the floor, add to it the crackle of glass. Oh no…the window! Then a voice broke his panic…”Gus…” it shouted. Grandpa! The fear of dying now appropriately replaced by the fear of how much trouble he was about to be in.

Maybe I could just stay in this stupid old trunk; Gus thought…nobody knows I’m in here. Then Grandpa shouted, “Gus…I know you’re in here…!” So much for that idea!

The mounting fear seemed to get caught in his throat, and he realized he had not breathed since Grandpa’s boots walked on the broken glass. A very noisy exhale gave him away. Grandpa’s boots walked faster and louder towards the trunk, and he opened it.

It’s over for me, was all Gus could think about on the way back to the house. Gus mowed a lot of lawns that summer. His Mom said it help pay for the window he broke…in the house that Gus later found out belonged to a Great Uncle that still lived there!

Apparently Great Uncle Gus was out chopping more wood with a big ax! Gus was nearing the end of his favorite trail, after having reminisced over his first really big lesson in life. He decided now, that he would call his favorite trail “Memory Lane”. Curiosity got the best of him that summer.

Sometimes he can still feel that bump on his head…and although he knows it has been gone a long time, he also knows that anytime he feels like curiosity is about to pull him in, that bump seems to reappear as a friendly reminder.

As the voices of the children still playing in the park grew closer, he realized he had walked the whole path and managed not to get in any trouble at all. Just then, his friend Billy came up to him and asked “Hey Gus, where are you going…?” Gus smiled at him and said “Home…” And then added “…to mow the lawn!”

Summer Cabin

Remains

     Posted on Thu ,24/09/2009 by Daywalker

Just a single leaf
Catapulted my imagination
More than just a playground
of precious metals and memories
Just a single leaf
Falling before my very eyes
Bore a strange resemblance to
The descent of this worlds peace
Just a single leaf
Blankets the remainder of
The last spot uncovered upon
My tombstone where I now stand
Just a single leaf
Led me back to the scene
A mission of search and destroy
Failed dangerously upon the attack
Just a single leaf
Will be the last great detail
Of all things living that I once knew
I gave it all up for the love of my country
Just a single leaf
Remains


A single leaf


Time of Life

     Posted on Thu ,17/09/2009 by Daywalker
~Journal of A Coroner~


Pound cake…still cooling on the porch.

Roast beef in the oven, the aroma traveling from room to room…and just outside the rustic windows, the birds singing melodies of old, heard down the country road.  Just past the rocking chair, the frames hold memories in photographic form…taken when the house was full of life, absent of loneliness. The piano sits quiet in the corner, pages still open to the last song, the favorite song that brought many to surround the ivory and join in song.
A dimly lit lamp casts melancholy upon all it can reach.
If you listen closely, you can almost hear the sounds of the blades pushing over the summer lawn…and the smell of fresh cut grass that grew naturally from the same soil for many generations.  Skirting the trees that made the lemonade that was sold in jars to the thirsty passers by.
An old tire swinging from the old Oak tree, the rope weathered and strong.

It suddenly occurred to me.
I missed what I never had.
I wondered how long she was the last of the sounds in this old house.

I picked up her slippers that padded the hardwood floors forever in the
days…until today…and placed them by her chair.
I have no idea why, it just seemed right I suppose.
How do I pronounce her time of death, when she is still breathing life into this home?

She…just breathed life into me.

Time of life…Easter Sunday 1952.

Time of life

A Few Random Quotes by Me

     Posted on Tue ,15/09/2009 by Daywalker

Never mind what’s in the mirror,
that’s just the way our reflections have fun with us.

Doesn’t matter who started the fire,
what matters is…that we all take part in putting it out.

I have to wonder how just one vessel can bleed from so many veins.

We were given two ears, and one mouth.
This leads me to believe that one should listen twice as well as one speaks.

Remembering to forget can be just as challenging as forgetting to remember.

I think that it’s peoples nature to bitch about stuff,
but I think actually being a bitch is a learned behavior.

If it’s your last coin, then phrase it.
If it’s your last dollar, then give it away.

In record quantities, they gathered around to see…
themselves gathered around.

I wished upon a star, then realized there were a billion more.
I may never stop wishing.

A changed mind is a working mind

It’s the second mouse that always gets the cheese.

Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because
then you won’t have a leg to stand on.

Acceptance shall not include tedium.

It’s not those who are one step ahead you should worry about,
it is those who are one step behind you…

I’ll try to tone down on the brilliance, so you won’t have to over think your answer



When I Grow Up: Memoirs of A Nine Year Old

     Posted on Mon ,14/09/2009 by Daywalker
When I Grow Up: Memoirs of A Nine Year Old

There was this guy I really couldn’t stand.
He lived by the park, in the back of his Chevy van.

Mrs. Jones would bring him her fresh baked pies.
I wonder if Mr. Jones noticed the gleam in her eyes.

After all, we knew the pies were to hide her lies.
She always had messy hair when she was done.
Delivering her pies.

The little girl down the lane, said she could fly like a plane.

She jumped off the roof, arms spread wide.
The power lines sparked, then she died.

The guy at the store always looked happy.
I would be too if I grew up to sell Slurpees.

Now he’s in jail for selling the kids doobies.

The neighbors across the street had cactus in their yard.
I remember the day the Father yelled, called his kid a retard.

My Mom said they were wrong, but that I could send him a card.
At the place they sent him, far away in some place called Oxnard.

The mailman leaned over to Mom and whispered.
To this day, I don’t think the card was ever delivered.

I was suspended from school, for breaking some rules.
I threw chalk at a teacher, and put bubbles in the pool.

It didn’t matter though, ’cause from then on I was considered cool.

There was this guy who cut the grass, while we were all in class.
One day I was sneaking around, and saw him putting something in a glass.

It was the same stuff Mom used when Dad was being an ass.

Then the mower took his foot, and he dropped his glass in the grass.
Blood spattered the windows, I walked over and picked up the glass.
I still have it, the glass he dropped.

On that day, school let out at 12 O’Clock.

When I grow up…
I don’t wanna fly, I don’t want a pie, I won’t grow cactus,
and I’ll try not to put out an eye.

I’ll have a toke, I won’t sell dope, I’ll still love bubbles,
and I’ll be nice to special folks.

The End.

When I Grow Up: Memoirs of A Nine Year Old
There was this guy I really couldn’t stand.
He lived by the park, in the back of his Chevy van.

Mrs. Jones would bring him her freshed baked pies.
I wonder if Mr. Jones noticed the gleam in her eyes.

After all, we knew the pies were to hide her lies.
She always had messy hair when she was done.
Delivering her pies.

The little girl down the lane, said she could fly like a plane.

She jumped off the roof, arms spread wide.
The power lines sparked, then she died.

The guy at the store always looked happy.
I would be too if I grew up to sell Slurpees.

Now he’s in jail for selling the kids doobies.

The neighbors across the street had cactus in their yard.
I remember the day the Father yelled, called his kid a retard.

My Mom said they were wrong, but that I could send him a card.
At the place they sent him, far away in some place called Oxnard.

The mailman leaned over to Mom and whispered.
To this day, I don’t think the card was ever delivered.

I was suspended from school, for breaking some rules.
I threw chalk at a teacher, and put bubbles in the pool.

It didn’t matter though, ’cause from then on I was considered cool.

There was this guy who cut the grass, while we were all in class.
One day I was sneaking around, and saw him putting something in a glass.

It was the same stuff Mom used when Dad was being an ass.

Then the mower took his foot, and he dropped his glass in the grass.
Blood spattered the windows, I walked over and picked up the glass.
I still have it, the glass he dropped.

On that day, school let out at 12 O’Clock.

When I grow up…
I don’t wanna fly, I don’t want a pie, I won’t grow cactus,
and I’ll try not to put out an eye.

I’ll have a toke, I won’t sell dope, I’ll still love bubbles,
and I’ll be nice to special folks.

The End.

 

No Return Address

     Posted on Mon ,14/09/2009 by Daywalker
The cobblestone crushed cold under my feet
The aroma of gin and fire leads me on
A still slice of life
A still image of plight
The mane that shallows my face
Would put a barber to the pace
Who’s revenge am I?
No return address
No street for these tired feet
Just an ally where I clear my throat
And the bloody memory still stains my coat
A soldiers story
A soldiers glory
Discharged in honor
Hobbled in life
I lost my arm
I lost my wife
A Veterans revenge
That’s who I am
Deliverance_of_amity_by_alexiuss
9 Words Used:
barber slice street revenge blood throat cobblestone gin fire