school i.d. signed "Ozzie Nelson".

The other day i came across these old photographs of my father.
it's odd imagining him in a life outside of what it is now.
it's all that i know.

the boy in these pictures is just as much a part of my father as the man he is now.
i wish i knew this boy.
i wish i could say "hang on tightly to what you have now, becuase you'll slowly loose it without even realizing it and it's too beautiful of a thing to let go of."


but it is what it is.
we all grow up and leave things behind.
sometimes i like to think i'll never loose my rowdy innocence,
but maybe one day i will, and i won't even realize it.
just like that boy in those old photographs.

here's to you Bradley Wayne Lyon

there's no sensible words to describe this really.

or a way of making it a thing that is understood.

i think that i like myself better, alone.

misunderstanding seems to follow me like a pack of hungry mutts, but i'm okay with that i suppose.

it's really alright.

i become lost in my thoughts, in my books, in my art.

and it's really alright.

i find comfort in the little things.

and in the Big Thing.

He makes me feel like a little thing.

and that smears a smile right across my rascal of a face.

oh how He loves such a wretched little thing like me.

the smell of cheap smokes and an old box of black licorice whips.
you spit out gunfire and breathe in coal.
scumbag etiquette and dark comedies, thrown down from your pulpit.
the cult of motherhood despises the rusty bucket in which you spat.
but i know you better

-lyon

i felt like hell,
old rotted wood
gangrene of the depth

so i let it go,
i let it all go

it tumbled down,
laying naked and bare
at the toes of grace