Latch String

Latch String

I'm living in an un-free world...and nobody realizes it
Except for me
My heart longs and yearns for a cosmic cleansing of my spirit
A rapturous reprise from the stifling nature of man and his evil deeds
I want to ride waves of euphoria into worlds unseen...unheard of
I want to venture into sublime space between the seams
Where no light or darkness exists...just me...only me
The solipsist boy in his room watching cartoons on TV screens
Wondering if there are any people out there in the playground universe
Who can save me from the ravages of mankind 
And it's pure defiled raging bane under destructive fists
We are all alone...there is no one there to rescue us from ourselves
And darling, if I could I would hop into a Tardis and escape this banal existence
Because the sand box is full of broken glass
And there aren't enough Flintstone's Band-Aids to hide the cuts
From a lying father, and a mother who explodes ear drums
I was never meant to be in this world, and how selfish of me to compare
The pains of my past with the pasts of my dear friends...
We have all been there...every one of us latch string kids
Raising ourselves, because our parents were babies themselves
But it's okay, because we can escape this night my love
Just vertical slits, empty bottles, and bleach milkshakes
Take us away from this...
To real freedom...

Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

The Bean

The Bean

This is my tiny social world
Hanging from a tree...my world...my social bulb

The outside lights are turned off
Forgotten by the busy baristas
The only light shimmers from the rays
Of a purple and golden sky fading to blue and black
The stars are invisible in this city
But twilight twinkles...
In the form of tiny embers from lit cigarettes
Here they light up the street...my tiny social world.

The silence is broken by the tap tapping of fingers
And the beating thumps of bass
Made from the calloused palms of the djembe player
Sounds of acoustic guitars flailing and echoing
Off locked car doors and poster-covered windows
From the shop that sells sweet floral vapor 
Energy flows tweaking our pulsing veins with liquid caffeine 
If I close my eyes I'm in another world...
Morocco...or Sudan

Welcome to Indiana...to my clique, my group of peers
We are a cult of poverty and ego
A masquerade of pop culture references and subculture swagger
Bodies tired
Hands and feet sore from long hours of repetitive movements
From the routine capitalist paradox of freedom and imprisonment

Welcome to my world...my tiny social bubble

Welcome to the Wells street bridge
Where flip-floppin feet...flip rocks across a toxic river
Where 19th century women once swam in less revealing attire than men
The door swings open, and like any 19th century bar-room, all heads turn

The only shots served are dark brown stimulants
The roaring hurricane jet engine of the espresso machine
The chink and clink of ice cubes being smashed and scooped into cups
Bitterness and steam...
Frothy foam hiding the heat that lies below it
Burning soft eager lips

Heads bob to the beat
Sounds from beast paws, talons plucking strings...
Sirens wailing from their perch upon bar stools
Animistic energy...
The pure essence of youth in revolt
Forming revolutions with every out-of-tuned note

Welcome to my safe tiny social space

Where poets speak with both frailty and bravado 
Where masters and amateurs alike vie for a fifteen minute spotlight
A chance to perform for the disinterested crowd
Who's voices rise above that of the poet and that of the singer
Their words so intricate and benevolent...drowned
Both appraisal and tribute to the greats: 
Lennon, Mascius, Oberst, Dylan...

And as Hurdy Gurdy Man receives praise
From clapping hands, whistles, and a hoot n` hollerin 
From those disenchanted denizens...
One lone clapper ends the applause with one final clap of his calloused palms

I think to myself...it doesn't get any better than this

This is my tiny social world
It is all creeds, all races, and all genders
Where a cacophony of minds share compelling stories
Of real-life sorrows met with real-life integrity and real-life struggles

We meet in the dark alcove...
The scent of cologne and perfume mixing to form androgynous olfaction
The ensemble of artists, poets, and musician's assemble in the street
Story-teller's sharing real-life tales of affliction, homelessness, abuse, and depravity

Welcome to my tiny social world

We are children of a third world American nursery
An orchestra of hope and determination
There are millions of us on every corner
On every street
On every page of a beat poet's book
And in the sound of every drummer's beat

Our faces are soured by debt and grief
Yet the lemons we receive create the sweetest drinks
Our smiles, cheers, grins, and laughter
Expands this tiny social world 
Into a majestic place
It is here, and now is our time

And one day we'll look back to our names sketched on bathroom stalls
And see the same names engraved in stone on the columns of history's cathedrals 

And my friends...it all started here...in this place...The Bean.


Copyright Adam A. Gaile 2013

Adam's Roasted Pork-Heaven Sandwich

Adam's Roasted Pork-Heaven Sandwich 

1 Pork Loin

Brie Cheese (outer skin cut)

2 tbsp Jarred Mango Chutney

1/2 Red Onion

3 Slices thick Bacon

1/2 Granny Smith Apple (sliced thin)

4 Onion Rolls

1 tbsp Fresh Rosemary

1/4 cup Olive Oil

2 tbsp Dijon Mustard

2 tbsp Honey

Salt/Pepper

Season Pork loin with Olive Oil, Dijon Mustard, Chopped Rosemary leaves, Honey, and salt/pepper. Roast Covered at 300 degrees for 1 1/2 - 2 hours, until center of loin is medium done. Rest pork loin 10-15 minutes.  Fry up bacon slices. Chop Red Onions into thin slices and saute in bacon grease until caramelized. Cut off rind on 10 oz wheel of Brie Cheese and cut into slices. Cut Raw Granny Smith Apples in thin slices. Toast Onion rolls. Assemble sandwich: Mango Chutney on the bottom slice, then Brie Cheese slices, then Pork loin slices, then 2-3 strips bacon, and finally Granny Smith apple slices topped with caramelized red onions and top of the onion roll....and voila!

Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Catalyst For The End

“Lost Territories”

Artwork-Photography by Christophe Dessaigne 2013

Catalyst For The End

This waste of space is spinning me into an endless serenade

Between the bull and the fighter I lay surrendered

Watching the man in the mirror...face smiling radiant bliss

Eavesdropping on the patriarchs that plan and devise the doom of this nation

I crawl on shards of broken glass to drink the sap

From the hands of these human beings typing with cracked fingernails

The ramparts are crumbling as the intruders scream

Energy escaping from their lips to demolish the city walls

As our grandparents fall, eyes rolling back into empty skulls

The flags burn brighter in the darkness of democracy's shadow

There are forlorn barriers that keep mother's separated from their children

We have appeased the courts with a sacrificial virgin

In the form of tax cuts that cover the arms of Lady Liberty

Her bandages are dripping with blood as she vomits

Out the last remaining scraps of a meal too small for a mouse

There are pirates selling pills crashing through the waves; their ships sail

Through our backyards and markets, looking for victims to plunder

There are birds flying high above the desert raining down bullets

To the unfortunate scurrying creatures down below

We watch a box for ten hours as our feet melt into the floor

There's a scripture somewhere in this book that will shed light

On the disease that infects the hearts of men that gives them a rise

Out of killing the innocent and of profiting from the downfall of mankind

Like a snake consuming it's own tail we feast upon ourselves

In this garden of delight a lone man walks past the debris

Marching through the billowing smoke

of a city burning up in the last remaining fragments...

...of a dying world.


Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Depression

Depression

I'm just so tired...

Of all the things in my life I cannot control

I'm just so weak

From all the side effects that have hammered me into the ground

There's no more in this life to look forward to

I am slowly dying and it's a race against time

I just wish I could find a way out

I feel trapped

By my body and my mind

I am so sick and tired of this struggle

I feel like everything is influencing another breakdown

The world is such a horrific mess

I want to move on

Was not meant for this world

I'll be a fighter in the next

Let me lie down and die in this one

Done fighting

Just want to die

die die die


Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Confusion

Confusion

I'm so confused

Images racing shaping and taking form in front of me

My mind reels and dwindles then a thought bubble forms

Taking on anxiety as a monster takes on a morning nap

I feel like the monster is waking in my mind, ready to feed again

And this monster is called hospital, and it's teeth are nurses and doctors

I swim through the waters of bureaucracy, with God as my life jacket

And politicians and desk sitters are in a feeding frenzy

I take life in short gasps of air, never knowing what bubble will pop next

The images collide and form mantras repeating in my mind

The voices drift in and out like a radio losing it's signal

The music is breaking up and in between there are moments of static

Welcome to a schizo mind, please wipe your shoes on the carpet

I need no pity or shame-faced apologies...I have lived, and will do so

Until my maker calls me to his throne and injects the right medicine

That will make heaven full of order and clarity

Then there will be no more distractions

My brain will no longer be my enemy

There will be an alternative to drilling into it to find the holes

Pocketed like Swiss cheese chemicals melting it away

I fear change is coming, and what I have learned long ago is...
...change is an unpredictable beast

Best to stay inside, live slow, blink turtle eyes

Than to jump back into a hole...

But who knows this hole might lead to another world

A world filled with limitless possibilities...

It's indecision time, and here I am rambling again.

Don't mind me, there's always enough cake for everybody.



Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Diseased

Diseased

My Dad thinks my Mom is slowly poisoning him with arsenic 
My Mom throws toddler-esque temper tantrums
My younger sister has body image issues and a flat affect
From years of being shat upon by boys disguised as men
My older sister wears a blind fold
To her husband's drinking habits
And habituation to strike down her sons
With clenched teeth spraying out words like...

Freak! and Idiot!

My Grandpa died from liver failure
Drank and smoked himself to death
Because the World War II era didn’t have a name for
Post traumatic stress disorder
Gave it a funny little catch phrase, like shell shock
Could also be just as easily explained as a genetic brain disorder
Because my family is fucked up…my family is diseased
My family follows rules blindly that says be angels in church
But whip out those demon masks at home because we are all sinners
Sin is just an excuse for the reality of it…we are all weak
We are all weak human beings who have the potential for depression
And let’s not forget about the big scary “P” word…

Psychosis

The truth is…my family acts like starving wild dogs at holiday dinners
We foam at the mouth, biting each other for scraps of praise and approval
Scraps of validation, pride, favoritism, and acceptance…
We are beasts wandering through the wilderness of American suburbia 
We call this nurturing demand and compliance a cohabitation of love
But the truth is my Dad is a delusional workaholic
My Mom is a bipolar train wreck
My sisters are scabs on wounds that never quite heal up 
My brother-in law is a carbon copy of his father
And I…well I’m going out just like my Grandpa did…
Sipping and smoking until my liver explodes. 

Copyright Adam A. Gaile 2013