America Gone

((This song is my ode to America; god rest her soul))


"America Gone"

So I missed the funeral,
But I heard she passed on a mid-summer's night
They told me that spoke highly of me all the time
They said the preacher right
Dearly beloved we gather here to mourn
The first of us to be born
Well she was always here for us
Until we made her who she was

As there were tears in his eyes he said come on
Shed a tear for america, cause now she's gone
And he sang

Well, where have you gone
Our beautiful America?
This just can't be the way it ends
where have you gone my friend
We'll shed a tear for you
so rest your soul
Is this the end of the brave, the free, the strong
Oh where have you gone
Oh America
Oh America

Well they said that it was time she left
All her dreams were dead
They laid her under neath the stars
Good job soldier; you finally got your stripes
Is this how the story ends?
With violence and rememberance
I guess this just what comes
with bringing such a caring soul
here to a world so cold

Well, where have you gone
Our beautiful America?
This just can't be the way it ends
where have you gone my friend
We'll shed a tear for you
so rest your soul
Is this the end of the brave, the free, the strong
Oh where have you gone
Oh America
Oh America

So just tell your children
It has all gone wrong
America Gone
America Gone
Oh, Mother; Oh, Father
Your plans have gone wrong
America Gone
America Gone


Well, where have you gone
Our beautiful America
This just can't be the way it ends
Where have you gone my friend
We'll shed a tear for you
so rest your soul
Is this the end of the brave, the free, the strong
Oh where have you gone
Oh America
Oh America

Somewhere Along the Way


There comes a moment when you will come to grips with the terms of your reality. Where you realize what you have created for yourself. Are you alone; grasping for someone to see beyond the veil you have cast over yourself. Or have you given up hope, believing that there are not people in the world who will cast you a second glance. On a street corner, or even in your owrst nightmares; will you prepare yourself to pry your eyes open to your life; or will you blissfully keep your eyes wide shut; postponing the curses of a life you willfully create but will not accept. Are you comfortable with where you are? And is it a place you are proud to call your life.

Are there things you are willing to change? Or are you ready to make changes, but afraid to stray from the path you have beaten for yourself? If you are srtong, will you open your heart to those nearest to you who need love? Or will you stretch your hand out to a poor soul who has fallen from where they belong? It is this kindness that makes us who we are. In our darkest moments, it defines us. It shapes us. It will change lives around you; but will it be enough to change you? Will you let the moment pass, or will you savor it; allowing the sweet taste of it flow accross you.

Somewhere in-between giving up and giving in
Between standing and falling
Between hope and doubt you find yourself.
And where are you?

Somewhere in between wishing you were there and arriving
Between wishing on a star, and realizing it has already come true
Between you and someone like you
you find it wasn't where you were going that has what you need
it was the journey to that place that you discovered that you had it all along.



To those who are somewhere;

- P H O E N I X

Touch, Touch, Scar.......part.II


I have always hated hospitals. Since I was a small child i have hated going to any hospital more than anything in the world. The bright, white paint, and the half-hearted fake smiles of the nurses always seemed to just make me uncomfortable beyond belief. This is why it seemed so strange that this time, I was not bothered at all by the events of the nurses, the doctors, and the ever-annoying speaker system. Perhaps it was because I was far more concerned with wether or not the only friend I had made so far would come out alright. I cannot remember exactly what he said to me when he came out of the big double doors, with a doctor who placed his hand on his shoulder and then quickly rushed away. But I do remember that he said to me later when I asked him if he was alright; he raised his arm, cast and sling raising with it, asd said with one eye shut and a smirking grin :'It'll take a lot more than that to kill me off, HA!'

Over the preceeding years, Garret and I became exceedingly close. Even when I moved out to another town we always made the extra effort to see each other and catch up on old times. Spending summers at Carowinds, hanging out at the mall, and above all; the river. It meant nothing to him or I that distance separated us. We still had the brotherly bond that we forged together so long ago on the city streets. But all things have to come to end. And then there are those that are not meant to end, but have to. But not before they are tainted, tested, and tortured.

I had never paid much attention to the bruises, cuts, and scrapes that appeared frequently on Garret. How could I? After that one afternoon, we wound up getting into fights on a regular basis, it was just something we did together, and it was something we were good at. But things change. Things did change the one summer when I saw Garret at the river. I remember he wouldn't take his shirt off, and he refused to jump in the water. So when i decided to pull him in and wrestle with him as good friends do; I noticed he only winced and screamed for me to let him go and stop acting like a child. He crawled up onto the bank and hugged his laft side. I couldn't help but figure there was something wrong. What I didn't expect was when he took his arm away, the bruise was huge. It seemed to cover more than he could have covered. It wasn't blue. It was black. Black and purple. There were arches in it that were not normal to the human body, that was where you could tell there was something broken. And there were red spots on it where the blood had gotten inbetween layers of skin. He finally told me what he had hid for so long. There are things that fit a classic profile; like a good kid who works hard in school, holds a job and always has a smile on his face, going home to a father who cares more for the bottom of a bottle than his own son. I guess some people don't mind bludgeoning their own children with a baseball bat. And people tend to think, this could not happen in my town, or at least not to someone I know. Never. It seems so horrible and grotesque when it is far away but you go about your life. It is a whole differnt level when it is happening to someone you know. A living human, someone you have laughed with, someone you know has their own feelings, their own dreams, and draws their own breath. A real person. Somebody just like you.

My friend never got to live his dreams. A few months went by where i did not hear from Garret. Then one summer night he called and asked if I would care to go hit a few parties he was going to. Of course I said yes. After meeting some friends of his, a few girls that were well beyond their tolerance, and a few beers ourselves; we headed out into the world. We stopped at a gas station to grab drinks and gas. I went into the store for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for him to start pumping gas. I looked out the window as the cashier was ringing up the drinks, and noticed Garret having some kind of really heated talk with a few guys outside. The worst i figure dwas us getting into what we got into best; a fight. As I was leaving the door swinging behind me one of the guys pushed my friend away from him, recieving one of Garret's famous right-hook blindsides. He stumbled back and reached in his jacket. I started running, already feeling the alrenaline raging through me. It happened so fast. One minute he was standing there talking shit; and the next thing I knew, the guy he decked pulled a gun and emptiend two slugs into his chest.

Blood was everywhere.

He gasped for air.

Reaching for something in his jeans.

Trying to say something.

The young man that I knew what felt like my entire life, my brother; bled all over the ground as he pulled a envelope from his pocket. He grabbed my hand and pulled me close; mixing breath, tears, and blood. He latched onto the back of my head and pulled my ear close to his mouth and said;" Their coming for me Phoenix. You better tell them....." gasping for final breaths," You...Had better tell them.......they can't kill me that easy." I looked my friend in the eyes and saw our lives together flash in an instant in that smirking grin and shining eyed look. And then he was gone.

It was days before I even spoke to anyone. I couldn't believe that he was gone. Just suddenly ripped from my life. I still had the envelope he placed in my hand. I had traced the blood smaers with my fingers many times. I attended his funeral a few weeks later. I buried a man I knew. A man I trusted. A man I saw emerge strong and proud from that same small boy that chased after a pretty sixth grade girl those many years ago. I brought the envelope with me. I had planned to drop it in with the tributes people left. But something happed I had not expected. I saw his mother. The two of them had left his father some time ago. I hugged her. Then, I placed th envelope in her hand and said,"I don't know what this is- I haven't opened it. I just wanted you to have it. And I wanted you to know that I was honored to know your son. I will be proud to say that I knew him for as long as I live." She turned the envelope over and opened it and began to burst into tears. I couldn't help but look inside. His acceptance. He aquired his GED some time ago. But my friend had done something I would trade places with him so he could live for this; Accepted to the Art Institute of San Fransisco. His dream.

For as long as I live I will remember Garret Righquer. I will remember the way he never stopped. The way he played to win. The determination the had, and the way it inspired others around him to show eveyone what they could do. I will always remember the way he never left the party without at least five different phone numbers. But the way i will remember him most is this. The scar. The one left from his father's addiction. It served as a constant reminder that we all touch other people. with everything we do. We touch, and we touch, and if we are not careful; we will scar those dearest to us.

To those we have yet to touch,
In whatever way we will;

-P H O E N I X

Touch, Touch, Scar


I once knew a young man named Garret Righquer*. Garret and I met in the sixth grade, not long after I moved to Charlotte. I met him purly by chance, and as i would find over the course of our friendship, the circumstances under which we met were not anything out of the ordinary; at least for him. If you attended public school for even a brief second in your life, you are well aware of the social distacing between cliques. If you attended public schools for even a small fraction more than a second, you also quickly realize that there are those who are not part of any group. This is where I met Garret, halfway between skater and punk. Not a very widly accepted concept, At least not at the time. But as luck would have it for him, one especially poplular and exceptionally pretty gril had for whatever reason taken intrest in him. I don't pretend to be an expert, but i can imagine that it must have been hard on them to try to see each other, but even with my small, dumb-as-a-stick, sixth grade mind; I knew that it was not love. Not when a girl claims to care for you but will not declare it openly in front of her friends. But they talked on the phone, held hand when they could, and exchanged notes; this was the measure of grade six love. It had been two months after me and Garret had met on the bus after school that she had declared it over that it wouldn't work, and they were just too different [[Yeah, cuase we all knew approximatly jack-shit about love in sixth grade]]. Now everybody knows that you never forget your first crush. And for Garret, not forgetting her meant tailing her, trying to get her back. i knew it would not end well for my friend, but I let him go after her anyways; after all, I couldn't get his head out of the clouds if I tried. But i guess the future football stars of the eigth grade had other plans in mind. Any guy can tell you that freshman, or sixth grade grils are "fresh meat" for the upperclassmen. And in defending their new meat, i suppose it meant beating the hell out of my friend. I remember it was a lot like how i met him in the first place that i found him after school that day. I had gotten into trouble for leaving a shit-bomb* in the girl's bathroom[[What? It was really funny!]], so naturally, I had detention. i didn't care, at that point in my life I was the definition of a blink-182 song "I couldn't wait till i got home, to pass the time in my room alone." the school janitor locks up the main part of the campus after the busses leave, which meant you would normally have to walk all the way around the school to get to the front to get picked up. It just so happened that I found my friend along that path around the school.



to be continued......
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* F O O T N O T E S

#1
Righquer- i know it's spelled wierd, but it's pronounced; Rye-kerr

#2
Shit-Bomb- Basically, you put dog shit in a paper bag and light it on fire. Either it burns all the way, and it just reeks for weeks on end; or someone will want to be a hero and stomp the fire out, at which point they get to peel flaming dog shit off their foot.