I’m There

I’m There

Whether it’s blood,
time or our connection,
loyalty and love will prove
I’ll always be there.
Just one call. One call!
I will drop everything
Even when we’re worlds away—
just say the word
and I’m there


z

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A Lesson in Red Satin

Recently, a friend of mine sent a text that read, “Can I call you?” I was available and let her know. She called and stated that she was in a bind and that her school (she works at a college) had an art exhibit that day and she was concerned some of the people who were supposed to have art displayed would not come through. I agreed to send a few photos over electronically for her and her coworker to print out and get out there. 

I receive a frantic call a few hours later. “Zac, I just got home from work. The lady in charge of the fundraiser just called me and said that you won an award and you need to be there to accept the money some woman put into the prizes.” I did not realize my piece could win any competition and definitely was not expecting to receive any money. I had a half hour to get dressed and show up to receive the award. It was actually fun. 

Later that night, I got to thinking about how strange and fun that experience was and how much I love a sporadic adventure. I considered this an adventure and was extremely grateful. I remembered something from earlier in the week. 

My buddy from college, Heath, is a rapper and just released a new album. He put a post on Facebook and was interested in finding out how many of his fans would be interested in receiving an autographed actual CD in the mail (apparently these have been fading out for a while). I had neither listened to his album nor had seen him for years. But, he was always so sweet to me and was one of those guys who is an awesome person—genuinely! The mouse pretty much clicked itself.

The cool correlation between these two events left a smile on my face. I have begun to realize, over the years, how important it is to support our friends who are doing their thing and following their dreams. All too often, people expect art to be for free (even friends) and it can leave anyone who has created something and put themselves out there feeling vulnerable and insecure. I want to fight that. I am a supporter of my friends who create and I know from experience that the support can and will come back. 

Just wanted to share my thoughts. Oh, also, I got second place. Coming in second never felt so good.


Z

A Friend Creates


An hour ago, I finished reading my friend’s first novel. The time I took to finish was, admittedly, way too long. But, I was determined to read only when I could give my full attention. Falling into the creative work of a friend is something incredibly delicate and special. 

The characters, storytelling, and page-turning quality were present the entire time; I would have found the statement to be true even if I did not know the author. I finished completely pleased with the way everything turned out. However, I really wanted to know what was to come. I imagine my reaction is a goal of any novelist. I immediately contacted my friend and shared my thoughts and feelings. 

I started thinking about how proud I am when a person I know creates something beautiful. These days (and really every day), supporting the people around us who are creating and expressing themselves is beyond necessary. Whether or not thousands of people ever get to read my brother’s essay, see my neighbor’s drawing, or hear my Grandma’s song she learned to play on the keyboard last week is far less important than the support we give each other—at the end of the day.

Perhaps I am being sentimental. But, I will always appreciate the time and energy an artist I know has put into a project. Love is probably the best word.


Z

Bad Friend

Bad Friend

Words and acknowledgement 
Only after I provided them first
When I needed you most
You never asked,
Is there anything I can do?
I guess I was blind and never knew
A person I considered to be so true could be
A bad friend

Chasing after a cunning delusion 
Years have gone by without
A whistle blown
The whistle is blowing now—
I am calling you out 
I think all these years I really had
A bad friend

When you left, you always left me
Feeling strange and guilty
As if I failed my call of duty
Loving me back never seemed easy
Now I finally see—
It was you
It was not me

Behind the ingenuous mask lies
A bad friend

A decision has to be made
Do I keep you or let you go,
My dud of an amigo?
I wonder if there are any words
You could possibly say
To make me not want to sever ties
And just walk away today

Leaving behind
A bad friend


Z

 

Hey for today

Hey for today

One day he ran
He ran very far away
Wondering if his family
Needed his stay

Fearless.
He should have been.

Soon, he looked back:
He heard a song
He was sitting on a stool
Holding a drink
He was singing along

He wondered why?!
He could not be there

I still see the back of you
Guiding and leading the pack
We biked miles to the beach 
We could say anything!
Any old thing—is the thing
To each other—to anybody

Anything but: Goodbye

Hopefully, we are all okay
Yesterday was quite the memory
Wishing so hard we could go back
Oh, but the pictures we have

The cement treadmill underneath us
Moments, never forgotten
Why did they turn dark and grey?

Why do the colors of life go away?

The only thing that matters for now
Is that we still say
Hey for today


Z

Give In

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July 2014 in Prospect Park

Give In 

When you’ve become the same old song and dance,
A different costume on a different stage,
Maybe you need to take a deep breath again,
Find a new you, and begin again.

Is it worse to stay on a sinking ship
Or to be a person who gave it all up too soon?
A difficult question,
When you have white teeth and red lips
That can light up any room.

Directors will tell you to ease up,
Relax
Sometimes, tension is your body’s way of saying,
“Hon, it’s time to let it go.”

Fa la la la
Boo doo bee doo
Time to hang up the ol’ hat

And get a new ’do.

“Never give up”
Is all that you hear each day
But, do give in to taking a bow,
When it is you you are winning —
At the end of the play.