Antler/Mantle: The Givings of Jerrod Preston

A Mean Drink

2009-06-24T11:05:00.001-07:00

The bar doors swung open and the damp smell of stale beer, piss and probably another half-dozen bodily fluids filled the air. The prostitutes were gathered in the back booths with the red lights on overhead, the pool tables were filled up with the usual riff-raf and the bar was full…except my seat, she's always empty for me. The regulars didn't even look up, they knew who just walked in as for the newbies…well; they stare like always. I took my seat at the bar and my drink was already there waiting for me; a piping-hot glass of Jack Daniels. I like the usual burnin' of whiskey but nothings better than that scalding hot sensation runnin' on down to your guts like a coal car full of hellfire. Most of the folks in here take their poison in a shot glass like a bunch o' wimps, not me though. I like my drink in a tall pint glass.

The jukebox was playing some sappy country trash and that ain't proper drinkin' music now is it? A man can't come into a bar without some wannabe cowboy shit-kicker putting on this tripe. Well I tell you what, I stood up from that bar about as fast as the needle could drop to that record. I slapped in five nickels and put on my usual Clutch song 'Prophets of Doom', now there's a real mans song. Fast Cars, Big Evil and loud LOUD guitars. That's more up 'ta my tastes, I'm a man of pretty calm demeanor by most people's opinion but I tell ya what, this little shit walked up behind me and got up in my face like some Jack Russel Terrier comin' up to a Mastiff.

"Now why'd ya gotta go and change mah song ya prick" yelped the little man in his 'trying-to hard-to-be- southern twang'. I turned around and he met my trademark stink eye and can ya believe it! The little shit didn't flinch. Well, here's about the time where I usually set these types straight when they come in to my bar but here he is still standing tall, I couldn't tell if it was just because he was dumb or because he was off his tits.

"Well boy, ya see, this here's my bar, I come in here every day after work and I have my drink and enjoy the company o' these 'ere people to relax ya see? Now, I usually like to come in here 'n' put on my usual song and have my usual drink but you gone and done mucked that up 'fer me. Now I'm gonna give ya about fifteen seconds before I knock ya silly ya hear?" Now ya see I thought dis here was a pretty reasonable lil offer but it seems this lil pip-squeek wanted to be the new alpha dog.

Well, between you's and me I didn't want to hurt the lil guy so I just gave him a good whack upside of the head and he reeled back onto a pool table and I thought he was done but the little shit got up, grabbed a pool stick and broke it over my head. I didn't like that one too much so I turned around and gave him a good jab to his lil face and sent him onto some poor lady's table. Well, that's just bad manners on his part; he shoulda done a lot better to not land on her table eh? Well I sought out to make him look like a polite gentleman and busted his pretty smile up real good on the side of my bar stool. Well he just got up and kept comin' and I kept battin' him around like a dog would a fresh piece of road kill. Well it went on 'fer awhile and me being the big guy dat I am, I got a bit winded and sat down for another drink.

"Now, a'fore I gotta really hurt ya, I suggest ya sit down and have a drink on me" and that little shit listened sat down. "A Screamin' Magpie fer me and mah new friend here on me". Now he just stared at me real odd-like, I couldn't tell if he was still reelin' from them punches but a quick drink'd fix 'em right up.

"What's yer name lad?"

"It'sh Sheth" and just as I thought, I got his face swellin' up pretty good.

"Well, you's alright in my book kid. I ain't never seen nobody take dat many punches from me a'fore"

"What'sh you name?"

"Me? Well…my name's … my name's Odysseus"

Soothsayers and Iron Eagles

2009-06-21T20:21:00.001-07:00

Steel birds fly by in the night sky as the people of the world look out into endless night. The hands of the world intertwine, soft fingers wrapping together in a warm embrace. Stranger clutched stranger in a lasting grip, an epitaph of human flesh and bone. The light in the sky was sudden and otherworldly, its searing rays blistering and burning the women holding her baby, tearing and boiling the little girl trampled by the crowd; smoldering piles of human mass and excrement reach up in a final monument of absolute anguish at the hands of man.

To bite and snarl at one another is one thing, to reduce your fellow man to greasy stains on the pavement is another. I walk alone in the valley of death, stick held high, serpents around my ankles. I am the soothsayer and the clockwork god. Like a nuclear horsemen riding on the backs of the wealthy; I steer your motives towards your own destruction. My name is Atom, my body is endless and my seducing power is maddening. I sow the seeds of warfare and anger and I am the final tool of resolution. I am the great fear that stinks up the political summits, I am the writhing bloated corpse swept under the rug. I am the bomb.

The Great Leap Homeward

2009-06-20T09:56:00.001-07:00

I stand by the shoreline, the treeline burning behind me and tears streaming down my face. I can hear the birds dropping out of the sky; their small bodies slamming against the pavement. I can hear the fire spreading into every home and cave; I hear the cries of mother bears watching their smoldering cubs turn to ash. I feel every inch of pain that they feel, I hear every cry for help they make while the rest of the world stays deaf and dumb to their voices. My body aches as my eyes come across the oil-caked ocean. I fall to my knees, I'm hyperventilating now. They can't breathe, they all can't breathe. All the air, all the air is blocked from them. I see old rusted ships sinking beneath the ebony tide, like giant wounded monsters bleeding into the sea. I can't stop any of this; I can taste the inky black beneath my feet.

I started to walk into the salty deep, sand beneath my feet and oil around my waist. I can feel the weight closing around me. I have to find the whales. The whales that once did guide us to the islands of life when we were but infants on rafts drifting in a sea of darkness. The oil covers me as I dive deeper down in this heavy sea, I can feel my body adjust to the massive pressure. Dying reefs dot the bottom as the bodies of the fish and folk of the sea drift upward. Their corpses dance in the gaze of the ocean current, it's grip tightening on my chest as I feel the oil seizing my lungs.

Millions of tons press down on me as I come up for breath only to be smothered in the lifeblood of some machine. The black gold seeped into my eye sockets; the agony that racks my body now is sending me into shock. I reach out for some kind of help. I cry out for something, something that remembers my family, something that can feel the Maori blood pounding in my veins. We were once in great debt to the sea, we covered out bodies in its symbols and treated it as our god. I could only hope that maybe over this time, after all those sacrifices, after all the offerings, that maybe the great beasts of the sea would take pity on me.

Suddenly I'm lifted from the sea; I can feel a warm light pour over my body as the shamanic mantras of the whales carry me up. Suddenly, I can see again; their torch guiding me out of blindness. Their voices were comforting as I looked down to see that we're hundreds of feet above the ocean. We were flying through the air like arrows; clouds shoot past as we push out of earth's rotting womb and into the great vacuum. Dolphins shot past in a playful swirl of light, leaving a gorgeous ice trail in their wake. The voice was unanimous before I could ask a question. I could feel all their mighty hearts reach into mine and their voices saying "We're going home" in some beautiful voice.

Miles below us, people looked up as we flew away. People I knew, people that were strangers to me; politicians and CEOs stood with mouth agape at the magnificent arc of flesh and blood left their wretched rock behind. They would die a thousand times over for what they've done; they will know death by their own hand for this.

I looked back at the planet as the nukes went off, the trees grew gray and suddenly the sky turned a gory red. We were fleeing from the dead body of our mother. I took moments to recall all of the faces I would never see, all the people that would turn to human shadows; black shapes left behind on the walls of buildings after the blinding nova of the atom engulfs their frail bodies. Once again, before I had time to speak they all spoke quicker than my mind could articulate a single sentence. "We're going to Neptune, our home world. It can be yours as well if you'd like". At such a privilege placed before me I had to make the right choice; something those that came before me weren't capable of. "Sadly, I must decline. I think I should be the last, the same would only happen again and that is something I won't be putting upon you". That glowing voice returned to my mind "So be it". We sped off like comets in the naked sky towards our final chance of life. At last, I could rest again.

Love Letter to a Captain

2009-06-12T11:44:00.001-07:00

The deck of the Pequod has always been my safe haven. A place I visit when life seems too terrifying to face. I first picked it up after the death of my great grandfather; a strong man that had always pushed me forward. He died a slow death from pancreatic cancer, a death I endured with him at his bedside for his last week. During the funeral procession I did not mourn, for Ahab mourned for me. When my grandmother was diagnosed with lupus I did not break, for Ahab broke for me. When I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis I didn't fret for Ahab's disability was much greater. When I discovered I had a weak heart I did not cry, for Ahab shot his heart into the sea for me. This tragic hero; this glorious, beautiful man enthralled me. He became my light at the end of the tunnel. I lived through Ahab as he lived through me.

Moby Dick is my Bible, my Torah; my Koran. It speaks in hushed tones of life among other men; the diversity and mystery of existence. When my body and soul seem weak I can always find a verse within its pages to return the glisten to my eyes and the gust to my lungs. Some beg of me to explain why I would read such an old book, I frown upon these children for they disappoint me in the ignorance. Many people can't see the importance of this book in my life; they don't see it as my life-preserver in a sea of stress and fog. Many think I'm just obsessed; they think it's compulsive. They don't see the love Ahab and I share. Just as Ishmael and Queequig became betrothed through sharing a bed, Ahab and I become married as our souls lay together in one body.

Three years ago I laid in a hospital, an EKG machine and ultrasound machine show my heart's faulty chamber murmur as if through gritted teeth. I think to myself "how long until that valve fails on me completely?" and "will I be able to play with my kids when I'm 30?". Suddenly I'm over taken with the words and image of Queequig's first meeting with Ishmael. At that moment, I smiled; I smiled a warm, sunny smile. For the 30 seconds that that smile lasted, I swear on my life that my EKG registered a normal heartbeat.

As of now I'm on my 10^th read. My mother recently has suffered a heart attack and a rather bad internal infection due to her weakened state. I really think that at the end of my read; if I lose my mother, I'll turn my body away from the sun and take myself down with hearts alive. I'll sink with the ship, life pouring from my veins and I pray that I go down like the hawk wrapped in the flag and clenched fist of Ahab.

Last Day

2009-06-10T19:33:00.001-07:00

It was announced at 5:34 am today that the world would end at 2:01 pm later that day. Scientists had realized a large piece of debris would be entering the atmosphere, causing mass combustion of the worlds oxygen supply.

I walk into the kitchen to see my mother weeping into my father's arms. I nodded to my father and silently understood their need to be along; their need to spend these last hours together. I stepped out into the street to see people in a state of emergency; people burning their houses, women running from slavering men and crying babies left in gutters. Had I seen this at another time, it might've disturbed me, but once you face the mortality of an entire planet, things like this seem trivial.

The phones didn't work; I would have to walk a few blocks through this cacophony of savage impulsion, all the while resisting the urge to join in on the mob of savage indulgence. The entire populace reduced to dogs backed into a corner, killing, fucking and maiming in a desperate and vain attempt to prolong their time in this world.

I made it to Silvia's house at about 6: 57 am. She was a very close friend of mine; we grew up together on the very streets that are now in flames. Our mothers both worked at the same publishing company uptown. I remember how I met her, she was building a castle. She wanted to be a princess. I look back on that now and remember how I used a toy dinosaur to knock over her castle causing her to give me a black eye. She grew up to be a beautiful tan skinned girl with jet black hair and ice blue eyes. She was the Honor Student and I was the burnout in the band. She was a devout Christian, never straying from faith, and I was the kid dedicated to science and Darwinian law. We were in two completely different worlds but today I decided "both of our worlds are going to end today, so why not tell her". Tell her… how I feel, tell her how I haven't had eyes for anyone but her, tell her that if this world was still around after 2:01 I'd like to spend the rest of my life with her.

She opened the door, I could hear her parents yelling in the background but there stood Silvia-calm and collected as ever, a testament to beauty in the face of Ragnarök. She smiled, she always smiled, I loved that, and she took me by the hand "I knew you'd come for me"; the voice of a siren that echoed over distant car alarms and ringing gunshots. I told her I had something special planned, she followed obligingly and together we walked in the streets that ran red with the blood of diamond diggers and oil tycoons. Together we walked on the black top streets of a dying suburb.

It was 7:34 am by the time we got to the zoo. The gates were wide open but no people could be seen, we hadn't seen a single person since we entered the parking lot. When we got in we let loose all the animals, letting them enjoy their final day. The elephants trumpeted and made their way down Main Street while the buffalos went on their way, back to the fields. The lions lounged on the tops of abandoned cars while all the birds in the aviary flew as one flock across the sun, Macaws, Cockatoos, Spoonbills and countless other species gracing the sky as one wing, one feather; one massive bird. The Rhinos made their way to the garden beds, grateful looks in their sullen brown eyes; the giraffes close behind. Then last, the Polar Bears passed, mothers nudging cubs. You could tell they all knew what was coming but they knew it had to be, they somehow saw it in the stars on some cold autumn night hundreds of years ago. Something deep within me wished that they would survive this and live to see that cub take down an elk in the crumbling streets of New York City.

At about 9:42 am we went to our old baseball field. This is where we spent our childhood together; this is where I taught her my secret swing that got her a college scholarship. I can see the night, it was her 15^th birthday and we had snuck away from her friends at the party. We stood on home plate, my hands over hers. "Spread your feet like this" I said, as I showed her a proper stance. "Now bring your arms back and pretend you're building up tension in your arms" and I stood there, my body pressed up against hers and my hands guiding hers through the motions. "And then what?" she asked in that sweet little voice. I laughed; a common nervous response that plagued me when I was around her "Swing for the fences" and I moved our arms through one powerful, wide swing. The secret about that secret swing was… I didn't have a secret swing.

We spent that afternoon talking about anything and everything. Talking about school, about our 4^th grade field trip to the dairy farm, about old cartoons, and it seemed like the rest of the world just melted away during the few hours we spent talking. Drops in an endless sea of time; saline crystals in a vein of salt. And then…she started crying. She cried and squeezed my hand and I did my best to comfort her. I pulled her into my arms and just let her cry. I let her get it out and I would give her all the time (left) in the world if need be. I hated seeing her sad, it's like watching the Mona Lisa being torn to pieces; it's heartbreaking. She's always been an extremely strong person, so seeing her like this was a rare sight for me and it's something I'll never get used to.

I sat there with her for what seemed like eternity, I didn't mind, as long as I was with her. The clock flashed 12:14 pm, a little less than two hours left. Suddenly it hit me; I took her hand and lead her to the athletic shed by the field. I opened the door and grabbed a batter ol' Louisville Slugger from the rack and made my way towards the big hill that overlooked the field. Power lines wove back and forth 'neath the flower covered mound. A single willow stood behind us, its trunk encased in a fragile tapestry of orchids. This was perfect; the air was filled with the crisp smell of pollen and dew. Then I looked at her, tears were now replaced with bewilderment. "What are we doing up here?" she asked, her voice still cracking from her little episode earlier. "You'll see, I promise, it'll be good". "It better be, it'd be awfully lame of you to bore a lady to death for the last few hours she's got left". Only she could be so concise when faced with her own end. Then…she kissed me, my knees buckled…and brought us tumbling into the flowers where we laid. My head was spinning still when she delivered the knockout-punch… "I love you" she said, burying her face in my chest. "I…I…love you too". Sadly, we were interrupted by my beeping watch, the numbers 1:58 flashing on the screen. Had we really spent so much time staring off of the hill? How long did we stand there holding hands looking into the eyes of a dying town? How long did she glance over at me and smile that wry little smile that I knew so well? My heart sank, but I knew I had to make those last few moments worth it.

I stood up with the bat and ran to the edge of the hill, she followed right behind. I handed her the bat as the sun was blocked out. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I took her in my arms and positioned her. "Keep your eye on the ball" the massive rock was tearing through the clouds, burning them up into zephyrs of steam in its wake. "Keep your legs apart, keep your shoulders back". It was closer now, the heat was almost unbearable.

"Now Swing for the Fences"

And we burnt up with our little planet. We burst into flames with the willow and its orchids. We caught fire together as that last swing hit. Then… deafening silence as space set in where there was once life.

The Study (Part 1)

2009-06-01T18:46:00.001-07:00

It started out simple. I was visiting my friend's estate while on holiday in New England; we would be searching for various antique books. The house itself is exceptionally old and has surprising detailing. The cornices of the house are decorated with hems of waves. The rest of the house is very odd in that its rooms are not square or rectangular in shape, they are varying ovals and hexagons. The corners peak upward to ceilings dark recesses covered in cobwebs and dust. The servants oddly enough don't seem to clean very often if at all. That's all I remember about the house from my last very brief visit. Here I stand before his house and I feel something deep within my stomach, a churning sensation almost painful. I toted my luggage up the steps of the home; it was here that I would spend the next few weeks and it is here that I will begin my descent into the bowels of this town; at this point I was unbeknownst to both.

The foyer's walls were a peeling sea foam green and the room reeked of mold. The house was an unnatural cold considering the smoldering heat outside. Then there was Sven, my acquaintance and accomplice in this tale. His unkempt mane of blonde hair complemented his stoic face and his piercing green eyes. He was quite the sight to behold. He told me about the book he had recently come across while going through a police sale, the book apparently belonged to a bunch of religious zealots whose compound had been foreclosed. He said the book appeared to just be random scribblings along with detailed graphs, charts and pictures with some footnotes in broken English.

We walked through his home to his study which was vast compared to the small study in my small studio apartment. His shelves were filled with large, leather-bound tomes and some small paperbacks that appeared to be personal journals (who knows of what. They could be medical or small day to day happenings). The room had a high ceiling; its octagonal shape cast odd shadows. The carpet was an expensive tapestry that must have been custom made for the room as it fit its hulking form perfectly. He approached one of the behemoth shelves and pulled the aforementioned book from betwixt two large atlases. He opened it to a page portraying a large thing sitting…no…squatting over a throne. It appeared to have the head of an octopus but the body of a dragon and yet it seemed to position itself upright like a man. There were odd symbols and things, the only legible English on the page read "rites of the star spawn". We both skimmed through the book, staring at its many paintings and odd drawings. But the way the damn thing smelled, it was awful. The book smelled like a mixture of piss and other strange bodily ichors. Luckily Sven had grown tired of the things and shelved it.

Sven and I proceeded to drink from his brandy collection, reminiscing about our college days and old love interests from days gone by. He told me of this girl he was infatuated with, her jet black hair was always up. He had tried on numerous occasions to talk to her but failed as she snubbed him at every conversational upstart possible. The way he described her still, even after all these years you can tell he still had pangs of guilt for never wooing her. Her name was Rebecca, a beautiful name. We sat there in silence as I imagined this beautiful girl; her condescending glares giving off some mysterious sex appeal. As I looked up at Sven I noticed he looked beside himself; whether it is from regret or just the pains of realizing how old we have both become. In that silence came a stirring in the walls that startled us both, it sounded as if an entire colony of rats moved and slithered within the wall when suddenly…everything went quiet. The candles in the room were snuffed by some wind without origin and there we sat in total darkness. There was a great guttural noise that resonated within that room, a noise that nearly reduced me to tears. It was a sound so wretched and sickening that I vomited upon myself. I sat there, immobilized with fear while the thing within the walls moved about us, its form making revolting sounds. I heard Sven across the room, I could hear his teeth chattering and I could smell his piss.

We spent the whole night in that room, in terror we waited as the nameless thing stalked us from within the walls. For hours we sat there after the thing left, hoping that it wouldn't return. Morning came and we exited the study. Neither of us looked at each other and neither of us acknowledged what just happened. That day we spent in our own separate rooms, I didn't leave mine until I heard a loud bang from Sven's room. I stood at my door, shaking…not knowing whether the nameless thing had finally left the walls and begun its hunt. Finally I forced myself to open the door and make my way down the hallway. When I opened the door to his room there he was…hanging from the rafters, his dead green eyes staring through me.

As I stepped into his room I found pictures of a beautiful black haired girl scattered below him. I assumed this was his Rebecca. There were dozens upon dozens of these pictures. I began to sift through them, seeing less and less of a beautiful girl and more of an obsession. There are some of her much younger, I assume in her twenties. But then there are more, ones in her thirties and could be very recent. The odd thing is, they all seem candid. She's always off to the far side of the shot or seemingly unaware her picture is being taken. I sat there for a while; absorbing the photos. I came across a picture that really caught my eye. It was Rebecca, with her sprawled across the couch in some room definantly not in this house. She looked so serene laying there, her arms gently holding a pillow to her chest. I wanted to lay next to her, I wanted to have her hold me and eclipse all this. I laughed. I laughed so hard it hurt, here I was at my friend's feet and fantasizing over a woman I had never met before in my life and yet I longed to be with her.

I decided it best to clean up the photos and move them into my room, I would figure out what to do with Sven later. It horrified me how desensitized I had become from last night. I felt as if I should be crippled by all this, immobilized at Sven's feet and yet, here I stand in my room surprisingly numb. I thought it best to avoid the police for now; they'd toss me in an asylum if I told them what happened last night. Something deep within me needed me to stay in that house.

End of Part 1

Lazarus!! The Stegosaurus

2009-05-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

My Life For My Forest

2009-05-24T16:17:00.001-07:00

Today I saw a pond full of herons off of Silverbell near Joslyn. Their long legs suspended their perfect white bodies among a liquid mirror. It's been years since I've seen so many in one place, so many years since I've seen the wetlands so alive. I live by a dying swamp that is constantly clogged with trash and fertilizer run-off. Most of the turtles and frogs are dead and gone and the birds don't sing outside my window anymore. It broke my heart to see my neighbors and friends kill my childhood playground. I feel such a deep connection with the trees and moss here, I feel so at peace when I lay myself down to the cold grip of the rocks and roots and sometimes... I sit... and cry. I cry for my trees; because I know they'll be dead soon. I cry for my cattails; because I know they'll be gone. I cry for my turtles; because I know they'll have no home. But today I saw the herons cry for me. They all stood in the pond as I walked past but when I froze to watch them....they froze to watch me. In their eyes I saw warmth and wisdom. I saw what they had to teach and what they had to offer. I walked on and into the green behind me but the image of the enclave of white birds still sticks in my mind. I could tell they knew what I knew, knew what I felt for my forest.

When I came back from my walk they were still there, so I approached the edge of the pool of water and sat. They didn't flee as I expected them to, they gave me passing glances as they harpooned their prey. I sat there for about 40 minutes, the road to my back. I enjoyed the silence I spent with them sans the occasional passing car. I was tempted to speak to them, to see if some how they would respond but I held my tongue for I didn't wish to scare my company. Then a car drove past with the window open and the passenger yelled "Faggot". At this, my herons scattered into the sky. My heart sank as they rose away. Why is it so necessary to yell at someone who is just enjoying his surroundings? Why do I always get ridiculed and eye suspiciously for traveling through the woods at my leisure? Why do people find it so weird that someone might actually enjoy the subtle beauty of nature?

I don't know what provoked me to post this particular walk but I found that maybe some of you might find something deeper in it, food for thought. I'll leave you with this "How many trees..."

I'm Jerrod Preston

and I've Left You

Only Devils Curse the Word of Other Men

2009-05-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

Many people find themselves ruled by religion. I understand it's important to have faith, it's very important in fact. Even atheists have faith in science and faith that people will do the right thing. Everyone is right, there is no right or wrong in this world but for me, it seems that every where I turn I find conflict among people of faith and even people without faith. I don't understand the need to fight each other and even kill over your beliefs. Your god wouldn't want you to destroy what he has created, what he has birthed from his own will. For me, I believe in Reincarnation and many Buddhist practices along with a few few Hindu, Muslim and Jewish traditions. Like, I will live my life avoiding pork products because I have a connection with the pig for he is cast off in so many religions as unclean and a beast of the cloven hoof when in fact he is a pleasant and intelligent animal that can serve man just as well. I believe that love can exist despite race and gender. A man and another man should have the right to share their love if it's true. I believe people have the capacity to love one another, but first we have to put down our crosses and our holy scriptures long enough to realize that everyone is beautiful, every single person can be your ally no matter what your religion states. We are more than just a creation of a higher being (if you believe in that sort of thing), we are a species, and if we wish to continue as a species we must learn to coexist not only with each other, but with our surroundings. We're killing our planet and for me that means your killing my higher power. If all the animals are gone, there's nothing for me to be reborn as. So instead of throwing your trash in the fields and dumping your sewage in my sea please think 'every animal I kill, every tree that wilts, is one less vessel for Jerrod in his passage through the wheel'. You have to think of me, you have to think of nature, you have to think of the thousands and thousands of people like me. I see fields corrupted by garbage and power lines, animals living in squalor and I see man behind all of it. Our wars, our hate and our faith in industry holds us apart and will surely be our end unless we unite under one cause. That cause:save our planet.

Go out today, plant a tree, hug your neighbor, make a garden, pick up some trash, tell a random person that you love them, go out of your way to make people laugh and smile, cheer someone up, apologize to someone you've been fighting with, stop drinking soft drinks and make yourself some tea and sit outside and enjoy the birds while they're still singing because they aren't going to be there forever. Enjoy life in all it's bombastic glory and bathe in a sunlit field while the grass is still gleaming with the morning dew. The earth is our mother, despite who your holy father is.

I'm Jerrod Preston
and I Love You

Le Concept Album

2009-05-19T14:31:00.001-07:00

Age of Reptiles

Fern bank of safety, Hide from the sun
The air, fills with ash, a suffocating lapse
Black Sky, a diamond wake, traverse the smoke he breathes

The Weight of Self, no air left to breathe
Try to hide, no shelter from the sun
An ecosystem, soon to collapse, No Forest, No Reprieve
The dust cakes my scales, A silent sleep in Heat

Nowhere left to run, A silent planet, Dead on the whole
A dawn of mammals comes to pass
Fields of barren soot, The glacier will carve your path
The light so hard to see
White Hands expose my skull, A time of man to come
Whole, Worlds, Tread on Unknowingly
Whole, Lives, excavated futilely
Breathe life, inside of me
Live again, no forest to hide me

A path through the Sun

Antler

The Clash and Scatter
A Broken Herd
A Pale Example
Crushed Under Hoof

The Winter's Fury
The gust, rip and Cut
the rocks below
Break all the Bones

Filled with splinters
the body hemorrhages
The Hunters descend
collect their prize

Glacial

Smothering cold winds, rape my skin
tearing away what they missed
Scarred and tanned hide, torn to bits
always the martyr and never the saved

The walls are cold and I knew that there would be, no light
there's something wrapped around my throat, it strangles a voice

He feels it pressing down, he's dead, again
he can't feel her hand, he's lost and numb

Another wrist in gold, she saw him die
this time, there was no cry, she was the moon

So distant and yet so visible
the shore carried him to sink to her
she swallowed him, fathoms deep, in her body

Light refracts, through his corpse
a dead prism of ice and salt
seeing through the glaciers glass, I see the light

Ice Artery

Snow, Coagulated Rain
Drain ditch of paper, an inkwell of soil
Take broken steps, towards the cliff
can't help but feel you, all around me, draining

Preserved in my own skin, dead to you
deafening me, a voice soft as snowfall
tongue sharp, obsidian, a black scalpel

Compel me, repel her, away, away
She can't keep something, it's mine
Sand Passes, between my fingers, silt, across my belly
Compact molecules, crush, build

Osteoblast of rock, bones of a seashore
Spine, of a continent
Vertebrae, ligament of granite

Calf

Scared infant, lost its way
can't find air, to breathe
No holes in the ice, Onslaught of asphyxia

Falling, behind mother
lost to the sea, blood in water
Breaking ribs, a gauntlet of teeth, the orcas

Bust through the ice, to see, the sun
Can't emerge from, can't breathe
The heart is gone, the water full
The ocean black with waves of flesh
No mother left, to save the calf
All alone, he succumbs to cold

A wheel, the hand, a whirl of rays
A Child, is borne to land, the soul that strays
a desert of the mind, feathered head
Held to the god, tribal welcome
Ascend to Human Existence

Great Reef

Clamor for the sand, the tide is coming
Hide in the drop-offs, warm pool of glass
Left naked in her light, the sandbar's sinking

Elapse in breathing, struggle to stay awake
There's no end, to profuse bleeding, sharks are on the way
I can, feel her, right above the surface
Great wave, of mouths, serrated and daunting

The tide runs red with what's left, after the storm
and suddenly, the sun, froze solid, in the sky
The sharks, suffocate, gills frozen shut
Nitrogen, star, sinking in my depth
Sinking into my skin, freeze me solid.

Fertile

Silver light, drawing me across the sky
A sun of ice, dragging me onto her surface
Bright, refraction, her eyes, white-blue prisms

I become her life, a final core purpose
To garden her body, to sow my seed
Her backbone, it shudders, a hand of warm water
total, remission, flooding with need

I've turned her to oceans, dive into caves of jade
the turquoise sea of birth
Soft breaths are forbade
the waters recede, continents rise and unearth

I become her nature, she becomes my star
the new moon encircles, never drifting too far
I've Become her nature, she becomes my star

Dwarf Star

Acrid Soil, into your wastes
frigid sediment, broken and shattered
towering obelisk, survey the sphere
Surrounded by visceral stone

The fire in the sky, encroaches upon my skin
Pale flesh blisters, rips to tendon and sinew
Pulsating, heat wave, forest of petrified wood
Eons, of Silence, broken by astral noise

Surveying the landscape, storm of sand
Quarts in the bloodstream, shrivel and dry
A field of orchids grow, from your body
Pollen of discipline, seed of faith

Lay down, to finally face the sun
in dissonant light I bathe, no longer sleeping
I wake from this vision
Brush forth to continents, filled with ice

Acrid soil, overgrown cities
Frigid sediment, pillar of roots
Towering obelisk, grants the earth its shade
Surrounded by haunting trees, we dig mass graves

The vacuum takes our body, corpses in a ziggurat of stars

Capella

2009-05-14T16:10:00.001-07:00

So cold is the surface of a distant star. Her light is millions of years old, her body withered and dead. Her light shone upon me, kept me safe from what may come. That star is completely devoid of any notion of my existence, yet I watch her as she passes over each night. The flick of a smile moves across my face, only to recoil into guilt.

She's the subject of all the paintings in my house, her light dancing on my canvas like a playful muse. In my paintings I show my dreams; her wavering rays watching over beautiful nocturnal landscapes, her light guiding sailors in the night, her beauty: enthralling Greek philosophers. Many have known her touch; many have met her gaze but none like me. She doesn't shine for me like she shined for Aristotle, yet she glows in my absence. She doesn't guide me like she guided Leif Ericson, yet she makes me lose my way.

Her celestial heartbeat flickers in my mind, for I crave her to descend to me. Her angelic light raises the hairs on the back of my neck, for I wish I was a pelican, so that I might ascend and take her in my maw and keep her as mine and mine alone. Her hum whispers in my ear, for I wish I was a sparrow so I might sing for her.

The midnight sky is deeper than all of the oceans, and yet she's there at the surface. I sometimes sit awake, often under the influence of certain psychoactive fungi so that I might project myself into that vacuum. I never reach her before the morning, her vapor trail being the only thing left for me in her wake.

At times I think she fears me, scared of my over-zealous attempts to woo her. Maybe she sees into my house only to see herself plastered all over my walls. At times this saddens me greatly; it's times like those that I entertain the thought of drowning myself in the creek out back so that maybe my body would decay and become a tree. Then I might gaze upon her forever, so that the sparrows might nest in me and serenade her so that she may look my way.

Then, one night…she wasn't there. She wasn't among her constellation. She wasn't floating above the tree line. I guess millions of years of light finally ran out; even stars die. That was a very dark night. I decided to set out to make a fire. I piled up my writing and my paintings and set them aflame. Once they burned white hot, I laid myself upon them so I could burn for her on this last night, so that maybe a million years from now, my body might reach the Dwarf Star that took her place for a single caress of her body as my light reaches her surface. So cold is the surface of a distant star.

Where Men Dare to Dwell

2009-05-13T14:50:00.001-07:00

The open sea; she calls like a temptress in the mist, her emerald eyes and voluptuous body are the only visible thing in the haze. Her moaning voice; an echoing call that gathers lusting men from around the globe. We follow her call wherever she might be, some of us preferring her company over our own wives.

The ship; a daughter of labor and engineering, a beautiful sight to behold upon the open ocean. Her high-set sails hold the wind in a vice like that of a scorned girl clinging to the ankles of her fleeing lover. Her pleasant creaks and rocking are reminiscent of a cooing woman cradling her babe in her arms. But what happens when the children become men and seek the company of the seducing sea? Where go'est an air-breather when he seeks the depth of a woman much more vast than he?
That's the situation I face now. Adrift in her white curls, her salty perfume intoxicating like an aged brandy. The night came swiftly on the pillars of golden rays the sun cast in the evening fog, running from his lover, his moon would pursue him another night but for now the tides would keep her company. Suddenly, the sea, she was black and writhing with noise. I could feel the massive shapes below me, they sang for me a perfect lullaby that night, a song simplistic in structure but complex in emotion. I could hear their hearts beating and it made me quite sad that I had been out here to hurt them, for now they are my brothers and I too now know what that song means and I too now know what makes it so somber.

The whales came up that night, each of their massive exhalations creating a rainbow against the moon in the most beautiful way. They carried me in the starlight upon their backs. They kept me safe and watched over me and most important of all…they sang. They sang the most glorious song, concertos of breath mixed with grand movements that took the participation of the entire herd. This was my new family, this was my new home… and with that I drifted to sleep.
When I awoke I no longer saw arms or legs floating in-front of me. I no longer feared drowning in the waves. That day I swam far and I searched the blue dream for my brothers but to no avail, they were gone. I no longer craved the surface, so I sought out the murky deep; my insulated body was so cold down there, as was my heart… I couldn't feel the passing embrace of my temptress, for if I stopped swimming I would sink. The only thing I could feel was that my face was alight with a pulling; a pulling toward what I knew would be my first kill.

There was blood in the water, so much blood. It clouded the water but I didn't need to see where I was going. My eyes rolled back into my head and I took a bite from the gargantuan flesh before me. When I did, I heard a great bellowing cry. I opened my eyes to see it was my brother, alas I could stop myself. I kept gnawing and tearing. All the while I wept inside for the fact that I could not stop, for the fact that I could not shed tears for him. Then came the voices of men, they came in small boats; wielding harpoons and blunt cudgels. The last thing I saw was the harpoon that pierced my side and the last I heard was the cheering of the men and the melancholy death rattle of my brother.

Then I sank; I sank down to a world without lights, the sun just a distant memory in a primal brain. I could feel my temptress pressing down on me; her smothering grip was asphyxiatingly sweet. She brought me to the bottom where I felt my body collapse, and then…my heat was gone. My last thought among her icy fingers was "She never said a word, though I loved her. I never truly knew her, though she killed me. We never would be together, though I died in her hands" and then she was gone…

The Horse with the Blindfold

2009-05-12T19:47:00.001-07:00

So lately I've been trying to become a better person, pursuing more spiritual rites of satisfaction. I've taken up my old mantle of a Transcendentalist Buddhist with so much more behind it. I've really tried to distance myself from negative personalities and tried to embrace people a lot more. I've started to stand my ground a lot more when it comes to how I express myself; nobody is getting between me and my will to create something tangible.

I realize I've hurt a lot of people over my time here on earth and would like to thoroughly apologize to those that truly didn't deserve anything of that sort. With all these long walks in the silent forest, it's hard not to notice something larger at work. In those walks I've re-confronted and re-assessed my views of reincarnation and the cycle of Samsara and I've come to terms with who I am as a person again, finally comfortable in my own skin.

I've started to realize that the days are too beautiful to waste locked away in front of a screen most of the time and made it my mission to spend a vast amount of time with the rocks and roots that hold me while I cloud watch. It's a beautiful world; I might as well make the best of it. I can already feel so much weight lifting off me, like some anvil has been lifted from my arms. Everything and everyone has become so much brighter, no shades of gray blotting out faces, no static voices blocking out what people are saying.

There's a citrus mist on every smile I see now, a sweet note to every word and I can't help but see your silver lining. Though there are a few people I'll probably have to leave behind in this, people that are immature and self-centered that can't help but bring me down. These people constantly try to make me feel below them and I won't have it anymore. These people were supposed to be my closest friends but instead they suppress and oppress what I have to say and what I have willed into existence. I'm in search of heavier sounds from amplifiers, not some torpid tripe from a car commercial. I need atmosphere to breathe; you can't convert melody to oxygen. At this point I've got something much larger to create, a grander vision of stories to tell, of voices to let slip over drenched violence and percussive blasts of oaky strength.

I am Jerrod Preston
and I love you

Exploration #3

2009-05-12T18:45:00.000-07:00

So, three boys set out on a short exploration before the evening was set in stone. They made their way upon the path they knew well so far until they came to a great hill of flowers that sprouted up towards the sky. There lay the fallen elk in its final resting pose; it's bones lackadaisical and sprawled like a great bird in flight. We made our way beneath the buzzing arms of flowers until we came to a place covered in broken glasses and battered ships. We sat there and looked onward into the hill orchards, taking in the sunlight to our backs. We made our way back to the iron footsteps of great steam behemoths and sat upon their rails, hurling stones and contemplating our last few years together. We sat in silence for much of it.... each one of us locked in serendipitous thoughts of trees and the sparrows overhead. As we set out for home we took one last picture of the skyline only to have some drunkard in a motor vehicle storm his way up to us asking to see our camera. All backs went rigid as we stared down the unwelcome guest in our quiet forest. We talked him down and sent him back on his way with stones in hand, ready to hail him backward one way or another. Steps toward home were made in haste that night, a fly had landed in our ointment.

Exploration #2

2009-05-11T13:29:00.001-07:00

So, four boys once again set off into the rain-soaked wilderness of the afternoon to escape the town. Hidden by tall grass and overcast skies they moved forward through marshes and brush to continue their path from the last exploration. There they came upon a wounded boat, its underbelly slashed and battered, deciding to end it's miserable existence of rotting and groaning among the trees and grass, they took up the nearby hammers and proceeded to beat the boat into deathly state like one would a beached dolphin. Then a great razor fence blocked their path, a whole was bashed through its various metal twines until passage was safe. The tracks below were rusted with time and rain, their reverberations are shrill and deafening when struck with their ties. Great green bones lay before us like a skeleton of something new to come. Child like curiousity was intoxicating, we climbed in and above the green behemoths like bees in a hive of rusty honey. We chased one another in a game we knew to be tag. We called out and sang in songs we new to be middle eastern. We sat and basked in what we knew to be the setting sun. We set out for what we knew to be home.

Exploration #1

2009-05-09T15:57:00.001-07:00

We set out with one mission: To get to the end of the rainbow. We don't know why we were compelled to set off into the rain and mud to follow this archway into the sky. We followed it along the railroad tracks until we came to a great gravel space. Then, it split in two. We followed one to a point that overlooked a green field surrounded by barbwire fences overtaken by nature; vines spiraling and weaving tapestries through their rusty ribs. As we looked on we saw what we were afraid of the most; losing each other, we saw the end of our childhood before our eyes. We talked about our last summer as we followed the fading rainbow to the other side. There sat a tree, bathed in light from the sun when all the others were in the shade. It was a beacon, beckoning us to the top of the hill. We had to cross a stream to ascend this steep face of moss and grass but when we reached the top we followed it until we came to a great field of powerlines and golden suns and in the middle...sat a broken boat. It was a beautiful sight, poetic as it was natural. Unnatural as it was moving. We found a pair of binoculars in the dirt and used the to look into the field; we didn't see a single house and then...we all smiled.

Library Trip Numero Uno

2009-05-06T14:33:00.001-07:00

Today I went to the library and picked up some new Paleontology books; nothing too in-depth but they caught my eye and both tell of some pretty cool recent Discoveries. Pictured are Mammoth: The Resurrection of an Ice Age Giant by Richard Stone and Rex Appeal by Peter Larson & Kristin Donnan. Both aren't scientific journals per-se but both are the tales of two groundbreaking happenings in the world of modern paleontology. Hopefully I'll be getting some full-fledged textbooks on the subject of Vertebrate Paleontology when I get the money.

Pulse-in-Throat

2009-05-04T14:34:00.001-07:00

There's the smell of rain on concrete and a girl ever so gracefully prowling the sidewalks. She knows what she's doing; she's got me in her crosshairs like a Vietnamese sniper just waiting to blow me away. I want to say something, maybe talk her out of shooting through my aperture; taking away my flow control. The triggers pulled and she doesn't even see my lens shatter, she doesn't see my star-struck face as I'm bathed in scalding light; retreating beneath sun-burnt skin, to a body not-entirely whole. A body, a heart in atrophy, an icy ring of ribs holding back a storm of flusters from a broken muscle. They say the souls in the eyes; hers just pull me down like quick sand. How I wish she'd crawl on-top of me and sink with me, but this time I'm sinking alone. I can't feel my own hands reaching but I know they're doing it, because I can feel that ice cold wind turn my fingers black.

She's like a sun made of liquid nitrogen, touch the surface and risk shattering my body. Stay away and the light focused through her icy gaze is enough to set me aflame with vulnerable intentions. The fact this pathetic passing thought can affect me so drastically shows great weakness in an otherwise battle-scarred living carcass. The body is a husk and life makes calluses, the body is the witch and the skin is the heretic. She's burning me like a beautiful moth caught in a blow-torch and at the same time, she's freezing me solid so I stand in a torpid stupor as she passes by. I can feel the ropes and tendons snapping, my heart rising like a hot air balloon into my throat and suddenly… the boy that never stopped talking is as silent as a monk during the solstice. Suddenly, my phantom limbs are frostbitten and broken and only my Nitrogen-Star can warm me. Lost in a vacuum of desires quietly caged by broken hands, like a locust chewing out of a corn-stalk cage…it's only a matter of time until a swarm comes down and tears away my husk.

Sandbars and Pinwheel Sharks

2009-05-03T14:49:00.001-07:00

The human relationship is a frigid and often deadly engagement. There are times when the human spirit can be snapped in-twain by the minor inflection of a word or a suspicious name brought to light in conversation. Relationships, once formed, never actually end. Long after wounded love turns to hate, you are still bound. You still think about one another whether you care to admit it or not, in some cases: often keeping tabs on what they're up to. Patronizing yourself with the burden of wanting to know how they're going along without you.

Even if the relationship is drowned out in a sea of others; it's still there, under the surface like a jagged reef waiting to slice your foot and call the sharks into frenzy. When you're lost in a sea of relationships it's always nice to have a sandbar to rest on when the waves pick up too much and the rip tide threatens to take you out to the blacker depths of the human mind. I have my sandbar, it's built on the love I've shared and given, the smiles I've made and forced and the hands I've held and the backs I've worked beside. This sandbar of mine is a warm, sun-baked mound in a sea of unfriendly mouths waiting to swallow your heart whole. My sandbar is not perfect by any means; pock marked with rocks and small drop-offs, it's still not a great fortress against the tide but that's the way I like it.

From my sandbar I build it, purge it and gaze upon the lucid sea of other faces; watching as lives interlock like the fingers of young lovers and beholding the inevitable breaking of the hand. To me, people are as beautiful as they are disgusting. The beauty of people is how they remain so beautiful even when they perform the most revolting acts. Even the act of making love is a violent and putrid act. Even in the most primal and affectionate embrace, one can find horror and a naked vulnerability. The smell of it is so horrid compared to the beautiful sound of breathing. The soft touch of skin compared to the decadent buzz on the back of your neck. This simple embrace can break apart a sandbar or hold it together. The sea has no mercy for lovers as it would seem, it swallows them up like gnarled driftwood and take you away from your haven, dragging you farther and farther away from your sandbar.

Once again, I can barely find meanings in my own writings, hardly seeing through a veil made of both my selective memory and guilt. I find no solace in what I write, no escape from my sharks. But hopefully they help you find your sandbar.

Summer

2009-05-03T11:06:00.000-07:00

Well this summer I begin to look for some Digs to intern on. I'm starting with Cranbrook's Science Department soon. I should be meeting with their department head when i visit next weekend. Should be nice, I've never seen their paleontology exhibit before and I haven't been o a nice museum in years; should be refreshing.

-

2009-03-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

I've become overcome with amorous emotions as the ACTs draw to a close and I run the conversation I had with Mark through my head. This really is the 'groups' last few hoorahs. Soon we'll be heading our separate ways. Over the summer we'll be retreating up north to brainstorm and enjoy the beautiful landscape of northern Michigan. There will be many river excursions, late night sailing sessions and conversations of unfathomable depths as we spend our last summer together. It's saddening to see everyone's face as we awknowledge this, because we've been friends for as long as I can remember and now it's nearly over. I love my friends and all they've done for me. I hope some of you are feeling those tiny pangs of nostalgia and maybe even a small apiphany as you realize what you have and slowly realize that it's almost over. These are the people I will never forget and hopefully never have to.

Turn A

2009-03-06T18:43:00.000-08:00

Started watching Turn A gundam, a very unusual break from the norm in the series. I haven't watched an anime for a few years so this is refreshing. The setting and storyline are grade-A for Gundam (especially after the overpowered bullshit-fest that was the SEED series) and the music is fantastic. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a decent anime to burn away the late-night hours.

O! North

2009-03-04T13:29:00.001-08:00

Here in Michigan winter is letting up and it's getting warmer but the damage it's done is still here. With the state's failing economy I've seen neighbors get up and walk away from their homes, I've seen families torn apart by the auto industry and here I am in the middle of it and I can't do a damn thing. Though recently my grandmother (whom I am extremely close to) has been diagnosed with lupus and my mother must begin undergoing a series of operations. This really has been a very hard couple weeks and all I can do is hole up in my room; reading and writing to pass the time. It's gotten harder to cope with things as the band has stopped meeting regularly due to our drummer's evil girlfriend and Mike's guitar becoming near defunct due to faulty electronics. There is a bright side to all of this though, this 'hiatus' of sorts has given me time to think and reflect on the happenings of the past few months (many of which I won't mention here) and it has bestowed upon me a sense of enlightenment and how I may further better myself. Maybe I'll wander about the woods tonight and take some pictures, I doubt it though since I don't have a camera to commandeer.

Pictures from around Lake Orion

2009-02-19T13:12:00.000-08:00

Well, winter is almost done here in Michigan. The snow's melting and the birds are coming back. Everything's a nice shade of mossy green before the sun comes up.