Indifference

There's been too many times I've tried to connect with you beyond just the surface

Like the time I told you to look at the moon and the sky that surrounds us

We need to look at our lives and the love that impounds us

Up and down the street, lanterns light up the night 

Their reflection's symmetry are a pleasant sight for my eyes to see 

I feel melodies when you feel me 

I've got ghosts and skeletons

Let's hope they're all still like manikins 

If only my expressions conveyed my feelings

I wish I had the strength to just tell you what I feel

I'm running out of energy trying to show you

Everything Is Entropic

en·tro·py

\ˈen-trə-pē\
noun

plural  en·tro·pies

1

:the degree of disorder or uncertainty in a system 

2

: the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity 

3 :a process of degradation or running down or a trend to disorder

We all begin life on a path towards death

We can not not escape it

We can only escape our minds

We can not escape the grip death already has on every facet of our lives

We can only escape the fear of it

A republican can die

A democrat can die

Death yields itself not to self righteousness nor an upright walking man

For he too is under her grip

Living is the only escape life offers from the fear of death

But to not experience living because we are focused on the death itself, 

Why starve ourselves of the joys of living 

Feast yourself on the feat of living and not the descent of dying

For we all, are entropic

The picture is a homeless man in front of a defunct church supply business. Could this be an indication or sad example of irony of what happens when churches focus on business profits as opposed to Christ-like humanitarian efforts.

Gravity Day 9

Immediately upon arriving in the observation room Greg noticed it didn't look or feel any different than the room he had just been escorted from. Although it didn't have one sided windows, it had one plain table and a cold iron chair and a comfortable looking black leather office chair, the plushy kind with armrests and adjustable height. Greg walked right over to his iron chair and sat down. Dr. Canfield remained standing by the door giving him an inquisitive look. Greg seemingly agitated shrugged his shoulders and squawked "What??????"

 The doctor responded "Greg why did you sit in that chair and not the black one?"

"I naturally assumed this was my chair, you, after all, are the doctor." -replied Greg

"So you feel, because I'm the doctor and you are the patient, you should sit in the lesser quality chair?"

Greg not amused by the questioning responded with a question of his own

"Did you intentionally put two different quality chairs in here? Is that part of my "evaluation"?" He said with air quotes. "I can answer a question with a question too doctor!!! I know how these things work."

Greg was no stranger to controlling situations and conversations. He was a highly paid manager of a major company. Managing people and situations was a skill he had developed over the years. 

Dr. Canfield was not amused.

"Listen. I'm not here to play games Mr. Greyson. Are you willing to cooperate and allow me to help you or should I leave you to the wolves? Should I let the detectives come back in here and chew you up and spit you out?" - exclaimed the doctor.

Visibly shocked, Gregory retorted "I just want to be left alone right now." And he sunk his head into his hands and tried to wrap his head around the kinds of life changes he was about to endure. Greg began to drift back into the dream state. Not really asleep, but not in the moment mentally. His mind escaped back to the family vacation in Cancun, back to the relaxing feeling of laying poolside by the ocean in the warm tropic breeze. Jenna and the kids all having the time of their lives.

Jenna popped up from her beach chair exclaiming "Greg.....Greg! I don't see Jeremiah! I don't see him anywhere." Greg sat up and glanced over to the sand box area next to Jenna's beach chair. At that point both of them jumped up and began scurrying around scanning the crowd. Greg ran over to his other two children playing on the beach and yelled "Corren where is Jeremiah?" - he placed both of his hands on her shoulders shaking her "Corren, where is he?!?!?! Did you see where he ran off to?" Corren, frightened and shocked by the uncharacteristic yelling of her daddy, found herself unable to even respond with words, and could only shake her head no. And as Greg turned to continue his search, scanning the resort, his eyes were drawn to the beach and a crowd of people standing over a lifeguard kneeling next to a small child, administering CPR. Everything turned to slo-motion. It was as if the earth had slowed its revolution, and time had been stalled.  

"Jerrrreeemiiiaaahh???" Greg ran towards the crowd. "Jerrrreeemiiiaaahh!!!!!!!! No, God nooooo..."

"What happened to my son?" - Greg screamed

Jenna hearing the Greg's screams began sprinting towards the group

"Greg!!! Oh my God Greg what happened? What's going on Greg?"

"Greg.....Greg answer me!!"

"Wake up Greg!" Gabrielle clapped her hands together to startle Greg back to reality.

The doctor had left the room and Gabrielle had entered without Greg even realizing it. He hadn't fallen asleep, but he certainly had just lost a period of time without realizing it.

It was in this moment Greg began to realize he may indeed have something wrong him. He hated to admit it to anyone, especially himself, but he needed help. This wasn't something he could talk his way out of. No amount of meetings, no amount of questions, no pleading and no amount of money could get him out of this. Not permanently anyway. But he was at least going to try and use money to get him out of it temporarily. 

"Is there any chance of me being released Mrs.?" - asked Greg.

"It's Ms. Ortiz, or Gabrielle." Explained Gabrielle

"And you can see the judge at 4:00 which is about 15 min from now. He will determine your immediate future. We can head down there now."

"Will there be any kind of bail option available to me?"

"We will have to see what the judge says Gregory"

"You can call me Greg. Or Mr. Greyson." Chuckled Greg

Gabrielle unamused opened the door and motioned for Greg to get up and head out the door. And he did, without comment or question. And the two of them made the long, emotional, quiet walk to the front of police headquarters where detectives and a squad car awaited them. The detectives put Greg in handcuffs and assisted him into the back of the car. Gabrielle walked around to the other side, got in the back seat with him, slammed the door and they began the five minute car ride to the court room for Greg's arraignment hearing.

Iowa: We All Come Back Again

The blustery base from snow white storms 

A pleasant January seems out of the norm

Properties and pathways laid out like a grid

With soil and sand sold to the highest bid

Spring swings in late like your kin 

Never when we expect it 

But exactly when intended

With windows open we welcome it in

Summer's always a crap shoot

Wizened one week, irriguous the next 

The contrast greets us with petrichor 

The smell of fresh rain, I always want more

Summer's end brings seasons change 

Plenty of colors, out come the covers 

Autumn leaves crumble, watch them all fall 

Fowl fly south, feathers flutter in the wind 

We're all searching for cordial weather 

Patiently I wait praying 

Soon both will be back again 

Gravity Day 8

Greg's sobbing subsided and turned to heavy breathing. His eyes closed. His mind wandered. Oddly enough all he could think about was his son Jeremiah, the day he died and the events that led up to it. As he he laid there on the cold floor, still curled up, his thoughts turned to dreams as he drifted once again, into slumber.

Greg's dreams were beaming him back to Cozumel. He was laying poolside at the resort. Jenna by his side. The kids, Corren, Jacie and Jeremiah, playing in the sand nearby as she read her book, glancing over occasionally to check on them. Crowds of people were vacationing, laying on the beaches, drinking, boating, swimming, all of the events any good tropical vacation would provide. The sounds of speedboats and boom boxes, ship horns and shouting were all around him. It was loud. But it was peaceful. Through all that bustling and noise he could still hear the sound of the ocean tide slamming the shore, shhhhheewwww........sheewwwwwww.........sheewwww...back and forth like a metronome of waves. The sun beat down on his body as he lay there, relaxing, completely transported and removed from all things work related. This was the life. This is what we all wake up and live and breathe and bust our asses every day for right? So someday we can vacation every day and not once a year. Retirement, the ultimate prize. Work now, rest later. But those thoughts soon turned cynical.  Why am I killing myself slowly with stress and anxiety in the hopes I can someday lay on a beach? Greg wondered. Why not live now? 

Greg was awakened again. This time not by a detective, but Gabrielle. She knelt down by him, gently placed her hand on his shoulder and asked if Greg could get back up into the chair. 

"Greg I want to help you understand what is happening and the process we need to follow to get you the help you need. I'm asking the state to have you evaluated. You have been through an extreme amount of emotional trauma and we need to make sure you are doing ok. We are having you evaluated by Dr. Canfield, he is an independent psychiatrist. He is not affiliated with any organization. You and him, and only you and him will be relocating to a different room where he will sit down with you, get to know you and try to get to the bottom of exactly what's affecting your recollection of last nights events and causing your memory loss."

Greg retorted "I'm not crazy I don't need a psychiatrist."

"No one is saying you are crazy Gregory, but you are claiming you can't remember anything beyond having your first drink at Carl's and that was 5pm yesterday. So your mind has either blocked out or erased nearly an entire day of your life and shutdown your ability to recall it. And until we find the cause of this memory lapse, we can't address the problem, nor can we properly defend you from the charges being brought against you. None of this is going to go away on its own Greg. Not the charges, not the mental lapse and certainly not the death of Officer Kunz. This is real. And you need help. The ball is in your court. Help is here if you are willing to admit you need it by accepting it."

"Ok, ok, I'll go. But I'm not crazy!"- opined Greg "I am NOT crazy!" Gesturing his adamancy by slamming the table with his pointer finger.

Gabrielle responded- "Dr. Canfield will escort you to the evaluation room. I'll follow up with you when he is finished."

Dr.Canfield began giving Greg verbal directions to the evaluation room. Greg could hear the door slowly creaking closed as they strolled down the hallway toward an uncertainty. Dr. Canfield following closely being him. Greg felt confused and scared. He wasn't the put together well rounded man he saw in the mirror every morning. Life as he knew it was over. 

Gravity Day 7

It was in that moment, a moment where Greg was convinced all hope was gone, when he had the full realization he was a suspect in a major crime. And shortly after, another realization. If he was indeed a suspect he was entitled to a lawyer being present.

"I'm not answering any more questions!"- squelched Greg. "I want to see a lawyer!"

"Suit yourself."- muddled Detective Barry

The detectives immediately walked out of the room. Leaving Greg there, alone, with nothing but the humming of the central air blasting into the room. It was a low hum. Like the sound every Hollywood blockbuster movie spaceship makes. Greg was in the eye of the worst emotional storm of his life to date. He couldn't be more aware of it had scripted it himself. 

Tink-tink- the sound of a tapping on the door. A sound as if to ask permission before entering. And in walks a young, attractive professional looking lady.

"Good afternoon Gregory. I am Gabrielle Ortiz. I am your court appointed lawyer if you so choose to accept one."

"The first thing I want to establish is what exactly you have shared with the police and what kinds of questions they were asking you. I'm not concerned with your side of the story at this time, if you even recall it, all I am concerned about at right now is if the information you provided them was obtained lawfully " 

Greg chimed in "Don't you want to know if I'm innocent?"

"Greg you ARE innocent until a jury of 12 of your peers decides other wise. Along with of course, the help of our over zealous San Diego police detectives."

"What's going to happen to me??"- crooned Greg, burying his head in his hands. "What's gong to happen???"

Tears began to well up in the corners of Greg's eyes. Greg hadn't cried for years. Not since loosing his second child Jeremiah at the age of 2. Greg would often lay in bed at night wondering if there was something wrong with him. It was so hard for him to cry. He cried only out of deep tragedy. It didn't matter how depressed he felt, how much physical pain he was enduring or if someone close had passed away. There was nearly nothing that could make him cry. And now he sat here in this cold iron chair, in a cold and isolated room, wondering, if there was something wrong with him. He wondered what it was that he was being suspected of and if he indeed was guilty. "What's wrong with me? Was I  a witness to a crime and can't remember it? And worse yet, what's wrong with me if I am actually capable committing of crime?"

Gabrielle broke Greg's paused thoughtful silence. "Greg", "Greg"........... "GREG" she spoke firmly and with volume.  Greg snapped out of his introspection. Looking up at her with a blank stare. His glossy eyes looked almost unreal.

"If I am going to be able to help you I will need you to focus and cooperate. I'm sure there is a lot going on in your mind right now but you are being charged with murder Greg. Murder! And if you want me to help defend you we need to work together"

Greg fell to the floor First to his knees as if to pray, but almost immediately after to his side, curling up in the fetal position and uncontrollably sobbing. 

Gabrielle jumped up, charged out of the room and swung open the door. Before the spring loaded door could even fully retract she was barking orders at the group of detectives standing arms crossed, watching expressionless from outside the one sided viewing window.

"I want a full psychiatric evaluation on him, I want him in protective custody and more importantly I want to know why the hell you questioned him without reading him his Miranda's or informing him he was a suspect."

"And get him a glass of water! He's as pale as a white horse!"

And Gabrielle stormed off down the hall, through the commons and disappeared through the next door.

Gravity Day 6

The feeling of being woke up in the middle of a sleep cycle is one Greg was all to familiar with. Most every night for Greg is spent either falling asleep in front of a laptop, laying in bed tossing and turning or being woken up to the ringtone of a cell phone. Greg was too obsessed with work and success to let any work related issue go unaddressed until morning. It doesn't matter what time of the night the chime rang in, Greg would address whatever task it was coming through regardless of how urgent it was at that moment. The early bird always gets the worm. But he who never sleeps rules all of the other birds.

This moment was no different with one exception. It was a detective shaking him vigorously in an attempt to wake him rather than a dinging electronic device going off in the middle of the night. The detective was a short, nicely dressed man (although inexpensive clothes). He reeked of cologne and was a short man with a Robert Deniro sort of attitude. He introduced himself as Detective Barry. Detective Barry told Greg he was not able to see the judge yet because he was too intoxicated. This seemed a distant possibility to Greg as he felt fine. He no longer had a headache and was very hungry. But having never been a drinker or one to end up in jail Greg trusted the department's orders. The detective asked Greg if he would be willing to answer a few questions. Greg obliged, knowing full well whatever he was in there for couldn't have been too serious if they were going to let him go once he saw the judge. Greg was slowly led down the hall through a large commons area and down another back hall to a room with windows on all sides except one. It was at that very moment Greg had the realization as to just what was going on. Greg was instantly hit with that feeling you get when you start to catch up with gravity on a roller coaster heading down from the crest of each peak. When your stomach tries zooming up your esophagus at the speed of light. Shortly after he started to  experience a taste in the back of his mouth. The dripping. The taste of fear. The taste you get moments before you are about to vomit. He fought back the feeling. Swallowing repeatedly. Detective Barry, having noticed this asked Greg if he wanted some water, ".....or maybe a drink, you seem to be pretty good at that." Greg had seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds to know just what was happening, why he wasn't able to see the judge, why he was being escorted by two officers and two detectives and why they were entering a windowed room. Greg was not able to see out of this room while inside. Only in from out. This Detective Barry as he called himself was about to sit down Greg and question him like some criminal. And Greg could tell by Detective Barry's smart ass attitude from the beginning this wasn't going to be a pleasant line of questioning. This was no witness report. Greg was viewed as a perpetrator not a bystander. And from the initial second of realization, Greg's mind started to wander and wonder within itself just what it was he could have done. He sat down in the iron chair immediately upon being told to do so.

They wasted no time.

"How did you end up intoxicated and passed out asleep in your car at Sunset Bluffs?" - barked Detective Barry.

"Um-I-I-have no idea."- stuttered Greg. I can't remember anything beyond sitting up to the bar and having a shot. I have no idea"

"Do you mean to tell me you strolled in to Carl's, had a shot and don't remember anything after that?"

Greg was immediately apprehensive and distrusting knowing he had not told the detectives he had been to Carl's. How could they have known this?

"No!"- exclaimed Greg - "NO! I don't remember anything."

Detective Barry not buying a word of it further questioned him. 

"Maybe you can tell us how you ended up with a 9mm hand gun registered to James Richards and why it was sitting on your seat......with an empty clip."

Greg was overcome with fear and confusion and distress. At that moment he asked if he could go to the bathroom. "I feel like I going to puke" he said. He was handed a garbage can and told to stay where he was.

Greg vomited for what felt like 15 minutes.

He now knew without doubt he was in trouble and he was overcome with sense of desperation and a feeling of hopelessness like he had never experienced prior.