How I feel about the 2013 Portland Timbers
Ladies and Gentleman of Portland. There has been quite a bit of chatter about the Portland Timber's offseason moves. Expectations have been printed. The club has stated that the team is aiming for the playoffs. Caleb Porter, the first year coach, stopped short of saying that the Timbers would be as successful as Barcelona, the premier football club in the world.
"There is only one Barca", he said.
It is technically true that there is only one Barcelona. However, I believe Mr. Porter is well versed in the unwritten rule of humility until domination. I, the fan, will be held to no such restraints. For I believe we do not need to raise our expectations on the level with the legendary Spanish club, Barcelona. We need to raise them higher. My ambition suggests a soccer team designed and destined, not for soccer dominance, but something much more. This football club will rise from the ashes of the abysmal 2012 season as a vehicle for non-fatal war. Piercing through the world with a relevance not seen since Jesus of Nazareth or perhaps The Beatles White Album. Merritt Paulson and Caleb Porter will rise so high in the world collective consciousness, it will be as if Cain and Abel respawned, gave each other a longing look of remorse and love, and embraced. An image that the entire world will see represented as street art and plastered on every wall as a symbol of new peace between brothers and sisters. Together Paulson and Porter will strike a peace deal with Israel and Palestine, recruit Billy Beane to fix socialized healthcare, and conspire with the Doctor to kill Hitler, again.
Darlington Nagbe, the wunderkind midfielder, becomes a silent assassin who speaks few words but scores without remorse. Bright Dike will return from his knee injury to become Major League Soccer's version of Shaquille O'neal destroying defenders with brute strength but scoring with deceptive quickness. The goals will pile up so high at some point in the season Bright Dike will start to refer to himself as "The Big Socrates". Diego Valeri, the import from Argentina, will break down the field like he has scanned copies of MC Escher's doodles implanted in his beautiful mind.
In conclusion, when the 2013 Portland Timbers are finished with their season, they won't even value the playoffs. They will have reached another level of enlightenment. They will transcend their earthly bodies and permanently sleep in hyperbaric chambers while computers read their minds to solve our new world problems. Gone will be war, greed, and poverty.
So Cascadia, enjoy this moment. This is the beginning of it all.
Just beware of the ginger that lurks in the shadows.
She is ready to quit. She will get there but she isn't there yet. -Full Stop-
She doesn't realize the surprise of her pride is the strength in the struggle. -Full Stop-
Each slash she earns is a scar to mark the road she'll remember as another kind of December. -Full Stop-
She's carrying a coldness from the past when her smile couldn't last and kept her from knowing the difference between life and strife. -Full Stop-
Alienated from her future when she's strong and feels like she belongs. Knowledge she fails to know now but will reflect upon. -Full Stop-
For her, the promise of summer will never mean as much as the triumph of winter.-Full Stop-
DO NOT STOP
Forgive me if I bring my sincerity to the brink. Forgetting my capacity for the necessity to think. Adapting to the demands placed in unison by the fathers of the dull. For the bull can pull its own weight but might makes its might in sight with the fight to keep originality alive inside the eyes of those you despise for the prize is the disguise that you will never win. But before I yank at the curtain, I must be certain, what I find behind must stand in line with my step. What I've sold. What I've cried out for the people to behold. Please don't forget love in it's infinite ways. Do not forget the dizzy and the sways. Do not forget to consider the author and the story. For when you stand there naked with that sheepish grin, it is you that stands swathed in glory.
YOU CANT ALWAYS RETURN HOME
I sometimes wake in the middle of the night in a fever dream. With nostalgia on my mind I pantomime the childhood pastime of cleaning Nintendo's rusted out cartridges. Armed with the classical music of the subconscious playing in midi sound. I pull a Q-Tip from my pocket protector. I'm a professional. Dab a little bit of rubbing alcohol that I leave on the beside table of my imagination. The whole waking dream is just me etching rust off of these tapes like some kind of meth-age Da Vinci. When I am finished I ready for the lazy freedom of sleep and dreaming of my best friend Yoshi.
SOMETIMES I THINK YOU ARE MYTHOLOGIZING ME
Perhaps it is truth that this should come easy. Spending time and saving anguish for a chance to be human. The attraction comes from your urgency to be free with the need to be here and now and take what you want because it is not the gluttony of the weak that we seek. Gravity comes from the bottom of the well when you've got nothing left to sell.It is not the power of the empowered that we want. It is the fruit that we pick from whatever ingenuity we create that will unseat the darker side of our freakish need to be fed with words that will never be said when no one cares to see what will become of you and me. There is no need for superficial spark. Making love in the dark area of some forgotten park for its memory has my heart. What you see in me is nothing special other than honesty. A new benchmark, a new place to start, the starters new mark.