Travis Thrasher's Blog

Not long ago 

An echo

Ten or eleven years 

Or maybe even twenty 

The soft sigh of yesterday says hi

Brushes by

Stings while it sings 

Reminding you of everything 

Every grandeur 

Every mirage 

Every moment 

As the fog dissipates 

The findings remain 

Relics in time 

Stitched on the soul 

This world . . . 

So brief 

So beautiful 

Like a smile and a laugh 

Like a song and a lyric 

Like unfinished stories 

In an unfinished life 

With so many melodies 

Soaring alongside of me 

Until I let them drift away at 1:14 AM

(Photo by Jose Mieres on Unsplash)

This pinprick

life on a pixel

world afloat

like a mote

of dust hovering 

amidst sunlight 

in the living

room at home.

I’m looking for a license plate 

I can never seem to find 

In the parking lot and gas station

At the red light and stop sign

I’m looking for a message

On side streets and highways 

Outside of schools and churches

Next to garages and driveways

But all I see is EVV 2576

On the back of the big Ford truck

Or DCC 1947

On a Honda Accord with no such luck

I spot EQV 6472

On the burgundy SUV

I see HOTT MOM 10

With the driver who looks 83

I’m searching for a symbol 

For a single solitary sign

For a simple message of hope 

From the great Creator Divine 

I’m waiting on a word

That never seems to come

Waiting day after day after day

Waiting and feeling numb 

(Photo by David Beale on Unsplash)

Imagination whispers in the dark 

Finding my dreams 

Near windswept oceans 

Where time isn’t counted or kept 

Where I go backwards again 

To that unfinished short story 

That disappearing world 

That big sky 

So blue and blinded and broken 

A sunset put on pause 

A midnight never remembered 

To write out—to write away—the years 

To talk until we run out of words 

Only to find new ones 

(2-25-2024)

“Rain Can’t Reach Us”  by Yannis & The Yaw 

Remixed with Philippians 4:6-7 (The Message) 

In troubled times
Running away from day to day
Low, we’re hiding from the sky

                  Don’t fret or worry.

And rain can’t reach us
Just the fear of the day

Oh Lord, when I see you
The weight I carry goes
And the fear about the day

                  Instead of worrying, pray.

Time will tell
If white horses in the sky
Will come take our eyes
Black tornadoes in the night

                  Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, 

And that weight that I feel
When I fly the field of gold
No trouble up ahead

                  
Oh Lord, when I see you
All the weight I carry goes
And the fear about my day

                  let(ting) God know your concerns.    

                  
I’m all alone
And a veil to carry me home
Will come, see my friends
Under shadows of the pines

                  Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, 

                  everything coming together for good, 

                  will come and settle you down.

And in my time
With protection from the sky
Rain can’t reach me
Or the fear of the day

                  It’s wonderful what happens

Oh Lord, take my weight
Give me a better day to day
Oh Lord, take my weight
Give me a better day to day

                  when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

(Photo by Matteo Catanese on Unsplash)

Kind kid

Chasing footsteps to the future

What did you know?

36 miles an hour

The sun also rises

Cautious optimist

Unwrapping returns sent back

How could you see?

37 minutes for a detour

Dawn of an unknown destination

Steady soul

Waiting days for a forecast

Where are you going?

40 years without a celebration

Tomorrow truly never knows

Speechless voice

Interpreting names without meaning

Who are you?

42 degrees thinking you’re a ghost

Midday fades in the blizzard

Frustrated chameleon

Cursing the timing

Why such gloom?

43 locks on doors

Afternoon attempts for more

Delirious juggler

Rushing to high altitudes

Will you really follow through?

45 notches on your belt

Evening falls forward

Desperate fool

Accepting all on hand

When will you rest?

46 ideas still waiting

Midnight is the only one who knows

Awakened warrior

Believing in my creator

I’m rooting for you

47 blessings upon blessings

The dream remains the same

(Journal entry from 2018)

Photo by Desiray Green on Unsplash

You sing to me in the winter of ‘94

This blazing voice in the arctic outbreak

Amidst sub-zero temps and concrete samples,

You tell me of the cold and the blood stains

While you remind me I’m lost 

I meet you in the art room

Exchanging poems with the princess with the long curly hair

A cassette playing “Jerusalem”

This howl against the walls

Hovering above combat boots and ripped jeans

A renegade like me

I dance with you in the repercussions

Midnight’s madness

Chicago alleyways and CRX speakers

Medusa’s Loreleis

Shaking to syncopated lights

You persist on the radio about the emperor’s new clothes

And you preach on music TV about a love  taken away

But I pick out another lyric set to another melody

Telling me I’m not like I was before

Telling me that nothing will change me

And in the hollow heat

The aftermath

There is a “Fire on Babylon”

This haunt in the harmony

Tells me “It’s All Good”

This shimmer in the melody

Says this “Love is Ours”

In the space between so long ago and ever afterwards

You serenade me to the black fading moon

A Phoenix from the flame

And so far gone

It’s just like you said it would be

1. 

         This stretch of I-65 in the middle of Chicago and Indianapolis looks straight and empty and safe enough to see just how fast my new “supercharged supersport” motorcycle can go. So I grip the handles and clutch the throttle and feel the rush of the 998 c four-cylinder engine propel me forward. The flat countryside surrounding me becomes a blur as I soar to the edge of the horizon. 130. 140. 150. Still no vehicles in front of me. 180. 190. Then I pass 200. 

         It feels like God is pushing me forward now. 

         The Kawasaki Ninja H2 I’m riding is my birthday present to myself. It’s ridiculous but that’s okay. An almost 52-year-old husband and father shouldn’t be on something this powerful; he shouldn’t even own a moped. My grandfather got killed on a moped; shortly after I promised my Mom I’d never buy a motorcycle. But I reasoned that my promise expired after my mom passed away. She won’t be worrying about me in Heaven, but maybe she’ll help the angels keep me safe. 

         The frame of the Ninja H2 is lightweight, the suspension built for racing. I barely even know how to ride this sort of machine, so this is pure insanity. Pushing my life to its limits. 

         The exit I just stopped at feels miles away—an entire state seemingly behind me—and Florida doesn’t seem to far down the road. I’m planning on meeting my family down in Destin. None of them know about the Kawasaki. It will be a surprise. If, of course, I make it there in one piece. 

         A feel a bump on the interstate and for a moment my heart is thrown off into the nearby ditch. I can’t tell if I’m breathing as I make sure I’m still on course. This helmet still feels tight and maybe a little too small, but wearing it is a first as well so I’m not sure if they’re supposed to feel this way. I don’t feel like I’m riding a motorcycle; I’m an astronaut heading to the moon. 

         We will be celebrating my birthday in a few days. The early birthday present . . . I know it was a rush decision. A rash decision. But considering the last year, the last decade, the state of everything, I didn’t care. I decided to be half my age again, the young man who made stupid and illogical choices. Ah, yes, to be 26 again. 

         I’d like to punch that young man in the face. But since I can’t, I figured I’d join him by acting out of impulse one more time.  

         Another bump and this time I feel like I almost lose control. I’m going 190 miles an hour and I doubt you’d survive a crash going that fast. My leather jacket surely isn’t going to shield my body from cracking like a wine glass dropped onto the tile floor. 

         I resume control and ride at a more controllable 150 miles an hour as I breathe and regain my confidence.       

         There are many reasons I plan to give to Ada. 

         I hate long drives so this helped speed things up. 

         I don’t have a car so this is my replacement.   

         I work from home, so I really won’t be riding this much. 

         I’ll probably get bored with it.  

         I can only ride by myself, so really how often will I be driving it?

         I’m going through a midlife crisis.  

         I don’t believe any of those except maybe the last one, and my wife won’t either. But at least I’ll throw them out to see if she bites on any.

         The miles flicker by like scrolling photos on a phone. Life and moments all swiped by in seconds. Ten minutes feels like one second. Soon I look and see that I need to stop for gas. 

         It feels like I just got onto I-65. But life feels a lot like that. 

         It feels like I just turned 26. Then I breathed and blinked and boom—I turned 52. 

         But I haven’t turned 52 just yet. And going over 200 on the Ninja H2 might not get me past 51. 

         When the next exit with a gas station arrives, I get off the highway. Making this long trek to my family already enjoying their spring break is actually fun. All of them flew since I had work obligations at the start of the week. Now I wish we had chosen to go to southern California. That would certainly be a memorable trip to take on a motorcycle. 

         After filling my motorcycle’s tank and getting some interested looks at my bike while I do it, I go inside for a bathroom break. When I walk back outside, I can’t find the Kawasaki. It’s nowhere in sight. Not in any of the 12 gas lanes. I begin to panic for a minute, looking all around the parking lot. Then I see figures in the back of an SUV trying to get my attention. Maybe they’re wanting to let me know who stole my bike. It takes me a moment to take in what I’m seeing.

         It’s my children waving back at me. 

Part One 

Late at night on Christmas Eve of 2013 after watching It’s a Wonderful Life, I felt like I was having a heart attack. Enough to drive myself into the ER (I know—driving myself wasn’t the best idea). After being examined they didn’t understand what was happening. I appeared to be fine but they could see that there was a strain happening on my heart. Since I had just gotten over a terrible case of strep throat, I asked the doctor if that could have anything to do with this. The young doctor at first said no, but then after consulting with someone else he came back and told me that I was right. He also said I had rheumatic fever. 

“Rheumatic what?” I said. “Isn’t that some kind of 18th century disease or something?”

As I lay in the bed at ER waiting for more details, I took out my phone and Googled the disease. The first thing I learned was that rheumatic fever was “very rare,” with fewer than 20,000 US cases happening every year. It can occur when a body’s immune system overreacts to a strep throat infection that hasn’t been fully treated. Rheumatic heart disease weakens the valves between the chambers of the heart.

Needless to say, that was a very different Christmas. “Look what Santa brought you! An echocardiogram!” Thankfully everything was fine, but ever since then, I’ve been very careful with anything to do with strep throat. 

It’s no surprise this experience gave me a story idea. I had started writing short bits for a novel in 2013, so I decided to use the Christmas Eve memory as a starting point for a book. In my story, however, the guy who has rheumatic fever dies. No spoiler here . . . I make it clear at the start of the book that the character has died. 

This is how Midnight began. It would take six years to finish it. 

(TO ORDER MIDNIGHT, CLICK HERE)

On the 30th birthday of U2’s best album, Achtung Baby, I’m sharing the moment I fell in love with the band and cemented a lifelong fascination with its extraordinary lead singer.

You’re reinventing yourself. You didn’t ask anybody if this was the right way to go about doing this. You have legitimate friends who don’t judge and don’t convict. If you wake up tomorrow in this apartment without realizing you passed out, it’ll be okay. They won’t blink. 

It’s just another weekday night and you’re waiting for the video to premiere on MTV. Your friends’ television isn’t very big but it’ll do the trick. Just like the beer in your hand and the couple of cases in the fridge. Cheap stuff you’re used to. It’s like drinking water, except this stuff makes you gain weight. 

You have a recognizable buzz. A familiar kind, the sort of feeling you might get when you see a kindred soul pass by on the sidewalk. A cheerful smile, an open and authentic conversation. Genuine laughter with no sense of loss. No one is diagraming your faults here. No one is demanding anything from you. Not in this safe place full of cigarette smoke and the sound of guitars echoing off the walls. 

This video about to play . . . you’re genuinely curious. This is the melancholy band who produced the misty October which haunted you in its loving sort of way. The group from Ireland who became so popular at the Christian schools you went to, who became the band to embrace if you happened to be a cool believer. By the time The Joshua Tree arrived when you were in high school, you no longer could take them. It wasn’t about the music—the sounds were inspiring and epic—but it was about the images and the aura. The lead singer who seemed so earnest, so serious. And it was about that smug guy in your class with the locker next to you and his shiny new Doc Martens who acted like a fifth member of the group, proclaiming his love for this band. You didn’t want to love anything this guy loved. 

Don’t let the bastards grind you down . . . 

So it’s been a while after all the confusion of being with or without you and still not finding what you’ve been looking for. There was the movie everybody except you saw. They probably all went together on opening night with their shiny Doc Martens. 

That was high school. 1987 turning into 1988 then into 1989. It’s October, 1991. You’ve grown to appreciate those songs and those albums. But you’re also dying to know what’s coming next. 

Inspiration for you comes in Depeche Mode and The Cure and New Order and Morrissey. Sure, those are the groups from the 80’s, but you also love new genres of music. Sure, you’re part of the grunge scene, the angry sounds being made by Nirvana and Pearl Jam. But what excites you more are these so-called industrial bands. Front 242. Nitzer Ebb. Nine Inch Nails. 

The music world has changed a lot since The Joshua Tree came out. So you’re dying to know what the first new song by U2 will sound like. 

The video plays, and for a moment, you wonder if this is the actual video. 

What’s Bono doing wandering in traffic? Why’s he look kind of different? What’s with the sunglasses? And this distant sort of music in the background . . . is this the new material? 

Then comes the blast. The sound of a guitar waking up the dead. Cutting, electric, alive, and chock-full of character. 

What’s this sound? 

Then suddenly in the shadows emerge the band members. 

Who are these people? What’s happening here? This is really cool. This is no Joshua tree. 

The vocals—distorted, different. 

“It’s no secret that our world is in darkness tonight.”

Wait, what, huh? 

“They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by the moon.” 

This sounds kinda sexy. The Edge looks seriously awesome. What is happening here?

You chug half your beer and think of this in the context of your favorite groups. This doesn’t just belong. It seems to hover over them, hurdling their sonics and their image to this new place. 

“Love, we shine like a burning star we’re falling from the sky.” 

These lyrics, sung in falsetto. 

I can’t take all of this in. 

You finish your beer while watching the 24-inch television 

Seriously the edge looks really cool dark lights shadow cage sunglasses sequence televisions videos graphics sunglasses strobe lights frenetic cigarette ambition bites the nails of success zoo what’s up with zoo I keep seeing zoo in the background has Bono lost his mind everything you know is wrong I feel like I’m on a roller coaster dizzy delirious this is glorious who are these guys it’s so secret Bono smiles Edge looks angry. 

The stars have fallen from the sky and torn through this tiny living room. A soul suddenly feels ignited, stirred, shaken. 

It’s a new decade, and it’s a new U2. They seem to fit right alongside the new you that you’ve become. 

“Look I gotta go, yeah, I’m running outta change,” Bono sings at the end of the song. “There’s a lot of things if I could I’d rearrange.”

You can’t choose the moment music will move you. It arrives at intersections and crossroads and dead ends and open doors. It greets you only when you allow it to. Tonight, you know you’re ready for what’s next with U2 and their upcoming album, Achtung Baby.