I miss your eyes
I miss your smile
I miss your taste
I miss your kiss
I miss your arms
I miss your lips
I miss your touch
I miss your fingers
I miss your face
I miss time with you
I miss holding you
I miss feeling you
I miss fucking you
I miss loving you
But I don't miss you.
May 30th, 2001
Copyright ©2001
A Prayer
Silently shouting angry thoughts to the heavens
Can He hear above the sullen cries of those who still believe?
I curse His name amidst the rolling thunder
Does He see the tears I shed against the falling rain?
I torch the book that spits His brimstone
Does He know the liars that twist His word?
'Open Your eyes, Open Your ears, Open Your mind...Read Your Book!'
Copyright ©2006
Cannot
I cannot see beyond my fear
I cannot escape the horrors here
I cannot deny myself the attraction
I cannot derive the satisfaction
I cannot myself be that bold
I cannot see you 'to have and to hold'
I cannot get past the rejection
I cannot believe in the power of seduction
I cannot find a way to release
I cannot remain here in peace
I cannot say 'I Love You'
I cannot hear you say 'Me Too'.
Copyright ©2006
Daffodils
And so I sit here
My gaze resting on the Daffodils
Perched upon her window sill
She speaks of a time
Long before I laid eyes upon her
And I listen intently
I search her every move
Every breath, every sound
For a clue of inclination
For I know she sees me not
As anything more than a dear, dear friend
Forevermore just a shadow to her flame
So, I let go
It is this, or it is nothing
I choose this
And so I sit here
my gaze resting on the Daffodils
Perched upon her window sill
Copyright ©2006
Gentle
My heart is found open~yet unbroken
Displaying it's scars like a veteran from battle
'It's slightly used' I muse, 'but it still works like new'
Your soft laugh makes it jump, a giggle makes it grin
You want to hold it, but it is already in your hands
'Gently' I say, 'Please be gentle with it's fragility'
Easily broken, not so easily mended I fear
You cup it in your hands as if to shelter it
'I will not hurt you' you say 'I will only love you'
My heart skips a beat at that and nestles into your hand.
Copyright ©2006
Good Little Christian Boy
GOOD LITTLE CHRISTIAN BOY
Tell me your condemnations
Read to me from HIS book
GOOD LITTLE CHRISTIAN BOY
Speak in HIS place
Crucify me as well
GOOD LITTLE CHRISTIAN BOY
Challenge me to damn HIM
Spoute your qoutes so I hate HIM
GOOD LITTLE CHRISTIAN BOY
Copyright ©2006
It Was All A Lie
Every word you ever spoke
Rings in my ears
Replaying in my head again and again
Every time you ever smiled
Is etched into my brain
Flashes in mind, tortures my soul
Ever kiss we ever shared
Still caresses my lips
Leaving them bruised and aching for you
Every moment of every embrace
The feel of your arms around me
Rapes me, I am left abandoned and alone
The words you used to say goodbye
The promises you made, the stories you told
The sorrow you swore you felt in your heart
It Was All A Lie.
Copyright ©2006
Mending
The Shadows seeping into my veins
Tormenting ancient wounds
To this day unhealed by time
Why do they not rest?
My heart has been crushed
Need I more pain?
Do I have to remember her smile
The way her neck always lured me
the sweet taste of her kiss
A memory is all that should be left
Punish me for this no more
Leave me with my mending heart.
Copyright ©2006
Untitled
Repression grips me
strangling my will to remember
I seek solace in truth
but find only despair in the void
My anger engulfs me
like barbed wire through flesh
There is no escaping this emptiness
whose bitterness speaks from afar
Taunting me with visions
of things I cannot see
Things my mind cannot grasp
and meditation cannot disturb
Will my soul forever betray me
or will I someday know the reasons
My blood runs cold with fear
and my heart is aching in denial
February 2000
Copyright ©2006
Untitled
You are beautiful to me
Your hair shines in the moonlight
Your eyes burn holes into mine
Your body moves against me
But there is malice behind your kiss
And staples in your tongue
Your embrace burns like hell
Your touch stings my aching flesh
For you will not fly on your own
You choose not to use your wings
Instead you soar on occasion
On the foot of a fool
I will not be your fool
I will not play your games
You can take me home tonight
If you still love me tomorrow
Copyright ©2006
Against it all
Against the odds that set presidence
Against the disillusionment of our years
against the raging tides of violence and greed
Against the pain of suffering and lose
Against the bitter cold of shoulders and loneliness
Against the ties that bind us to 'tradition'
Against the salty tears shed in mourning
Against the fear of deaths punctual grip
Against all we were, and all we could be
Against it all...We Love.
Copyright ©2006
Before You
Things were different before you
I didn't need you then
The way I need you now
No one said the things you've said
I didn't hear it then
The way I hear it now
I hadn't felt the way you make me feel
I didn't feel it then
But I feel it now
It didn't hurt this bad before
I didn't care much then
But I sure do now
I didn't love before you
I didn't see it then
The way I know it now
Copyright ©2006
Teach Me
To know you,
I must know myself...
To know myself,
I must know the past...
To know my past,
I must know my parents...
To know my parents,
I must know forgiveness...
To know forgiveness,
I must know love...
Can You teach me?
Copyright ©2006
Untitled
If ever there was a time for you
It would be here and now
For the shadows are overwelming
Against the blaze of the setting sun
The moon threatens days ruler
Anxious to start for her steady course
I am tired and weak from starvation
A hunger only you can cure
Come forth my dear, be with me here
Take me to your frigid palace
Set me upon your catered throne
Let me live in peace beside you
Not behind or beneath as some may go
I want to be your equal, your friend
I want to love you forever
As you in return shall love me
Copyright ©2006
Untitled
You took me in,
You took me on,
You took my hand,
You stole my heart.
You took my smile,
You took my face,
YOu took my pain,
You stole my love.
Copyright ©2006
Monday, December 8, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Algebra Equation.
I was asked recently, if I thought that having sex would put a "relationship" into perspective. I said "Yes, I do". I damn well meant it too. Sex can give you a plethora of information about a person and about the chemistry between partners. Period.
The sex doesn't even have to be good. Shit happens. I had a friend, years ago, who told me that the first time her and her boyfriend had sex, he was so drunk that nothing much was happening. It was the grace with which he handled the situation that made the memory so special for her. "We are judged more critcally on our reactions than we are our actions." Because he was capable of reacting to an embarrassing situation in a postive way, my friend adored him for it. He proved to be, for the most part, equally as capable of such outside the bedroom.
Clearly, the point is not to get answers to questions like, "am I the best you've ever had?" or "what random STD can I contract from a random hook-up?". However, if the question is "are we compatible intimately?" I'd say, sex would supply more than a few answers. The problem is that the answers do not always match their intentions.
I mean, let's say for instance, that the person you're having sex with insisted upon taking a shower prior to the activity. Let's say you're the person that takes one to two showers a day and maintain your cleanliness throughout the day so as not to require such. Or maybe you're a cuddler and the other person isn't. Quiet vs. Loud, etc. The possibilities are endless. Any one of these differences could cause a problem.
Who knows? Maybe things start and you find that neither of you can go through with it. Maybe you just start giggling so much you eventually just give up and pass out. There aren't any garauntees that sex even occurs just because you're going to try.
Getting into that position can be tricky. The process resembles a game of Chess. You're counting on half chance and half skills. There are cues for everything, if one is paying attention. Reaction counts for everything. There are no do-overs. It's like dating, only much more complex.
The biggest hurdle is reading the other person because after all, first you have to find out if the other person is willing. They aren't going to come out and agree. Even if they did, they may still choose not to. My standard rule is, I'll throw the bait but the first move is on them. It's one of the few things I'm adamant about. I've heard too many "I was drunk, I didn't understand fully, I hadn't ever intended to..." stories. The whole thing sounds creepy and I do not wish to be a part of all that.
Once you've determined the amount of interest the other person has, you must carefully consider your options and movements forward. Let's face it, unless it's abandon ship, the possibilities are endless. What you want may never happen. You may not even get close. It's all a gamble. The risks are all your own. It's not an easy cat & mouse game. It can be short and sweet or long and drawn out. You may get the inevitable shoot down before even stepping up to the plate. The whole thing may crash and burn in an ugly direction. Still, if it does happen, the experience will stimulate thoughts on the matter.
The sex doesn't even have to be good. Shit happens. I had a friend, years ago, who told me that the first time her and her boyfriend had sex, he was so drunk that nothing much was happening. It was the grace with which he handled the situation that made the memory so special for her. "We are judged more critcally on our reactions than we are our actions." Because he was capable of reacting to an embarrassing situation in a postive way, my friend adored him for it. He proved to be, for the most part, equally as capable of such outside the bedroom.
Clearly, the point is not to get answers to questions like, "am I the best you've ever had?" or "what random STD can I contract from a random hook-up?". However, if the question is "are we compatible intimately?" I'd say, sex would supply more than a few answers. The problem is that the answers do not always match their intentions.
I mean, let's say for instance, that the person you're having sex with insisted upon taking a shower prior to the activity. Let's say you're the person that takes one to two showers a day and maintain your cleanliness throughout the day so as not to require such. Or maybe you're a cuddler and the other person isn't. Quiet vs. Loud, etc. The possibilities are endless. Any one of these differences could cause a problem.
Who knows? Maybe things start and you find that neither of you can go through with it. Maybe you just start giggling so much you eventually just give up and pass out. There aren't any garauntees that sex even occurs just because you're going to try.
Getting into that position can be tricky. The process resembles a game of Chess. You're counting on half chance and half skills. There are cues for everything, if one is paying attention. Reaction counts for everything. There are no do-overs. It's like dating, only much more complex.
The biggest hurdle is reading the other person because after all, first you have to find out if the other person is willing. They aren't going to come out and agree. Even if they did, they may still choose not to. My standard rule is, I'll throw the bait but the first move is on them. It's one of the few things I'm adamant about. I've heard too many "I was drunk, I didn't understand fully, I hadn't ever intended to..." stories. The whole thing sounds creepy and I do not wish to be a part of all that.
Once you've determined the amount of interest the other person has, you must carefully consider your options and movements forward. Let's face it, unless it's abandon ship, the possibilities are endless. What you want may never happen. You may not even get close. It's all a gamble. The risks are all your own. It's not an easy cat & mouse game. It can be short and sweet or long and drawn out. You may get the inevitable shoot down before even stepping up to the plate. The whole thing may crash and burn in an ugly direction. Still, if it does happen, the experience will stimulate thoughts on the matter.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Dear Sarcasm,
Dear So-and-so advice columnist,
My girlfriend of 3.5 years gave me a horrible STD, cheated on me five + times and is now marrying one of the douche's she cheated on me with, should I forgive her?
Forgive her? No! You should be sending her a bill for the Doc visits to the address shared by her and her new hubby. You should be gift wrapping all remnants of that relationship, including any "personal" items of hers, you might possess, to her husband -requiring his signature for drop-off. You should be fucking as many of her best friends as possible.
However, you could just learn from your mistakes (3.5 years/cheated 5+ times...seriously?!), make a plan to move forward and burn all those mementos. Find what's left of your nuts and add miracle grow or something to those bitches. Don't ever let anyone treat you like that. It is ridiculous and unnecessary. As for the ex. She doesn't need your forgiveness, she's moved on. So should you. Consider it an early birthday present. Someone else now has to put up with her shit! Ok, ok... you can still signature mail her undergarments to the hubbie for shits & giggles... but seriously... get over it already!
Dear So-and-So,
There's this girl who gives me mixed signals. She told me at one point that she was interested. Since then, it's like she doesn't want to outright tell me that she's not interested but acts like/says things that tell me she pretty much doesn't have the slightest interest in pursuing it. She plays at her original statement real nice. We talk about it but nothing comes of the conversation except for a whole lot of "Days of Our Lives" type shit like, "I just don't know what I'd do if you weren't in my life." What should I do?
Dear idiot, enclosed you will find a dollar. Go to the corner store and buy yourself a clue. Any girl that expresses interest but doesn't follow through is NOT going to follow through. You can have random, drunk philosophical conversations about it and never change a thing. The conversation is designed to stalwart the whole situation. Either she meant it at the time but has since changed her mind or she lied. Sounds to me like you're both emotionally stunted.
The girl isn't interested. For whatever reason she took pity on your sorry ass and expressed (ie...mixed signals) a fascination with you, even feigning sincere interest in pursuing a conversation regarding the matter without making the situation any different or any less confusing. You will never have a shot. The first step is admission. The next step is the curb.
After all, you can always look at it this way, if she doesn't want you than maybe it's all for the best. Maybe she doesn't deserve you. Maybe you're too something awesome for her and she knows it. Maybe she is a bitch who's just playing games. Maybe she's just not interested but is playing the 'high' road. Bottom line, if she doesn't want you, you're wasting your time. Better to realize that now, than much later.
My girlfriend of 3.5 years gave me a horrible STD, cheated on me five + times and is now marrying one of the douche's she cheated on me with, should I forgive her?
Forgive her? No! You should be sending her a bill for the Doc visits to the address shared by her and her new hubby. You should be gift wrapping all remnants of that relationship, including any "personal" items of hers, you might possess, to her husband -requiring his signature for drop-off. You should be fucking as many of her best friends as possible.
However, you could just learn from your mistakes (3.5 years/cheated 5+ times...seriously?!), make a plan to move forward and burn all those mementos. Find what's left of your nuts and add miracle grow or something to those bitches. Don't ever let anyone treat you like that. It is ridiculous and unnecessary. As for the ex. She doesn't need your forgiveness, she's moved on. So should you. Consider it an early birthday present. Someone else now has to put up with her shit! Ok, ok... you can still signature mail her undergarments to the hubbie for shits & giggles... but seriously... get over it already!
Dear So-and-So,
There's this girl who gives me mixed signals. She told me at one point that she was interested. Since then, it's like she doesn't want to outright tell me that she's not interested but acts like/says things that tell me she pretty much doesn't have the slightest interest in pursuing it. She plays at her original statement real nice. We talk about it but nothing comes of the conversation except for a whole lot of "Days of Our Lives" type shit like, "I just don't know what I'd do if you weren't in my life." What should I do?
Dear idiot, enclosed you will find a dollar. Go to the corner store and buy yourself a clue. Any girl that expresses interest but doesn't follow through is NOT going to follow through. You can have random, drunk philosophical conversations about it and never change a thing. The conversation is designed to stalwart the whole situation. Either she meant it at the time but has since changed her mind or she lied. Sounds to me like you're both emotionally stunted.
The girl isn't interested. For whatever reason she took pity on your sorry ass and expressed (ie...mixed signals) a fascination with you, even feigning sincere interest in pursuing a conversation regarding the matter without making the situation any different or any less confusing. You will never have a shot. The first step is admission. The next step is the curb.
After all, you can always look at it this way, if she doesn't want you than maybe it's all for the best. Maybe she doesn't deserve you. Maybe you're too something awesome for her and she knows it. Maybe she is a bitch who's just playing games. Maybe she's just not interested but is playing the 'high' road. Bottom line, if she doesn't want you, you're wasting your time. Better to realize that now, than much later.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Go Cardinals!
My father was an American football man. We lived in Colorado and every Sunday, there he sat on the couch chugging a twenty-four pack of cheap beer, watching the Denver Broncos attempt to contend for John Elway's only Superbowl win. The pigskin was his chosen obsession. This didn't prevent him from watching a few major league baseball games throughout my childhood, until the labor strike of 1994 that is. "World Wars didn't stop the World Series, but greed on the part of both players and owners has." I never witnessed my father watch baseball again.
I was fourteen years old at the time. I certainly did not see a way to argue with that logic. I understood that the National sports leagues were considered to be necessary to the social morale. Who doesn't get a warm, fuzzy feeling watching thousands of people rally in support of a team? It is a little unsettling that the World Series could be canceled over money when the loss of lives and players during the first two World Wars had not prevented this precious pastime.
Four years later, during the Sammy Sosa/Mark McGwire Home-Run battle, I began to pay attention to the St. Louis Cardinals. I knew very little about baseball, though I remembered enough from playing softball to get by and a home-run is easy enough to determine. However, when the Steroid controversy began, I once again became oblivious to the game.
It has been nearly ten years since then and I finally conceded to attending a live game, in St. Louis on May 18th, 2008. McGwire has been retired for 7 years and the stars of the team, are people that have not made much headline news, outside their respective accomplishments in playing the game. Baseball is once again a cherished American pastime and the fans are as loyal as they were before '94.
At nearly 80 degrees, with not a single cloud in the sky, it was a perfect day to take in a baseball game. My cohort (a staunch St. Louis fan) and I, made our way through the sea of red and white to the seats she'd acquired. Busch stadium is a beautiful structure and nearly every seat guarantees a decent view. There were plenty of vendors on-hand hawking beer, soda, Cracker Jacks and peanuts along with a lion's share of memorabilia.
That day was dedicated to honoring Sam "the man" Musial, the greatest player in Cardinals history and everyone from the fans to city officials honored him with gusto. It was awesome to see the 87 year-old stand at the podium and receive a standing ovation in front of a crowd that means as much to him as he has to them. After a few words from "The Man" himself, elementary school children opened the game with "God Bless America", followed by the National Anthem. Even though these kids couldn't be expected to nail the high notes in either song, it was one of the cutest things to witness.
Being out of touch with the team for so long, I knew very little about the players but I was enthralled right from the start. The only thing thing that distracted me from the play of the game was the intensity of the people surrounding me. In fact, Stan has said that St. Louis has the best fans in the league. Being in the stadium, completely surrounded, as the Cardinals trail with zero runs, I would have to agree with him. The support was just as strong when they were losing as it was when the team started making great plays in the bottom of the sixth inning. The energy was infectious.
The Cardinals bestowed upon Stan one more honor that day. At the bottom of the ninth, with bases loaded and the score tied, Skip Schumaker hit a walk-off double to bring home the winning run. In those last few seconds, when everyone in the stadium was on their feet to see if the ball would be caught by Tampa Bay's Carl Crawford, the tension was tangible. When it narrowly missed his glove and Jason LaRue crossed home, the entire stadium erupted in celebration and I became a Cardinals fan again.
I was fourteen years old at the time. I certainly did not see a way to argue with that logic. I understood that the National sports leagues were considered to be necessary to the social morale. Who doesn't get a warm, fuzzy feeling watching thousands of people rally in support of a team? It is a little unsettling that the World Series could be canceled over money when the loss of lives and players during the first two World Wars had not prevented this precious pastime.
Four years later, during the Sammy Sosa/Mark McGwire Home-Run battle, I began to pay attention to the St. Louis Cardinals. I knew very little about baseball, though I remembered enough from playing softball to get by and a home-run is easy enough to determine. However, when the Steroid controversy began, I once again became oblivious to the game.
It has been nearly ten years since then and I finally conceded to attending a live game, in St. Louis on May 18th, 2008. McGwire has been retired for 7 years and the stars of the team, are people that have not made much headline news, outside their respective accomplishments in playing the game. Baseball is once again a cherished American pastime and the fans are as loyal as they were before '94.
At nearly 80 degrees, with not a single cloud in the sky, it was a perfect day to take in a baseball game. My cohort (a staunch St. Louis fan) and I, made our way through the sea of red and white to the seats she'd acquired. Busch stadium is a beautiful structure and nearly every seat guarantees a decent view. There were plenty of vendors on-hand hawking beer, soda, Cracker Jacks and peanuts along with a lion's share of memorabilia.
That day was dedicated to honoring Sam "the man" Musial, the greatest player in Cardinals history and everyone from the fans to city officials honored him with gusto. It was awesome to see the 87 year-old stand at the podium and receive a standing ovation in front of a crowd that means as much to him as he has to them. After a few words from "The Man" himself, elementary school children opened the game with "God Bless America", followed by the National Anthem. Even though these kids couldn't be expected to nail the high notes in either song, it was one of the cutest things to witness.
Being out of touch with the team for so long, I knew very little about the players but I was enthralled right from the start. The only thing thing that distracted me from the play of the game was the intensity of the people surrounding me. In fact, Stan has said that St. Louis has the best fans in the league. Being in the stadium, completely surrounded, as the Cardinals trail with zero runs, I would have to agree with him. The support was just as strong when they were losing as it was when the team started making great plays in the bottom of the sixth inning. The energy was infectious.
The Cardinals bestowed upon Stan one more honor that day. At the bottom of the ninth, with bases loaded and the score tied, Skip Schumaker hit a walk-off double to bring home the winning run. In those last few seconds, when everyone in the stadium was on their feet to see if the ball would be caught by Tampa Bay's Carl Crawford, the tension was tangible. When it narrowly missed his glove and Jason LaRue crossed home, the entire stadium erupted in celebration and I became a Cardinals fan again.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Singles Awareness Day. [Humor]
Because I'm half drunk on "Singles Awareness Day" I'll write my version of Valentine's Day Greeting Cards. (I believe columnist Michelle Fisher did something similar to this one year for a Valentine's day issue of her feature column in Curve Magazine.)
- ~Card #1: Dear Valentine, Thanks for being my first, in so many ways.
- ~Card #2: Dear Valentine, you flipped a coin hourly regarding my particular place with you and were an otherwise irritating bitch. Thanks for the ego boost in the sack though.
- ~Card #3: Dear Valentine, watching you go further with a female stripper on a stage than I'd gotten -in 3 months- haunts me more than the cowardly way in which I discovered, you were straight.
- ~Card #4: Dear Valentine, I'm glad nothing more than half-assed sex occurred between us. I didn't let you fuck me because your ego made me sick. I did however, fuck you, to prove that you were a liar.
- ~Card #5: Dear Valentine, I have purposely blocked you out. You were right. You didn't matter to me and I didn't care.
- ~Card #6: Dear Valentine, I think it's disgusting that your ex watched us have sex; even more so that it didn't bother you. I did not consent to being someone else's live porno. My confusion was mended when, after I informed you that what we had was a one-night stand, you got back together.
- ~Card #7: Dear Valentine, Thanks for the drunken lay. I'm glad your man got outta prison. I hear you left him a few years later.
- ~Card #8: Dear Valentine, You were an egotistical, misogynistic older woman with Bon Jovi hair and I am not a trophy.
- ~Card #9: Dear Valentine, You were very nice but boring and had a bit of a sketchy situation going on. I am sorry however, that I let someone else force my hand; though I believe the ultimate result would have been the same.
- ~Card #10: Dear Valentine, Thanks for the orgasms, I should have fucked your ex while I had her lying naked next to me in your bed. That might have been a tolerable amount of justice for your mistakes.
- ~Card #11: Dear Valentine, You definitely made my job more interesting but your boyfriend was creepy.
- ~Card #12: Dear Valentine, next time you go to a bar to pick up a girl while your boyfriend is out of town, have enough sense to make it a one night stand. The last thing a person wants to hear in the afterglow is, "I have something to tell you, my boyfriend has been out of town and he comes home tomorrow."
- ~Card #13: Dear Valentine, You were a beautiful wreck when I met you and it's the reason I left you. Not much has changed.
- ~Card #14: Dear Valentine, Dominant, my ass!
- ~Card #15: Dear Valentine, I still cannot hear that damn "booty bounce" song and I almost never leave my wallet where a woman can reach it. I will never forget having you by the collar in a fit of rage, in front of one of my bars. I have however, forgotten nearly everything about you.
- ~Card #16: Dear Valentine, Thanks for some of the best sex I'd ever had and for the later shoulder/fuck-fest. Things worked out as they should. Thank you for almost ceasing to exist in my reality.
- ~Card #17: Dear Valentine, as the first official one of the former assholes list to break my heart, words cannot express how I really feel about you. I hate you, which means I still love you but I know now that your narcissistic, duplicitous nature would have continued to swallow me whole until you literally killed me.
- ~Card #18: Dear Valentine, wtf was I thinking?
- ~Card #19: Dear Valentine, You were so interesting but I got caught up in a bad trap, made worse by the recipient of Card #17. It wouldn't have worked anyway considering your situation but thanks for the memories and the pastel piece.
- ~Card #20: Dear Valentine, I should have known better!
- ~Card #21: Dear Valentine, well, what can I say? The polyamorous/player thing annoys me, especially when the player pretends not to play.
- ~Card #22: Dear Valentine, I should have known better. You weren't my type anyway. Too bad I didn't teach you about cunnilingus... oops.
- ~Card #23: Dear Valentine, thank you for showing me once again, that you are indeed a beautiful wreck. You are also a narcissist and manipulator now. What a step in the right direction?!
Any more questions about why I'm still single?
I thought not.
I thought not.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
[excerpt from] Eulogy
In the beginning the possibilities seem endless. From that first moment of realization the promise of everything, made by the power of love itself, is intoxicating. We try to fight it, pretend it isn't happening, remind ourselves that it's too soon to be thinking such things yet, we do anyway. We begin to see houses, romantic vacations and retirement itinerary. Forever seems tantalizingly close at hand and nothing, short of death itself, can shake us from the heavens.
We call this the Honeymoon period. It is those first few months of bliss with a new partner when the whole thing is going so well, you cannot imagine it ever going wrong. Then, something happens or in some cases, a string of something’s happen, the sum of which becomes the catalyst. At this point, we begin the process of making excuses for these irritants, in an effort to not have to admit that we may have been a bit hasty on that forever jazz. Perhaps these things that seem so large are not so big at all, we think. We convince ourselves that they are not worth all the fuss and toss them aside.
As I grew up, I lost touch with that same intuition I'd called upon as a child and began to seek out my own fairy tale romance. I chased the idealogical happily ever after with a vengeance. Though the logical sphere of my brain kept me well reminded of the fallacy and the unlikelihood of finding that which I was seeking, my emotional self craved it’s existence too much to give it up.
Love blisters everything.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
[excerpt from] Eulogy.
I sat in the eerie calm of the cool, autumn air agonizing over every detail of what I had just seen. I could feel my insides breaking apart at the gut-wrenching discovery of a leg that didn't belong, haphazardly thrown over a smaller, familiar one that did. His chest covering hers, leaving his back to conceal most of what the sheet did not. There were clothes strewn about everywhere, leaving nothing on the sleeping figures from which they came. Bodies deeply intertwined, flesh and hair fusing into one beneath the piles of blankets. Neither of them conscious of their foolishness, for having left the door unlocked.
As I'd let myself out, the way I'd come in, I took note of the mass of bottles in varying degrees of emptiness set upon the counter top. The booze explained why she hadn't thought to lock me out. I wasn't supposed to know. I was allowed to suspect but the key to the game was for me to be without proof.
Enraged and wounded, I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed the one number I knew would be answered at such an hour. 'Fuck this', I thought.
"Hey." answered the sleepy voice on the other end.
"Hi. Look, I know it's late but I need to get out of here. Can you pick me up at the corner as soon as possible?" I pleaded.
"Uh, sure, what's going on? Are you alright?"
I choke on the sob forming in my throat just enough to squeak out, "No...Look, just meet me at the corner. I'm going to grab my bag and head out there right now."
"But it's like, 2am. You shouldn't wander around that neighborhood this late."
"I know, but I can't stay here, alright. Just get here soon, please?"
"Ok, Sit tight, I'm on my way right now. Be careful."
"Thank you."
I hung up the phone and raced down to my own place, grabbing the knapsack I always carried and threw a change of clothes along with my phone charger inside. For just a moment I turned to face the pictures, meticulously placed on the ledge, of her and I. Photographs I had lovingly framed as a constant reminder of what I was fighting for. I resisted the urge to smash each one till they were nothing more than minuscule fragments and left.
As I moved towards my destination, the glare of familiar headlights broke the homicidal spell that had taken over my mentality. The car pulled up to me and I scurried inside before losing all composure, collapsing into a bawling heap in the passenger seat. She was cooperatively silent, unlike months before when she'd been the cause of such hysteria. She placed her hand comfortingly in my lap, staring straight ahead as she drove us back to her apartment and I fell apart.
At her place, she took my bag and led me up the stairs.
Unlocking the door she set my bag off to one side and arranged me on the couch. She disappeared into the bathroom for a stash of tissues, which she brought to me. Afterward she scampered to the kitchen, producing two bottles of beer from the fridge. She handed me one and then sat down beside me.
"What happened?"
I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes before I began. "I didn't realize he was there. I mean, I knew he had been with her earlier but I figured he'd left because it was so late and I could have sworn I heard his car leave. So, I went upstairs to see if she wanted some company or something; I don't know, I guess I'm not sure why I went up there. Anyway, she'd left the door unlocked. She started leaving it unlocked some time ago so I could get in without having to disrupt her. You know?"
She nodded and then shot me a confused look.
"Wait? Who's the guy? What do you mean you knew he was up there?"
I sighed.
"It's this guy she met, in class or something. They've been 'friends' for a few months now. Well, according to her they were just friends. We've argued about it, you know. I mean, I'm not stupid. He clearly has the hots for her. She said I was over-reacting and that even if it were true, his feelings were different than her own and he knew she was seeing someone so I'd just have to trust her. I couldn't prove anything, so I had no choice." I lit a cigarette attempting to stave off the tightness in my chest and steady my breathing.
"Ok wait. She's 'just friends' with this guy but he's still at her house at 2 in the morning and they're alone? Why weren't you there too?" She shifts in her seat to face me.
"Yeah, we don't like each other much. He's a conceited jackass who has made it obvious to me that he wants her for himself. I've just assumed it was on purpose because she told me he knew her and I were involved. Meanwhile, she's made it clear that since we don't get along, she'd rather not hang out with us at the same time. So, when he comes around, I find other things to do. Tonight, I decided to stay at my place and write. She knew where I was and I told her to call me when her 'buddy' time was up."
"So, did she call?"
I shook my head.
"So she didn't call and you decided to go up anyway?"
"Yeah, sometimes she does her own thing for a while after her friends leave or whatever and then calls me. Most nights, no matter what, she rings me before bed and asks me up to sleep with her, if I'm not already there. I figured she had just fallen asleep while watching TV or something." I sniffled and she handed me a Kleenex.
"But she hadn't? They were still hanging out?"
"She'd fallen asleep alright and he was definitely still there. They were together in the same bed, we so often share, sleeping." Fresh sobs prevented me from continuing.
"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."
She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close. As my tears soaked her sweatshirt, I thought about how wrong it had been to call her, of all people. I knew she was looking for redemption for her own mistakes as I knew my reasoning for calling her was my own variety of retaliation. Though against who, I wasn't entirely sure.
Gaining composure once more I took a swig of beer. "I don't know why I am always so bloody stupid!"
She sat straight up. "Why are you stupid? You've been nothing but understanding with her. She's the stupid one, for not appreciating what she has."
"You mean like you did!" I spat.
It slipped out before I could stop it. It wasn't fair to dig on her, especially considering the circumstances. She became sheepish and sad as I knew she would. Unlike my newest mess, she seldom argued my point that when it came to our ending, it was all on her. In spite of the fact that we'd both known it was a possibility when we'd begun.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…it's just... what the fuck? Why is it that I am not good enough for you people? Why can't one person I'm with just love me for me and not need someone else. Do I have a sign on my forehead that only assholes can see that says please fuck me over, make me plead and beg and then toss me aside like yesterday's trash?"
She whispered, "No."
I saw the hurt on her face as she considered what to say next. She reached out and took my clammy, tear-stained hand in her own.
"Look, I can't speak for her; personally, I've never liked that situation or her for that matter. You know that. She's flighty, arrogant and she treats you like shit. As for me, you know it wasn't about you. You were good to me, I've never denied that. In the time we were together you treated me better than anyone I've been with my entire life. You know this. I'm sorry, so sorry that I hurt you because you are the one person who didn't deserve it."
This is why I had called her. I realized her guilt would make an easy target for my aggression and she would feel compelled to console me. I was aware that she still loved me enough to care that I was completely miserable. I knew she'd not only be angry with my girlfriend but with herself, for her own part in all of this. It was selfish and I knew that too. I felt my own guilt swell for a moment before her voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Not that I want to cut her any slack but is it possible that they were just sleeping? Maybe she fell asleep and he just crawled in or something?" she offered.
I shook my head. "No. Neither of them appeared to be dressed and she rarely sleeps that way. Certainly not if someone she doesn't want to have sex with is in the house. Besides, their clothes were all over the place...and..." More tears stung my eyes.
"They...were...cuddled...peacefully, like it was the most natural thing in the world; like that was the way it had always been."
I laid my head back into her shoulder and cried. She held me. Occasionally breaking her silence to whisper, 'I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.' I shook and cried until I couldn't anymore. Then, sitting up, I chugged my own beer and the remainder of hers. I could feel the anger rising in me suffocating everything else.
"Fuck it, right? I mean, if she doesn't care about me or how I feel, then what does any of it matter. This was all just a cruel joke. I've wasted my own life on someone who couldn't care less if she tried. Seems to be the story of my bloody life, doesn't it?"
She sat quietly mulling over what to say. "Maybe she does care, maybe she's just not..."
Glaring, I swiveled my head, stopping her in mid-sentence. "Don't you dare! She came onto me remember? I had finally gotten over you and me. Things were beginning to feel alright again. Then, here she comes making promises she obviously had no intention of keeping. It was she who kissed me that first time. I had walked away. No, the fact that I have tits and a cunt was never a secret. She knew what she was doing getting involved with me and she even told me so during that first conversation. So don't you dare give her the benefit of that sorry excuse because that's all it is!"
She recoiled. "Ok, ok...I was just saying. You know I think she's a bad idea for you, period. If she is willing to be that careless about things; about your feelings, then it is clear that she's just not worth it. I mean, if you're even half as good to her as you were to me and she's still willing to be so callous; that is not cool."
She paused, looking directly at me. "You deserve better, you know. I mean, you deserve better than either of us have given you really."
Our eyes met. I was still processing her words when she leaned in to kiss me. My first instinct was to push her away screaming 'this is not what I came here for' but I wasn't sure myself. Instead I gave in, allowing the anger I'd been fighting to cascade like a dam breaking as I took control and tore at her with a ferociousness that would have surprised both of us under different circumstances.
Sex between us had rarely been timid, even at the beginning of our former relationship. There was always such urgency and a violence that surpassed anything I'd experienced prior. As a couple, we were insatiable. I'd sworn never to give her the satisfaction of this again. Later I would grow to hate her for it but at the moment, I just wanted to to feel something besides the anguish that was tearing me to shreds.
Right there, on her couch, I took her in every way possible. My assault was vicious. I cursed like a porn-star, left marks and scratches on every inch of skin I came in contact with and crushed my lips against hers with such force, they became swollen and bruised. My jagged nails ripped into the flesh of her shoulders and down her back. I needed to hurt someone and here she was, naked and taunting the very worst of me.
I sought to make her pay for her own mistakes, the indiscretions of the one I'd just run from and the guilt I'd have to live with for what we were doing. She would occasionally fight back; flipping me into submission and matching my voracity with each turn. For hours we went back and forth like that until exhausted and sore, we curled into a spoon and went to sleep.
(c) Me, 2007
As I'd let myself out, the way I'd come in, I took note of the mass of bottles in varying degrees of emptiness set upon the counter top. The booze explained why she hadn't thought to lock me out. I wasn't supposed to know. I was allowed to suspect but the key to the game was for me to be without proof.
Enraged and wounded, I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed the one number I knew would be answered at such an hour. 'Fuck this', I thought.
"Hey." answered the sleepy voice on the other end.
"Hi. Look, I know it's late but I need to get out of here. Can you pick me up at the corner as soon as possible?" I pleaded.
"Uh, sure, what's going on? Are you alright?"
I choke on the sob forming in my throat just enough to squeak out, "No...Look, just meet me at the corner. I'm going to grab my bag and head out there right now."
"But it's like, 2am. You shouldn't wander around that neighborhood this late."
"I know, but I can't stay here, alright. Just get here soon, please?"
"Ok, Sit tight, I'm on my way right now. Be careful."
"Thank you."
I hung up the phone and raced down to my own place, grabbing the knapsack I always carried and threw a change of clothes along with my phone charger inside. For just a moment I turned to face the pictures, meticulously placed on the ledge, of her and I. Photographs I had lovingly framed as a constant reminder of what I was fighting for. I resisted the urge to smash each one till they were nothing more than minuscule fragments and left.
As I moved towards my destination, the glare of familiar headlights broke the homicidal spell that had taken over my mentality. The car pulled up to me and I scurried inside before losing all composure, collapsing into a bawling heap in the passenger seat. She was cooperatively silent, unlike months before when she'd been the cause of such hysteria. She placed her hand comfortingly in my lap, staring straight ahead as she drove us back to her apartment and I fell apart.
At her place, she took my bag and led me up the stairs.
Unlocking the door she set my bag off to one side and arranged me on the couch. She disappeared into the bathroom for a stash of tissues, which she brought to me. Afterward she scampered to the kitchen, producing two bottles of beer from the fridge. She handed me one and then sat down beside me.
"What happened?"
I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes before I began. "I didn't realize he was there. I mean, I knew he had been with her earlier but I figured he'd left because it was so late and I could have sworn I heard his car leave. So, I went upstairs to see if she wanted some company or something; I don't know, I guess I'm not sure why I went up there. Anyway, she'd left the door unlocked. She started leaving it unlocked some time ago so I could get in without having to disrupt her. You know?"
She nodded and then shot me a confused look.
"Wait? Who's the guy? What do you mean you knew he was up there?"
I sighed.
"It's this guy she met, in class or something. They've been 'friends' for a few months now. Well, according to her they were just friends. We've argued about it, you know. I mean, I'm not stupid. He clearly has the hots for her. She said I was over-reacting and that even if it were true, his feelings were different than her own and he knew she was seeing someone so I'd just have to trust her. I couldn't prove anything, so I had no choice." I lit a cigarette attempting to stave off the tightness in my chest and steady my breathing.
"Ok wait. She's 'just friends' with this guy but he's still at her house at 2 in the morning and they're alone? Why weren't you there too?" She shifts in her seat to face me.
"Yeah, we don't like each other much. He's a conceited jackass who has made it obvious to me that he wants her for himself. I've just assumed it was on purpose because she told me he knew her and I were involved. Meanwhile, she's made it clear that since we don't get along, she'd rather not hang out with us at the same time. So, when he comes around, I find other things to do. Tonight, I decided to stay at my place and write. She knew where I was and I told her to call me when her 'buddy' time was up."
"So, did she call?"
I shook my head.
"So she didn't call and you decided to go up anyway?"
"Yeah, sometimes she does her own thing for a while after her friends leave or whatever and then calls me. Most nights, no matter what, she rings me before bed and asks me up to sleep with her, if I'm not already there. I figured she had just fallen asleep while watching TV or something." I sniffled and she handed me a Kleenex.
"But she hadn't? They were still hanging out?"
"She'd fallen asleep alright and he was definitely still there. They were together in the same bed, we so often share, sleeping." Fresh sobs prevented me from continuing.
"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."
She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close. As my tears soaked her sweatshirt, I thought about how wrong it had been to call her, of all people. I knew she was looking for redemption for her own mistakes as I knew my reasoning for calling her was my own variety of retaliation. Though against who, I wasn't entirely sure.
Gaining composure once more I took a swig of beer. "I don't know why I am always so bloody stupid!"
She sat straight up. "Why are you stupid? You've been nothing but understanding with her. She's the stupid one, for not appreciating what she has."
"You mean like you did!" I spat.
It slipped out before I could stop it. It wasn't fair to dig on her, especially considering the circumstances. She became sheepish and sad as I knew she would. Unlike my newest mess, she seldom argued my point that when it came to our ending, it was all on her. In spite of the fact that we'd both known it was a possibility when we'd begun.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…it's just... what the fuck? Why is it that I am not good enough for you people? Why can't one person I'm with just love me for me and not need someone else. Do I have a sign on my forehead that only assholes can see that says please fuck me over, make me plead and beg and then toss me aside like yesterday's trash?"
She whispered, "No."
I saw the hurt on her face as she considered what to say next. She reached out and took my clammy, tear-stained hand in her own.
"Look, I can't speak for her; personally, I've never liked that situation or her for that matter. You know that. She's flighty, arrogant and she treats you like shit. As for me, you know it wasn't about you. You were good to me, I've never denied that. In the time we were together you treated me better than anyone I've been with my entire life. You know this. I'm sorry, so sorry that I hurt you because you are the one person who didn't deserve it."
This is why I had called her. I realized her guilt would make an easy target for my aggression and she would feel compelled to console me. I was aware that she still loved me enough to care that I was completely miserable. I knew she'd not only be angry with my girlfriend but with herself, for her own part in all of this. It was selfish and I knew that too. I felt my own guilt swell for a moment before her voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Not that I want to cut her any slack but is it possible that they were just sleeping? Maybe she fell asleep and he just crawled in or something?" she offered.
I shook my head. "No. Neither of them appeared to be dressed and she rarely sleeps that way. Certainly not if someone she doesn't want to have sex with is in the house. Besides, their clothes were all over the place...and..." More tears stung my eyes.
"They...were...cuddled...peacefully, like it was the most natural thing in the world; like that was the way it had always been."
I laid my head back into her shoulder and cried. She held me. Occasionally breaking her silence to whisper, 'I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.' I shook and cried until I couldn't anymore. Then, sitting up, I chugged my own beer and the remainder of hers. I could feel the anger rising in me suffocating everything else.
"Fuck it, right? I mean, if she doesn't care about me or how I feel, then what does any of it matter. This was all just a cruel joke. I've wasted my own life on someone who couldn't care less if she tried. Seems to be the story of my bloody life, doesn't it?"
She sat quietly mulling over what to say. "Maybe she does care, maybe she's just not..."
Glaring, I swiveled my head, stopping her in mid-sentence. "Don't you dare! She came onto me remember? I had finally gotten over you and me. Things were beginning to feel alright again. Then, here she comes making promises she obviously had no intention of keeping. It was she who kissed me that first time. I had walked away. No, the fact that I have tits and a cunt was never a secret. She knew what she was doing getting involved with me and she even told me so during that first conversation. So don't you dare give her the benefit of that sorry excuse because that's all it is!"
She recoiled. "Ok, ok...I was just saying. You know I think she's a bad idea for you, period. If she is willing to be that careless about things; about your feelings, then it is clear that she's just not worth it. I mean, if you're even half as good to her as you were to me and she's still willing to be so callous; that is not cool."
She paused, looking directly at me. "You deserve better, you know. I mean, you deserve better than either of us have given you really."
Our eyes met. I was still processing her words when she leaned in to kiss me. My first instinct was to push her away screaming 'this is not what I came here for' but I wasn't sure myself. Instead I gave in, allowing the anger I'd been fighting to cascade like a dam breaking as I took control and tore at her with a ferociousness that would have surprised both of us under different circumstances.
Sex between us had rarely been timid, even at the beginning of our former relationship. There was always such urgency and a violence that surpassed anything I'd experienced prior. As a couple, we were insatiable. I'd sworn never to give her the satisfaction of this again. Later I would grow to hate her for it but at the moment, I just wanted to to feel something besides the anguish that was tearing me to shreds.
Right there, on her couch, I took her in every way possible. My assault was vicious. I cursed like a porn-star, left marks and scratches on every inch of skin I came in contact with and crushed my lips against hers with such force, they became swollen and bruised. My jagged nails ripped into the flesh of her shoulders and down her back. I needed to hurt someone and here she was, naked and taunting the very worst of me.
I sought to make her pay for her own mistakes, the indiscretions of the one I'd just run from and the guilt I'd have to live with for what we were doing. She would occasionally fight back; flipping me into submission and matching my voracity with each turn. For hours we went back and forth like that until exhausted and sore, we curled into a spoon and went to sleep.
(c) Me, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
[Short Story]
You
"Never close your lips to whom you have opened your heart."
~Charles Dickens.
I sit unaccompanied in this tiny café sipping on lukewarm sludge ostentatiously pawned off as coffee. Avoiding my purpose for being awake at this early hour, I observe the buzz of conversation surrounding me. There are scuttlebutts behind me gushing over the latest small town drama in animated delight, the surly old men in the corner conferring about the effects of pesticides on this year's crop, and the twenty-something newlyweds to my left bickering over each other's dislike for their respective in-laws.
The weary waitress, who appears to have seen too much of the worlds' ugliness, is annoyed with me. I am conscious of her glare from across the room that makes the soft hair on the back of my neck stand erect. She has long since ignored my empty water glass and only refills my stained cup upon request. I know she wishes me to depart so she can clear my existence from the table. Understandably so, but I am not ready to be cleared away yet.
After all, there is a wretched deadline to oblige, and only your name scrawled on the page before me. Damn the mockery of writer's block mere days before the editors' final call for submissions. Perhaps I ought to grant the server's unspoken but obvious appeal and spend the day neglecting the narrative I have failed to compose. Alas, the unfortunate woman has refreshed my cup and I would hate to waste such a rancid brew, so I remain.
I look out the large plate-glass windows before me watching as the clouds purge their burden on this minuscule metropolis. Like me, I know you appreciate the solitude of the rain, and I cannot help wondering if, wherever you are at this moment, you are indulging in the downpour as well. Much like the rain-kissed day we watched the sky shed tears for all we were not saying.
I had been anxiously awaiting your arrival that morning, preoccupied with the flood of undeclared sentiment that began spilling into my consciousness since we had spoken last, memories of that nerve-wracking admission of interest consuming me. I was dumbfounded. I could not believe that someone so perfect, in my estimation, would like someone like me.
I was terrified that you would fail to show or that you would vanish, like a dream, when I answered your knock at the door. I would be the fool, waking alone, permeating in my own sweat as if you were a fantasy not truly meant for me to behold. Yet, there you were, beautiful and radiant, ready to explore the day together.
The afternoon showers provided an intimacy that ensnared us into a whirlwind of inexhaustible dialog. Roaming through town with no particular destination in mind, the hours passed as we discovered a multitude of similarities in our lives and interests. We each had our own anecdotes and tidbits from our personal histories to tell. As the day wore on it became increasingly simple to open up because, more often than not, you knew where I was coming from.
By the conclusion of the evening, I was captivated, awestruck by your sincerity and seduced by your charismatic wit. Selfishly, I wanted to retain the spell cast on our moment. Such an infinitely small occurrence, that began so long ago over hours of coffee and conversation. Yet, all good things must draw to a close. Is that not how the saying goes?
In vivid dreamlike recollection, I recall plunging into the translucent, jade-tinted depths of your eyes losing myself in the tide, seconds before attempting to flee the mounting passion you stir within me. If I had not said my goodnight while walking backwards, would I not have seen you following? Oh, the sweet rapture of your lips against mine during that first earth shattering, breathe taking, mind-blowing kiss. The swell of excitement that consumed me was intense, beginning in my chest and exploding like fireworks throughout my entire being.
With teeth tightly clinched, the waitress interrupts my daydream, filling my mug. I care not. I fall into myself again, philosophizing now, the paradox of our meeting. In the random lottery that is existence how is it that you found me, enhancing my life with your beauty and inspiring presence? How unlikely it is that we would meet in such an arbitrary location. Here, in this awkward place we both aspire to escape rather than the rocky mountain backdrop from whence we both came?
The complexities of life confound me at times. However, I have learned over the years, not to question the Powers That Be too extensively, for fear I may lose something valuable in doing so. Laid to rest are my doubts of the existence of Divinity, for nothing short of brilliance created all that has become you. I have seen the gates of Heaven by drifting head over feet into love with you. It both liberates me and frightens me beyond reason. Yet, I am still free falling and inexplicably content in doing so.
It is you and all your quirks you loath, yet I adore. Like the way you look in the morning; all disheveled and bitter, wanting just one more hour of sleep. The sweet way you explain scents to me, since I am not capable of enjoying them myself. The enchantment of your voice as you read to me and how inexplicably endearing your reaction is when something excites you. I am enamored with the strength and courage you exude when you believe in your convictions. Your articulate vocabulary and intelligence, sharp as a brand new blade, is stimulating. When you smile you light up everything around you, including me. It is, in fact, the sum of your whole being that entices me into child-like fantasies of forever.
The waitress shuffles by, nearly dumping a tray atop me, as she makes a delivery to a nearby table. She will most certainly dislike my presence more now. To her, I am in the way, a parasite sucking up too much air and space, eating a hole in her pocket by remaining in her section far too long. I've been there, as a server, many years ago. Still, I smile kindly, requesting a glass of ice water as she passes. She rolls her dirt-colored eyes but returns with a warm glass. I watch the few scattered cubes melt before swallowing half of the liquid.
So here we are, not so far into the future and I find your presence as essential as the air I breathe. When I am not with you I spend those seconds wishing that we were together. You make me painstakingly aware of so much. Even now, when the reality that is life, the twisted paranoia of too many lessons learned and too many to be unlearned, is rearing its ugly head. We clash in a battle of words, in which you win and I falter. You wanted more of me than I knew how to provide. I wanted more of your time than you had to offer.
As you gave your reasoning, you spoke to me of things no one has ever noticed. If your words hold truth, you would be the first to want me for me, without motive or intent. You told me of how I have pushed you away. I said yes. I left out that I was not the only one pushing.
You say you do not want to fight me for me. I say I do not want to fight everyone else for you, including you, and I try in vain to explain. However, I know not how to tell you what I have kept to myself, fearing your defenses will take you from me. Instead, I concede and pray for reconciliation.
Long ago, I became tired of chasing invisible ghosts, one I will never be and another that I shall never be again. I detested myself for loathing myself. As we found one another, I had already begun to awaken to things I had forgotten were present within me. I was becoming comfortable with myself. Your interest further reminded me of the priceless possessions you now believe I cannot see.
Yet, here I am, in this filthy diner, with its cranky service, hell-bent on putting into words the embodiment of something as raw and powerful as all that has transpired between us. Your understanding and ceaseless support unlocked the vault that was stashing the confidence necessary to accomplish a dream I had almost given up.
You reminded me to fight and now I stand on the brink of an edge struggling with the emptiness of a life lived without you. I know we'd both survive but I want to do more than survive. I would rather be alive with you. All that we have in common, all the ideas we share and the love we possess, can it not be enough? Will we still pass like two ships in the night unaware that the other is reaching out? Can the damage be undone?
My thoughts once again dwell in the safety of philosophy where the agony of all this drama takes a back seat to logic. Do not the hands of the clock tick the seconds into minutes that drift into hours that scroll into days and so on, towards some uncertain yet inevitable phenomenon? Could this not be one of the ultimate few purposes? What I have seen as the deliverance of an empowering, nurturing devotion to endure and outlast the delicacy of life itself?
On the other hand, perhaps this is merely the optimistic rambling of one who is foolishly immature and hopeless in matters such as this. I am like a little girl that is still looking for the storybook fantasy of a fairy-tale happily-ever-after. I want everything because I want it with you.
Sunlight illuminates the small diner. Gone is the comfort of the falling rain. The scuttlebutts have been replaced with quarrelsome accountants, the old men with high school sweethearts and a solitary elderly woman where the newlyweds once sat. I study the handsome, hard lines of her face and the visible scars of aging. I want to buy her breakfast and listen to her story, to know how to get from where I am to where she is now. However, I do not dare disturb her solitude. I use my imagination instead.
Behind closed lids, I conjure the image of a woman graced with intangible wisdom and candor. She has lived a superior, lengthy life, full of radiance and happiness. She has danced stark naked in the drizzling rain, traveled through the jungles in Australia and baked cookies with her grandchildren. She has loved, lost and received love. She remains content in her age.
I look up finding her eyes gazing into my own and smile, embarrassed for reasons I cannot explain. I squeak out a barely audible 'good morning'. Grinning she returns the greeting. In her dark glassy eyes, I see my own reflection. Startled by the surge of anxiety at the reassurance I ascertain in knowing I will be there someday, my stomach muscles clinch inside me. I jump when I realize she's speaking, interrupting my thoughts.
"That's the trouble with you young folks these days. You don't talk. You're all too busy getting about and doing your own things to listen; too cooped up to communicate beyond your cell-phones and fast-paced lives. My Harold, now that man-why…he never shut up. Damn near drove me nuts with his yammering. Married forty-five years and the only peace I got was the day we laid him to rest."
I smile. "Sometimes it's hard to find the words…the right ones anyway"
"The truth is all that matters." She chides.
I think on that for a moment. She speaks of truth as if there is some underlying thing I do not see causing the rift, I cannot seem to mend. Of course, she knows nothing of you or me. However, I take it there as I want it to be too soon for me to believe I have burned the bridge I need to get to where you are. Was it in fact, my inability to see the truth of the matter that has pulled me from you?
"The truth is not so easily explained," I argue.
"That's because you don't get it. You kids don't listen. You got eyes and ears but you fail to use them. The facts could be there nippin' at ya like Jack Frost in January but you'd never know cause you don't see it.
I choose my words carefully before responding. "Well, there are at least two sides to every story. Both sides contain truths the other side doesn't. Neither story is the entire truth but each story contains truth."
She laughs. "That's the little stuff. Little stuff has many sides. Serious stuff has one truth larger than the rest. That's where it matters. Dress it up however you want but truth is truth and lies are lies. The fact remains; you can't tell either one if you don't talk in the first place. You know, my Harold may have driven me mad all these years, runnin' his damn fool mouth but at least I didn't have to question what he was thinking. There was nothing secretive about him. If he wanted or needed something, he said so. If something was on his mind, he talked about it; he didn't know any other way."
I can't help but smile. "That sounds nice…it must be difficult not having your husband to talk with after all these years…"
"Nah," she says, "I may be a crazy 'ole lady," and at this she lowered her head and her voice below the chaos around us, "but I'll be damned if that man don't still talk my ear off."
She shrugs, "Course, no one else can hear him but, after forty-five years together…when you know someone so well that you can hear them when they're gone…that's when you know…", her voice trails, almost cracking under the strain of her admonition.
A waiter sets her order down. I watch as the woman saturates first one half of a biscuit then the other with butter before slathering on the dark, berry flavored jam. Watching the meticulous nature of her preparation, I mull over her words allowing the wisdom of her insight to sink in.
Shaken, I look down at the pages before me, realizing that I have been seducing our story into print for several hours. The café is filling with its familiar lunch crowd. I think of you and I and the aged woman's story. Even the sweethearts in the corner flattering each other over a slice of key lime seem to be taunting me.
My head aches with emotions that devour me. I know my heart has moved faster than my brain, in spite of my resolve to maintain logic over the impetus of my emotions. I could not bare the notion of losing you to my own narcissistic impatience; it was for this reason that I wanted to slowly deconstruct the walls that separate us. Instead, I have lost you to my learned insecurity, fear and ignorance.
Last night, looking into your eyes, I watched your heart break and knew I was responsible. I wanted to break into tears right then but like a fool, I held it in. I remember, as a child, being scolded for weeping by my surrounding authority figures. It would irritate all of them. "I haven't even touched you, ya big baby." They would croon, ignorant to the notion that their words stung more than their fists ever could. Camouflaging emotion in wit and sarcasm became second nature to me. It wasn't until years later that I would begin to understand what this could do to a person who wants to share but finds it almost impossible to remember how.
I watch the black and white reflection of memories behind closed lids(this is the second time you have used the same phrase. I would go with another one). Like the first time I slept over; how much I enjoyed curling up with you tucked away in my arms. I remembered lying in the park, on that beautiful quilt you made by hand, reading. I see the two of us sprawled on your bed each with pen in hand, inscribing our thoughts into journals. How strangely comfortable that was. I would feel your eyes on me, and turn to watch you when you went back to your page.
I thought about your eyes. Those ever-expressive green orbs with specks of gold. How bright the glow of them and how blind I had been to that. My thoughts turn to the look of hurt that saddens me and the look that beams with happiness . Why had I not seen it before? Why had it taken this long to sink in?
I want to find you and share this tale; give to you the honesty I once promised and selfishly failed to keep. I wish to bestow upon you the only gift I can give which is the only one you claim to want; me. I want to fight away all of your fears and doubts. I crave talking with you, as we have not done in so long, like we did that morning. I yearn to find that again.
I toss a dingy twenty-dollar bill on the table for my stale coffee, hoping the server forgives my intrusion into her morning. Gathering my belongings, I head for the door, pausing at the register to pay for the elderly woman's breakfast as reimbursement for the simple knowledge she did not have to share.
I once found salvation and reassurance in your company; now I stumble blindly in a chilling awkwardness, born on my part from not knowing what to say or do. Your voice drips with contempt now and I am struggling with the strength it takes to endure it so we can move beyond its purpose. I look for answers to questions I do not know, sensing the absence of an explanation equally as relevant as what you have already said. Mostly, I want to find where the dialog died.
Outside, the winds rustle the leaves in the surrounding trees. The story I sat down to pen remains unfinished, or does it? Perhaps I am in the middle of a chapter with you. Maybe we are characters in a narrative not our own and we are modest participants in a plot unfolding around us. On the other hand, the pentacle of our relationship may well have made it's journey passed.
The only thing I know as I run off to find you is that, if given the chance, I want our story to be as beautiful as the one about the old woman sitting alone in a diner listening to the voice of her lover long after the voice has ceased.
"But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of heaven dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together; for the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow." ~Kahlil Gibran.
"Never close your lips to whom you have opened your heart."
~Charles Dickens.
I sit unaccompanied in this tiny café sipping on lukewarm sludge ostentatiously pawned off as coffee. Avoiding my purpose for being awake at this early hour, I observe the buzz of conversation surrounding me. There are scuttlebutts behind me gushing over the latest small town drama in animated delight, the surly old men in the corner conferring about the effects of pesticides on this year's crop, and the twenty-something newlyweds to my left bickering over each other's dislike for their respective in-laws.
The weary waitress, who appears to have seen too much of the worlds' ugliness, is annoyed with me. I am conscious of her glare from across the room that makes the soft hair on the back of my neck stand erect. She has long since ignored my empty water glass and only refills my stained cup upon request. I know she wishes me to depart so she can clear my existence from the table. Understandably so, but I am not ready to be cleared away yet.
After all, there is a wretched deadline to oblige, and only your name scrawled on the page before me. Damn the mockery of writer's block mere days before the editors' final call for submissions. Perhaps I ought to grant the server's unspoken but obvious appeal and spend the day neglecting the narrative I have failed to compose. Alas, the unfortunate woman has refreshed my cup and I would hate to waste such a rancid brew, so I remain.
I look out the large plate-glass windows before me watching as the clouds purge their burden on this minuscule metropolis. Like me, I know you appreciate the solitude of the rain, and I cannot help wondering if, wherever you are at this moment, you are indulging in the downpour as well. Much like the rain-kissed day we watched the sky shed tears for all we were not saying.
I had been anxiously awaiting your arrival that morning, preoccupied with the flood of undeclared sentiment that began spilling into my consciousness since we had spoken last, memories of that nerve-wracking admission of interest consuming me. I was dumbfounded. I could not believe that someone so perfect, in my estimation, would like someone like me.
I was terrified that you would fail to show or that you would vanish, like a dream, when I answered your knock at the door. I would be the fool, waking alone, permeating in my own sweat as if you were a fantasy not truly meant for me to behold. Yet, there you were, beautiful and radiant, ready to explore the day together.
The afternoon showers provided an intimacy that ensnared us into a whirlwind of inexhaustible dialog. Roaming through town with no particular destination in mind, the hours passed as we discovered a multitude of similarities in our lives and interests. We each had our own anecdotes and tidbits from our personal histories to tell. As the day wore on it became increasingly simple to open up because, more often than not, you knew where I was coming from.
By the conclusion of the evening, I was captivated, awestruck by your sincerity and seduced by your charismatic wit. Selfishly, I wanted to retain the spell cast on our moment. Such an infinitely small occurrence, that began so long ago over hours of coffee and conversation. Yet, all good things must draw to a close. Is that not how the saying goes?
In vivid dreamlike recollection, I recall plunging into the translucent, jade-tinted depths of your eyes losing myself in the tide, seconds before attempting to flee the mounting passion you stir within me. If I had not said my goodnight while walking backwards, would I not have seen you following? Oh, the sweet rapture of your lips against mine during that first earth shattering, breathe taking, mind-blowing kiss. The swell of excitement that consumed me was intense, beginning in my chest and exploding like fireworks throughout my entire being.
With teeth tightly clinched, the waitress interrupts my daydream, filling my mug. I care not. I fall into myself again, philosophizing now, the paradox of our meeting. In the random lottery that is existence how is it that you found me, enhancing my life with your beauty and inspiring presence? How unlikely it is that we would meet in such an arbitrary location. Here, in this awkward place we both aspire to escape rather than the rocky mountain backdrop from whence we both came?
The complexities of life confound me at times. However, I have learned over the years, not to question the Powers That Be too extensively, for fear I may lose something valuable in doing so. Laid to rest are my doubts of the existence of Divinity, for nothing short of brilliance created all that has become you. I have seen the gates of Heaven by drifting head over feet into love with you. It both liberates me and frightens me beyond reason. Yet, I am still free falling and inexplicably content in doing so.
It is you and all your quirks you loath, yet I adore. Like the way you look in the morning; all disheveled and bitter, wanting just one more hour of sleep. The sweet way you explain scents to me, since I am not capable of enjoying them myself. The enchantment of your voice as you read to me and how inexplicably endearing your reaction is when something excites you. I am enamored with the strength and courage you exude when you believe in your convictions. Your articulate vocabulary and intelligence, sharp as a brand new blade, is stimulating. When you smile you light up everything around you, including me. It is, in fact, the sum of your whole being that entices me into child-like fantasies of forever.
The waitress shuffles by, nearly dumping a tray atop me, as she makes a delivery to a nearby table. She will most certainly dislike my presence more now. To her, I am in the way, a parasite sucking up too much air and space, eating a hole in her pocket by remaining in her section far too long. I've been there, as a server, many years ago. Still, I smile kindly, requesting a glass of ice water as she passes. She rolls her dirt-colored eyes but returns with a warm glass. I watch the few scattered cubes melt before swallowing half of the liquid.
So here we are, not so far into the future and I find your presence as essential as the air I breathe. When I am not with you I spend those seconds wishing that we were together. You make me painstakingly aware of so much. Even now, when the reality that is life, the twisted paranoia of too many lessons learned and too many to be unlearned, is rearing its ugly head. We clash in a battle of words, in which you win and I falter. You wanted more of me than I knew how to provide. I wanted more of your time than you had to offer.
As you gave your reasoning, you spoke to me of things no one has ever noticed. If your words hold truth, you would be the first to want me for me, without motive or intent. You told me of how I have pushed you away. I said yes. I left out that I was not the only one pushing.
You say you do not want to fight me for me. I say I do not want to fight everyone else for you, including you, and I try in vain to explain. However, I know not how to tell you what I have kept to myself, fearing your defenses will take you from me. Instead, I concede and pray for reconciliation.
Long ago, I became tired of chasing invisible ghosts, one I will never be and another that I shall never be again. I detested myself for loathing myself. As we found one another, I had already begun to awaken to things I had forgotten were present within me. I was becoming comfortable with myself. Your interest further reminded me of the priceless possessions you now believe I cannot see.
Yet, here I am, in this filthy diner, with its cranky service, hell-bent on putting into words the embodiment of something as raw and powerful as all that has transpired between us. Your understanding and ceaseless support unlocked the vault that was stashing the confidence necessary to accomplish a dream I had almost given up.
You reminded me to fight and now I stand on the brink of an edge struggling with the emptiness of a life lived without you. I know we'd both survive but I want to do more than survive. I would rather be alive with you. All that we have in common, all the ideas we share and the love we possess, can it not be enough? Will we still pass like two ships in the night unaware that the other is reaching out? Can the damage be undone?
My thoughts once again dwell in the safety of philosophy where the agony of all this drama takes a back seat to logic. Do not the hands of the clock tick the seconds into minutes that drift into hours that scroll into days and so on, towards some uncertain yet inevitable phenomenon? Could this not be one of the ultimate few purposes? What I have seen as the deliverance of an empowering, nurturing devotion to endure and outlast the delicacy of life itself?
On the other hand, perhaps this is merely the optimistic rambling of one who is foolishly immature and hopeless in matters such as this. I am like a little girl that is still looking for the storybook fantasy of a fairy-tale happily-ever-after. I want everything because I want it with you.
Sunlight illuminates the small diner. Gone is the comfort of the falling rain. The scuttlebutts have been replaced with quarrelsome accountants, the old men with high school sweethearts and a solitary elderly woman where the newlyweds once sat. I study the handsome, hard lines of her face and the visible scars of aging. I want to buy her breakfast and listen to her story, to know how to get from where I am to where she is now. However, I do not dare disturb her solitude. I use my imagination instead.
Behind closed lids, I conjure the image of a woman graced with intangible wisdom and candor. She has lived a superior, lengthy life, full of radiance and happiness. She has danced stark naked in the drizzling rain, traveled through the jungles in Australia and baked cookies with her grandchildren. She has loved, lost and received love. She remains content in her age.
I look up finding her eyes gazing into my own and smile, embarrassed for reasons I cannot explain. I squeak out a barely audible 'good morning'. Grinning she returns the greeting. In her dark glassy eyes, I see my own reflection. Startled by the surge of anxiety at the reassurance I ascertain in knowing I will be there someday, my stomach muscles clinch inside me. I jump when I realize she's speaking, interrupting my thoughts.
"That's the trouble with you young folks these days. You don't talk. You're all too busy getting about and doing your own things to listen; too cooped up to communicate beyond your cell-phones and fast-paced lives. My Harold, now that man-why…he never shut up. Damn near drove me nuts with his yammering. Married forty-five years and the only peace I got was the day we laid him to rest."
I smile. "Sometimes it's hard to find the words…the right ones anyway"
"The truth is all that matters." She chides.
I think on that for a moment. She speaks of truth as if there is some underlying thing I do not see causing the rift, I cannot seem to mend. Of course, she knows nothing of you or me. However, I take it there as I want it to be too soon for me to believe I have burned the bridge I need to get to where you are. Was it in fact, my inability to see the truth of the matter that has pulled me from you?
"The truth is not so easily explained," I argue.
"That's because you don't get it. You kids don't listen. You got eyes and ears but you fail to use them. The facts could be there nippin' at ya like Jack Frost in January but you'd never know cause you don't see it.
I choose my words carefully before responding. "Well, there are at least two sides to every story. Both sides contain truths the other side doesn't. Neither story is the entire truth but each story contains truth."
She laughs. "That's the little stuff. Little stuff has many sides. Serious stuff has one truth larger than the rest. That's where it matters. Dress it up however you want but truth is truth and lies are lies. The fact remains; you can't tell either one if you don't talk in the first place. You know, my Harold may have driven me mad all these years, runnin' his damn fool mouth but at least I didn't have to question what he was thinking. There was nothing secretive about him. If he wanted or needed something, he said so. If something was on his mind, he talked about it; he didn't know any other way."
I can't help but smile. "That sounds nice…it must be difficult not having your husband to talk with after all these years…"
"Nah," she says, "I may be a crazy 'ole lady," and at this she lowered her head and her voice below the chaos around us, "but I'll be damned if that man don't still talk my ear off."
She shrugs, "Course, no one else can hear him but, after forty-five years together…when you know someone so well that you can hear them when they're gone…that's when you know…", her voice trails, almost cracking under the strain of her admonition.
A waiter sets her order down. I watch as the woman saturates first one half of a biscuit then the other with butter before slathering on the dark, berry flavored jam. Watching the meticulous nature of her preparation, I mull over her words allowing the wisdom of her insight to sink in.
Shaken, I look down at the pages before me, realizing that I have been seducing our story into print for several hours. The café is filling with its familiar lunch crowd. I think of you and I and the aged woman's story. Even the sweethearts in the corner flattering each other over a slice of key lime seem to be taunting me.
My head aches with emotions that devour me. I know my heart has moved faster than my brain, in spite of my resolve to maintain logic over the impetus of my emotions. I could not bare the notion of losing you to my own narcissistic impatience; it was for this reason that I wanted to slowly deconstruct the walls that separate us. Instead, I have lost you to my learned insecurity, fear and ignorance.
Last night, looking into your eyes, I watched your heart break and knew I was responsible. I wanted to break into tears right then but like a fool, I held it in. I remember, as a child, being scolded for weeping by my surrounding authority figures. It would irritate all of them. "I haven't even touched you, ya big baby." They would croon, ignorant to the notion that their words stung more than their fists ever could. Camouflaging emotion in wit and sarcasm became second nature to me. It wasn't until years later that I would begin to understand what this could do to a person who wants to share but finds it almost impossible to remember how.
I watch the black and white reflection of memories behind closed lids(this is the second time you have used the same phrase. I would go with another one). Like the first time I slept over; how much I enjoyed curling up with you tucked away in my arms. I remembered lying in the park, on that beautiful quilt you made by hand, reading. I see the two of us sprawled on your bed each with pen in hand, inscribing our thoughts into journals. How strangely comfortable that was. I would feel your eyes on me, and turn to watch you when you went back to your page.
I thought about your eyes. Those ever-expressive green orbs with specks of gold. How bright the glow of them and how blind I had been to that. My thoughts turn to the look of hurt that saddens me and the look that beams with happiness . Why had I not seen it before? Why had it taken this long to sink in?
I want to find you and share this tale; give to you the honesty I once promised and selfishly failed to keep. I wish to bestow upon you the only gift I can give which is the only one you claim to want; me. I want to fight away all of your fears and doubts. I crave talking with you, as we have not done in so long, like we did that morning. I yearn to find that again.
I toss a dingy twenty-dollar bill on the table for my stale coffee, hoping the server forgives my intrusion into her morning. Gathering my belongings, I head for the door, pausing at the register to pay for the elderly woman's breakfast as reimbursement for the simple knowledge she did not have to share.
I once found salvation and reassurance in your company; now I stumble blindly in a chilling awkwardness, born on my part from not knowing what to say or do. Your voice drips with contempt now and I am struggling with the strength it takes to endure it so we can move beyond its purpose. I look for answers to questions I do not know, sensing the absence of an explanation equally as relevant as what you have already said. Mostly, I want to find where the dialog died.
Outside, the winds rustle the leaves in the surrounding trees. The story I sat down to pen remains unfinished, or does it? Perhaps I am in the middle of a chapter with you. Maybe we are characters in a narrative not our own and we are modest participants in a plot unfolding around us. On the other hand, the pentacle of our relationship may well have made it's journey passed.
The only thing I know as I run off to find you is that, if given the chance, I want our story to be as beautiful as the one about the old woman sitting alone in a diner listening to the voice of her lover long after the voice has ceased.
"But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of heaven dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together; for the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow." ~Kahlil Gibran.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Cheating Dialogue. [in transition]
(1 has just caught 2 , her girlfriend, in bed with a guy. The guy has removed himself from the situation and 1 & 2 are having it out.)
1: Oh my god, with HIM? Are you kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why?
2: [sits on a couch directly in front of one who has taken to pacing the floor] I don't know why I did it. We were just friends and then, I just didn't know how to say no and you've been so melancholy and distant. I didn't know what to do for you...
1: [stops pacing and glares directly at 2 as she began to speaks her voice is louder than before.] Oh, don't give me that load of sh*t. I'm depressed, so hey, let's just fuck around with that sleaze ball behind my back because that will cheer me right up! How in the hell are you seriously going to try to make this my fault? YOU took YOUR clothes off and YOU let him f*ck you for God knows how long now. You knew what you were doing was wrong but you did it anyway. I didn't even have a say in the matter because the answer would have been H*ll f*cking no. I've been 'melancholy' because you've been a sneaky, conniving little tramp and I knew it. I repeatedly called you out on it and you just kept on and kept on with your pleas of innocence. [turns away]
2: [crying now, very audibly-almost comically] Please, listen to me...I didn't mean to hurt you...I swear, I love you and I'm so sorry.
1: [who is visibly choking on anger and tears, turns to look down at 2. Her words come out in a hiss] It's a little f*cking late for that sentiment NOW don't you think? I flat out told you what would happen... if you... if this... All I can see when I look at you is the mental image of the two of you crawling all over what you said we had. This is about you...not me; when I think of all the lies, the needless arguments, the games you'd play with my head to make me believe you were something you are clearly not... [clasps stomach and physically grimaces] you make me sick! [returns to pacing]
2: Please, it doesn't have to be this way. We can work through this. I'm so sorry.
1: [turns to face 2 again] Yeah, you're sorry now because you were busted. If I hadn't caught you would it even so much as register in your conscience tomorrow? Please, spare me. [returns to pacing] You're sorry because you got caught. That's all. And no we can't just get passed this. I told you, I f*cking told you... You knew this was the one thing... you knew... and you did it anyway. For what?
[faces the couch]
What the hell were you getting from him IN BED that you weren't getting from me? Besides the obvious, which you've always said didn't interest you much. You didn't think about my feelings, you didn't think about me at all and if you did... well, then you're just an evil, heartless b*tch.
2: [reaches out and grabs 1's hand taking on a 'begging posture'] That's how you feel and I understand that I deserve that...but why? We CAN work through this, I promise you, it will not happen again. Isn't what we DO have enough to help us mend the damage that's been done. Don't you love me enough to forgive and move on? Please, give me a chance to make it up to you. Please?
1: [Pulls hand away and glares psychotically at 2] Don't YOU DARE question MY love for YOU... I wasn't the one who allowed some jerk-off to stick his c*ck inside of me. I DO LOVE YOU, you f*cking a**hole. That's the problem. No, no I can't f*cking forgive you because I can't forget what you've done...I'll think about it and it'll drive me crazy... I'll see him all over you, for no reason...just at the mention of something that reminds me... and I'll freak...
2: [stands up and moves towards 1 who pushes her away.] It's ok. I deserve it and we'll get passed it. I'll live through it if you don't leave me. I love you and I don't want you to go.
1: [walks to the other side of the room from 2] No. That will never work! Never! I'll be suspicious. You wouldn't be able to have a life or friends or anything but me. Do you understand that? I will smother you. I will break you in half because that's how I feel right now. You'd be a prisoner in this house, with me.
2: [runs to 1, drops to knees, sobbing] That's ok. In time... we just need time. I'll serve my penance and everything will be ok.
1: [looks disgusted and moves away] Penance??? This isn't a church. This is OUR home, which you've desecrated with your infidelities. You have made this place a tomb now. I can't do this. I can't live through this again. I told you that. Not again! Not ever! Don't you get it? You have to be YOU! I have to be ME. If we stay, I won't be able, mentally or emotionally, to handle you having a life; I'll distrust your every move, breath and action. I'll get angry with you for 'no reason' because I'll accidentally think of this. I will crush you with my anger and my hurt until I bury you completely beneath it; as you've crushed me with the weight of your dishonesty. Everything will come crashing down just as bad, if not worse, than it would be now. I CANNOT put either of us through that...
2: [moves from being on her knees to collapsing against the wall into a sitting position with her head in her hands, still crying] Please...? This isn't what I want. I want to be with you. I've always believed we should be together, you are the half that makes me whole.
1: Yeah right! If that were true Sweetheart, I wouldn't have seen what I've seen tonight. No... I can't forgive you and I won't suffer your selfishness a moment longer. I want you OUT of my life. I don't want to see your face or hear your blasphemous name. In fact, I don't want to know you anymore!
2: [straightens up and then stands up, her voice steady.] Fine, you want me to be honest? Ok, this-you and me- is not me. I'm not ok with what 'we' are. I'm not ... I need stability that this relationship cannot provide. I want the fairy tale. The storybook wedding with the house, the fence, the cake and the dress... that's not possible with you, it's never going to be possible.
1: It IS possible. I asked you. You said yes. We could have done it. I don't need a d*ck to be a 'knight in shining armor'. I'm bloody well here with you, everyday. I kiss you, I hold you, I help you, I love you. You really need that one piece of paper in order to know that I love you? Seriously? That's ridiculous. Have you always been so narrow? What the f*ck?! Regardless, you couldn't have figured out that you weren't interested in 'me' before you started this or at the very least before I fell in love with you? I'm not what you want? Then what the fuck was this all for?
2: I don't know. I love you. I do. I just... [straightens awkwardly] It doesn't matter... you're done. Right? You don't want me anymore; just like that, you can walk away... so what does it really matter?
1: [Voice raised, glaring mercilessly at 2] Don't! Don't you dare!!! I've stayed. In spite of all the ridiculous sh*t you've put me through just so you could f*ck around with him, I'm still here. It was you who walked away, on your back with your legs spread wide open.
2: You'll never find anyone who loves you as much as I do, you know that right? I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.
1: [turns to face 2] I certainly hope not...take your shameless, conceited, whorish a** out of my face and out of my life. I hope you rot in your arrogance and if you're seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me I hope I'm dead soon. [turns away]
2: Fine! [grabs jacket and purse from the couch then turns in the direction of 1 who is looking away.] Your loss. Do you think anyone else is going to come along and give you attention? You're a washed-out loser, afraid of damn near everything; your sadness and your lack of ambition makes you stupid and frumpy. [opens the front door] You should consider yourself lucky that I paid you any mind.
1: [who'd been quietly sobbing, turns to face 2] Oh honey, I consider myself lucky that I'm getting off the ride before it crashes. You would rather do what's "expected" of you than face theprospect of being alone. You're a f*cking coward. In the stillness of some far-off night you'll wake up from the nightmare that is your 'average', fairy-tale existence and realize that it's eating you alive from the inside out. Or perhaps, his disillusions will come to an end and he'll see you for what you really are. Either way the fairy tale will die, as they always do under such dishonest circumstances, and you will still end up miserable and alone. And yes, someday, I hope someone does love me because it's obvious, now more than ever, that you never did. That was just another of your lies. Now f*ck off.
2: Whatever! [Closes the door behind her as she exits.]
(End of scene.)
1: Oh my god, with HIM? Are you kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why?
2: [sits on a couch directly in front of one who has taken to pacing the floor] I don't know why I did it. We were just friends and then, I just didn't know how to say no and you've been so melancholy and distant. I didn't know what to do for you...
1: [stops pacing and glares directly at 2 as she began to speaks her voice is louder than before.] Oh, don't give me that load of sh*t. I'm depressed, so hey, let's just fuck around with that sleaze ball behind my back because that will cheer me right up! How in the hell are you seriously going to try to make this my fault? YOU took YOUR clothes off and YOU let him f*ck you for God knows how long now. You knew what you were doing was wrong but you did it anyway. I didn't even have a say in the matter because the answer would have been H*ll f*cking no. I've been 'melancholy' because you've been a sneaky, conniving little tramp and I knew it. I repeatedly called you out on it and you just kept on and kept on with your pleas of innocence. [turns away]
2: [crying now, very audibly-almost comically] Please, listen to me...I didn't mean to hurt you...I swear, I love you and I'm so sorry.
1: [who is visibly choking on anger and tears, turns to look down at 2. Her words come out in a hiss] It's a little f*cking late for that sentiment NOW don't you think? I flat out told you what would happen... if you... if this... All I can see when I look at you is the mental image of the two of you crawling all over what you said we had. This is about you...not me; when I think of all the lies, the needless arguments, the games you'd play with my head to make me believe you were something you are clearly not... [clasps stomach and physically grimaces] you make me sick! [returns to pacing]
2: Please, it doesn't have to be this way. We can work through this. I'm so sorry.
1: [turns to face 2 again] Yeah, you're sorry now because you were busted. If I hadn't caught you would it even so much as register in your conscience tomorrow? Please, spare me. [returns to pacing] You're sorry because you got caught. That's all. And no we can't just get passed this. I told you, I f*cking told you... You knew this was the one thing... you knew... and you did it anyway. For what?
[faces the couch]
What the hell were you getting from him IN BED that you weren't getting from me? Besides the obvious, which you've always said didn't interest you much. You didn't think about my feelings, you didn't think about me at all and if you did... well, then you're just an evil, heartless b*tch.
2: [reaches out and grabs 1's hand taking on a 'begging posture'] That's how you feel and I understand that I deserve that...but why? We CAN work through this, I promise you, it will not happen again. Isn't what we DO have enough to help us mend the damage that's been done. Don't you love me enough to forgive and move on? Please, give me a chance to make it up to you. Please?
1: [Pulls hand away and glares psychotically at 2] Don't YOU DARE question MY love for YOU... I wasn't the one who allowed some jerk-off to stick his c*ck inside of me. I DO LOVE YOU, you f*cking a**hole. That's the problem. No, no I can't f*cking forgive you because I can't forget what you've done...I'll think about it and it'll drive me crazy... I'll see him all over you, for no reason...just at the mention of something that reminds me... and I'll freak...
2: [stands up and moves towards 1 who pushes her away.] It's ok. I deserve it and we'll get passed it. I'll live through it if you don't leave me. I love you and I don't want you to go.
1: [walks to the other side of the room from 2] No. That will never work! Never! I'll be suspicious. You wouldn't be able to have a life or friends or anything but me. Do you understand that? I will smother you. I will break you in half because that's how I feel right now. You'd be a prisoner in this house, with me.
2: [runs to 1, drops to knees, sobbing] That's ok. In time... we just need time. I'll serve my penance and everything will be ok.
1: [looks disgusted and moves away] Penance??? This isn't a church. This is OUR home, which you've desecrated with your infidelities. You have made this place a tomb now. I can't do this. I can't live through this again. I told you that. Not again! Not ever! Don't you get it? You have to be YOU! I have to be ME. If we stay, I won't be able, mentally or emotionally, to handle you having a life; I'll distrust your every move, breath and action. I'll get angry with you for 'no reason' because I'll accidentally think of this. I will crush you with my anger and my hurt until I bury you completely beneath it; as you've crushed me with the weight of your dishonesty. Everything will come crashing down just as bad, if not worse, than it would be now. I CANNOT put either of us through that...
2: [moves from being on her knees to collapsing against the wall into a sitting position with her head in her hands, still crying] Please...? This isn't what I want. I want to be with you. I've always believed we should be together, you are the half that makes me whole.
1: Yeah right! If that were true Sweetheart, I wouldn't have seen what I've seen tonight. No... I can't forgive you and I won't suffer your selfishness a moment longer. I want you OUT of my life. I don't want to see your face or hear your blasphemous name. In fact, I don't want to know you anymore!
2: [straightens up and then stands up, her voice steady.] Fine, you want me to be honest? Ok, this-you and me- is not me. I'm not ok with what 'we' are. I'm not ... I need stability that this relationship cannot provide. I want the fairy tale. The storybook wedding with the house, the fence, the cake and the dress... that's not possible with you, it's never going to be possible.
1: It IS possible. I asked you. You said yes. We could have done it. I don't need a d*ck to be a 'knight in shining armor'. I'm bloody well here with you, everyday. I kiss you, I hold you, I help you, I love you. You really need that one piece of paper in order to know that I love you? Seriously? That's ridiculous. Have you always been so narrow? What the f*ck?! Regardless, you couldn't have figured out that you weren't interested in 'me' before you started this or at the very least before I fell in love with you? I'm not what you want? Then what the fuck was this all for?
2: I don't know. I love you. I do. I just... [straightens awkwardly] It doesn't matter... you're done. Right? You don't want me anymore; just like that, you can walk away... so what does it really matter?
1: [Voice raised, glaring mercilessly at 2] Don't! Don't you dare!!! I've stayed. In spite of all the ridiculous sh*t you've put me through just so you could f*ck around with him, I'm still here. It was you who walked away, on your back with your legs spread wide open.
2: You'll never find anyone who loves you as much as I do, you know that right? I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.
1: [turns to face 2] I certainly hope not...take your shameless, conceited, whorish a** out of my face and out of my life. I hope you rot in your arrogance and if you're seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me I hope I'm dead soon. [turns away]
2: Fine! [grabs jacket and purse from the couch then turns in the direction of 1 who is looking away.] Your loss. Do you think anyone else is going to come along and give you attention? You're a washed-out loser, afraid of damn near everything; your sadness and your lack of ambition makes you stupid and frumpy. [opens the front door] You should consider yourself lucky that I paid you any mind.
1: [who'd been quietly sobbing, turns to face 2] Oh honey, I consider myself lucky that I'm getting off the ride before it crashes. You would rather do what's "expected" of you than face theprospect of being alone. You're a f*cking coward. In the stillness of some far-off night you'll wake up from the nightmare that is your 'average', fairy-tale existence and realize that it's eating you alive from the inside out. Or perhaps, his disillusions will come to an end and he'll see you for what you really are. Either way the fairy tale will die, as they always do under such dishonest circumstances, and you will still end up miserable and alone. And yes, someday, I hope someone does love me because it's obvious, now more than ever, that you never did. That was just another of your lies. Now f*ck off.
2: Whatever! [Closes the door behind her as she exits.]
(End of scene.)
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Sunni Insurgents Switching Channels. Will it Work?
MSNBC.COM/Sunni fighters find benefits in alliance with U.S.
President Bush will, no doubt, cite this as a victory in 'the war on terror'. Thousands of Sunni insurgents resolve to work with American forces in
Scores of analysts from all sides of the spectrum have called for the Iraqi people to take up the policing effort so that our troops can focus on rebuilding necessary structures and helping the misplaced find safety; food, water, shelter and emergency medical care. Now, they have the tentative support and manpower of rogue insurgents who deliver the promise to do what needs to be done to let the American's go home.
"We have no people in government now, so we are trying to do as much as we can to tell people to join the army and police," Abu Lwat said. "That way, they can control the area and government, and American forces can go back to their country."
So what happens over time when American's still aren't leaving and they've grown weary of putting up with us? They're willing to work with ground troops in
We've been hearing for months that
"I assume they . . . have killed some of us," Townsend said. "We have killed a lot of them. If they are willing to move forward with us, I'm willing to keep an open mind."
Something else to be kept in mind, which hasn't escaped the attention of the men and women serving in
"I think they want control of the area," said Beck, of San Bernardino, Calif., whose platoon has spent the past year combating insurgents and Shiite militias in and around
Which raises the prominent question at hand; can a country with multiple religious affiliations that provide the social and political structures of the country, find peace as long as the government is staunch in only one religious association? After all, the Sunni insurgents that have defected to aiding the occupation they once fought are hoping to gain political influence through service. With a prominently Shiite government, the Sunni allegiances fear being left out or erased by its current political leaders.
It is important to note that the elected administration does not condone the use of insurgent forces to police and control. 'The Shiite-led government of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki is "worried that the Sunni tribes may be using mechanisms to build their strength and power eventually to challenge this government. This is a risk for all of us," Welch said.'
This offers up an interesting perception of the situation. It seems as though the differing factions may be coming together with the allied forces present in
(All print featured in bold/italic comes from the article written by Ann Scott Tyson /Washington Post; posted on the MSNBC website available at the link featured at the beginning of this writing. The rights to these citings belong to MSNBC/Washington Post, the Author and their affiliates.)
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Pen It.
Fervent glances
land on empty faces
solemn glare
be my return
I've fallen short
but rarely far
and I'll pen
this story
so that you
may hear it
should you care
because I don't
not anymore
butterfly shudders
and you are
no more.
love is fascist~
organized control
beautiful
but unkind
and yours
is deafening
in it's violence
move along now
little mouse
to the next
rat race
I'll stay
behind
So I don't
get behind
I'd rather be
who I am
than a riddle
of someone
else's idea
of who that
should be.
land on empty faces
solemn glare
be my return
I've fallen short
but rarely far
and I'll pen
this story
so that you
may hear it
should you care
because I don't
not anymore
butterfly shudders
and you are
no more.
love is fascist~
organized control
beautiful
but unkind
and yours
is deafening
in it's violence
move along now
little mouse
to the next
rat race
I'll stay
behind
So I don't
get behind
I'd rather be
who I am
than a riddle
of someone
else's idea
of who that
should be.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
The Walk
There was a strange treble in your voice when I turned to hide my presence from your stare and I pivoted only briefly to spit the audible goodbye with half the force of my walk in the other direction... you called me back out of fear not love but I kept right on walking past the memories of all the good and more than enough of the bad. Past the sound of you letting go for me in the darkness of a fallen night. Past the time I got on my knee's to offer you the rich landscape of forever that couldn't compete with a piece of legal paper, in your mind. Past the space in the split second when your breath catches before my lips take yours in a passionate embrace that your mind simply could not grasp. I turned the corner of regret and pain making my way through the pedestrian emotions that threaten to swallow me as I take my leave of you. I don't know where I'm going only that I can't go with you. There is the sound of a raven in the distance though how I know it's breed I don't really know but the moment fits the thought; so I go with it as I pass yet another storefront of memories caked in your existence within mine. I tried keeping track of this path, knowing it would somehow come to be but I wasn't prepared for the sting of tears that fell when I finally came to realize that you were a mistake I shouldn't have made, your intentions cloaked in all the pretty meaning but none of the stamina to make something real. I found myself inside the depth of the implosion of this... lying half-dead; totally broken but I let the anger carry me away from this promised heaven which became a lie you told to sell me a pile of emptiness. As I go I am reminded of just how loud disappointment can be and marvel at how long I endured that high pitched squeal; at how long I tolerated the nothing you were willing to give me... as I find my way through this one-horse ghost town your malice made of us. I find that for all I thought I knew... You became everything I never wanted to see. This too shall teach me to reach before I jump because I know I never want to take this walk again.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Nothing More or Less...lyrics.
There is nothing more than this...
a curious beginning, an aging start
you who opened me up wide...
like a tide...like the seas swing open
I'm a curse...you're a blessing...
and yet there is a poison in your embrace
a sort of distance that feeds upon the dark
which I failed to see in the midst of it all
you...so sadly wanting...you so sadly silent..
and now I think of you...the look in your eye
and I want nothing less...than this...with you...
How do you call when you're so far between;
where do I find the strength to move beyond this
beyond the you I swore my heart had spoken to?
when does this silly melancholy leave me free of you?
and still (though I know)
there is a poison in your embrace (it's killing me)
a sort of distance that feeds upon the dark (upon me)
which I failed to see in the midst of it all (you're so good)
you...so sadly waiting...you so sadly silent..(you weeping now)
and now I think of you...the look in your eye (the lie...)
and I want nothing less...than this...with you... (with you)
You want the faery tale....
I want the dream...
You want what isn't
I want what should be...
You're lost in a fable...
I'm lost in your skin...
Let me go... (go now)
Leave me be (just leave)
I don't want... (you didn't want)
what I can't have....(what you had)
and you can't be... (you never were)
You want the faery tale....
I want the dream...
You want what isn't
I want what should be...
You're lost in a fable...
I'm lost in your skin...
and still (though I know)
there is a poison in your embrace (it's killing me)
a sort of distance that feeds upon the dark (upon me)
which I have failed to see in the midst of it all (you're so good)
you...so sadly waiting...you so sadly silent..(weeping now)
and now I think of you...the look in your eye (the lie...)
and I want nothing less...than this...with you... (without you)
you....
me....
you...
Friday, December 22, 2006
I Was a Better Person When I Was Nine.
When I was nine years old my father and I moved from a lavish, upper-middle class suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of
Instead, he found a sitter (ironically an attractive, young Hispanic lady) up the road a ways that could watch me in the morning so that I could attend school in the suburban area of Northridge.
My dad would drop me off at the sitters' house at four or five in the morning, I would amuse myself there until 7 and then I'd make the walk to school. Northridge was cleaner than Van Nuys but the sitter lived near the poorer end of town so I had to walk through it to get to my snobbish little school.
Along the way every day I'd see them; people sleeping on benches, under bushes and trees, wandering around looking dirty and lost. I'd see them digging through trash cans and smoking rolled cigarettes. They never seemed frightening to me though I guess they probably should have. They just seemed different. I had already taught myself to believe that different wasn't bad.
I asked my father about them and of course he told me to stay away from them; they were dirty and lazy and could not be trusted. I thought on that. Sure, they were dirty sometimes but not a one of them I encountered ever so much as came within reaching distance of me. I didn't understand why my father called them lazy because if they weren't sleeping they were usually always doing something. As with most of my fathers' comments, I heard his opinions but I didn't trust what he said to be true.
It got to the point where I could expect to see some of the same people every morning. Like the older man that was always hanging out near the first intersection I came to. He had crazy (Einstein style) white hair and always had on a dirt-dusted white t-shirt and a pair of old brown polyester trousers. He never said a word to me but he did always acknowledge my existence and I would smile brightly at him before crossing.
Then there were the three that hung out around the Target parking lot; one woman and two men. At the time they looked like they were in their early thirties. All wearing ripped jeans and t-shirts. After getting used to seeing me pass, the woman, when awake, would smile and say "good mornin' suga". I always smiled and waved back and returned the greeting. The guys with her never said a word.
Then came the panhandlers at the 7-11 across from the Target. They never bothered me, after all, I was just a kid! They knew they wouldn't get much out of me. Sometimes I stopped in at the 7-11 to get the gum we were forbidden to chew in class. Other times, I just kept walking. Beyond the 7-11 began the residential district, lined with neat, tidy, picturesque complexes and houses. Sometimes I would see random homeless people walk through there heading in the direction I was leaving.
One morning, I had packed an extra PB & J sandwich for my lunch and as one of these guys walked by me I got up the nerve to hold it out to him. He looked at me funny, I assured him I had another one, he said 'thank you' and walked away. I looked back to catch him opening the baggie and putting the sandwich to his mouth.
The rest of the way to school I had this sort of high feeling. I couldn't explain it but I was really happy. The next morning, I again packed an extra sandwich, this time I tried to give it to the old guy at the first intersection. He declined and I didn't push. Instead I gave it to a panhandler at the 7-11; an older, crazy looking lady. I didn't say anything, I just walked up to her, handed her the sandwich and walked away.
I couldn't pass out sandwiches every day or my father would have gotten suspicious. Some days I took other things; fruit, yogurt, cereal--food my dad bought for me that he wouldn't miss. I didn't do this ever day but I did do it as often as I could. I didn't tell the kids at school, I certainly wouldn't tell my father and I didn't know anyone else. As a kid, I did it because it made me feel good and in my mind it was something nice to do for someone else.
My lack of fear or pretentiousness then didn't strike me as being anything great. I was a kid, they were adults; I was taught to respect my elders. I didn't see them as any different from any other adult and I treated them exactly as I would any other adult. Even when I did give them things, I didn't get all weird about it. It was like I was handing in a homework assignment. I gave them whatever it was and walked away. No fuss. And I treated them exactly the same the next day and every other time.
My father and I left Van Nuys at the end of that school year and moved back to the hoity-toity area we had lived before heading to
During my teenage years, I was confined to classes and home so I didn't have an outlet with which to do my good deeds. I became just like my fellow classmates; preoccupied with my lack of friendly social-status-with the kids that made fun of me, with my friends and my studies. I was always willing to do nice things for others but sometimes it wasn't enough.
Now that I'm an adult, I find that I often times forget that part of me which I held so dear as a kid. I was proud of that and I don't do anything to exercise that part of my personality and demeanor. Oh, I have here or there.
I used to work at a coffee-shop in the downtown area of my small-minded pretentious Midwestern "city". Anyone could sit in the shop as long as they purchased something and stay for as long as they wanted. All of us employee's did what we could. I was not above buying a cup of coffee for someone just to give them somewhere to sit and relax for a bit. Sometimes a co-worker of mine and I would hand out the left-over coffee instead of dumping it. That's the one thing I've always loved about coffee shops (I'm talking real coffee shops not that Starbucks corporate bs) -the sense of camaraderie and community.
There was an older man who'd been a patron of the shop since it opened; he wasn't homeless but he was damn close. He always paid for his coffee but we used to give him the leftover soup at night even if there was enough to save for the next day.
My friend F reminded me a few months ago of the time a local crack addict was sitting outside the shop and I came in before my shift, bought a cup of coffee and took it out to her. I didn't know anyone had seen me do it. The woman wanders through the downtown area every day, sometimes only half dressed asking for money and we all knew what for. We weren't supposed to let her into the shop which I hated but we couldn't let her panhandle the customers. Keep in mind, I don't feel bad for her but I feel for her because she's human.
That's true of anyone really. I think we as a society have forgotten that. Regardless of any other fact about any other person...we are all human! We all deserve respect, freedom, food, clothing, and shelter BECAUSE we are human. Where did that philosophy go?
I didn't ask for her gratitude and I didn't make a big deal of the situation. She would have preferred money but I gave her the cup instead of my spare change and she was respectful enough to drink the coffee and let me go back to my job. F told me that it was one of the things that made her like me as a person. Truth is, it was one of the things that made ME like me as a person.
I want to do more. I find myself in a crunch here because the local 'assistance' programs are run by the Salvation Army, an organization I loathe, and will, in no way, assist. There are the churches that help out randomly but I'm not a church-go-er either. Still, I didn't need an organization to do things as a kid and I guess I don't need one now. What is it about growing up that makes you abandon some of the things you treasured as a child? Have I really become so jaded?
Sure, I don't treat destitute people like crap and sometimes I do remember to help in any way I can at the time. But, I, like most of my friends, have also turned my head and pretended not to see them. As a kid, I at least had the decency to look them in the eyes and smile, say good morning and treat them as I would anyone else. Even if I don't have a dime in my pocket, they deserve at least that much. Something I innately knew as a child...so what the fuck happened to me?
Saturday, April 1, 2006
Welcome to the new age of radio-broadcasting
Welcome to the new age of radio-broadcasting
With the invention of personal MP3 players like the Ipod comes a new wave of broadcasting everything from television news and entertainment programs to a sci-fi geeks revival of science fiction laden news and story time. Podcasts are available from many sites including I-Tunes, Podcast Alley, Podcasts.net and even the individual websites and blogs devoted to the programs. These broadcasts can be downloaded and played on nearly any MP3 player and/or computer.
My first experience with Podcasts came when I received my Ipod. My friends had finally convinced me to check into NPR programs and it just happens that NPR podcasts most of their programming. This meant that I could download the material and then take it to work to listen to at my leisure. How convenient! Most podcasts are free of charge, just like radio and like radio programming; some segments do include advertising spots depending on the availability of a promoter. NPR, sponsored by Acura, usually just gives a 20 second spot at the beginning and/or end of the program.
Once I got used to using my Ipod to catch up on Global news and Politics, I wanted to see what else was out there. So, I started investigating. To my surprise there is a whole world of independently produced podcasts all over the Internet. Even more surprising, it is these independents that spawned the interest in this technology. Of course the corporate world took note at its steadily rising figures and have since decided to join the club either by sponsoring or by broadcasting their own programs.
It appears, at least at this point, that podcasting enjoys a certain level of creative freedom from censorship making it twice as appealing as conventional airwaves. While traditional radio jockeys have to watch their mouths at every turn for fear of fines and other repercussions, Podcasting jockeys can pretty much say what they want. Furthermore, podcasts are not relegated to signals and towers, instead they exist via the internet making them accessible to anyone, anywhere on the planet with a modem.
And so, in honor of this new age of media broadcasting, let me introduce you to a couple of my favorite podcasts:
First of all, though NPR is not independent, per se, for those of you living in the US, this is your best bet for unbiased reporting of the goings on around the globe on all manner of topics. You can find a listing of NPR podcasts by visiting their website. For those of you in the UK and surrounding areas, the BBC also has podcasting available for all your news and political needs.
Now, my pick-this month - for an independent podcast worth every minute of the time it takes to find it, download it and enjoy is Feast of Fools hosted by Marc Felion and Fausto Fernos, a gay couple talking it up in Chicago. One of the first of its kind, the show airs five days a week and includes a cast of zany characters that perfectly accentuate the easy banter between the dynamic-duo themselves. So far, my favorite is the clever, in-your-face diva by the name of Miss Ronnie.
Not only do they chat it up about their lives and experiences; they discuss some of the topics going on in the world from politics to wedding dresses accessorized with birds. They also give listeners a chance to hear some independent musicians and give movie reviews of the quieter gay persuasion. They have an increasingly large fan base so much so in fact that recently, HBOs Big Love series sponsored the show, for about a month. These guys are witty, intelligent and definitely worth a listen.
So, go to the website Feast Of Fools, poke around and enjoy some quality entertainment. Buy a t-shirt (though the price is a bit steep) and get to know this funny cast from the windy city. If youre so inclined, feel free to buy Miss Ronnie an Ipod (shes a working student after all). New Yorkers have a chance of meeting the cast live and in person on April 13th, 2006. Details can be found on their website.
Other podcasts worth a mention here
With the invention of personal MP3 players like the Ipod comes a new wave of broadcasting everything from television news and entertainment programs to a sci-fi geeks revival of science fiction laden news and story time. Podcasts are available from many sites including I-Tunes, Podcast Alley, Podcasts.net and even the individual websites and blogs devoted to the programs. These broadcasts can be downloaded and played on nearly any MP3 player and/or computer.
My first experience with Podcasts came when I received my Ipod. My friends had finally convinced me to check into NPR programs and it just happens that NPR podcasts most of their programming. This meant that I could download the material and then take it to work to listen to at my leisure. How convenient! Most podcasts are free of charge, just like radio and like radio programming; some segments do include advertising spots depending on the availability of a promoter. NPR, sponsored by Acura, usually just gives a 20 second spot at the beginning and/or end of the program.
Once I got used to using my Ipod to catch up on Global news and Politics, I wanted to see what else was out there. So, I started investigating. To my surprise there is a whole world of independently produced podcasts all over the Internet. Even more surprising, it is these independents that spawned the interest in this technology. Of course the corporate world took note at its steadily rising figures and have since decided to join the club either by sponsoring or by broadcasting their own programs.
It appears, at least at this point, that podcasting enjoys a certain level of creative freedom from censorship making it twice as appealing as conventional airwaves. While traditional radio jockeys have to watch their mouths at every turn for fear of fines and other repercussions, Podcasting jockeys can pretty much say what they want. Furthermore, podcasts are not relegated to signals and towers, instead they exist via the internet making them accessible to anyone, anywhere on the planet with a modem.
And so, in honor of this new age of media broadcasting, let me introduce you to a couple of my favorite podcasts:
First of all, though NPR is not independent, per se, for those of you living in the US, this is your best bet for unbiased reporting of the goings on around the globe on all manner of topics. You can find a listing of NPR podcasts by visiting their website. For those of you in the UK and surrounding areas, the BBC also has podcasting available for all your news and political needs.
Now, my pick-this month - for an independent podcast worth every minute of the time it takes to find it, download it and enjoy is Feast of Fools hosted by Marc Felion and Fausto Fernos, a gay couple talking it up in Chicago. One of the first of its kind, the show airs five days a week and includes a cast of zany characters that perfectly accentuate the easy banter between the dynamic-duo themselves. So far, my favorite is the clever, in-your-face diva by the name of Miss Ronnie.
Not only do they chat it up about their lives and experiences; they discuss some of the topics going on in the world from politics to wedding dresses accessorized with birds. They also give listeners a chance to hear some independent musicians and give movie reviews of the quieter gay persuasion. They have an increasingly large fan base so much so in fact that recently, HBOs Big Love series sponsored the show, for about a month. These guys are witty, intelligent and definitely worth a listen.
So, go to the website Feast Of Fools, poke around and enjoy some quality entertainment. Buy a t-shirt (though the price is a bit steep) and get to know this funny cast from the windy city. If youre so inclined, feel free to buy Miss Ronnie an Ipod (shes a working student after all). New Yorkers have a chance of meeting the cast live and in person on April 13th, 2006. Details can be found on their website.
Other podcasts worth a mention here
Urban Coffee
The Bitterest Pill
~Originally featured in the April, 2006 edition of the Street Voice Newsletter.
The Bitterest Pill
~Originally featured in the April, 2006 edition of the Street Voice Newsletter.
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Blog this...
WEB [as in: World Wide Web] - LOGS [as in: diary, journal, captain's log of events, thoughts, ideas etc...] a hyphenated phrase twisted-as is our fashion- into it's own ubiquitous existence [in the form of a contraction] into a word that is fast-becoming synonymous with virtual reality which conveniently is associated with internet dependancy . A state in which, any creature with access to and the barest of knowledge of a computer can become a writer--whether good, bad or ugly.
If the great literary minds of our history could see us now I wonder what they'd say. I excitedly invision them reacting in much the same way a postal worker who's put in a few too-many hours, for a few too-many years. In our heroes would march with their loaded semi-automatic weapons and just start shooting. 'Fuck it all', they'd say. "You bastards don't know the first thing about struggling, about writing so...BLOG THIS, BITCH!
Hahahahaha... The thought of Emily Dickenson holding a machine gun and uttering this phrase sends me into roaring fits of laughter, not just because of the silliness of the handsome-ness of the woman and the militaristic coldness of such a weapon but at the absurdity in the fact that our society in general deserves it!
We've commended these great minds for their bravery in telling such fantastical stories and condemned them for boring us to tears with their numerous pages concerning one blade of grass. Now, after years of reading classics written by someone whose writing was their own sustainence we'd rather read the rantings of a shunned prom queen vowing that prince charming showed up wearing the wrong designer jacket [and good lord, didn't rent a limo for such an occasion, got drunk in the bathroom with his buddies before sweeping her off to a hotel room; where she demurely insists on feigning virtue but Johnny already told Joey about that night beneath the glow of a street light when she blew him into next friggin semester].
After all, now everyone is a writer. We can all write our own anecdotes, stories and comic relief bits. Pretty soon, printing presses will become obsolete. Who needs pages when we have screens on which information streams to us with rapidly increasing swiftness. We can now have a pen-pal or partner in any country in the world. We can send a picture to Austria with the click of a button. Wow, imagine the mail order Bride schemes nowadays...oh wait...friend finder...no imagination needed. Fuck actually having to do anything like go outside and play, meet someone by chance on a street corner and invest a dollar in a cup of coffee in some seedy diner listening to elevator music from the seventies while enjoying real-life conversation. I have an instant messenger now!
Wanna know how I'm feeling...fuck it...just read my blog, I'm too tired from not talking to talk with you right now.
The point is folks, that the computer cannot, nor should it, take the place of real, live conversation with those you care about or those you may someday care about. If anything, the Internet should be considered a means in which we can connect with others that otherwise we would be unable to do. Using the computer as the primary means of communication with folks you could just as easily have contact with…is well, bollocks. As for creative writing…well, your blogs may reach a lot of viewers but they aren’t immortal. Let’s remember that some things are best read in print. Talk to your friends and give your readers something to hold.
~Originally appeared in the Street Voice Newsletter, March-2006 Edition
If the great literary minds of our history could see us now I wonder what they'd say. I excitedly invision them reacting in much the same way a postal worker who's put in a few too-many hours, for a few too-many years. In our heroes would march with their loaded semi-automatic weapons and just start shooting. 'Fuck it all', they'd say. "You bastards don't know the first thing about struggling, about writing so...BLOG THIS, BITCH!
Hahahahaha... The thought of Emily Dickenson holding a machine gun and uttering this phrase sends me into roaring fits of laughter, not just because of the silliness of the handsome-ness of the woman and the militaristic coldness of such a weapon but at the absurdity in the fact that our society in general deserves it!
We've commended these great minds for their bravery in telling such fantastical stories and condemned them for boring us to tears with their numerous pages concerning one blade of grass. Now, after years of reading classics written by someone whose writing was their own sustainence we'd rather read the rantings of a shunned prom queen vowing that prince charming showed up wearing the wrong designer jacket [and good lord, didn't rent a limo for such an occasion, got drunk in the bathroom with his buddies before sweeping her off to a hotel room; where she demurely insists on feigning virtue but Johnny already told Joey about that night beneath the glow of a street light when she blew him into next friggin semester].
After all, now everyone is a writer. We can all write our own anecdotes, stories and comic relief bits. Pretty soon, printing presses will become obsolete. Who needs pages when we have screens on which information streams to us with rapidly increasing swiftness. We can now have a pen-pal or partner in any country in the world. We can send a picture to Austria with the click of a button. Wow, imagine the mail order Bride schemes nowadays...oh wait...friend finder...no imagination needed. Fuck actually having to do anything like go outside and play, meet someone by chance on a street corner and invest a dollar in a cup of coffee in some seedy diner listening to elevator music from the seventies while enjoying real-life conversation. I have an instant messenger now!
Wanna know how I'm feeling...fuck it...just read my blog, I'm too tired from not talking to talk with you right now.
The point is folks, that the computer cannot, nor should it, take the place of real, live conversation with those you care about or those you may someday care about. If anything, the Internet should be considered a means in which we can connect with others that otherwise we would be unable to do. Using the computer as the primary means of communication with folks you could just as easily have contact with…is well, bollocks. As for creative writing…well, your blogs may reach a lot of viewers but they aren’t immortal. Let’s remember that some things are best read in print. Talk to your friends and give your readers something to hold.
~Originally appeared in the Street Voice Newsletter, March-2006 Edition
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