Into the black

He watched as she bent invitingly over the bar in an obvious attempt to attract the attention of the overworked bartender. The hatred he sought—over her youth, sexual prowess and ever increasing control over him—could not be summoned. He was instead gripped by the fact that she was everything he ever longed for, but nothing he needed. As the justifications ran internally wild, he could not escape the reality that, at twenty years his junior, she may have been old enough to touch, but was altogether too young to be decent for a man of his age…profession…and marital status. For a blinking moment, he knew what he had to do; but before his conscious could catch hold—as it always threatened in moments of solitude—she was back, eagerly displaying the drink he didn’t want, but desperately needed. With out it, there would be no her. Without her, there would be no purpose.

“Bottoms up,” he whispered, as he knocked back any chance he had to escape the destruction of his future.

My words, your potential problem

They are my words, thousands on thousands of them—but my name is nowhere to be found. For upwards of twelve hours a day, five days a week, I slave over lengthy pieces, only to send them off into the world as the words of another. I knew as much when I took the position—I just did not realize that the archaic structure, rules and constant time constraints would drain me of my desire to put words on paper. If I were more skilled, I would find a way to break out of the traditional, but I am a conformist, deathly afraid to rock the boat and make my superiors question their decision to put their reputation in my hands. For me, no matter how painful it is to watch something I have written walk out the door without so much as a mention of my existence, it is more painful still to know that any possible disaster will have a minimal impact on my career, but could quickly thrust those that trust me into an unflattering light.

Almost there

Seventy-seven minutes left in my twenties; somehow I expected something different, I guess I was wrong.

Welcome to the neighborhood

All I wanted was a cigarette on my terrace. It was late. I was tired. She lives across the street. I do not know why, but I was drawn to her open window. Nothing outside of the ordinary was occurring—she was fully clothed, sitting on her couch, seemingly watching television, stroking her dog—but I was transfixed. I fully intended to look away if she noticed me; she did; I didn’t. In a moment of panic, I ventured off my intended course, hastily concluding that by nervously averting my eyes, my innocent gaze would appear as something sinister, so I maintained eye contact; plan deviation has always been my downfall.

For the first time since the incident, I ventured back out; her shades were drawn. I fear that I am now the creepy guy across the way. . . . I moved into my apartment five days ago. This is going to be a long year for the both of us.

Food tales

I received the following email the other day. I found it quite humorous, so, with permission, I am reprinting it.

***

i think only you would appreciate these thoughts. i was eating blueberries and as i was placing yet another handful in my mouth, careful to only eat the ones with the crunchy taught consistency of fish eggs, i glimpsed one that had been squished open. a wave of revulsion cascaded over me as i saw the white grape-like flesh inside. i had imagined that, like their outer layer, the insides were a resplendent deep blue, almost black. i imagined a skull opened with the brains showing in my moment of disgust as i placed this lone broken soldier to rest with his soft and structural integrity-compromised brethren. the feeling passed and then i finished the box.

i also cut open an organic red bell pepper only to find a poor mutant half grown pepper child living within the guts of its healthy yet heirloom tomato shaped host. i imagined the movie "the hills have eyes". then i threw it away and proceeded to eat said host with my fingers.

Off the radar

Sorry for the extended absence, the past few weeks have been hectic. If all goes as planned, things should slow down soon enough.

In the mean time.....

what happened to all the fun we were supposed to have together
How the fuck am I supposed to know
but you promised
I know . . . and
I hate you
I know that too
you’re a bitch
always have been
do you even care
I quit doing that years ago, I thought you noticed
I need a drink
I beat you to it
why does that not surprise me
go fuck yourself

Once bitten

This is something I wrote a while back. I got to thinking about it as I spent the better part of five minutes this evening chewing the nail on my thumb:

While they serve a plethora of practical purposes, I primarily view my fingers as a snack. The way I see it, they are the smorgasbord of the body, with each individual digit presenting its own cornucopia of flavor. The beauty lies in the fact that no two bites are the same, as each is dictated almost entirely by that days actions. For example, I may dive into a salty, luscious, vibrant nail or cuticle on my left hand in the morning, only to spend my afternoon feasting on a sour nub that requires a butcher’s precision on my right. As you watch me feed, you may find yourself repulsed, but before you judge, think about it, what better way to surprise yourself than with a nibble of the unknown? Now I realize that many are disgusting by my actions, but to those individuals, this is all I have to say: fuck off, I don’t criticize your meals, you shouldn’t criticize mine.

Decisions

My career path has gone in a direction that would offend most in my profession. I started out on top, nabbing what I, and many of those around me, considered to be a life altering position at a very prestigious outfit. After three years of constant abuse, I bolted and took a job at a less reputable company with the expectation of permanence. Unfortunately, smaller stature did not equate with a better life, so I cut bait after a year and took a term post on this island that was necessarily limited to two years. As that time quickly dwindles, I am now faced with a decision that will affect the rest of my life. I am no longer the young, energetic, workaholic I once was and am now unwilling to sacrifice my future wellbeing for another’s bottom line. The problem is, I have no clue what that step should be. As I confront this problem, I realize that everything I find interesting in life renders my six figure education—which I am still paying for—useless. The rational side of me says that I should give it another go and continue to try and prove to myself, and those around me, that I did not make a mistake in going down this road and that I still have something to offer to the world through my institutional instilled knowledge; but the irrational side of me sees this as an opportunity to break free from the daily grind and finally do all the things I talk about, but never have the courage to undertake. I have a restaurant to open, a clothing store to look after, an adventure company to run, a world to travel, and a very bad book to write. This time though, unlike the others, the fear of continuing to do what is comfortable, for no other reason than that is what I am trained to do, scares me more than striking out on my own and failing miserably.

A beautiful beginning

The manner in which the two of you interact reminds me of a schoolyard romance: the touches innocent, but meaningful; the giggles constant, but genuine; the looks long, but appreciated. When your hand brushes her skin, it is impossible not to notice her lips part and eyes tighten in what can best be described as rapture. Outwardly, the two of you lack commonality; you are an accomplished professional with the world at your finger tips, she bubbles with youthful exuberance, searching for the meaning of the life she is just now creating. Nonetheless, there is a truthfulness to your budding relationship that is taken for granted at our age. As an outsider, I envy the way in which you relate, the chainlessness of your combined existence, and the blind happiness that keeps the both of you coming back for more.

If you do nothing else today, watch this

I watched this for the first time today, and besides being struck by the pure and utter joy on the faces of all those involved, I was left with a profound sense of hope; in what I am not sure, just hope.

http://www.vimeo.com/1211060?pg=embed&sec=1211060

Exhaustion

The first thing to go is my patience, without it I begin to attack viciously those around me, blaming them for all that life has seemingly failed to provide me at that given moment. The next is my civility, allowing me to vocalize all things normally kept hidden in the darkest sections of my mind. Following that is rationality, plunging me into a world dominated by crippling doubt and a sea of what ifs and why not. Finally, and when I have truly bottomed out, I lose the ability to control my emotions. As the days string themselves together, and the collection of these normally hidden defects magnify, I become unrecognizable, lacking even the basic abilities usually associated with adulthood. This is when I begin to scare those around me. It cannot continue.

The circle of life

The fear of losing those I hold dear not only keeps me awake at night, but often causes me to drown those I love with constant affection. I now fear that this unchecked desire has lead to the unfortunate—and ultimately preventable—tragedy before me.

There were signs a few months back that my need to give you all that this world had to offer was burning you out, but I ignored them, choosing instead to chalk up your antics to the heat, childhood angst, stress, etc. I know now that I was wrong—that I should have paid more attention to the outward manifestations of your internal turmoil; that I should have set you free and allowed you to grow and blossom at your own speed.

As I say these final words, please know that I will live with this failure for the remainder of my days, and that no matter how many others come after you, you will always be the one that had my heart first.



10-1-07 to 7-1-08.

Say what?

I long to say something profound, to impress you with my mastery of the English language, but it never comes. I think, formulate, open my mouth and fuck it up. Your constant look of confusion would be comical it were not directed at me. I promise, I am deeper than I appear, have more to offer than a stupid grin and a canned joke; if given the chance, you may one day see past my ineptness, and appreciate me for what I am not – articulate.

I am sorry...

I know that you do not blame me, but I can not help but to blame myself. I have a sinking suspicion that if I had given your very rational fears even the slightest credence, you would have listened to the voice that created your initial wave of concern, and things might have turned out differently. I should have protected you. I failed at that and I am extremely sorry—I will never let it happen again.

**Head bobbing off beat**

Every person I know longs to be somewhere else, doing something different. I am no exception. If I am honest, and I rarely am when it comes to these type of things, I want to be a member of a dance troupe. I can see it now, me and my crew gyrating down the street guided by our freedom and the smooth beats of [name your favorite artist here]. I figure all I need is style, rhythm, dedication, years of professional coaching, and six lucky individual to believe in the dream. . . .

Growing pains

He attempted independence at twenty-one, but could not rid himself of his overbearing family and their ever present fears about his health. At twenty-two, he received both a gift – the long awaited transplant – and a curse – the added fear of a full body revolt. Now, however, a year later, at the age of twenty-three, he felt himself breaking free from his caged-self. For the first time, he was strong, capable, and free from the daily regiment of drugs that had kept his body viable since birth. As he giddily spoke to them about his revised hopes and dreams, he felt a shift in the family dynamic – he was no longer only resented by his siblings for receiving all the attention, but also by his parents for not giving it back. They had dedicated their lives to making his last, and he wanted nothing more than to experience everything they had foregone to care for him. And on what should have been the happiest of days, he learned his cruelest lesson, no love is selfless.

Scared into hiding

I tell people I am neurotic about my personal information because I do not want to be found. The truth is, I long to be discovered by those I abandoned. To be told that my absence is noticed, that my sins can be forgiven. At this point, even a scathing email would be a welcome relief, as it would confirm that my presence meant something. Putting the excuses aside, the fear that no one is looking is the real reason I mask my identity. For the thought that I have been erased—by my own doing—sickens me to no end.

You are the light at the end of my dark tunnel

I fear that my overbearing presence has trampled your dreams; that you will one day look back on your life with regret because I dominated it. I have never had anybody be dependent on my existence, and that intimidates me. What happens if it doesn’t work out; if I choose a path that leads to a life of unfullfillment? I worry that you were meant for something more than this……than me. The thought of clipping your wings and making you less of an asset to this world than you are meant to be paralyzes me.

I want nothing more than for you to tell me that this will all work out, that we will continue to be as happy tomorrow as I perceive us to be today; but again, that would be me laying the weight of my selfish single-mindedness on your shoulders. It is not your job to placate my demons, you are more important than that. I fell in love with you because of your passion for life, and want nothing more than to continue to see that fire rage. So, as we reach our next cross-road, please be honest with me—and regardless of how I react, I want you to stand by your desires, for, at the end of the day, it is more important for me to have you shine that it is for me to get what is easy.

Thirty-two years and counting

I have thought about this post for weeks now, trying relentlessly to compose the perfect piece to honor this occasion—but, as I have come to accept, there is no combination of words that I can put together that do this day, or you for that matter, justice. Thus, you are stuck with my tired, oft stated, and dull birthday wish.

S, you are the best person I, or anyone who knows you, has ever met. Everyday of your thirty-two years have been a blessing, and we all long to spend the next sixty plus in your presence. While others struggle to leave their mark on the world, yours is already firmly entrenched. I hope you take this one day to realize just how amazing you are, and understand that each and everyone of us are is complete and total awe of you on a daily basis. Your kind heart, gentle smile, and constantly outstretched hand makes us better, even if we grumble at yet another one of your “good person” ideas. Nobody is perfect, but you are damn close. It is both and honor and a pleasure to be able to spend this day—even if it is 1500 miles away—with you. We love you, and wish you the happiest of birthdays.

Titles

I could not think of anything to write about, so I decided to take the fist few songs that came onto my ipod and use their titles in a story. They appear in the order in which they played.

Everybody knows that there is so much more to this seemingly two-headed boy than meets the eye. While he appears to be stuck up the spout of life, dreaming of a wild world, he is bound to become more, a man of conviction. Amongst his future accomplishments, he will build Havana, under the cover of darkness, in his small section of the world; artfully recreating the place his parents once called home. But in this moment, there is no rush, for he knows that all in good time, perfection will come. And while waiting on the night, he will slip between the bars of society, pucker his loose lips and kiss the gentle moon.

Songs: (1) Everybody Knows by Gougers; (2) There Is So Much More by Brett Dennen; (3) Two-Headed Boy by Neutral Milk Hotel; (4) Up the Spout by Mateo Messina; (5) Wild World by Cat Stevens; (6) Man of Conviction by Brandon Rhyder; (7) Build Havana by Future Clouds & Radar; (8) All In Good Time by Ron Sexsmith; (9) Waiting on the Night by The Greencards; (10) Between the Bars by Elliott Smith; (11) Loose Lips by Kimya Dawson; (12) Gentle Moon by Sun Kil Moon.