Friday, July 3, 2009

Lullaby for a Realist

She laid her head comfortably against his bare chest. He had always been fond of leaving the light on as he fell asleep reading, often times it would be in this same position. She had loved him, but didn’t always feel the same reassurance from him; she was kind and innocent—he had become cynical and cold. It was her intent to shine some light onto his dark world, and hopefully with it, warm his heart in the process.

As she wriggled and moved between the sheets, trying to find some comfort in a bed that wasn’t really hers, she knew to be careful, not to disturb, in fear of angering him; this was an unfortunate circumstance of their relationship, however it was one she had come to accept in time. As she would begin to let herself drift off to sleep she would fantasize of all her past loves—had they found happiness? Were they still pining over her? How many of them had grown into men of honor?

She reserved herself to the fact that fairytales are simply writings found in children’s novels. There purpose didn’t stem any further than being used as tools to lull the innocent into a dream-world of endless possibilities. Knowing the reality of the situation she found her wandering thoughts to be her new lullaby.

Lion in a Coma

They found themselves lost in some back part of the camp. There were no landmarks they could recognize to take them back, and unfortunately everyone had left. Jason still passed out on the ground wearing nothing but a black sock, his tighty whities and what appeared to be a novel written in sharpie along the length of his body. Chris and Mark looked at each other, the other hardly recognizable.
Chris- Ah man, what happened last night? Where’s Lane?
Mark- Who?
Chris- You know that chick that brought us out here.
Mark- I couldn’t tell you man, I can’t hardly even remember what happened last week. What the hell did we do?
Chris- I dun…. Oh my god…
Mark- What?
Chris- Look at Jason.

The two of them walk over to their friend, he appears to be half dead, fortunately his body keeps rising as he apparently is still breathing.

Chris- Did we do that?
Mark- Well that definitely doesn’t look like my handwriting, how bout yours?
Chris- Nah, you can tell because I don’t dot my “I’s” with smiley faces and ribbon.
Mark- I don’t think that’s a smiley face with ribbon, I think those are skulls and cross bones.
Chris- What?!? Well what does it say?

Through uncertainty man has always fought to maintain the status quo, without it there’s very little comfort for humanity. If the balance were to switch then there would be panic and terror. It’s the unfortunate circumstance of our beautiful planet to have an animal as profane and grotesque as men in which to control it. They have no pure desire, only selfish motives, they have no care or respect for themselves nor for anyone else, and this is a fine testament to that. Overconsumption and overindulgence has always been a characteristic trait of this ignorant species, may this serve as a reminder for the rest of you.

Mark- What the hell could that mean?
Chris- I don’t know man, you’re the one who’s supposed to understand anthropology.

Army Corps of Architects

She walked down the platform towards her compartment. She began to bask in an increasing sense of freedom, with each step she got further away from the parents that had seemed to turn their backs on her, from the friends that had left her to her own devices, from him who hadn’t enough decency to care for her in the slightest when she fell into that dark world. She was off to find somewhere that was hers; somewhere she could start feeling comfortable.

She knew she had every right to be scared, she was leaving everything she knew… she wondered why she wasn’t more scared, she grew worried in trying to explain her inability to place any anxiety to this drastic transition.

She stepped on to the train, and paused to take a look on the city she had called home for her whole life—she decided against it, there was no need; to date it had yet given anything to her aside from pain and anguish, why should she feel force to honor it with any respect. She walked through the aisles to a quite compartment. Brushing off her overcoat, and shaking the rain off the umbrella she stored her bag on the overhead, and sat against the window. That fear, that anxiety, slowly started to grow inside her, as the train began to move along the tracks. What had she done? She was leaving everything she knew behind. She went to get up and run off the train, jump out if need be, but this is what she wanted, this is what she had craved for so long. She was on her way to become an architect of her own happiness.

John’s Star

Anything that’s beautiful I blame you, it’s impossible to disconnect the two. I wanted to be a part of every little thing that involved her; I wanted to live in every moment, to take in every sight… These are just a few of the many things I wanted to do. Did I do them? Of course not, we don’t do hardly anything we say we’re going to, instead we continue making ridiculous claims of aspirations and meaning; I don’t know maybe it’s like the process of fishing, we throw these ridiculous nets out there, (our hopeful intent,) and when we pull them back in, we pray that we’ve caught something, (whatever it is that we actually ended up following through with.)
In this situation I can comfortably say that I’m largely the cause. My perception was narrowed, it wasn’t taking in the full scope, I saw what I wanted to… purely myself. I mean, why would I think to look pass myself and at anyone else around? If it wasn’t going to spill over into my life why should I care at all? The unfortunate thing is, not only had I thought this, but I openly sad it several times over, and not in an inebriated state, no, I would tell her… her of all people. The one person I probably shouldn’t have made that claim in front of. Yeah I’m an insensitive prick at times… ok a lot of the time, but I mean come on! Why shouldn’t I be? I’m broken, man. I’ve been tainted since before this whole thing even initially developed. So how did I think the best way for me to grow, for me to adapt to a person who was actually kind and caring towards me was? I thought it best to try and be that naive innocent kid that had first come to university; I was kind, I was gentle, I was chivalrous for fucks sake… Bogey would’ve told me to chill on that.

Now I’m not going to take the easy way out, and inevitably lie about the ordeal and say I blame some girl, and I could—I could make one of the best arguments you’ve heard, you’d eat it out of my hand, and I wouldn’t have to exaggerate a damn thing. You’d be upset for me, and when it’s all said and done, I would gain a little more support and understanding, but that’s pity, and it’s not needed. I’m at a point in my life where I’m supposed to be a grown man… okay maybe that’s a little much, I’m supposed to be grown—meaning I should be able to take care of myself, be at times conscious enough to make my own decisions, which should be the right ones, but honestly I’m still not there, and I don’t feel that guilty… with that being said, there’s still a lot that was purely in my hands, and yeah I should’ve been smart enough to reconsider my actions. Unfortunately hindsight only comes after the fact, and we’re not always able to think so rationally.

An Actor’s Revenge

It was in this moment that he realized how the situation had been orchestrated at her hands. He had been a marionette and she was controlling the strings the entire time. It was alarming that someone could have the ability, and the potential to do that to anyone let alone someone they had professed they supposed undying love to.
“It’s time for me to seek my revenge.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I’m not saying that I’m going to snap and look for my way to repay the pain back ten-fold… no nothing like that, but I do feel like it’s time for me to shed some light on this awful situation, otherwise it’s a hell that’s going to be recreated for some other poor bastard.”
“Okay, say that you can shed some light on the situation, do you think, knowing that she’s someone capable of acts like this, she’s just going to accept whatever it is you’re going to do or say?”
“You’re right… this calls for something different, something completely new… something overtly drastic.”
“Drastic? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Think about it this way man, if there’s a hornet’s nest above your doorway, do you toss rocks at it, hoping for it to come down, and for them to leave you alone?”
“See that’s what I’m saying…”
“With things like hornets you have to smoke them out.”
“Yeah she was always one fond of being smoked out.” Tyler looks down, kicking the rocks that were right under his feet, and quietly mumbles to himself, “she’s a leech, not a person.”


The drive was long; the road was barren, only he was the one out there. There was an eerie feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. Had he gone somewhere completely different? Had he broke through his realm of reality to a new place where only he occupied its existence? Would he even care if he had become the last remaining soul? No.

His headlights mapped a path for him. The shadows it created became illuminated figures from his past. Each new turn, each new breath brought with it a painful realization. He had gambled too much away, he had invested more than he could afford, and now, he lost felt that he’d lost anything that may have been able to be regained. It was an understatement to say his world was falling apart.
He had become his own worst enemy, poisoning every aspect of his life. His pessimism, his negativity, had become a plague on himself and those around; this was mainly the reason why he no longer had anyone left at all. It was a hell that he had created for himself, and though he knew this, he still didn’t stop; in all honesty he hadn’t wanted too. It was easier to feel angry, than it was to feel that sorrow and anguish. Even if that anger was directed at him; besides whom else did he have to be angry with? He had been in control the entire time, it doesn’t matter that he had opted to relinquish it over to her, she didn’t ask him to do that, he just did it, knowing full well the possible outcome. His ignorance and faith in humanity had driven him to become inhuman, and in turn something he couldn’t stand the sight of. He was determined that he would find that one connection to sanity, even if it would push him over that final edge.

The Saltwater Room

He sat on the beach watching her, the wind was coming strong off the ocean blowing pass her bringing her sweet smell all the way over to him. He had hoped this trip to bring them closer together, to cement the feelings they had mutually succumbed to, but the days had seem to be overpopulated with frustrations and arguments. He had slowly ruined their time there. How dense could he be?
It was in this moment he realized how all he needed was her, they didn’t need to create something that resembled a cinematic scene, and they did that fine without trying, so why force it? How could he go to her, how could he show her that he was sorry… He knew she was consistently trying to bite her tongue afraid she may say the wrong thing and set him off. That’s a terrible way to live, to be afraid of setting off the person you love simply by saying what you feel. He hated himself in this moment, and he knew anytime he would revisit it, albeit in his thoughts or in the stories that would inevitably transpire, there would be a rush of remorse for his inappropriate behavior.

He had convinced himself that all he was trying to do was set-up these romantic moments, these moments that would be indelible to the two of them regardless of if they stayed together, unfortunately well he did this, he couldn’t recognize the fact that he was indeed creating these moments, however they were far from romantic.
Would be enough for him to simply go up to her? To gently grab her by the small of her back and hold her in his arms… would she be able to feel the love in his touch, and realize his sorrow was enough to shock him back into his senses. It didn’t matter, that wouldn’t be enough anyway, she had deserved so much more. She had deserved something better.

Open Your Arms

He got up from the water’s edge, and began to walk towards the wall or stone that made up the dam. Like a child he began to climb the rocks, dance across them, from one to the other, hoping not to fall over. He was able to escape his thoughts in these few moments, arms stretched out to his sides to keep his balance, he made it from one to the next.
As he got to the top, he walked across the top; putting his hands into his pockets he began to make his way to the odd monument that hung over the lake below. He climbed pass the fence that had a rusted “no trespassing” sign bolted to its front. Those few steps to the edge were a chore to him, each one requiring more work than the last, each one impossibly hard.

He climbed up the edge, and looking down he had only one thought… Jump. Was he too much a coward to take that leap, or would it be cowardice to follow through? Instead he stretches his arms out once more, and lets the wind blow through him. He wanted the thoughts that began to torment his days to float off with the passing gust, but this would be too easy; instead they came back to him, rushing all at once. Their voices screaming loud for his attention, fighting not to be ignored, as if he could if he wanted to, who was he kidding; he didn’t have the strength to ignore them.
He looked up to the sky; it had become dark, too soon. The stars poked through like pinholes in a burning lavender blanket. The wind grew stronger, and as it flowed underneath his open arms, he began to feel a feeling of weightlessness. He had begun to be lifted off the edge, all he could see was the water waiting for him below. Instead of bracing for its impact he kept his arms out open to welcome.

It’s Not Over Yet

“I'll live for you… I'd die for you… Do what you want me to… I'll cry for you, my tears will show, that I can't let you go.”

She looked into his eyes, they were gleaming from the tears that had begun to pool up, she didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to respond. She had seen him upset before, and yes she had even see him break down to the point of tears, but there was something different this time. With each word he said, she could see his heart breaking a little further. It was an eerie transition, she had always been the one unable to speak, made immobile by rushes of emotion… She brushed his cheek wiping away the tears, trying to care for this man she loved so much. As her hand brushed alongside his face she felt warmth that only he had been able to create in him. She turns to him and says, “it’s not over, it’s not over yet…”

“You still want me don’t you?”
“I do, but I don’t want this, I don’t want an us, and I don’t know how to explain that I want you but not us. Yes it’s a bit of a ridiculous statement to make, as it honestly makes little sense, but I love you, I do… I… I just can’t…”
“You can’t do this anymore.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for causing you the pain I have, for not being that person you saw when you looked at me, for… for not trying as hard as I should have.”
“You shouldn’t feel forced to try, that’s the problem. This has begun to feel forced, it’s begun to feel like work, and it should never feel like that. We’re too young to feel like these relationships are work, and I’m too tired.”
“I never felt forced, I never felt as if I was doing something I shouldn’t be. I felt comfortable to be in my own skin with you, I felt like nothing I did would matter, as long as at the end of the day I could make you happy, but I guess I haven’t done my job.”

She looks at him, not certain as how to respond, what could she say? “No you haven’t done your job, dick!” Unfortunately she didn’t have it in her to be that upfront, and honestly she hadn’t come to any semblance of a conclusion showing him inept of doing his “job;” but still she had nothing to say.

“Your silence has always been enough of a response.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are, I just don’t know if it’s as much as me, and honestly, that’s likely the way this is supposed to be… I’ve put you through more than anyone should have to deal with, and you know what darlin’ you made it through with flying colors. I have all the faith in the world in you, and I have as much love as I could ever give anyone else… all for you. “

Such a Lovely Thing

And in that second he realizes it… It had been one big joke, and he was the standing punch line. She had orchestrated this entire situation, fabricated from that heinous mind, knowing full well the implications and possibilities for pain and anguish; she didn’t care, in fact she had hoped for this result. Why? For what reason had she believed it would benefit her? It didn’t really matter, she wasn’t someone that needed cause or reason, yet she was someone that just wanted to throw a wrench into the works, just to see what would happen. It’s how she kept entertained.

He felt sick, it was a pain that he couldn’t understand, his stomach churned, end over end it began tying itself into knots, beating itself inside his body. He lost the strength to stand, a myriad of noise and sound began to play in his head. He had been the center of some carnival joke; he had been made into a clown.

That moment of realization, when you understand in depth how ridiculous you had been to trust in a person completely, it can be the most embarrassing feeling. All the stories he had shared with her, the moments where he left himself completely vulnerable—he was ashamed of it all. He acted under the auspice of an unwavering, powerful love… She operated under the intent of “get what you can, and get out.” Well she did indeed get a fair amount; he had given her everything hoping she wouldn’t stop, she wouldn’t stop loving him, because in that moment, when she had, his world stopped, and everything came pummeling down on top of him.

No Joy in Mudville

I step outside the door, wanting something, anything to tell me where I should go, where it is that I needed to be. I knew I needed be somewhere, because I sure as hell didn’t need to be here anymore. I got in the car and turned it on; pulling out of the driveway like a bat out of hell, I turn the radio up and head east. The sun hangs low in the afternoon sky; it looks like it’s just as tired, seconds away of saying “fuck it” and falling to rest behind the mountains that loomed over the country-scape.

How could I be so foolish? I actually thought that it would be appropriate to bring up that thought; WHAT THE FUCK was I thinking? I’m not even at any major anniversary in life, and I still maintain these fantastical delusions of the ideal family, the picturesque house sitting quaintly at the end of some suburban cul-de-sac, as my kids play carelessly on their bikes in the front, as I sit content with her on the porch, hand in hand, completely pleased with the way our lives turned out… That’s not real, how could it be? How could I ever imagine being happy with someone else at some indiscernible point in the future, if the thought of happiness now seems so unapproachable?

I don’t understand how it is I’m supposed to operate… I want to be young, I want to be concerned with only self, and perpetual fun, essentially that’s my job, right—at the very least my goal? Why is it that I crave the companionship of only one person? Shouldn’t I be turning my head every time an attractive skirt walks by? And furthermore how can I entertain the thought of being a father, I couldn’t even take care of a goldfish, and I have to imagine that children are bit more difficult to maintain than goldfishes, hell you have to teach kids how to swim, they hardly come programmed with the basics and necessities in life, aside from shitting and crying… Fuck it, I’ll keep driving down this interstate, until I can either find that which I really do desire, or until it burns my bones.

La Llorna

James- It’s good… No it is… At least I think it is… No it definitely is.

Pavel looks over at Christian; they both think that he’s beginning to lose it. Every little detail, every conversation, every random thought, all have become fair game for analysis.

Pavel- Look mate, whether you come to a conclusion in your head or not is a moot point.
James- What are you getting at?
Pavel- What I’m trying to “get at” is it doesn’t matter what you think, the fact of the matter is she’s declared victory, and when they do that it doesn’t matter what we do, or what we say… they’re always right, always have been always will be.
Christian- Aye, that is pretty true, it’s the unfortunate nature of “x’s” versus “y’s.”

James looks at the two with a look of shock and disbelief. He had been content with getting upset, and venting, he didn’t realize that he would inevitably here someone else’s opinion. To make matters worse, they weren’t really saying anything that he cared to hear.

Pavel- Look I’m not saying to stop, and I’m definitely not saying to keep obsessing over this, but what you do have to realize is that this situation is out of your hands, and if you’re not intelligent enough to recognize that much, then it’s been out of your hands much longer than you think. I’m not going to lie to you and say that we liked Ames, because honestly she was a hag, a leech, and not the best example of… what’s that word I’m searching for…
Christian- A woman?
Pavel- No that’s not it.
Christian- A friend?
Pavel- No still not it.
Christian- A person with a soul and the ability to have the bare minimum of respect for others?
Pavel- Yeah that… She had no respect for you, let alone herself. There was nothing you could do, you tried…
Christian- Valiantly…
Pavel- And still she treated you the way she did. So yes I’m going to say it’s a good thing that it’s over, hell it makes me feel better, and I wasn’t even the unfortunate bastard stuck in that god awful situation, no offense…
James nods his head to the side agreeing with him, and looks up at his friend- Do you really think I’m not intelligent?
Pavel smiles, he sees hope for his friend yet- Well if you have to asking me then, no I don’t think you are.

Kissing You

He buried himself in a dark place; it was devoid of care, of concern, for either self or anything else. He had truly lost hope, not only in any idealistic fantasy that he had held on such a pedestal for so long, but at last in the idea itself. It was a cold thought, it was chilling right down to the core. Warmth was only brought from a fire deep down, fueled by hate and resentment. This had become the lowest point for him—to be fair he had been in bad places before, but this put him at a level univocal to its predecessors.

In this state he still rationalized going out, interacting with the masses, hoping they could lend a hand in bringing him up. He found himself at a familiar house, a safe-haven for a former fire, one that he had tried to ignore; not by his own merit, however from the demands of another. He saw her, and in that moment he felt a guilt that seemed to be more powerful than his recent sorrow. He hurt her so dearly, and it didn’t matter how he felt any more… she tried so desperately to hide the pain... still; but he saw it so clearly written in her eyes. He wanted to repent, not to any god, but to her. It was only in her forgiveness would he find a sense of absolution.

Throughout the night they traded coy glances, trying not to give in to the other. He conceded control to her, whether she knew or not; she didn’t care about this though, there were things she had wanted to say for so long, and she was going to let him know.

Upon This Tidal Wave of Young Blood

This was such a different world to him, and yet at the same time it was everything he had experienced before. How could he feel so different? His mind was rushing, one idea after the other, with little to no explanation as to how. He had always been taught that these “substances” were dangerous, foolish… well if this was how foolish felt he was content on becoming the court jester.

It was a different experience to be a wallflower; normally he would feel awkward to stand in a corner and watch everyone live there life, he’d feel inadequate for not participating in the common social rituals of conversation. As he watched however, he began to see the ridiculous nature of the people he began to surround himself with; the same drone and uninteresting conversations, people complaining about the same professors, the same jobs. This amused him, and it became more entertaining to live in his own thought than it was to try and convey them to anyone else. And why should he? It’s not as if anyone else would understand.

He began to walk through the crowd, watching all the guys pick up on the same girls as they always did, getting shot down as usual. How had he never seen this before? How had he been so blind to the obvious ridiculousness of the social inadequacies that seemed to be shared by everyone else? He had been so consumed with his own self that he had never attempted to look outside his shell. Who knew it would be something he had been conditioned to fear, that would inevitably bring some understanding to his world.

An Alternate Version to the Summer

He drifted off to sleep…

As his eyes opened, he could see the elegant rays of light poking through the broken blinds above his bed, it was odd, he hadn’t felt this comfortable in what felt like forever. He closed eyes again to take in the feeling, he wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible, it had felt like a lifetime since something had felt this good to him.

He stretched, feeling around the bed… his hands fell on something soft, something warm, and so inviting… she was there, right next to him, it was as if nothing had ever happened. He opens his eyes in pure disbelief, not knowing what to think. It was true she was lying next to him, beautiful as ever. His heart began to beat pass the point of irregularity; she craned her neck eyes still closed. She began to smile—oh that smile killed every time. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. She tilted her head and drew her hand across his cheek. He grabbed it and held it tightly, all he wanted to do was hold her and never let go. This was his heaven. He moved in to kiss, to feel her lips; as he came closer he closed his eyes anticipating the feeling of uncontrollable euphoria… She whispers softly to him, “I love you.” The feeling, the joy, it immediately replaces that anguish that had become so dominant. “I love you too.”

He opened his eyes… The pillow next to him was as cold as it had been.

Blue Turning Grey

With summer, came the extravagant change in colors. The normal grays that seemed to dominate the sky led way to heavenly blues; the sunrises and sunsets were picturesque to say the least.

Chris drove the same stretch of interstate as he always had, leading to the same quiet secluded meadow that was just right off the beaten path. He had always gone here to clear his head, hoping to find some epiphany mapped out in the pond’s ripples, or the trees melodic movement, as if some divine connection to the nature he admired so dearly would present itself.

He sat at the bank of the pond, tossing stones into the tiny sea—there was no effect, he felt nothing. It was an uncomfortable numb, a terrifying lack of emotion. He had entered an awkward transitional state, where his emotions were passed the point of exhaustion that all he had left was an eerie state of regret, but it wasn’t enough for him to even dwell on.

The Twist

She woke up, their conversation a far thought from her memory, barely even comprehensible at this juncture. She finds herself in a daze, its power is undeniable, and alien, what was it? She makes for the other side of the bed… cold… It dawns on her—what she said, what he said, that which didn’t need to be said. Only hours had separated conversations of a future, and the actualization of the end.
Was this it? Was this the relief she sought so desperately. She had been consumed with fear. Had she been with him purely for the comfort and security or was there something deeper there? This had always been the argument with every guy, but he was different, the whole situation was different. If it was really just comfort she craved, Marc was only a call away, but there was a reason she had left Marc as well. This time was different though, she had fought so hard to preserve the relationship, but he kept pushing her away, whether he knew it or not…and that was it. He kept pushing HER away; there WASN’T any reason for her to wait, to see if it was ever going to change.
Though this realization felt freeing, it was in knowing that this entire situation was so new to her that she still couldn’t shake the feeling. She had always battled with the thought of why she was with him, and just as quick as she realized that he had been pushing her away, and just as freeing as that may have been to understand, she began to understand that she loved him, something she had never planned for.

Soldier’s Grin

Travis- Do you think that this has been for the best?
Chris- How can you ask me that? How can you stand there, and look at me, seeing full well the pain and anguish that I can’t fight back… It’s what spills over, man, what you see that is. So no I don’t think this has been for the best. But what can I say? What can I do? I fucked up, and yeah I understand that, but this is the vicious fucking circle that always transpires, and I’m through with it, you know? I’m tired, and I don’t know what I can do. I want it to be done, but at the same time there’s something that I can’t let go of, and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m holding on to a lost cause, and quite frankly that could be it, but anytime I think of just stopping, just cutting whatever that last tie is, I get scared, because that is the only thing that ever really felt real to me…

There’s a long pause between the two of them. Travis takes a drag of his cigarette, and he can see his friend on the edge of tears, he doesn’t know whether he should try and console him, or what. He’s been in the same position, so it’s not as if there’s a lack of sympathy, but sometimes people just need to be told to stop, however this wasn’t one of those times.

Chris goes to sit down in the chair next to Travis. Travis turns around and takes a look towards the night sky. A few seconds go by, and he turns to his friend, and gives him a slight smile.

Travis- You know, I loved this girl once… Sarah. Man I’ll tell you she was something exceptional, your quintessential sweetheart if you will. Well she and I had this… thing, I guess is the best way to explain it; it was never anything serious, nor was it really a relationship, but it was something. We’d talk all the time, phone calls, e-mails, everything. One day that just stopped. I was crushed, I didn’t want to move, everything hurt; but you want to know the only good thing about that? That pain, that feeling of not wanting to make up—one day it clicks… That feeling consumes you, and you realize once you’re passed the bullshit, once you stop feeling hurt, and you stop feeling numb, you realize that too feel anything with that much passion is more than most people in this fucking world will ever get. It may not be your pot of gold, but this… this whole situation… I can tell you that it’s evident, you felt something strong, you felt something real, hell it may have been something just that goddamn pure to you, and no matter what no one can take that away from you.

Slive Five

The club’s dark. The air is stale, and humid—everyone dancing and moving has created that uncomfortable fog of humidity and body odor, a scent that only reminds her of the over amped era of ecstasy, and over consumption. She never assumed that he would ever go to a place like this, it worried her, he’d changed, and in her opinion not for the better. He had always been so clean cut, respectful, hell he had even been shy at one point, but not anymore. It was as if he had taken over a new persona of fake confidence, it wasn’t attractive, it wasn’t genuine, it wasn’t him. She lost reason, as to why she even cared to be there anymore.

He looked at her, an unsettling cold in his eyes, it was blank and devoid of expression, it sent a shiver down her—where was his warmth, his care? She realized it had left the same day she did, and this was his way of compensating.
He thought he was doing what was best for him, what would bring him through, however he had just traded one hell, for another, yet he wasn’t able to recognize this, she just hoped it wouldn’t be too late when he did.

Tap the Bass

He sits at the bar, the tonic in front of him slowly helping block the transgressions of the last few days… An odd state of surprise and shock rests heavily on his shoulders, weighing down like a ton of bricks. He looks at his drink, and he gives it an appreciative nod as he goes to take a sip. He puts it to his lips and realizes the new power it has over him, it’s warm, it’s comforting, in these regards it’s disturbing.

Music begins to play over the bars PA system, “slap that bass, and together it’ll be over…” There’s too much noise in the bar—or maybe that’s just in his head… he is the only person there not getting paid. It’s as if his mood had been toxic to the environment, no one wanted to come around him, not even the bartender, however this left him content in his own self-pity; it’s the only thing he felt he had a lasting claim to, it was something that she could never stop, therefore it was something she would never take away from him.

The thought of loneliness and self-depreciation begins to flood his thoughts—they can’t—he won’t let them. He decides it’s time for another drink, maybe two.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Incredulousness of Time

Time spent alone, is too often a convenience we are forced to forgo; and since this liberty is often left to the wayside, we often sit pining over the next chance encounter we may get. However in the interim we are surrounded by people who we may or may not care for, but whoever they may be they play a part in our deterrence of remembering those little secrets we fight to forget. It’s no secret that man often creates a guise to hide behind, we all do it, knowingly or not; yet I’d be remiss if I didn’t think that these masks we dawn are to overpowering. Where do we stop and distinguish, that what others believe us to be, and that we truly are? How deep does our masquerade run? If we cannot truly find a way point, how are we to define ourselves? How do we define ourselves? These are all trivial questions, yet I believe that if there were answers, those would truly be worth knowing.

In this façade I wear ever so callow, I often lose who I am. I forget what I wanted, what I struggle for, and only in moments of sterling clarity do I seem to remember. Sanity and security. In my menial day-to-day encounters with the person in the mirror, I’m at times reluctant to believe what I see. This isn’t to say I’m appalled, nor am I overly enthused; I merely strive to see what others do, both the good and the bad. All those malicious, and callous remarks from people of influence I’ve trapped in my memories of yore, and the passing compliments that only from a present few hold any significance.

I would be both arrogant and naïïve to think I was the only one battling these thoughts, however I’ve been known to be both, so there are too often moments such as these where I feel that there isn’t enough questioning. It’s an unfortunate personality defect, where I question everything, even that which shouldn’t be questioned. I feud over moments of simplicity wishing them to be something more; I’m frustrated in situations of complexity yearning for them to be simpler. It ’’s not ironic, but incongruent to a normal thought process I haven’t allowed myself to be happy just for the sake of being happy in too long a time.

On the Way to the Club

He walked the long road down the street. The sun had set hours ago but the moon had still not come up over the houses. It was dark, and the stars did little to light up his path. He took his punch out and rolled a cigarette… damn, no light. He saw a couple walking towards him, it was a safe bet one of them had some form of fire on them. He quickened his pace slightly, whether it was the exigent need for more nicotine or an unplaced desire for instant human contact he really couldn’t tell.

As the two approached, he could see that it wasn’t a couple in the traditional sense, rather a very attractive blonde and an androgynous brunette, who up close was nothing short of a knockout. Not one body part seemed to be free from some glow in the dark accessory. It wasn’t peculiar if you lived a lifestyle over the declared counter-culture. They were on something, and he was intrigued even further.

-I hate to bother you ladies, but would you happen to have a light?
Blonde- Is that a jay?
-Unfortunately not.

He smiled at such a cavalier inquiry, only here would people be brash enough to both assume and openly smoke a joint in public.

Brunette- Ah to bad, we could use something to even us out.

Knowing full well his proximity to his house, he had no other option but to present the offer.
-Well ladies give unto others right? Would you care to escort me back to my Emerald City?
They each grab one of his arms, giggling like the schoolgirls they were dressed as, and both surprisingly nestle their heads into his shoulders. He smiles knowing full well what he just did.

One By One

The rain falls serenely through the leaves, the tepid afternoon had quickly turned cold. Jake had always enjoyed the cleansing that came with the rain, the smell of the pine trees, the sight of the mountains swathed by a gloomy fog. There was something comforting about the weather; he had locked himself inside for several weeks now, but with the falling rain he could take solace in knowing he wasn’t really alone.

He sat at the edge of his bed, pen in hand, notebook on lap, each word was difficult to put down; he had so much he wanted to say, if only given the chance but he knew it was a futile matter. Though she may be inconsistent on her feelings, and indiscernible in what she had always wanted he knew slowly but surely that there was a difference this time. One by one the words she had said to him began to come together. She was done, she was ready, and though it was a drastic switch from day to night, he had had to accept this unfortunate fact… what other choice had he?

It’s Only Time

Years had gone by, the two had parted ways, essentially letting go of any anger or pent up frustrations. She had left to see the world, a task that had originally been left up for him. In her absence he did what he could to make it through each day. After several years it did begin to get easier, but there was an undeniable connection the two had shared, no matter how brief of a period they had together.

By no means was he failure, he had just gotten so off track with the goals he had originally intended that he created new ones. He opened a climbing shop in a mountain town; luckily it did well by itself because he had never learned anything about climbing. For some reason he had decided to name his shop after her, it made him feel better that way, as if he could someway always be connected.

She came back years later, some random spring day. Walking the streets she once called home, she came across the shop. As she went in she began to see the pictures on the wall, all the kids he had help teach to climb throughout the years adorned the fixtures. She saw him, he was sizing up a few kids for gear when she caught his attention, and a smile.


He slammed the door and headed down the staircases, voices of anger and rage screaming decibels in his head. He had been smacked around too much, fortunately it was always done in the nicest of ways, yet absence of attention could cut as deep as any wound. He begins to make that long walk home, it felt like a goddamn fire eating at him. As painful as it was there was still a sense of liberation.

She made him feel unwanted, he just made sure to repay the favor, and with interest. He continued to replay the argument over and over again; not once did he feel guilty, not once did he feel angry at himself for the cruel and malicious words which spewed out of his mouth bringing her to tears.

He gambled a lot away on this relationship, he had trusted in her completely and she could still never recognize and respect this fact; he was there for her because he wanted to be, and quite frankly she needed it.

Maybe Not

She laid in her bed, the man she had just met lying next to her. She craved that companionship, that innate need and desire to feel wanted. The silhouette from the lamp across the room danced across the walls and with it, created malicious and sinister figures. She looked over her shoulder and grew afraid. She didn’t know him, nor did she care for him, it was a quick and regrettable decision to not go to sleep alone, again. Was it easier to stop the pain with an occasional “john,” she figured “he” was doing it too.

She opened the drawer next to the bed; in it were memories too valuable to just toss out. Pictures from what seemed like a far off place. They were both happy in them… That’s because they were both happy. Each memento of sentimentality cut deep; she tossed them back into the drawer and retreated to the hopeful comfort of her pillow… too bad the man next to her had already stole it away from her, something she knew “he” would never do.

Elephant Gun

The river was flowing steadily and with little noticeable movement. He sat in the boat, the oars resting carelessly at his side; laying back he turned his attention to the sky above. Peering into an overwhelming sense of grandeur looming over, taunting him with an indiscernible beauty; he closed his eyes and took in the sweet breeze; a sense of staggering elation washed over him, he had been so consumed with the trivial matters. But is lost love so trivial?

He had found someone who was completely indelible from his mind and spirit, how would he move pass, should he move pass? Each breath the breeze took blew and echoed through the gaping void which had, up till recently, been filled with an inequitable sense of hope and atonement. He had always been so fixated on the notion of contentment; alas he had to watch it slip away again. It was likely for this reason he had been agonizing over this situation so thoroughly.

He wished to wake up, to open his eyes and realize it all to be a heinous joke played by an overactive, dark imagination. Solitude and angst were his new companions now.

You’re Talking Too Much

He was cleaning out the relics of a destroyed relationship. His vinyl played melodramatic choruses of relationships loved and lost. He felt as if he could relate with every “epic” ballad. He had wanted the exercise to be cathartic, and cleansing however he continued to grow infuriated as time went on. Every hidden corner had a lost ticket stub, or love note she would intentionally leave him to cheer him up… What a farce.

-“I’ll always love you,” all ended by these seemingly innocent words. If only it was a physical wound that could be treated with a little time and drugs. There was no space that could be filled with the simple application of metaphorical gauges; that’s what the whisky was for. With every bridge to nostalgia he came across he was that much closer to having to buy another bottle.

Act Nice and Gentle

Summer wasn’t a season known in these parts. Aside from the occasional rainstorm the weather had always been ideal, sun out, flowers in perpetual constant bloom, fruit always falling from the trees.

Beth was your quintessential city girl, she has fought to make it out of this town, of by fought, married out was also acceptable. She had left too quickly in a Coupe Deville with a man 15 years her senior; a wily salesman who pitched her freedom that no one else could’ve dared to fathom. He was a developer from the city, and promised her a lavish life that she only could relate to on the Silver Screen.

Cal was the gem of the town; he had a way with words, but only when accompanied by a guitar. He lived several miles out, alone, just he and his two dogs. He made his living selling rocking chairs to sucker tourists.

Beth had always sought Cal, unfortunately her was too oblivious to pick-up on this fact.

Dry the Rain

This is the definition of my life: I lie in bed as the sun rises and breaks through the window blinds. It’s managed to sneak through the clouds that have blanketed this place I’ve called home. I kick and turn trying to find some sense of comfort that has long since fleeted these four walls. Her smell still high in the air, then again that may just be me grasping on to that which is no longer there. The rain begins to come down again; I knew it would only be minutes for the sun to retreat once more.

She hasn’t returned a single message, granted its only been a few days, but it’s a fight to get pass any waking moment. Her clothes still strewn about the floor; the memories of past exploits literally written on the walls.

There’s something inside that I want to say, saying it out loud won’t make it ok, but knowing that I’ve been here before, I believe that I’ll be alright, I’ll be ok.

Childhood of Playful Heart

The summer had brought a new sense of life to them. It had been what they anticipated ever so patiently. The way things were going they were surely heading towards a violent twist, but having the warm summer to caress them, to care for them, they realized the beauty in what was around them, which ultimately included each other.

Grace: Is there where you want to be?
Steve: What do you mean?
Grace: I mean given the opportunity to be anywhere, with anyone, would you still choose here… now.
Steve: How can you ask me that?
Grace: Well we’ve had our rocky points, and I guess I wouldn’t be too surprised…
Steve: Too surprised if what? If I wanted to be with someone else? Darlin, there’s a reason I’m here, that I’m always here. It’s because I want to be, there’s no other way to say it.
Grace: Even after everything?
Steve: After everything, I want to be here even more.
Grace: Some would call you a fool.
Steve: Only to my own follies.
Grace: I’ve never been referred to as a “follie” before.

He stops to look at her. It was these responses that he seemed to live for. These were the moments that drove him mad for her. The innocence in wanting to know where she stood, in wanting to know why, after everything, he would still be next to her. It was never a question in his mind, he woke up with her on his mind, and if she was right next to him, she was the last thing he thought of before he went to sleep. Maybe it was unhealthy to have such an undying devotion for someone at such a young age, to believe everything will be alright, but that’s what he loved in himself, and that’s what she loved in him.

Help Me

That cold walk began to change quickly. The sun started to break over the edge of the bay, slowly gleaming through the buildings that blocked it out like overbearing sentries. His disgust and anguish quickly turned to anger. This was yet another call out for attention, but how much more attention could he give her? She had told him to go. To find someone else and as soon as he did she would begin these overtly dramatic acts all over again. He had fallen for it too many times before; he would come in, find the bottle of pills half spilled over on her bed stand table… She’s just there mumbling her apology for the state of affairs; however he couldn’t decipher if it was for the failed attempt, or the pain she’s put him through.

She lied to him, or at least the next big thing. She had taught him that omission of the full story was just as good as a lie; it was a game they had both became experts in. This was the unfortunate state that should really be apologized for.

He had always gone over, hoping, damn near praying, for some reversion back to the relationship they had. There was never any other reason why he would continue to go back to her. It was his own stupidity, and ideals that prolonged his faith in humanity, more specifically her. He wanted to believe so strongly in her potential to change, to grow pass these cries, but there wasn’t enough time or reason that he could a lot her for this to become a reality. She was out of her mind; her reality had shifted to something tragically untrue.

The First Song

The windows were rolled down, and the sun was setting in the rearview mirror. Sunsets in the dessert were something exceptionally impressive. It feels as if you’re on a different planet completely. The colors saturate the sky with contrast that is often left out in a night-line cityscape. The air was warm as it billowed through the gaping absence left by the rolled down windows the two had been driving for a several hours, looking for a campsite that had to exist, but at this point they had lost all concern for that. They were content living in the moment with one another. He went to turn the stereo up louder; she went to reach for his hand... He looked as her tiny fingers wrapped around his paw, making a fluttering feeling inside.

There was a sense of security and warmth in this moment. He was safe, and so was she. It was something that they could do for each other, something that no one else was able to do for them before. She turned the radio up louder and began to sing along with the words that echoed from the speakers in the car. He couldn’t help but turn and watch. A smile as big as any he’s ever had stretched wide across his face.

The moon began to break above the horizon, centered perfectly along the road they were driving, it was a surreal moment taken right out of some epic maritime voyage. They sailed in a dessert sea, the aroma of sage and honey, seemed to be everywhere they went. Everything about the moment was sweet, everything about that moment was something that could only be found in a Monet, yet here they were sharing it together.

Split Screen Sadness

She began to leave his house, the silence that had fallen between them was deafening, and it was too much for either of them to stand. She found her only assurance in escaping the situation; he fell to his side and wished for the moment to pass.

She scurried down the stairs trying to fight back the tears that felt as if they were about to come pour over from her eyes, he fought the urge to tear a hole in every wall he could see. How could he let her go? How could he let her walk out the door without letting her know how he really felt? He had told her how upset he was, how he felt abandoned, neglected, but he also felt her love, her care her compassion; these were things that he knew weren’t easily found. He looked out his window, she had already made her way to her car; it was taking an unusually long time for her to get her keys out.

He had a few choices, he could call out the window for her to wait, he could climb the roof and jump that short ten feet down, or he could bolt down the stairs, and hope to head her off before she left. Of course he opted for the safest option.

He took one step on to the roof, and immediately began to question his decision. He rushed to the edge, took a breath, and let himself slip down. He fell to the pavement below, not registering the pain his ankles had to endure; rushing to the door he opened it, slowly, cautiously.

-I call just to feel you on the other line... I wait for your argument and words because you’re the only one I want to ever fight with. I love you, and I know two wrongs don’t make a right, but maybe... Maybe this time it could be ok.

Nurses Float Pass

The record store was small, cramped, but somehow it had gotten a reputation which drove its business. People from all around the city would flock through the doors hoping to find the best vinyls, and potentially the best knowledge on some of the most unique music never appreciated before. James never hated going to work for these reasons, but we all have those days, those days where everything is twice as much work, even to bat a lash seems strenuous. He was filing a series of records, nothing specifically exceptional, but maybe that’s why it reminded him about Rachael. Her taste in music always left something to be desired.

He was a Stones fan, and well she had always had a thing for Steven Tyler; he somewhat idolized Kurt Cobain and Dave Grohl, she wanted to have Eddie Vetter’s kids. They had never had a natural draw or connection through the sounds that came out of the speakers. He began to thumb through the pop section, a section that had he not worked there he would never had been in, to begin with. He began to wonder to himself, about the time long ago when he himself had fell victim to the cookie cutter sounds of pop, he remembers himself feeling miserable... Was he miserable because he listened to pop, or did pop make him miserable? It’s the proverbial “chicken or the egg,” question all over again.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Days Are Trivial

They sat there on the porch, Clark, head between knees trying to exterminate that last of the alcohol in his system. The other still in a state of unequivocal melancholy.

He saw her when he walked in, and he was relieved to not feel at all. Its an odd state when numbness is more welcoming. It feels like only seconds when he wanted to feel something. But the pain was to engulfing, there was no escape. Hiding in a dark room led to no answers, filling his days with company of friends or strangers left a larger void. The numbness was a welcomed feeling.

She sat next to him, trying to be a friend, but that had the opposite effect. It hurt, it cut deep. He still had no understanding as to why, as to how it could change so drastically. Regrettably it was made clear to him. His fascination of having any chance quickly diminished.

He began to realize how unfortunate his mood effected those around him. He just wanted a channel, someone to talk to, she left, so who'd he have?

Unequivocal Melancholy

Have you ever felt alone in a crowded room? An ocean of faces, unintelligible arms and legs moving about. There's a familial connection whilst maintaining an odd disconnect. Conversations occur all around, there's a constant search for that which connects us, but it's the same words regurgitated time and time again.

Where's the excitement? Where's the spontaneity? It shouldn't be forced, yet in its purest essence it's a glorious fortune which one falls into. I'm falling down, deeper and deeper, waiting for that unknown, but at the same time it feels like something I want to venture for.

Friday, June 5, 2009

I Get A Kick Out Of You

The needle runs over the vinyl ever so carelessly. A myriad of sound rings out, the notes, the melody it drives the love of the two.

He grabs her by the small of her back and goes to bring her closer. Straining to kiss the nape of her neck she pulls away every so coyly, however he's persistent. He rubs his fingers all along the sides of her body, sending with it a deluge of euphoria she had never experienced. She shutters, and pulls away, only relinquishing her hand to him, and a lone smile.

This was one of those moments, whether they were in each others arms a day from now, a week from now, a hundred years from now, they would never be far from that moment evocative of all that was purity and innocence.

The Prayer

Time is beyond an objective point of view at this exigency. She can't tell the difference between hours, or days. She lays on her bed caressing the soft silk of her covers, retracing the patterns that her lover's body made. This had become her favorite pass time; she recognized the danger in not breaking from this mindset, but she hadn't cared.

His smell still lives deep within the threads which bind together so intimately... Intimacy, it was an abandoned thought at this point. She closed her eyes tight. As if a sudden warmth came over her, she hears this voice whisper to her ever so sweetly.

"With grace, and dancing feet, you can out shine the moon."

This was a drastic change of thought. It was revitalizing, it was hopeful... Hope. She hadn't recognized this aspect of humanity for quite some time. But is it right? Is it so wrong, to crave that sense of exaltation, to feel like something more than second-best?

She was convinced, she repeated it to herself, "you can out shine the moon."

Entry 2: Takk Small Time Shot Away

There's always an anticipation. A build up. To the next moment, the next event. Need to settle a bit, need to let what happens, happen.

Talking to people is a very surreal adventure sometimes. I don't know if it's a sign of maturity, or some odd sense of vanity. Passing along advice still seems like something I shouldn't be necessarily doing.

Entry 1: Paolo Mojo - La Ritournelle

An ambiance of sound and movements dance in the peripherals, a euphoria that can only be kept at bay by a smile. There's an odd anxiety and build-up with every word, as if the next carries with it more importance than it's predecessor.

That's not anyway to live, that's just simply too much pressure.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Richest Man In Babylon

He sat in a cliche bar overlooking the ebbing tides. Only in his dreams had he ever fantasized about being on an exotic beach like this, money, power, he had it all. But at what cost? He had a mansion off the cliff, it was larger than the state's capitol building, but he was the only one to call it home.

His life now is just a blur, and his life fom long ago seems like stories which have been lost in translation. He had loved, and he had lost, over and over again. He lived a prideful life, he didn't know why or with whom, but he was always competing, always trying to prove himself better than everyone else.

He had only been with her for a few months, and that was a lifetime ago, but the pain of that still clung with him. He'd heard whispers of her, she was a mother of three married in some suburb... happy.

He would trade it all in just for her, he always had and always will.

You'll Have Time

They were separated by inches, but it had begun to feel like miles. He longed to go back to that that familiar feeling, he prayed desperately for her to feel the same way and reach for his hand... alas no such luck.

The realization of a complacent lonely solitude fell over him. There was going to be time. She's so enticing with no need for actual effort.

-She has my number, and she knows exactly how to read me. I can see it in her eyes, there's something there but I've done all I can do to pull it out any further. Oh just a bit further.

His thoughts had consumed him, they would not fleet at any instance, it was a shameful misfortune.

Company Calls

Anika wakes up from a mid-morning nap; she rolls over and sees that it's half pass eleven. The pressures and responsibilities of her world came flooding, pushing at the forefront of her mind--her list of "to do's," and miscellaneous errands. She fights back that feeling of sadness which seems to be consuming her being now. It's too lovely a day and she yearns to go and frolic in the park, just as a young sprite would do.

A young sprite? Who is she kidding, this isn't a fairytale. There's no mystical wooded area, she's a city girl, but the sun streaming through the shades is still very enticing and captivating.

What Do You Go Home To

It was going on to the 27th hour of straight driving, his eyes were getting heavier, she was sitting in the seat right next to him, growing restless with every second. The clouds opened up and the rain came falling, torrential wasn't enough to describe it. The tires tread worn down practically to the rim, he should've pulled over hours ago but he was on a mission. Who knew if they were going to make it in time. David was growing weak each minute, they had to make it. There had never been a point in history where time was of the essence to them.

The interstate was dark, they hadn't seen another car in hours, were they even on the road anymore? Her restlessness had begun to grow into fury, she begged him to pull over so she could drive. He insisted he had it under control, yet reluctantly he pulled off the road.

Frustrations flared and he got out of the car. He just needed a break, he needed a change, fresh air would do him some good. They had an exchange of words, and she sped off, leaving him there.

The Piece

Grace and Steve sat out on the trampoline; it was warm out with a cool breeze bringing in that sweet summer smell. They stared up at the stary sky watching the firefly's enact a beautiful ballet. Steve reached over for Grace's hand and clasped it so tight, she turned to him and smiled. They turned their eyes back to the sky.

Steve sat there feeling a sense of contentment that felt so elusive for so long. What he imagined, had never lived up to this.

Walking Down The Stairs (Liar)

Mike slams through the bottom floor door; the sky's grey, the sun's hanging low, and there's a gloom that rests over the cityscape. He flips up the lapelle's on his jacket, trying to catch a little warmth, he lets out a cold exhale, and thrusts his hands into his pocket.

All he could think of was her limp body laying across the bed, dead to the world, dead to him... dead in general. It pained him to see her like that every time. He couldn't think about it, he just couldn't -- he shook his head. No luck. He did it again... there was just no use, anytime he closed his eyes her image was ingrained on his eyelids.

Into The Galaxy

It was Vick's 9:30 class, it just so happened to be a Wednesday. He loathed every morning; going to it meant leaving a warm bed and the body next to him. He would walk down the stairs and start the pot for his coffee, meander over to the sofa and take that extra 5 minutes to zone out. He'd slam his drink as he read the news and hurry into his clothes. He'd toss the ipod on and biked to class.

The journey wasn't long, only about a song's length, often there was some discontent with its briefness. He slid into the bike racks as he skidded over the melting ice -- an inaudible mumble is all that left his lips, as he hit the frame next to him. He locked his bike up, rubbing his bruised thigh and trudged into his class.

He took his seat up front, not that it would matter in a lecture hall of 400. It was his morning Religions class, and they were beginning Christianity, it just so happened to be Ash Wednesday. Vick had never spoke much in class, one's voice in a sea of faces seemed redundant; he'd pay attention, but often times he would just write and listen to his music... On this of all days his professor began to speak with such ignorance, that a quiet studious individual such as Vick, couldn't take it anymore.

Evil Ways

Clark had always been bullied, from kindergarten to high school. He was quite frankly the communal punching bag, a role he played to his fullest, and shockingly with very little complaint. I never really saw much anger or pain in him, and though it never felt like we were incredibly close we were all each other had.

We sat in front of the school every morning, we didn't want to be late, what can I say? Never prone to making eye contact let alone any other communicative out-reach we would sit there condescendingly speaking on Voltaire and Kafka, childish interpretations of literature I know even less about.

Your Bruise

The streets were crowded, and the rain was falling down in biblical proportions. Cal trekked 42nd, no umbrella, no jacket; just the veil of discomfort and regret covering him. Blood trickled from his brow and warmed his cheek as it made it's way down. His body, sore, battered and bruised.

-You bum!

A man yelled out as he ran into Cal. This didn't really effect him, not anymore. The bum looked how Cal always felt, a beaten piece of shit, garbage that could be tossed aside, and forgotten. At the same time it was freeing. He could now be able to act as he felt. Never in his wildest dreams did "get your ass kicked," equal positive life-change. Well sometimes we just need to get sense beaten into us.

American Mary

She looks out over the field of corn, the sun dances and shimmers in a brilliant pool of gold. She grabs the window looking out, holding the edges as tight as she can, his voice still ringing in her ears... the thought brings tears to her eyes, and she begins to choke up. It had been months since they had danced in the broken light, it had felt like years since she been held; his smell still hung in the air.

Chuck was a kind man, a friendly man, refused to do anything but live and love. He was a young man, late twenties. The two had been engaged for two years, and was only months away from tying the knot. He loved Mary there was never a question of that, he had always lover her and the day he died would be a testament to that feat.


And with a breath Ezra's world changes... The walls disappear behind, diverging into a whirlwind of colors. His eyes widen to take in the scene; a bottomless feeling consumes his senses. He's hooked, he's out of control and he's loving the uninhibited freedom. The exhilaration of an adrenaline pumping synthetic existence. Falling deeper and deeper into the void he looks around for some semblance of reality to bring him back... Sarah. Standing next to him, an innocent bystander found in the cross hairs of an over consumed soul. Grasping at her hands hoping for her to respond back he pulls her deeper down.

The two of them travel further and further into a scene of colors a world of ecstasy. A flood of warmth washes over their bodies; they collapse into each others arms. Holding within their grasp their temporal lover, a euphoric magic.

Love In The Ruins

I apologize for the video, but it's the only way I could get the song...

He leaves her house, defeated, beaten, broken down. Like a child he throws his hands into his jacket and hides behind the lapel's. The walk to his car couldn't have felt any longer, he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't be watching, but he couldn't shake the thought that there were eyes on him somewhere, hell it could've been some deity finding amusment in the circumstances.

How can he deny the feelings that have changed him so drastically, the light that has been let in and felt like it was quickly burning out? Defying in essence innate senses, and prescribed emotion; it's a hard pill to swallow. Years of work, a future dissolved, all within a few short words. He reaches the door of his car, shaking from head to toe, he manages to get the key in the door.

He begins to drive off, grasping the wheel with all force. Bare-knuckled and white fisted he lets out a loud cry. It's over and he knows it. As the realization eats his hope of any possibility, he realizes he'll rise from his ruined love.

Calendar Remix

A silence falls between them. Each one standing on edge waiting for a response. Minutes pass, feeling like days to each. He reaches to brush the hair from her brow, she turns her head away--forcing him to pull his hand back. At his defeat he stands, puts on his scarf and jacket; he slowly reaches for the door quietly hoping to hear one last plea from her. She turns to her side, his heart jumps... but it's for nothing. She gathers herself and steps out of the room, leaving him with a deafening silence, as he walks out.

She sits at the edge of her bed, afraid to look over her shoulder in fear of catching his glare from the pictures fixed on the wall behind her.

Each day after, she seems to fall deeper and deeper into a consuming darkness. Second guesses and "what-if's" plague her thoughts, as they're the last company she has.

The Land Beyond

He's driving down the interstate, an unknown stretch of road that has a familial sense to it. Still shook up from the exchange of words, he's determined on leaving and never coming back.

-There's a simple loss of faith... It's a lost cause, we're a lost cause and there's hardly anything which would keep us together. There's no tragedy in its end, merely in prolonging this feeling any further.

Perfect Crime

His body falls limp, a cold look is engraved in his eyes; his lips pursed as if trying to call for help, but the only sound made is the "thud" as his body falls limp on the ground.

BANG!!! Another shot rings out. Gunshots fired off by the bay as the work whistle blows, letting off the lowly night shift. The deafening cry of the whistle is loud enough to cover up the sounds of the gunfire, both send subtle waves through the harbor. The ambient glow of the city lights dance off the rain cascading around the pier. This time of year there was hardly any work that could be found, but the shipping season had been unusually strong this year.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Our Life Is Not a Movie, Or Maybe

James gets up dusting off his clothes. He checks his face feeling where Evelyn just slapped. It's a shock bringing with it a cold rush of realization. He's been her whipping boy for long enough. He's as flawed as she, but not in his wildest fantasies could he think to physically show that. The thought had never dawned on him and even in this particular moment it's still a thought absent. One action is all it took, one brash moment of over-amped anger to cancel out any remaining good faith. He should be upset, he should be angry, but all there is, is just disappointment.

James: You wanna know the truth?
Evelyn: Can you bring yourself to fulfill a statement like that?

James looks at her, his eyes fixed on her; she may of just hit him, but he doesn't work like that not here, not now... never with her. He goes off and tells her, how she's suffocated his spirit; it's tossed to the side forgotten and abandoned by her own selfish and manipulative motives. Each word cutting deeper than the last.

James: Our lives have become a bad movie, and though I've felt this coming, I thought it would change for the better. It's clear now you're a joke with no punchline, there's no salvation for your character, until you can get pass your skeletons.

How it Ends

Throughout you can hear the shriek and pierce of Joan's cries ring louder and louder.

Ezra: Joan, hold on tight! (He grabs her and brings her closer into his chest, the two leave the room.)

As Ezra runs with Joan in his arms, her grasping for dear life; all that can be seen is the violent flight of bullets grazing by their bodies. Each bullet flies pass and hits the wall creating tiny holes, light begins to squeeze through these spots. Ezra reaches a solid old desk, fortified like a tank, he kicks it over and jumps with Joan dancing over the bodies of the fallen to the other side.

Ezra: Ok darlin, you'll be safe here. (He smiles at her as the desk begins to take fire. Flinching only slightly, his face begins to go from a caring smile, to a stoic look. ) Don't move for anything, ok?!?

Joan blankly stares at him, she's left in a state of shock, she can't respond. Another bullet hits the desk on the other side.

Ezra: OK!?!?

Joan looks up at him waking up a little, and she nods her head.

Ezra stands up, bullets still flying by, but they all miss him. He relaxes his shoulder back, dropping his heavy coat to the ground. He's carrying two holsters at his side, and two shotgun straps on his back; he has knives strapped to his boots running up his leg. He raises his hands to the gun holders at his side, and reaches for his sidearms. He pulls them out of the holster and holds them, aimed at his flanks. He looks down at Joan, she's clenching her bear as tight, as tight can be, Ezra smiles and lets out a roar unheard by anyone before.


I can't sleep when I think about the times that I'm living in... I can't sleep when I think about the future I was born into; we walk through our daily routines with blinders on, going through the causalities and prescribed niceties, that consume our lives. And for what? I don't like you anymore than you like me... It's ok, I know the truth, as should you. Civility is not anything organized within the human spirit, it's a facade that we subscribe too, shamelessly hanging on to an antiquated notion that has no more real world basis than the easter bunny.