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.