Spitting Venom

I've been using this blog for the better part of the last year, as a forum to say what I wanted to but through the eyes of created characters. Yes, it's evident that there's a continued running theme of loss, despair, desperation, and feelings of the sort... I won't begin to deny that, and on the whole it's been somewhat therapeutic, but rarely do I address things directly, maybe all of three separate occasions, and in my own right I've rationalized, that I haven't needed too, that everything I need to address can be done so through the eyes of whichever character I create, or whichever non-fiction persona I decide to dawn on every given day.

I felt it prudent to finally address things directly, if nothing but in this single message alone, and maybe then I may begin to see some improvement. I'm not alright, I'm not okay; and though I want to be, and though I fight to be, there's a constant dissent into deeper and deeper pits of my own internal torment. I was once told by someone who was close to me, that I don't need to be upset or depressed to make art, in which I quickly recanted (after some optimistic bullshitting,) that I do—this is my way, this is my right. I have an unfortunate connection in creating from the burning ruble that is/was my optimistic hopeful spirit. I speak on hope as if I have any. I don’t know if I do, I want to feel like I do so as not to seem completely despondent to the world that often wished to accept as one of its own; but I don’t want to be a part of the world outside of my own. If I did, why would I go through the trouble of creating my own?

Am I emotionally unstable? Or am I normal? This is the constant conflict I come across. In one moment I can be perfectly fine with who I am, where I’m at, and this isn’t even in the midst of being with the one I want to be with, this has happen devoid of her. I know I can stand on my own two, and be relatively stable, it has happened before. But I wake up, often enthusiastic with the prospects of the day, with the people I may see, formulating a plan of interaction, and it soon leads to a somber state because I know what I’m missing out on. As much as it pains me, I’ll remedy this with drinking away the parts of the day I cannot sleep away. I would rather stay in bed, with the covers over my head, and I now know that’s not an awful thing to say, but I do recognize the cowardice in such an action, and as such I do my best so as not to perpetuate these possibilities. I do my best to try and take-on the challenges that befall me, and prove to myself, (because I could give a fuck about others perception) that I am strong enough to battle all my inner demons on a daily basis.

I’ve realized and understood for some time now that I have this story that follows me, as we all do, but mine is one which seems to arrive far sooner than I do, and with that there’s this notion that people know who I am, they feel like they know what I’m about, and this couldn’t be further from the truth. How could they know when I’m still trying to figure that out? And I will be conceited and arrogant to the point in saying, I can tell you what you can’t figure out about yourself, but I know with almost absolute certainty that you won’t be able to come close in doing the same for myself. How can I be so certain about a statement like this? Well it’s simple, I understand the illusions of the world, and that with the amount of self-reflective thinking I consistently do, I’ve never met anyone else of my few years to have done the same; in doing this I’ve been able to find the answers to the common problems, but as I’m not common these problems often do not suit me, as they would suit you. In this sense I’ll admit that I’m vain and narcissistic, but I do this only by evidence through a multitude of situations that have done nothing but reinforce this thought. I’m not claiming to be that genius generations will study years from now, nor am I claiming to be better than any other person; however what I am claiming is that I’ve arrived at certain inalienable truths that take decades and decades of discovery to understand, and I’ve only endure the two.

If given the ability to let you live through my own eyes for even a several hours you would be able to understand that there is much validity in my claims. I suppose it’s time to cease my self-empowering rant… then again no one has really put much weight into my thoughts, so I assume this will be one of the many messages that goes unnoticed, except to myself.

Shit Luck

My heart has definitely begun to dry up...

Little Motel

I know I haven’t seen you in years, and I know the last time I had it wasn’t on the best terms… all I can say now is that I hope your happy in your own personal hell.

I had nothing but the utmost faith in you, nothing but kindness and consideration in the deepest pits of my heart, but constantly you would threw these feelings back at me—calling me naive, foolish, and too hopeful. If there’s anything I ever been its hopeful, and it’s understandable that this isn’t always the most attractive quality in a person. Often times it leads to unrealistic delusions of grandeur, but there needs to be someone that holds steadily to those feelings, otherwise we’re both sinking ships passing in the night.

I know that you have it in you to be something so much more, something stronger; but I also know the amount of effort and painstaking work that is involved in order to ensure this self-reality. It doesn’t mean that it’s a thought that should be dismissed with a casual scoff. You’ve said that I never knew you and that even more so I wouldn’t know you now, but that’s a claim only you can hold on to. You’re not as deep a person as you would hope. Your feelings are worn clearly on your sleeves, and your emotions are strewn about the memories we once held dearly onto, everything was clear and everything was easy to read.

I know you live deep within a state of sorrow; I can recognize this much as I have constantly been fighting to get out of mine. Birds of feather, not only flock together, but we can also see the worlds of one another. I’ve never been difficult to understand, my intentions were always things you could read, if not been told—this hasn’t made life easier, but at the very least I’ve hoped its been made at least a little more understandable.

Mouthful of Diamonds

“Wake up,” she said… I found myself hunched over the bed, half dead as she would claim. Everything had spiraled out of control by this point, I lost all focus and now I was living the junkies dream… nightmare was more like it. Everything I ever wanted was well within my position to attain, but what I craved was something that couldn’t be bought at any store, it wasn’t anything that any regular person could have; you had to fight for it, and when you finally were fortunate to get your fingers close enough, there was no turning back. I wanted power, I wanted respect.

The power was easy, and the respect… well that was easy at first, however both were done thanks to the power of fear, and fear alone. I had become bigger than I ever imagined unfortunately this left as a perfect target for more than one type of person. I walked around every day with a bullseye on the back of my head, practically begging to be taken out by the next punk that thought he knew what he was doing, or hell even the heat that would’ve loved to permanently solve their problem. I was in a constant state of panic, but I had to stay calm, I had to look cool, I had to be in control otherwise my whole tower would’ve definitely crumbled from beneath my feet.

I buried my nose in my own product; I buried myself like an ostrich trying to hide. How idiotic could I be? The root of my problems seemed like it could also be my salvation—there was no saving me at this point, I was in too deep, and there was no coming out. Well I suppose the plan was always to go down in a blaze of glory.

Pig Food

Winter is a merciless endeavor. Often we feel like we’ve had enough, and in that desire to see the Sun cast its glorious rays down on us once more, like a fickle bitch it teases us. Momentarily for only a day’s time, two at most, it will indeed warm our hearts that have begun to ice over, only to bring forth yet another reminder of who’s actually in charge. The cold breath that we feel on the back of our necks often does one of two things: it either forces us to pull ever so closer for our lover’s embrace, or for the unfortunate many it’ll force us to flip the collars of our lapels and wearily trudge along, yearning for that next moment of warmth. The nights are long, the days are short, too short to even give warmth an opportunity, but I suppose we forget that after all it is indeed winter, and loneliness needs its own time too.

Despite this feeling of loneliness… despite the solitude we’re forced into like captors in the Great War, there’s a hope that is inherent, there is that light at the end of the tunnel. Some recognize it as Spring, but really it’s just the great meltdown. Those hearts that were iced over begin to thaw, and we allow ourselves once more to cling on to hope, no matter how false the feelings may seem to be. With this peek into the realm of brighter possibilities maybe we can find salvage for our character, maybe we can see a reflecting hope within our spirit. If it’s been lost there’s no reason to assume it’ll always remain absent, instead we may assume its eventual return.

The spirit seems to leave just as most things do; it grows weak, tired—it becomes fed up with the same monotonous routines and the same despair that we ourselves cannot singularly claim freedom from. As a friend it rather leave when it things become too uncomfortable so as not to sever the relationship to its host permanently. We must find our way back to that home of sanity, the dwelling of acceptance; we must become satisfied with the stranger in the mirror, and rely on the unknown within to help us get through the unknown “on the out.” Become strong in self, in body, and in mind, to become strong for one another…

…a task I know is much simpler said than done, but one can hope, right?

Skin of the Night

The days had been warm, the only comfort he seemed to be able to find in his current emotional state. She had left, and that was likely for the better, but that didn’t mean it would make the pain any easier to work through; nor did it mean it was anything he was yet willing to accept.

His drives would seem endless, and that was fine with him, he never wanted them to end anyway. No longer was there anywhere he saw himself going, there was no home waiting for him, there was nothing drawing him near, so he sought to find a new reason to wake up in the morning. The time did enough to teach him that he could no longer entrust his overall state of well-being in the hands of another. Though they may help, it’s no one duty but his own to ensure his well-being. Damnnit, if this wasn’t one of the worst feelings he thought through; it was a normal state of existence to put everything he had into another person, and hope for those feelings to be reciprocated. He didn’t know how to exsist otherwise, no longer was he just trying to get back to normal, but instead he was having to figure out how to completely change himself.

The summer air would fill him up, slowly piecing his spirit back bit by bit. Though the days were long they would quickly lead into the night, placing a fear of uncertainty deep inside him. With the night came inevitable rest, and the thoughts which would accompany this rest, did nothing but tear him back down. Every night was another opportunity to revisit the mistakes made, and the beauty that was now absent. Every night was another battle to keep himself sane, so that he may be able to eventually make it through; but it was because of this the night was always deep inside of him, haunting him.

Brainy

There had been a rift in communication… there had been a rift in sanity. The slow downward spiral into a state of despair was assumable, but at least this time there would be some fight against it. He had always followed her around as if clinging to her coattails, afraid to miss a second.

Every moment was a subtle reminder of what happened, it was a stinging memory of how simple it was to force change; unfortunately comfort and pride got in the middle of this unsavory dance, as it normally does. Every picture, every piece of clothing, every breath came with a time that had yielded something more, something that was inherently pure.

The seemingly painful period of silence had left them weak, it left them aching for some classic state of normalcy, a situation that was not only always welcome, but now it was simply craved—each fixing for their share, as if fiending for that drug all over again. No longer did the idea of separation help to suggest how needed it may be, there was no benefit coming from the situation, just perpetual pain. It was an easy fix, but in fixing it, would that be taking the easy way out? It would undoubtedly take just one of them to stick to their guns and try to break the vicious cycle, but as awful as the cycle could feel at times, there was the hope that the connection which was refusing to be severed was somehow much stronger.

Soldier On

He found himself back at the same point he had sought refuge from. All that was golden had begun to rust; the glorious resurgence of love and possibilities was one short lived, but nonetheless it wasn’t anything he would’ve changed. They both held on to some hope that things were going to change, that maybe it wasn’t foolish to believe in those fairytales we were convinced had been nothing more than fables retold to perpetuate a supposed undying spirit.

The realization that maybe love was indeed something less permanent began to creep inside his thoughts. Everything seems to cosmically have its respective “expiration date,” so how could it be the one thing hell-bent on trying to defy the laws of the universe. There wasn’t any philosophy he could develop or subscribe to that was tangible enough to believe in, which spoke of the possible powers which transcend all rules and logic.. but essentially this is what love is supposed to do. To know no boundaries, know no barriers, but only know truth and self. Maybe that’s what goes wrong in trying to understand the sentiment, we neither know truth, nor do we know ourselves, and as such we fall victim to the follies of affection.

Blinded by his desire for her, he was all too ready to give up everything for that opportunity, they scoffed at him when he had said it before, but it was something he always meant. Since he met her all he wanted was constant love and affection…It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t give it back in return… it wasn’t his fault for trying to convince her otherwise…these things happen, and they’re just byproducts of an unnerving learning experience that ultimately is in place to weed out the weak.

Burial

There’s often an eerie sense about behavior in relationships. Often times there’s conflict as annoyances are addressed, but they are hardly ever worked on. Are we to busy to work on the quirks that our partners find to be irritating—does the “go-go” life have us completely consumed? This would be too easy a response. I feel like we’ve grown lazy and tiresome; unless we’re constantly engaged, and as long as that feeling of euphoric elation is reinforced regularly, maybe then, and only then can a relationship survive.

Unfortunately as it seems this hasn’t always been the case. There were centuries, hell millennia, which gave hapless romantics a chance for the potential of undying love. They found their soul-mates, their perfect compliment, but it would be a hell of a lot easier in a world of a few million at most, oppose to the billions we all have to individually sort out now, lest we have an opportunity.

It would be too cynical to take the stance that we can’t all have that “perfect match.” Maybe the thought of “Mr/Mrs. Right,” isn’t about a specific person, but when the “right” person is, “rightfully” developed. When they meet those qualifications you’ve always imagine, and their compromise with reality. When you realize your dream person, wasn’t that man or woman that just got those hormones to convince you to do inappropriate things, however it’s when you realize it was that person that would get your heart pumping and nerves fluttering at the very utterance of reciprocation.

We fight for love, we fight for attention; when we get it, it’s addicting, it’s empowering—in this sense it’s a dangerous drug. What happens when that well dries up? We get broken, and we have to learn to mend ourselves back to some collected state before healthily pursuing on with our lives. Say it happens again? Often more damaging than the first, we still must pick ourselves up and carry on. And yet it persists? Well at that point when the love has gone, you carry on, and it’s increasingly easier to dust yourself off…by this point there may still have been hope, but at the very least there’s a realistic conclusion already drawn.

Je Suis Le Vent

The snow had begun to cascade the city rooftops, terraces began to dawn an image of overgrown icicles, and those adventurous few willing enough to brave the torture of the elements appeared to be nothing more than walking snowmen. The lights danced off the falling flakes, illuminating the sky with a blanket that appeared to be a million falling stars—nature’s way of making up for the one’s that couldn’t be seen through the thick clouds. The cold began to beat down at the windows, at the doors, at the walls, at the sanity of its victims; like a thrown out guest that was fighting to get back in, it too was craving acknowledgment of its existence.

Coming out of nowhere the storm took over the city, engulfing the inhabitants, with them their hopes, their dreams, their fears, their worries—unifying everyone in a state of solitude and loneliness. Was it too much to ask for recognition? Was it too much to see the grandeur of the situation? Like a small child yelling for attention, the wind, the clouds, the nighttime in its solitude was now crying out. The attention it yearned for so desperately was finally being given, and though it would only be a moments time, it did empower the ferocity. Instead of being loved, it was content in settling for just being noticed, recognition did enough to fill the void and pain of being forgotten and ignored. To it, something will always be better than nothing.

You Are My Scar

Time had passed, and though the pain became easier to deal with there was still something missing within him. He couldn’t shake her from his thoughts, she was always right at the forefront; and though he knew better by this point, it was an innate reaction that he seemed to have lost all control over. Every passing day, he would lose a little more hope, and with that slide closer to an approved state of normalcy; but it didn’t change anything, he still waited… He waited for that night, when she would call him, and he would know, that it would be ok, and in her voice he would find warmth and comfort once—he would find that home he fought so hard for. Was it in the stars though? Was he just feeding in to a maddening fantasy?

There was no desire to meet anyone else, he grew content with each amount of hope that would dissipate, that he was better off alone, than with anyone other than her. What a sad and foolish thought. Reserved to the feelings and thoughts of a golden yester-year there was no actualization of this love ever to come, a fact he wasn’t blind to, but rather one he wasn’t willing to fully accept. It had always been his role to guide others through these types of ordeals, and there was the eventuality that things did indeed get better, but he could see major differences between the situations; never had he known others to love and care for another person as much as he did for her. Though this made the situation somewhat different, it was his crutch he relied on; with its aid he was able to hold on to a fleeting thought that would never come to fruition.

She loved him, but that loved had changed. She sought refuge in the comfort of other men, but still for whatever reason relied on his support and care, a selfish act. Was it out of genuine concern, or had she just felt guilty enough to play this much into his emotions?

Infinity

He had been away for years, off to find himself in some land that he had hope to find answers, some peace, some… something. She had left him long before, and maybe that was the catalyst into pushing him into becoming a vagabond, but it wasn’t anything he would ever admit too. It was his time to leave, just as she realized.

Their lives had grown into two very separate paths. The family he always wanted, the home, they were a far off thought now. He lived in the moment fully, and that wasn’t a life you could cultivate a family around. Going from city to city, each one coming with its own distinct love and allure, the travel was his home, and the cities were the family... Yet he couldn’t shake the memory of her warmth, her love her temptress ways.

She left to learn what it was like to be what she always wanted. Career set, and goal oriented, she always had a plan something that she could always follow. He was never in that plan, nor was any other man for that matter; plans have a funny way of changing all too often. She now found her self, married, and settled down. She had the life he always dreamt of, and now he had hers.

They would often think of that time they shared, and through whatever connection it would never dissipate. There would always be that passion, there would always be that carnal desire, and because of that they could never give themselves to any other, as they once had to each other.

It’s Ok

The night was steady… the wind was stiff, and the harbor was resting easily; there were no ships sailing in. They sat at the edge of the pier staring out to the water break against the rocks below; it shimmered in the moon, lighting up the view like sparks fading into a dark empty void. His hand began to creep closely to hers… she pulled away. The wind would peak out every so often making them both shiver; she would go to grab for his embrace, but he would pull away. They fought for each other, yet at the same time they never wanted to get close.

They just sat there, staring absently into the dark blanket that seemed to encompass their world; they were brought together by a simple loneliness, this was no way to live. It was too hard not to be together, but it was too hard to sit next to one another—there was nothing to talk about, they never had anything to talk about. Their relationship could be reduced to nothing more than a few solemn moments of physical bliss, and the occasional embrace that they could find comfort in. They had fooled themselves into believing this to be something of substance; unfortunately it was a mere farce, that neither of them could come to accept. It was easier to live in the ignorance, instead to deal with their own inner demons alone.

She turned to him, trying to draw his attention, instead all she could see was his empty eyes staring out—what was it that he was thinking? Was he thinking about her? If so, why couldn’t he ever address it, why couldn’t he ever make her feel wanted, loved? Didn’t she deserve it? She shrugged it off, and assume that whatever it was, she wasn’t good enough to know, and that was a fault of her own, she had built him up in her mind to be someone truly exceptional… All she could do would be turn her attention back, and try to find solace in her own world.

A few moments passed, and he turned to her… He wanted to reach out, he wanted to console her. He could feel her pain, her frustration, mainly because he had the same feeling. All he wanted to do was to hold her, and tell her that it would be ok, that he loved her—that’s all he ever wanted to do. He could see the light of the moon gleaming through the clouds that seemed to rest as a halo above her head, she looked so beautiful sitting there next to him, and next to him he felt safe. He could never understand why she wouldn’t touch him anymore, how he became so repulsive to her. Her affection for him seemed to have fade with some far away sunset, that they had both forgot… His mind was consumed with thoughts of what he may have done to have lost that attention. The thoughts would quickly shift to trying and figure out how he was lucky to receive it in the first place. Could he ever get it back? He reserved himself to the way things now were, because that’s how they were going to stay, and any different could mean that she would no longer be next to him, and if it was this or nothing, he’d rather this.

So the two sat, in silence—both wanting to hold the other, but being too afraid to. Their love and desire for one another couldn’t be enough to bring them together, in actuality it’s what was driving them apart.

Clover

Within himself he begins the process…
If every action has a reaction, why couldn’t I get hers? I stare the night sky down in an attempt to find a place in its endless blanket… For those moments of complete insignificance there’s a freedom, a freedom to let everything go, and fall in line with the movements of the world around. There’s little explanation or understanding as to how this situation seems to stay ever so present within my thoughts; when does it just naturally fade away?

No amount of pleasure had subdued the pain; it’s almost comical how powerful the mind can be. Despite any effort to sway or push differing thoughts, if it’s against the consciousness’ will, then it surely won’t happen. Is this supposed to be taken as a sign?

Nothing is as special as this… deconstruction of thought is too powerful a process to ignore. In trying to understand the inability to sway thoughts that torment, it’s easier to pinpoint and focus in on the defects which cause them to arise originally.

If I’m dreaming of you, and you’re dreaming me why don’t we choose a different story…? I guess because not everything’s supposed to end the way we envision. It’s the world’s way of reclaiming control and claiming its dominance over us. Uncertainty and chaos in action reign supreme, the sooner we understand that, the sooner we can find beauty in the breakdown. In reality it the thought progresses as I may want you, but you don’t want me, so why wouldn’t it be better to leave?

Too Warm to be Chilly

There was love inside the basement, with an open door he let it go. For an ego as large as his to be brought back to some state of equivalency was earth-shattering. He had been given this aura which didn’t suit him. Others perceived a person that wasn’t him. From how he lived, to how he spoke, there was some vague sense of certainty about his actions… He had never acted in certainty, he always saw it as reacting to circumstance; suppose his natural ability in handling life’s situations was just more innate for someone of his few years.

The life he had envisioned as a child had long since passed, as it does… It’s a natural discourse of human development to forgo those ideals of the quintessential life. Had he only lived in seclusion maybe he could’ve forged a destiny less tainted from self-destruction, alas this is a fools dream, or rather an idealist’s nightmare. It had taken him too long to figure out the things in life which were important. Often carelessness and pride would get in his way, acting as a detour from any progressive path. Too much time and effort had been invested into fields of unimportance.

He had grown with the seasons, cold and despondent. The relics of yesterday did little but stir mixed emotions, none of them with a recollection of anything worth cherishing. His life had become a monotonous routine, each day blending seamlessly with the last. He lived in his own personal hell, the only saving grace were the few memories that took control of his thoughts. Those eyes, that smile, her voice… all of it was constantly at the forefront of his mind. He wanted to let go, and felt he had time and time again, this was something new; this pain, the longing, all of it was a new feeling. His inability to recognize it just drove him madder.

I Was Meant for the Stage

Michael sat in his room, it was bare hardly a shred of personality could be seen on the walls. There was a diploma hung up over the door, a remembrance of his success presumably every time he would leave his room. Sitting next to him was faded maple guitar; it had definitely been a faithful instrument, based on its appearance alone.

He fiddled with the heads trying to tighten the strings to the perfect pitch, a process he had mastered over years of practice. He put the strap on, and stood up. In that instance he was transported instantly. Standing in a capacity filled coliseum, the lights shining down on him, the fans consumed with anticipation. This was his home, this is where he belonged, this is where he was fated to be and he always knew it.

With each strum of his guitar, with each chorus he would sing out, a surge of adrenaline incomparable to anything in the known universe would flood through every last part of him. He would stand center stage, and in that moment everything felt perfect, any malice that existed in his life were immediately forgiven.

Melodies and accompaniments of strings, and horns, and drums would all be the background to his ballads of love and angst, of desperation, and hope; they would be his truest reflections. If we all have one purpose in life his was certainly meant for the stage.

My Night with the Prostitute from Marseilles

“I want you to take me, I want you to feel me, I want you to do everything you ever wanted to me,” she said as she craned to look at me from behind. I was lost in the moment, it was seductive, it was powerful, it was passionate.

“I want to feel you… Never stop, never let go.”

It began like this… it was one of those times in life where anything seemed possible. Here I was hand in hand with an angel, whom I had known for only a few short minutes, but had she asked I would’ve done anything for her. There was a sense of adventure that was so foreign to me, a true feeling of wild inhibitions. I wanted everything that she could give me, I wanted a taste of the freedom that she lived in, and she didn’t seem to forget that luxury.

We raced down the street as if playing catch with each other, fighting through the crowds, the neon lights highlighting every color in her face… she was beautiful, she was extraordinary. I felt out of my league, as if I was some lucky bastard that was living in a moment that would permanently leave a mark in my conscious, that single second in history that was mine—she seemed as if this was any other night to her, and that’s what I loved. She would grab for my hand and pull me in, grabbing my arms to wrap them around her waist, to hold her tight, she would feign as if to go for a kiss, and then quickly turn and run. The entire thing was a hunt to her, something she took great amusement in doing.

I followed her throughout the night, she letting me sneak a peek of her life; it was odd, sort of glamorous: one that seemed like what rock stars sang out about, but have now moved on from, or that you would see some hoity toity party may be played in a random independent film, where everyone was beautiful, intelligent and worthwhile—yeah it was that world, but real, it felt tangible. She would look at me throughout the evening and whisper in my ear, “this could all be yours.” Obviously she didn’t know me, I would never fit in a world like this, it was beyond me. But every time she would say it, I began to believe her a little more.

We found ourselves watching the sun come up on a park bench, slowly it would break over the rooftops of the buildings which had seemed to initially hold it up on the strength of their iron beams alone. She leaned in again, as she had done so many times throughout the night, I prepared myself for her to turn back once more but—she hesitated. She kissed me with an intensity I had never known. It felt like a tear was rolling down her cheek as she grabbed the back of my head, and pulled my ear closer to her lips, “this could all be yours.”

And now outside I saw her eyes meet the sky, and I believed her then.

Love Dog

The road ends…

He doesn’t know where he is, there’s just a cliff, perched over a canyon he’d never seen before.

The moon hangs low over the mountains on the other side. He breathes the sweet sage in the air… its warm; it fills his lungs up—slowly creeping into every part of him. He looks up the stars… the air continues to fill him up…“HALLEJUAH!” he cries out in a loud howl. He hits the ground hard, falling straight to his knees, his palms digging into the sand around; it’s not a weakness he’s succumbed to, but rather an overpowering sense of liberation that is justifiably too much for him to stand.

He feels a surge flow through him; it was the weight of his world slowly leaving, freeing him. It sends a shiver down to his bones. It’s in this moment he would ever feel the most alive, it’s in this moment he knew he was alive.

Whatever Lola Wants

She sat at the edge of the bar, hardly anyone ever came in on Thursday nights. She convinced the owner to let her have a few hours on stage. She was trying to find her voice; bouncing around from a lounge, to folk acoustic—there was even a week she brought in a DJ set. It didn’t matter what it was, it wasn’t half bad. There were the occasional regulars that enjoyed her, and she began to pick up some enthusiastic passerby’s that had begun to swing by for a song or two at the very least—one in particular, who she had begun to notice and began to notice that she would look forward to see him each week. Unfortunately though this reality of hers, the weekly shows were being threatened of coming to an end, there wasn’t as many people as there needed to be.

Sipping on her cocktail she was mustering up the will to step on stage to an empty room yet again. Was it her? Were people not coming in now because of her? It didn’t really matter anymore, she was hoping on just milking as much out of the situation as she could, hell if nothing else it was a story after all. She twirls the cherries that rested at the bottom, and placed the glass back on the coaster, grabbed her guitar and walked up.

The lights dimmed, and she plugged her guitar I; there was that awkward moment of feedback… not the best way to start. Walking to the piano that sat next to the mic, she turned on a slight beat—grabbed the guitar, and walked up to the mic. It was slow, but it had a strong rythym… it was sexy, in a very provocative way. Looking down to watch her hands work, she gathers a breath and begins playing along.

She looks up… towards him, “Whatever Lola wants… Lola gets…”

The entire bar got up and began to surround the stage.

Expo 86

I rolled the windows down, the streaming stars began to fall into each, hanging like one big lamp flickering before it burns out. This thought brought me back to understanding my place in the world. It hadn’t mattered what the difference between the shooting stars and the satellites may have been, they were both out of reach. The world began to drift off in that moment, none of it mattered.

She sat comfortably in the driving seat. It was oddly empowering to see her there, she’d begun to rely on me for direction, and this wasn’t limited to being behind the wheel. I was the navigator, I had been here before, and though I didn’t think I would make the return trip as quickly as I had, we can’t always plan for these things.

I let my mind drift into another world; I took a breath and began to realize how much I wanted her to be in control. If only for a moment, if only for a day—to her I’d relinquish for as long as I wasn’t overstaying my welcome. Could I overstay my welcome? I feel like if that was ever a legitimate fear, it’s one that would have had created an uncomfortable situation many times over already. Perhaps that’s just who we were with one another; we developed a need for each other. One in which we both required the consent of the other to feel happy.

I wouldn’t have thought that, had she not brought it up time and time again.

Broadripple is Burning

I was wasted, she could taste it… I didn’t want her to look at me that way. I wanted her to leave, I would see her again, when I began to haunt her like a ghost.

If my many words felt like fire to her, it was only in an attempt to warm her cold heart. She had become a shallow resemblance of the joyful person that had brought me here; she immediately regretted coming. For whatever reason she had forgotten why she left to begin with… It was her odd homesickness which drew her back; however that had diminished within days of being home. Her resentment had begun to flood over into my world, one that had been crumbling long before I thought her to be what I waited for.

What is it that I truly wanted? This was an elusive thought, but I suppose my life would be drab at best if I knew what I wanted… even if this wasn’t the case it was the only thing I could come back to that proved to have some sense of comfort associated to it.

I didn’t even think to leave a note, that act of civility would be lost on her anyway. It wouldn’t matter anyhow, if I wasn’t there when she got back no matter what notification I may have forwarded along would still look like cowardice. I didn’t want to wait in fear of her following; but I was now, just as I always had been, going somewhere she could never follow. It wasn’t that I was better than this, better than her… but it was all those things and more. My life’s just casual discrepancies followed by double-speak, it’s complexity I thrive in, however it’s also been my own worst enemy.

The Getaway

The only thing that defines me, is her. Not in that I wouldn’t know who I am bereaved of her presence, however it’s in her eyes that I can see my purpose, I can understand the reasoning for what it is I’m supposed to do. Her words, her care, as long as I can look at myself in the mirror and know that I have some aid in helping her, I can sleep comfortably at night.

Would I be doughty enough to ensure her safety? The entire situation left me bereft of all emotion. Drained completely of trying in general… from trying to be social, to just trying to get out of bed in the morning, none of it made any difference—there was nothing left and I wouldn’t know how to rebuild if I tried. Time has become a formidable foe, as I know it’s no longer on my side; yes young I may be, but I thought I had more time with her, and it’s the unfortunate reality of the situation to see that slowly slipping away, and far from sight.

I have no inclination as to what I’m supposed to do, and that quite frankly is saddening. How is a person able to lose all focus when they are left by only one? It’s not like the world abandoned me, but it might as well have.

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?”
“What?”
“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?”
“No.”
“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.”

Islero

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.”
“No.”
“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.

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.

Zero

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.