Razorblade Romance

Her eyes are hazel. I thought they were blue. I notice this as she picks at the spicy chicken sandwich that the restaurant doesn..t make. She tells me a sad story of heartbreak and sorrow and the person that caused them and then lays her head down into her hands. She says her contacts hurt but I believe otherwise. There..s a visible change in her demeanor when telling the story and she becomes distant. I think this is about where the day shifted. And it all began so promising. We were pirates!

With an excitement of Halloween festivities riding on the waves of light slipping through her blinds the day is started early in hopes of getting to my apartment before the cable guy arrives. This was of utmost importance on the day..s agenda since the previous two schedulings had fallen through and my need for mindless entertainment alone in a dark room was becoming unbearable. I slept awful and was already up well before she had been, just waiting for the right time to give her the wake up nudge. Apparently I was too late because by the time I had woken her up and she had finished getting ready to leave, we were already past the time that the cable guy could show up. Then again, that was a very broad window and how many cable guys show up at the beginning of their window?

This one did. No not really. That would be dramatically convenient if he had though. He could have been waiting at the door and pissed off at us and the world for not being perfect. We could have tried to make the man smile with our extreme costumes and been unsuccessful as the guy made snide remarks about our intelligence level or immaturity. But he didn..t. Nope, he was a pretty nice guy and kept smiling at her shyly as he tried hard to not look at her breasts when we spoke to him. But let..s face it, there was no escaping that with this tight pink wench costume busting at the seams in front of him the alluring presence that was donning it. But at least he was shy about it.

When the cable guy smiled his way out the door and back into his van, we set sail to the world bank to retrieve some booty that she had.. been given. I know, not so pirate-like, but what did you expect? Stolen goods? We aren..t really pirates. You may have guessed so the way we stormed in, opened our pirate map and surveyed the area, but in reality, we..re not pirates. The sword in my cane wasn..t even real. And my bag of gold schillings: just pennies. The people in the bank knew right away and smiled at us and I felt very inadequate, pirate-wise because of their reactions. I decided I would be more serious about my character in the next establishment we visited that sunny Halloween afternoon.

There was a brewery within walking distance from the bank that we decided to venture to. I kept the scruffy voice throughout the introductions and seating but once we ordered I took my beard off and started talking normal. She knew exactly what she wanted but the item was not on the menu. She requested her special order and we sat and talked before the food came. I don..t remember what was said but there wasn..t really anything disagreeable that stood out. Nope, that didn..t come until she started talking about Nathan. Nathan! And hey, it..s not like we..re together so it wasn..t the fact that there was a Nathan that made my heart drop a little. She had invited him to the Broncos game. The Broncos game that her and I went to together. So that meant that I was second, or third, or fourth, who knows how low? That doesn..t really matter. What mattered was that she told me I wasn..t her first choice for the Bronco game. But my heart only dropped a little. And she proceeded to complain about the way he had dissed her. Then my heart dropped a lot. Apparently they hadn..t spoken in awhile. She called him but the calls weren..t returned. He had a party and she wasn..t invited. And, though she attempted to exude nonchalance, I could feel her scorn.

But my heart dropped even lower later on that night when the boy oddly called her and she, not-so-reluctantly, answered and talked a bit with him as I lay searching for a haunted house for us to go to. We ended up not going but went to Target instead (I know I know, but it was fucking cold). At Target we kind of split and did our own shopping and met back at the register. While she continued shopping I waited on a bench next to a woman that would not look at me. When her friend came out she stood up and started to walk in the opposite direction without ever turning back for even a glance at the pirate that sat next to her. Her friend was a larger woman and was wearing a very short dress. Her black panties were engulfed between monumental cheeks and though I was disgusted, I couldn..t pull away. I decided to look at some movies while I waited and made sure to text her my location.

..You ready to go.., is what she said when she found me. Then she slighty smiled and averted her attention towards the door.

Something had definitely changed. And I wasn..t sure if it was her or me. I tried to pretend it hadn..t, but it had. She told me she wanted me to drive her home so that she could hang out with a friend of hers that was leaving for some foreign country the next day and so I did. I didn..t think about it much that drive home, or even that night when I lay my head down. It wasn..t until that morning after as I shivered in my car waiting for it to warm up that I realized I was hurt. I liked her. And I guess, despite the warnings, I thought she may have felt as I did. But then again, I also thought her eyes were blue.

A Mermaid and a Pirate

She soothes my soul but she doesn..t fulfill my heart. I swing around in a circle on my chair and I think about the specifics.. 1) Well, she acts like we..re together and for some reason that comforts me even though it frightens my bones. 2) She notices the intricacies that make me and accepts and loves them despite how crazy she realizes I am. 3) My 4 am phone calls are greeted with ..I was hoping you would call... 4) She LOVES sex. 5) SHE LOVES SEX.. in all shapes and forms.

And that should be enough. Should it not? Nope, not for me. This is not enough for a Peter Pan boy of epic imaginations. This boy wants more. This boy cannot stop thinking about the Wal-Mart peek-a-boo seductress that forces him to use a credit card to pay for his Coca Cola. He can..t stop reliving and animating the lean back on a bed and the understated dance that blares through a stadium speaker. He can..t help but think that his Bret Ashley is destined to love some schmo while he wishes for a distant closeness in the cab on a ride home.

It..s official. I..m an asshole. I know that I don..t want her. I like her alright, but I refuse to tell her that this heart was taken by an unlikely ransacker weeks before her visit and eventual relocation. I refuse to tell her that her trip out here may be unfruitful despite her high expectations. I act as if nothing has changed. I act as if I..m falling in love.

And for some reason I think this is alright. For some reason she also thinks that this is alright despite my obvious chnages. ..If she were here things would be different... Truth is, they wouldn..t. I..ll let all you ladies out there know right now, a heart drifts because it is unsatisfied by the previous hunt, not because of situations. I..ve known real love. And real love does not drift. Real love wants to be so close to the person that they want nothing more than to squeeze every breath of life out of the other person into a cup and drink it slowly over every decade that will make up that person..s life. That..s love. It..s that ..thing... And there is nothing you can do to fake it. At least not in the heart. ; it knows. Either you have felt it before and know how to mimic it, you act like what you think it would be like, or you really feel it. And only the heart knows the answer to the puzzle. My heart tells me that the Indy 500 is over.

Only the heart knows that the body has already swallowed the juices of this funnel of deliciousness and is now feeling hungover and.. you know what I..m sick of these fucking metaphors, are you not?

I want the small blonde that makes my mind drift for days at a time. I want the girl that leaves me guessing where I stand. I want the girl that can..t die her hair pink, though she desperately wishes she could and still secure a job. I want the Myspace addicted girl that brings the facepaint to a game and wishes that she could wear it and a jersey without being ridiculed by her friends. I want the girl that only accepts a peck on the cheek at the end of a great night when all this boy wants is to wrap her up in a towel naked so that he can open it up every once in awhile and give her a razzledish (which I..ve just made up now for the action that I picture). I want the girl that will challenge me enough to keep things interesting yet care enough to let me win every once in awhile. For some reason though, I can..t help but feel that she..s just my Bret Ashley and that the next schmo will steal my thunder and care for my mermaid like a true captain would, leaving this lonely pirate with the agreeable wench with a fondness for ship head.

Self Doubt

With a slight positioning of her body in my general direction on a couch, she won my heart. But what the hell does that mean these days? Any cute girl that shows me any glimpse of attention my way can win my heart these days. Well, any blonde girl. The others have to try harder.

I guess I've always had a thing for blondes. As much I try to deny it, my preference is and always has been for blondes. Yeah I give the others a shot, but that..s like saying that Texas had a shot against USC last year. Texas won, but who would have thought? I mean, USC had all the cards stacked on their side. So saying another blonde has snatched my heart is like saying, hey USC won another national championship...Wow, really? That's surprising...

But she did. She has. And I don..t even know why. There are three other blondes in my life. Two of which, I've fallen into the just friends category, and the other, well the other is why I'm writing this. Yeah it..s narcissistic. And most of you probably don..t care about any of this. But the other is why I'm writing this.. I think.

With my current situation with said girl one would think I would be content. She seems to be the picture I've had in my mind of everything that I've wanted in a girl (which I refuse to go into detail about at this moment). But I'm not. Instead I have never been more interested in every other girl around me than now. It's like this girl has set lose this animal that has been hibernating. From what I can tell, she..s really is pretty much everything I've been looking for all of these years., but instead of running towards her, I'm looking for any reason to hop on a homemade boat and paddle to Russia.

Maybe I..m too young. Maybe the timing is off, the way it was years ago when I first realized what I was looking for in a child-at-heart, artist/ advertising mogul who has since disappeared. Distance and in independent goals ripped that one apart. But these aren't the problems that face us. She plans to eliminate the distance by moving here and she supports my desire for freedom and independence. Why does this scare the shit out of me? Am I really that scared of commitment? Am I scared that maybe she could be ..the.. freaking ..one..? Am I ready for that? Will I ever be ready for that?

Maybe I've been single for so long that I don..t really know what to do with someone as a boyfriend. It..s like I've lost my boyfriend instincts. The closer we get, and believe me it..s been a short, fast paced relationship thus far, the more I feel uneasy and a little, I dunno, frightened? The more that she seems to be right for me, the more I want to crawl under another girl and sabotage it all. Is that wrong? Why do I want to ruin any good thing that comes my way?

I remember when I did love last, at least loved in the sense that it was reciprocated, I did the same thing. My logic was that if I cheated on her, she would never want me back, and I could end it all and move on because I felt too young to be... settling... Thing is, a couple of years later when I thought I was ready, I tried to go back. And it was too late. She didn't feel the same. I can..t help but wonder if my infidelity played a factor. It worked, just as I had hoped. Who would have thought, years later, it would bite me in the arse?

And now, with an entirely new and quite different situation, I feel myself reaching for the same, misled solution. I..m poison. I hate to hear this talk about me being such a great guy from the girl friends of mine who would never want to be with me. They say that because they know me as a friend but that..s the only reason why. They say this because they aren't interested in me. They aren't interested in me because they know that I..m poison (I refuse to accept that they aren't attracted to me. I've brought sexy back.. along with Andy- Had to give him his props on that one. What the hell does ..props.. mean anyway? Proper respect?) They know how lost I am despite my persona of a man that has it all together. They know my indecision is a virus that infects all aspects of my life. They know I..m destined to be that old guy in the nursing home grabbing the nurses asses while drinking rum and playing cards. They know, despite all of their claims of seeing a guy that will settle down one day and having kids and doing that normal ..American Dream.. thing, that I..m A Restless Reptile Repeating Regurgitated Rhymes Randomly. ARRRRRR! That..s right! Grab your jolly roger and sail the seas with me, but I..m destined to be hung in the end.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that he was of a ..restless generation... I don..t remember the exact context but I've always remembered that phrase. I think it..s a term that could define our generation as well. We..re a youth hell-bent on revolution. We..re a youth that is aging. I..m not even one of the youth anymore by baby-boomer standards. But the fact that I just classified myself as one and the fact that there are some out there reading this that are my age and would agree with me proves that we..re an aging youth. A youth that is aiming for Peter Pan status but ending up old Hooks. We hear the clock in the alligator..s mouth but we refuse to leave Never-Never Land. Will I ever grow up? Will I ever give up the cities and seas and land somewhere in a suburban, white-picket-fence, family-oriented community?

Drunk Dial on a Dreary Evening

The air was chilly when I walked towards my car with the smell rotting grass permeating the falling autumn sky. Though the walk to my car was not alone, I could feel the solitude of the night that lay ahead sticking me in my side. It..s the first time I've had this feeling in a while. Not that I haven..t been home alone in awhile. Most nights are spent alone. I usually like being alone. But I felt different this night. I felt as though this loneliness was of another variety, like it was the end of the world and I would spend it looking at my wall just waiting for it be over with..

Sounds morbid huh? I don..t know why I get these phases. Maybe it..s that weather disorder. That seems to be what everyone else thinks it is. But this is fucking extreme. I was happy.. yesterday. I was so happy yesterday that my jaw hurt, badly and I wanted to just bang my head in the table in front of me to knock some of it out. In fact I think I could say that I..ve been extremely happy just about every day since, I dunno, April or May sometime. And I was even happy most of the day today but for some reason, that night sky and the realization of the end of a season, my season, made everything around me sour.

My apartment seemed to echo with silence and I sat in the dark on my couch for nearly twenty minutes before taking off my uniform and putting my jammy jams on. ..What the fuck is my problem?.. I thought. I mean things are going pretty well. There isn't really much to be sad about. In fact, my move downtown is downright exciting. So what..s with all these glum feelings? ..I don..t know what is.., I thought, ..but the only possible cure for it is Scrubs... The only possible thing that could lift my spirits from this awful depth of unfounded depression is some nice thoughtless fun in small doses. And maybe some old Ravioli with rotten Parmesan cheese.

I really have to stop eating anything that I find in my house. It..s just not good. Not in the sense that it doesn't taste good. Sometimes it does. The problem is that it..s just usually rotten in one way or another. But, I somehow talk myself into believing that the rotten cheese will somehow taste fresh when mixed with the ravioli from the cupboard. Maybe the ravioli will hide the rotten flavor and what will come out will be the tasty mixture of a genius. Sometimes I can be pretty crafty in the rotted food department of fine apartment dining. This is not one of those occasions. All this does is make me feel even more sick and before I..m even a quarter of the way through the meal I decide to chop it all into small pieces with the two blades that need a light switch and running water to run correctly.

..I..m gonna scrub my hands, and do my scrub my hands dance.. Scrub my hands, and do my scrub my hands dance...

..Oh that Turk is too much.. I giggle.

Ring ring. That..s my ring.

Actually, it sounded more like this: ....I've waited hours for this. I've made myself so sick, I wish I stayyyyyyyyed asleep today ayyyyyyyyyy... That..s her ringer. She calls and assaults and I feel even sicker than when I first arrived home. All of that work to make my night better begins to crumble and pretty soon I..m feeling worse than before. I..m done talking. I want to be depressed by myself. But then it happens, a voicemail.

Her voice is raspy, from smoking probably, and she slurs her words a bit, from drinking definitely and for some reason her whole tone has changed. She seems to genuinely care. I know she does, but she doesn't always seem that way. She seems to genuinely care this night during this message and for some reason, that..s all I really need. I guess I just need to be reassured sometimes that there are people out there that really care. And even though she may have dissed my school, which is a huge part of who I am today and she may feel that it..s necessary to point out that she always knew that I was attracted to her, but she never felt the same about me. And who cares if she took offense to everything I said to her on the phone and retorted with some kind of remark that left me wanting to not say anything. Fact of the matter is, she called back and she apologized and she meant it. And for some reason, this makes my night.

Thesis Proposal?

I guess it's only fitting this be written after a night of drunken debauchery.

Pirates and Punx

They've been calling me pirate. And maybe they're right. That's what I am. Not in the sense that I wear an eye patch or say arrrr but I am a modern day pirate. Its true. I may not go to sea or take over ships but that isn't really what being a pirate is all about. I'm an iconoclast, always have been. Always will be. It isn't in my nature to just accept. And that is what being a pirate is all about. They weren't ready to just accept the conditions of the sea that was evolving at that time, so they revolted. Being a pirate is not about the way you dress or the way that you talk its a mentality, a mentality that Ive always embraced. And so is punk rock music.

Ive never been normal but lately my eccentricities have been becoming increasingly prominent as I grow older. In a way its almost an anti-social behavior. Id like to say that I'm a very social person but lately Ive had some problems with my social behaviors. I go out so much sometimes that I start to hate being around people. I'm sick of the superficial glances and dances that a club brings. I'm sick of the small talk by the people that don't really want to be talking to me at the bars. I'm sick of the fake smiles and thanks yous that I find at the army functions. And most of all 'm sick of the feigning emotions that people around me claim to endure. The artificialness of it all gets to me. You don't give a shit about me so stop pretending you do. My pirating comes as a rebellion to these culturally accepted behaviors that I see enveloping our nation. My rebellion is not against the institutions in place that welcome these behaviors but against the people that enable them to prosper.

Back in the day when pirating was just beginning to spawn there was an extreme loyalty involved with the business. The pirates didn't begin in search of gold and booty. Pirating began as a necessity, a rebellion against the treatment of the hands on the ship. There were vast inequalities that existed between the captains of a ship and the workers that kept the ships going. The workers were treated much like slaves after the wars ended and their mercenary or buccaneer duties were no longer needed. The pirates started their mutinies to combat these inequalities. But these mutinies did not bring about a disloyalty to the countries that employed them, namely England. These mutinies were just a path to freedom. The pirates remained loyal to mother England and refused attack ships from their home country and were awarded pardons for such behaviors. At some point a leader decided that pardons would no longer be given to these outlaws and it was at this point that the pirates declared war against the world. No ships were off limits any longer. Any and every ship that contained a significant amount of wealth would be attacked. The English ships were too profitable too avoid.

Punk Rock music has taken a similar turn. Punk started as a movement based on ideals that rejected the national values of the time. It rejected the known forms of music being created. Punk was an experimentation of ideas and a rebellion against the institutions and people that enabled a corporate mentality to be the dominant force in peoples ambitions. Punk was not about making a platinum album and achieving fame and prosperity. Punk was about earning a living doing what they loved on their own terms. No more adhering to a record labels demands or a captains demands. The people were taking control of their destiny and making the rules as they went.

Our country was founded on the punk/pirate mentality. Somewhere along the line the lines became blurred. Somewhere along the line the anti-social behaviors similar to that of our forefathers became suppressed and deemed anti-government when in actuality there is no truer form of self-expression similar to the values that our country was founded upon. We've lost our way as a country and as a nation and the real punks of yesterday and today have realized and have fought or are fighting this today in the only way that they see possible.

Being a punk or a pirate is not about wearing an eye patch or donning a mohawk. Its a mentality that seethes into the daily behaviors of an individual and finds its roots in the mentality of the general public and the rebellion of those that care to engage in the fight. I don't make music and I don't sail on a ship but I engage in my own personal battle on a daily basis. My fight may be small. My contributions may be go unseen. But I will continue the battle in the only ways that I can.

A Beautiful Green (Lyrics)

These lyrics aren't profound but they have really been speaking to me lately. If you guys havent realized yet, music is the core to my very existence. The effect is lost a bit without the actual music so I implore you to download/buy.

Punchline: A Beautiful Green


Wrong way on the wrong side of town
Your feet are so stuck to the ground
Ive been known to sometimes get away
But you never leave

This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me
This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me
This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me

This air isnt anywhere else
It makes me talk to myself
Tells me where to breathe and
Where to smoke
I might not leave

This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me
This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me
This is the way you are
Dont change yourself for me
(Theres nothing wrong with that)
This is the way you are
(Thats just the way that you are)
Dont change yourself for me

(Thats just the way that you are)
(Thats just the way that you are)

Gatsby and the Girls at Red Rocks

Gatsby and the Girls at Red Rocks

Of all the events that were planned for my family's visit 311 at Red Rocks was definitely the most memorable. My two sisters and I made the trip from my parents hotel room downtown to the stadium alone. It was the only time that we would get to be alone without the rents overlooking our actions.

We arrived, as suggested, two hours early to ensure that we had good seats. We were awarded good parking in the top parking lot close to the entrance. It was evident that we were not as prepared as any of the other concert attendees. The parking lot looked like a campground. Every car was loaded with coolers full of beer. Most of the people sat around in lawn-chairs by their vehicles. People were playing Frisbee in the parking lot. Some ganja could be smelled as we pulled into an empty spot next to beamer. Everyone was clad in beach clothing with sandals, bathing suits and sunglasses. And here we were, dressed as though we were going to some special event with sneakers and shirts and our hair done nice.

I feel really weird, Lyssy said, Everyone is partying and stuff in the parking lot drinking beer and were like the boring people just going up to the concert entrance.

I told her to forget about it. That they were them and we were us. Prophetic, I know. Surprisingly, though the parking lot seemed pretty full, the line to the concert was rather empty. I guess Johnny was right, Jess told Lyssy, The 311 fans are all potheads and are either drinking and smoking in the parking lot or too lazy or high to get here early.

The gates had just opened when my sister Jess said that she felt as though she was going to faint. She had felt sick that whole day and almost did not come to the show. But she was too excited about the experience to stay at the hotel and miss out. She said that she would go to the bathroom as soon as we got into the stadium while Lyssy and I found seats. Good thing, because the seats were almost full by the time we found Jess.

This was both of my sisters first outside concert. They had been to a bunch of concerts but they were all indoors. This was my first normal concert. I had only been to two before this. Woodstock (or as my one souvenir calls it Romestock) and Warped Tour. Both outside but both not a normal show. The environments were similar though. Outside shows are more like camping with some music added. Theyre a little dirtier and more laid back. The people are always friendly and high and overall the experience is much more party oriented.

Being the good older brother that I am, I provided the alcoholic beverages that would loosen my sisters up enough to get them dancing and enjoying themselves. Anything else that may have come their way was not my doing and I accept no blame for.

We made friends with the people around us even though I did not appreciate the snowboard instructors comment At least someone will fight for that asshole when I told him I was in the army. Like he knows anything about anything. I fight for my country, not for Bush. And what does he know about politics anyway, perched on a snowboard away from all civilization? Like he knows anything about anything.

One of the girls that were sitting next to me was anthropology major in Boulder. She had tender eyes and a mischievous smile. She told me a bout her plans of early graduation and travel and her indecision about graduate school. She was thoughtful and well spoken and I felt chemistry between us. She was there to see Pepper, a group from Hawaii I had never heard of. They were the opening act.

With a sound very similar to, yet very different from Sublime, Pepper got the crowd moving and the show was kicked off in style. Herb could be smelled all around and though I hate to be a suit, I hoped I wouldnt sniff enough to fail a piss test, especially since I had received three last month. I was a little rigid in my movements to Pepper since I had never heard of them and only had one beer before their set started but I latched on to a catchy hook of theirs and acted like I knew all about the song. I could feel the girl next to mes slithery flow as she moved her body to and fro to the reggae sounds that made snakes in all of us emerge. Lyssy still seemed a bit rigid but I could feel Jess letting go as the minutes dripped.

More beverages were consumed, cigarettes were smoked and bowls were toked during the break between groups. The theater was entirely full by the time The Whalers came onto the stage and all the reservations held while Pepper was on stage were completely let go as we all swayed to the free loving energies fused into the Bob Marley songs that the Whalers played so well. Everyone sang along to the known songs and the theater seemed to move as a whole, like each person was connected through the strings of music reverberated through our bodies. I started to forget about the girl next to me and my sisters and I jammed to The Whalers like we were on a whole other plain where music was more than the great unifier that it really was that day but was a world healer, and we were at its forefront, singing to the skies and moving the planets.

By the time 311 was about to come onto the stage, the theater seemed to double in the amount of people. All the spaces around us were filled by souls in search of closer unity with the band and the motions, yet a glance back to the seats behind us showed that the stadiums population did not shift downward. More water was being poured into a glass of sand and we all swam together when 311 finally came on stage. I didn't know too many 311 songs before the show but that didn't matter at this point. The energy was already infused and my body seemed to move with the knowledge of every beat as though I played the songs myself. The transitions were detected well before they were played and the words were repeated as though the songs had been rehearsed beforehand. While The Whalers brought out a feeling of greater purpose, love and unity, 311 brought out a sense of life that went beneath the greater purposes. 311 brought us back down to earth in a celebration of the interactions between us all as people, desperately needing to feel united through violence and love.

As the show came to an end, the three hours that had passed felt like twenty minutes. I turned my sisters to see what they thought and my stomach held onto the happy butterflies that saw that they seemed to really enjoy the show on a level they may not have ever before.

I turned to our newfound friends and told them how great it was to meet them and we all agreed to what a great show it had been. I heard the snowboard instructor tell the girl next to mes friend that he will call her sooner rather than later and I lost my will to ask the girl for her number. I had been defeated by the allure of the snow bums exciting and free life at the top of a mountain. As they all hugged as though they were long lost friends I grabbed my sisters hand and tugged her in the direction of the exit. Before beginning our exit the girl next to me caught wind of our direction and intent and grabbed my arm.

Hey, I had a great time, she said and stared into my eyes.

Yeah, I did too.

We hugged. And then there was an awkward linger as my balls shriveled and tucked themselves back into a pouch in my stomach and no numbers were exchanged. I grabbed my sisters hand and we navigated through the crowd to my car. Waiting in line I agreed to give some guy a ride back to his house. He hit on my sister in the back seat and my sister shrugged him off. He stepped out of the car and caught a ride with a car full of girls that were also shrugging him off. It took almost an hour to get through the line of cars waiting to get onto 70 East headed towards Downtown Denver. The sky was scantily clad of clouds that ride home but I knew that she was up there somewhere floating, forever etched in a 311 show, my new Daisy.

Grown Up

My family came to visit me a little over a week ago and I have been at a loss for words since. They have left this imprint on my apartment and on my days. Ive been trying to explain exactly what happened when they came and how much it all meant to me but it keeps coming out super cheesy. Ill give it one last go.

They came on a Monday. I cleaned all Sunday night and Monday morning to ensure that they did not think I was a slob. Not that I am a slob but with my daily cleaning many things get overlooked. Vacuuming is a rarity and my dusting days are an endangered species. Basically, the only time the vacuuming and dusting get done, and they always get done together, is when I have visitors from out of town on their way. And even then, sometimes I still don't do it. But this was my family's first time ever visiting me in Denver. This was the first time my family was ever visiting me when I had my own place. This was the first time that they were ever meeting grown up Johnny.

I realized once they came out to my car that I was no grown up. My desire for acceptance and approval began once we approached my car. Ever since I was younger I realized that there is a direct correlation to how responsible he sees a person and the condition of their car. One of the biggest impressions that would carry through the weekend all began with how he viewed the condition of my car.

Oh, you got the windows tinted huh? When did you get that done?

Ive had that for awhile. I got it done as soon as I got to Denver.

Oh.

That killed me. What the hell does that mean? Did he like the tinted windows? Did he think it made the car look too ghetto? Whats wrong with tinted windows? It keeps the sun off the leather. It makes the car look sportier. Ill take it off.

It looks good.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I thought, Go on.

You keep it in good condition. I was kind of expecting to see it all banged up like the Honda.

Awhile back while I was still an undergrad, my parents came to visit and saw that my Honda had taken a beating from being parked in Queens. I don't think my father ever believed that the dents were received from random hit and runs while my car parked for the day but it was true. I was surprised that he hadn't taken a look at the engine before we left the airport.

Let me take a look under the hood.

Were the first words out of his mouth as we parked in my garage. Before any luggage was handled or a trip upstairs to see my apartment was undergone, my father had a need to look under the hood of my car. Like anyone cleans their engine. I do. Another hurdle passed. My father was proud of my car cleanliness and upkeep. Now the apartment.

Surprisingly there wasn't anything that they could point out that they didn't like. In fact, they seemed rather impressed with my choices in decoration and layout. My mother still offered to redo it, but more out of her desire to decorate than anything else. But even she realized that the current setup was the best possible. I know this all sounds really corny but you don't understand my need for acceptance with my parents. Its weird because I couldn't care less what anyone else thinks, but with my parents a negative reaction could be fatal to my well being. So there is a lot of thought that goes into everything that I do that would be judged by them. House decorating and cleanliness is definitely one of those things. And my reward: A handshake from my father and a Congratulations, I'm proud of you.

Runaway

She stepped off early that morning, before the sun started its ascent into the cloudless sky, wearing her white, yellow and blue high top sneakers. She regretted her inability to bring all her precious sneakers along with her that day and took her time in deciding which sneakers would be tossed into the rolling suitcase that she was borrowing from her father without his permission.

He probably wont even notice, she thought.

She was correct. The next day her father would wake up and go through the redundant motions that come along with running a successful business. He would wake at the crack of dawn, shower, brush his teeth, flex in front of the mirror, pluck the few straggly hairs that occupied the middle of his chest and get dressed in a t-shirt, sweatpants and a zipper-down, hooded sweatshirt. He would, then, concoct a milkshake that consisted of fresh fruit, usually strawberries and bananas, protein powder and L-Glutamine powder. He would line up his anti-oxidants, multi-vitamins, creatine tablets, zinc magnesium asparate, amino acids, L-Carnitine L-Arginine and L-Ornithine and pop them each in his mouth individually, using his shake to wash them down. He would sit on the toilet for exactly thirteen minutes and then make his way to his prospering gymnasium that was recently featured in the High School newspapers article on the three most promising businesses in the village.

He would not notice that his daughter was not sleeping in her room that night, that the keys to the Mercedes were not on the key ring, or even that the 60,000-dollar vehicle was no longer residing in the four-car garage. Mr. Vannino would continue his day in complete oblivion to the treachery that had transpired within the walls of his castle. The suitcases disappearance would not be noticed until months later when a chance meeting with a Yugoslavian Body Builder would lure him to engage in a strong-man competition on a remote island off the coast of Kiribati, where he would take home a silver medal due to a lack of participants. The Yugoslavian would take the gold and Mr. Vannino would weep on the plane ride home with the medal clenched tightly in the palm of his right hand and a small gym bag in his left. If only he had his lucky suitcase.

Though the borrowed suitcase was especially roomy, it only housed approximately fifty pairs of sneakers and seven pairs of shoes. Sacrifices had to be made and though she loved many of her shoes just as much as her sneakers, she realized that shoes were not entirely practical with all the walking she would soon be doing. Along with the rolling suitcase, she had also managed to nab two pieces of her mothers leopard-print luggage. In the larger of the two she put as many items of clothing as she could squeeze into the exploding zippers that cried for air. She made sure to grab the large purse that was included with the set because of the extensive make-up collection that was contained within, not so much because she desired the makeup. In fact she hardly ever wore makeup at all. She knew what the makeup meant to her mother.

Her mother always kept make-up stowed away in her luggage. As a prospering Karrie Mae Sales Associate, she felt it was in her best interest to practice what she preached to her clients by using all of their products. In each of the elaborately decorated bathrooms one would find nothing but Karrie Mae makeup products adorning the cabinets. Each morning Ms. Vannino would empty a small amount of all of the makeup and apply it to her face as if she were really relying on the product to maintain her beautiful façade. Only when the halls of the household rang in complete silence would she, then , tiptoe to the basement to apply her real mask. The comparable, yet more efficient and entirely more affordable products, located in her leopard purse would be the highlight of her day, displaying all of the attributes that Mrs. Vannino desired in a make-up product.

Mrs. Vannino would slowly apply each product and imagine, paying close attention to the smells and textures of each product. Those layers of unwanted chunks of old makeup would slide off with is as she gently stroked the pads lightly across her face. And look at how much of this makeup could be absorbed into each pad. No more fussing around with several pads and leaving a mess only to be unsatisfied with the results. The makeup remover would slice through layer after layer of unwanted makeup no matter days after being applied. And look at how smooth and easily the eyeliner glides across, creating a perfect line, every time, no chunks, pokes or slips. The eyeliner is soft enough to be applied to the eye lid without any fuss, yet stable enough to not fall apart in your eye. And the rubber grip ensures that no slips of the hand. Each product detail repeated in her mind throughout the morning as each product was applied and their attributes admired. And when it came time for her to visit each house and give her presentation to the customers that flooded living rooms and dining halls and retirement homes, it was not the Karrie Mae products that were being described, it was her secret morning bag. The day her daughter left would be the last day that she would be able to work for the company with any confidence. The biggest presentation in her career would occur that and she would not be able to describe any of the products with any conviction. She would try but found herself giving up halfway through her sentences and mumbling nonsense under her breath. She would never be the same again. That next month, though the lost makeup was immediately replaced, the company's tangerine scooter would be taken back and awarded to her neighbor and fierce nemesis. Her mega makeup reign would end and she would soon find herself reflecting on her hay-day when she used to be someone important in the community. If only she had her bag of makeup that morning.

The $60,000 vehicle accelerated like a dream, hugging close to the ground and jolting forward with anticipation of the road that lay ahead. She hadnt quite thought everything through. She was in her fathers car with the open road ahead of her, her bags packed, her mind clear and still no destination. She pulled off to the side of the road and thought about her options. She liked the idea of just driving but felt uneasy as she considered which direction she would head. Being in Colorado granted her a wealth of options. Would she head west and become one of those tragic Midwesterners who arrive in hope of instant stardom or would she head east and crumble under the weight of an insomniac city with a murderous soul. Or maybe either border offered her the salvation that would free her soul to swell and soar like a balloon in the clouds. There was so much out there to be seen and she wanted to experience them all. She wanted to fry an egg on the cement in Arizona, gamble a fortune away at a casino in Vegas, run with the bulls in Spain or even dance with the natives in Central America if she could. She wanted her fifteen minutes of fame, embracing the lights that would shine in her face and the crowds of fans that would attempt to trample her in attempts of an autograph. But she also wanted to disappear to some small southern town where she could acquire a fake ID with and a sharp name like Ravenous Alpha or Desiree Bandit, where she would recede into obscurity so far that the IRS would think she did not exist any longer. She wanted to meet some local boy with dreams as big as hers and become a Bonnie as she traveled her way through every town in America, robbing banks, until one day when the law is on their tail they deceive them and leave the country only to continue their escapades in other lands. The world was her big playpen, as she saw it, and she wanted to engage in every aspect with a heart on fire.

She drifted into the fast lane and stepped on the pedal weaving in and out of traffic to always find her way back to the fast lane. The other drivers on the road never seemed to keep up with her speeds. Even the people in the fast lane seemed to be headed slowly towards a goal that they had forgotten about as they suffocated on their local air and thought about their small town lives that they would continue once reaching their destination. But she was on the verge of something epic. She could feel it in her bones as she felt the air glide between the strands of hair that whispered the future to her.

Im never coming back, she thought as she shifted gears and accelerated back into the fast lane.

She didnt see the car coming fast along her left side and approaching her rear bumper. The man in the other car assessed the situation and avoided impacting her car by swerving into the left median. The girl saw the unfortunate twist of fate in her rear view mirror and sped to the right shoulder. She felt the air from the passing cars rattle her own as she formulated her words before exiting.

A rush of adrenaline surged through her veins as she picked her way through the traffic that was beginning to form as she neared the car. She could see the boy who was driving the car that scraped along the median and twisted his back end into traffic standing outside of his vehicle grasping his head in a crouch as he assessed the damages. The car was an early model Hyundai hatchback that looked like it was on its last legs. Smoke was seeping out from under the hood. The boy stood straight up and dropped his arms to his sides in concession of defeat and peered back to lines of cars that were beginning to take a slower pace. He against the median and looked in her direction with a look of despair with his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. When an opening appeared for the girl to breach the fast lane, she took her opportunity and did a bit of a skip in the accidents direction. The boy stared at her as she approached the car and finally blurted out an apology.

I'm sooo sorry. I didn't see you put your blinker on to the last second and by then it was too late.

The girl didn't say a word until she reached the boy.

That was totally my fault.

No, no. I should have been ready for it. I was going a little too fast there.

well what are you apologizing for? You didnt even mess my car up at all.

I know but you got out of your car and everything. I just felt like I should say Im sorry.

Well thats awfully nice of you, but I should be the one apologizing.

well

The girl laughed and replied, Sorry.

Anytime.

Really? Can I do the same thing tomorrow.

Well

Listen, how about this: Ill give you a ride wherever it is that you need to go and take care of all the damages.

No really, you don't have to

Just follow me.

The boy followed her to her car as she weaved through the traffic on foot through the cars as though she had a special control over all of the vehicles that approached. He noticed that the male passerbys were glancing in the girls direction as though she was the most beautiful girl that had ever seen, twisting their necks around to get an extra couple seconds of eyeage at the beauty. The beauty that had induced traffic stoppages and he agreed with each of their sentiments. Though his car would probably never run again, he felt a bit lucky to have had his destination thwarted by this unfortunate series of events.

Where are we going?, the boy asked but the girl did not reply. She smirked and kept driving and the boy didn't ask any other questions as Rolling Stones blasted.

Here we are.

The boy looked around and saw a train station.

You brought me to a train station?

No. I brought Me to a train station.

How will I get home?

Well, Im going to leave the keys in the ignition. You have to choose door A. Or you have to choose door B. I cant make these decisions for you. You have to make these decisions on your own. Youre a big lad now. Take a chance and ride with me, or take the car and go back home and be comfortable. But dont keep the car too long. I borrowed it from my father.

Borrowed?

Borrowed, stole, whats the difference?

Theres a huge fucking difference there, are you kidding?

I dunno, maybe.

The boy thought long as he watched the girl unload her luggage and make her way inside the station. Things were not ideal at home. His mother had recently separated from her father because she caught him with another woman. The two were fighting over possession of him and he did not know which household to choose. On the one hand his mother had always been very loving and supportive of all of his pursuits but there were always a long list of rules that accompanied this support. On the other hand his father was a bit distant but was much more flexible when it came to setting down rules for the household. He was stuck between choosing freedom over love or love over freedom and he wanted both. The girl disappeared into the building and the boy examined the car more closely. The leather seats were very attractive and he had noticed when the girl was driving, that the car handled and accelerated exceptionally well. He started to think about the reaction of his peers if he showed up to their door with a luxury sports vehicle instead of the hatchback that was destined to die within a couple of months before the accident ever occurred. He could get any girl that he wanted with this car, or so he thought. He imagined pulling up to Christy Dannons house in the car and her reaction as she saw him at through her living room window. He imagined her excitement utter adoration towards him. He pictured her in the passenger seat glaring at hi with adoring eyes and then skipped to the end of the night when he would walk her up to her door. But then something happened. Or didn't happen is a better description. He couldn't get her to kiss him. He couldn't get her to kiss him in the real world without the car and now that he had the car, he still couldn't get her to kiss him. And this was just a dream. But what would he do? He didn't even know where this girl was going let alone her name for that matter. She was just some mysterious being that had cut him off in the fast lane and now here he was thinking about traveling to who knows where for whatever reason.

Thats insane, he thought to himself and peeled off. The power of the car was surprising given its compact size and he found himself giving it as much gas as he could in the short spaces that were provided in the small parking lot. He slowed and made a quick left and ventured towards the exit but found himself not taking it. In stead he made another left and then another before coming to a screeching halt jumping out of the car and venturing inside. The automatic doors did not open fast enough for accelerated walk. The girl was walking away from the ticket counter when he appeared. She glanced back with a slight smile and pointed to the ticket counter.

Destination please.

Wherever she is going, he said and pointed to the girl.

Another one huh? Okay.

The boy grabbed the ticket and inserted it into his cargo pocket before heading over to where he saw the girl sitting, without looking at it. He sat next to her and glanced around.

So where are we going?

I have no idea.

You have no idea?

Nope.

Youre kidding, right?

Nope.

Well how are we going to know where we are going?

She says it leaves at midnight.

Okay, so it leaves at midnight. That means we've got 8 hours.

Yup.

So you said, hey give me the midnight train?

No. I said give me a train going anywhere.

Going anywhere?

Yup.

So were taking a midnight train going anywhere?

That's right.

Okay then Can I look and see where we are going?

No. That'll ruin it.

Ruin what?

Everything what was your name?

Dustin.

That would ruin everything Dustin.

It would?

Yes, it would.

Well I guess I wont look at it then, I wouldn't want to ruin everything.

Good.

The boy sat back and thought for a second. A minute ago, he was on his way to work, at a job that his father had set up for him, working construction for a friend of his making good money and now he was about to get onto a train with a stranger going anywhere at fucking midnight. Was he insane? He doesn't even know her damn name.

I don't even know your name.

Well you never asked.

The girl didn't say anything else.

Well whats your name?

There, was that so hard?

No not really.

Rhiannon. My name is Rhiannon.

Sabrina the Prepubescent Rope Climber

When I was 4 years old I had a girlfriend. She stood at an adorable 41 inches with naturally blond hair, blue eyes and a spunky attitude. She was very polite in front of parents and always attracted their attention with her quirky remarks. She loved to eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without the peanut butter or the edges, and always cut into small squares. She was the girl of every boys dreams. She played sports. Loved to be outside, swimming, climbing, jumping. She was very open and forward and the best thing of all: she loved to kiss. I hated her.

I didn't even want to go out with her. She made me. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went but it was something like this:

You're my boyfriend, you got a problem with that shrimp?

I would have put up an argument but she made sure to mention:

I'm an entire ½ foot taller than you, and a whole ½ year older, so you have to do what I say.

What do you say to that? She WAS half a year older than me. And maybe she wasn't a ½ a foot taller but, shit, we never really measured. She had at least a head on me. It didn't really matter how much taller than me she was because the fact was that she WAS taller than me. So I did have to do what she said. It wasn't just the height and the age though it was everything. She ran faster than me. She caught better than me. She threw a better baseball than me. She was smarter than me, more outgoing and likable. She outdid me in everything that there was to outdo a four-year-old boy in. So what did I do? I went to her house every day and I kissed her got beat by everything in the world by her and left her house each day feeling like a prisoner. I was Sabrina's own little love prisoner, forced to kiss and fulfill her every desire, which usually consisted of constant trips inside to bring her out a plate of Oreo cookies and a glass of milk. Every once in a while Merry when I went inside, Merry would ask me why Sabrina did not go inside to get the cookies herself I was instructed to reply with, I love her. I never did though, would tell Merry the truth and then Merry would walk outside and yell at Sabrina.  Sabrina would spend the rest of the playtime not talking to me. This made me happy.

One day, and I only know this because my mother told me about it years later,  after playing at Sabrina's house for the day I con fronted my mother with the situation. I sulked the whole car ride home and would not tell my mother what Sabrina and I had done the whole day. When we finally arrived back to our second floor apartment on Napier Avenue in the Bronx, I came out with my secret, I don't want to kiss Sabrina anymore. My mother asked me why, making sure to state what a pretty young girl she thought Sabrina was (which now, I think, was more of her way of making sure I came out straight- They probably started to worry about me when my favorite show became reading rainbow). I don't know what my reply at the time was but if I was me now in my four year old body I would probably say, "Shes a fuckin' bitch. She makes me do all this shit I hate and I'm a little afraid of her because shes like a damn foot taller than me." Whatever it was that I said, her reply to it was "You don't have to do anything that you don't want to Johnny. If you don't want to kiss her anymore, just tell her."

The story goes, that the next time we saw each other, Sabrina and I were playing upstairs when our parents heard her scream and throw something and stomp down the stairs into her fathers arms. She had tried kissing me while we were upstairs and I told her the deal, "I don't like you! Stop trying to kiss me!" Okay, it probably didn't go exactly like that, knowing me  it probably went something like, "My mom says-" scream- throw- stomp- hug. After a couple of seconds of hugging, her father asked her what it was that she was crying about. Through disjointed words and sniffles, Sabrina told her father that I told her that I told her my mom said that I can't kiss her anymore, to which his reply was "Awww honey, you can kiss Johnny all you want", like I wasn't even part of the equation.

The kissing didn't end. And neither did the tormenting. I found little ways of getting Sabrina to not want to kiss without me having to be a snitch. Instead of hanging out alone with her, I would make sure that her parents were always in the immediate vicinity.

Lets go upstairs.

No. No I wanted to make cookies with your mom so that I can eat the dough before it goes in the oven.

Merry's gingerbread house. It was that big.

But, as hard as I would try, pretending to be interested in her mother or father's little projects which they scattered throughout the house but never finished, or listened to her sister read stories to us, or even pretended once to want to knit or sew, whichever it was (they were both the same to me at the time). Every once in awhile we ended up alone. When this occurred I would resort to the last place in the world that I would rather be, besides in her room: outside.

I hated being outside with Sabrina for numerous reasons. Really, the only advantage of being outside was that it was a avoidance from those little lips that made me want my mother to wash my mouth out with bleach. Of all the things I hated about being outside with Sabrina, the one thing that I hated more than anything else was the tree rope that her father had hung the year before, I think, as a special torture that he devised just for me. I could see him in his basement with a white lab coat, his goggles over his eyes and bubbling beakers strewn about the various contraptions he had scattered across the numerous tables.

Moo ah ha ho, a rope. This will teach him. Hee hee hee hee hee.

I'm not joking, he really laughed like that. And I think he must have been laughing in that manner every time he watched me fail in my attempts to reach the top of the rope while his daughter would climb to the top of the rope and jump off from its peak like she was some kind of superhero, bounding from the top of a building. The usual taunts were always awaiting me at the bottom of that rope, I'm half foot taller than you, I'm a half year older, you're a girl, yada yada yada.


But there was seriously no taunt worse than this. I swear, if I heard this taunt today I would cringe up into a ball of rage and spit in your face. Yes spit, because only a person who wanted to be spit in the face with a enormous green loogie would ever sing this song to someone. Maybe you guys remember it:

John John Leprechaun,
Went to school with nothing on,
Teacher teacher, that's not fair,
Give me back my underwear

Urrrrrrragggggghhhhhhhh. First of all! I'm no leprechaun. Even then I wasn't. Ive never been a leprechaun. Never in my whole life was I ever a leprechaun. I''m not even an Irish. Second of all that whole story is made up. There is not one occasion that I went to school and my teacher took my underwear from me. And if she did I wouldn't cry like that. Well okay maybe, but it never happened. I never ever had a teacher take my underwear. Besides, if I went to school without anything on, how is it that the teacher has my underwear. Huh? Answer that smarty pants!

Ill tell you what really happened though. But this was way later and there is no possible way that Sabrina knew that it would happen. In third grade, I dressed up in my Tae Kwon Do gee for something. I don't think it was for Halloween. I think it was the day after I watched the Karate Kid. I was so friggin' psyched to kick blond-haired skeleton butt that I decided to wear my Tae Kwon Do gee to school the next day, jock strap and all. By the end of the day, that thing really really started to bug me. So I went into the bathroom and took it off. Well some fourth graders saw this and decided to take the cup from the counter I had set it on, while I was washing my hands. When I turned around, it was gone. I chased them out of the bathroom and was horrified to find that my jock strap had been thrown into the girls bathroom. Now this is not a high point in my life and I'm almost ashamed to admit this but I didn't know what else to do. So I cried. I sat and sobbed and told the boys about how my father was going to kill me for losing his jock strap. I had worn his instead of my own because I didn't want people to think that my cup size was small. The boys went into the girls bathroom to retrieve my fathers cup for me and that was when I first realized the devastating effect that Sabrina had on me. Even though I could throw an awesome wheel kick, one like you've never seen before in your entire life, I had become, because of Sabrina, a big fat juicy WIMP.

11

On nights like these when forgotten ambitions sweep through my mind
Like a summer breeze,
Preserved paradises lost project with
The reds,
The yellows,
The blues,
The blacks;
Leaving imprints of nostalgia on a weary heart.
My younger version caught with his inner microscope
The glimpses of sensual thighs,
Pleading for a boys true touch.

The young, nervous boy, with optimistic eyes
Spoke volumes through his minor motions
Of innocent intentions,
Seducing salaciously
With his wandering
Fingers of fortitude.
Repressed and restrained workings
Wound the woman tight as the tremors
Of tact nearly subdued
A young boys delightful ploy.

Lets just have fun:
The keys that opened the silhouettes,
And shadows of intimacy
Presented on blank walls
And retro bus-seat furniture
And plush rugs
On hardwood floors
In front of windows
With open doors

The frenzy of youth
Mingled with the
Song of experience.
Marvin sang the joys,
And the Joys
Sang out the boy's
And did not stop
That one summer night.

Pink bunnies with drums;
A knightly theme
Recognized and, on this night,
Actualized!
And the music rang loud
In the crumpled sheets
And deformed pillows
As the sweat dripped lovely.

Two trains united in motion
Traveling speeds the same
And thrusting forward
Into the mysteries
Of the unspoken
And demands
Of the unseen.

Space and time
Suspended
Dangling dominantly
In the continuum
Of movements
And breath.

X-Game-style, upon a rock
The boy reaches
And grasps
And pulls
His body

Koala-clinging, upon a tree
The woman
Holds tight
And just might...

Her ivory
Penetrates
The skin

His howl
Echoes:

Ecstasy!

Rooftops

I remember those days when the elevens counted down with a fondness that cannot be captured entirely with words. It was around that time that my love for New York City peaked and placed its stake deep into the veins that flow throughout. When morning came, the one night marriage of ones became everlasting morning of bliss. Conversations and intimacies continued through the morn and as noon approached we slowly assimilated back into reality and parted ways. The walk that morning can probably be more accurately described through song, specifically of the Rolling Stones Variety: Waiting for a Friend- not so much because of the words, but the overall feel of the song. But if that was the song for that first night of intimacy, (and sticking to the stones) Wild Horses may be an accurate description of the next encounter (again, not necessarily for the words).

I have to say that I don't remember all of the details but will try to relate the ones that I do. For her birthday she received top-notch seats to The Producers. She invited me to accompany her and I agreed. After the show, we went to the bar where the hot dogs are free. Being a poor college student at the time, I wasn't able to afford much. We had two drinks a piece and a bunch of hot dogs before I ran out of enough money to buy anything else. We put our change together to share a third drink before going back to her apartment. When we arrived at her apartment, we drank red wine and danced the tune of excited lovers at a fifties swing club. We shared a brief embrace on her retro couch and then, as I started to make further advances, she pulled away and and this was what drove me wild, she went to her window, opened it and climbed out to the ledge. I followed her as she climbed up to the rooftop with her black sandals in her hands and we sat alone on that roof with our feet dangling off the edge, talking until the sun rose. I dont remember any of the words that were passed that summer night so cherished in my memory, but I do know that we shared the closeness of another world that night.

Kara

There she went, as she always did at this time with her infectuous laugh and sprightly walk. Surrounded by friends and hardly noticing the lone figure leaning against his locker and staring with hope of a glance in his direction, she came and passed, as she always had, with no attention paid to the boy standing with the silent admiration.

Things would go in a different direction as time passed. The boy took a fancy and started dating one of the other girls in the group of hallway travellers and his once frequent thoughts of solitary moments of intimacy with the girl lay dormant under the rug of impossible curiosities. He would see her on occasion and question at times, however briefly, his decision to pursue the girl's friend but was appeased with the light in the friend's eyes.

Time would pass, relationships would end and new situations would arise. Heartbroken and lonely a chance occurrence with the girl's mother would bring hopes of lasting love to the romantic boy's mind as connections in communication were forged. Though limited to emails and phone calls, the boy clung to the hope of evoking interest in the girl's heart. A Christmas vacation home would afford him the opportunity to drive through a snowstorm, against his mother's approval, to see her. He would act nervous and out of character and soon be back in his car wondering whether there was ever an opportunity, during the visit, to kiss the lips that, at times, had been just a few of inches from his.

The boy would grow. Of course, the girl grew too. They grew together, while apart. They became friends but not the kind of friends that spent time together when they were both home. They became the sort of friends that complained to each other about their disappointments in the pursuits of love. They would meet only once before the boy joined the army; in a car, in the parking lot of a mall. The boy's heart was elsewhere and the conversation congenial and he would hold on to that image of her for years after when the army would bring him to foreign locales.

The two would grow closer the further they were from each other. Their friendship became increasingly less about gripes than about being there for each other through the hard times and the good. They would offer the same support to each other that they would a family member and even thinking of each other, to a certain extent (as good friends often do) as part of their family. They would argue at times but their hearts always had good intentions for the other. There would come a time when the boy was at an emotional low in his life, that the two would arrange a visit. The anticipation of the visit would be carried through the boy's daily activities as one of very few lights that the boy could see ahead for him. The girl would wonder, after reading an email of his before this visit what this meant for the travels that lay ahead for her. The boy would assure her that the email meant nothing, that it was just his way of trying to show her that she holds a special place in his heart as a dear friend.

Target

With most of my friends away in Vegas or Cali I decided to spend the weekend home catching up on homework. On Friday night nothing got done because I spent all of my time watching movies, back to back to back. I kept saying, "after this one I'll start it" but that never happened. On Saturday night I realized that I wouldn't do any of the reading without a new bulb or just a new lamp altogether for by my bed. I have to have the exact right environment to work or else nothing gets done and the only place I like to read in my apartment is in bed. But I can't read with the normal lights because they are aimed in a different direction than the way that I lie when reading in bed so a lamp was a NECESSITY!

Where better to find a lamp than the Target down the block from me? What started as a task that should have taken at the longest, 30 minutes, turned into a 3 hour long ordeal. The first setback occurred when I realized that there was a PetSmart next to the Target. I took my first little detour into the store to watch mice run in and out of holes, iguanas freeze at the sight of me and fish scream their drowned voices to an uncomprehending me. I thought about getting an iguana but they looked so scared of me that I felt bad for them. Plus I thought of the crickets that I would have to constantly buy in order to feed them and how annoying that must be. An Iguana would be a bad pet for me. Besides the iguana the only thing I really liked was the gecko that was sleeping while suctioned to glass of the tank. But the more I thought about it, the more I really just wanted a dog. But a dog is something that I can't have right now because of my work schedule and apartment size. I left the store with nothing, but a half an hour wasted on nothing.

The one section I was trying to avoid in Target was the DVD section. I have a sick addiction to buying DVDs. Somehow I always convince myself that the DVDs are NEEDS, not desires. I always justify them with the fact that I want to make films and that the movie watching is really just me studying and learning, which is true, but I still have a DVD buying addiction. So my first thought when entering the store was to avoid the section at all costs. I found the lamp section, well away from the DVDs, fairly easily. They ended up being right behind these mirrors that I wandered off to take a look at. I need a HUGE mirror in my room to take up this empty wall. I thought about just getting a painting for it but a mirror would be a perfect fit. The mirrors at Target weren't big enough so I turned around and there were the lamps. The section was full of all kinds of lamps, from those that were ornately designed to the most simple table lamp that latches on to the desk. I wanted something in between because the latched one looks cheap but the fancy ones were too fancy, after all I just needed it so that I could read in bed. After thoroughly looking at them all I decided to just replace the bulb on my old lamp rather than buy a new one.

In my wandering to find the bulbs I came across some cool pictures that may have a place in my apartment. I realized after 10 minutes or so that they didn't and that I was just wasting time and ventured further into the unchartered territories of the store. And what did I happen to stumble across but a full tiki oasis. There is nothing that I need more in my house than a tiki bar. There wasn't much deliberation before I headed towards the paradise in the middle of the store but the closer I got the more flaws that I saw. The bar looked cheap and after sitting on the stools and feeling the flimsiness of it all I realized that this was all just an illusion and that I'd better wait until I found a better one to invest in. But there were these cool coconut cups that I just had to have. However there was only one and that would not do so I headed off to find the others.

The drinkware section was dangerously close to the DVD section but I maintained my sights and the objective at hand. The cups were nowhere to be found though and soon my eyes drifted to a small section located within the drinkware section that including the title I was trying to avoid "DVDs". The section was small and all the movies were well priced. I decided that Baseketball was a movie well worth 5.50 and that it was my first positive purchase selection chosen thus far. I also decided to continue searching for my cups in the electronics section of the store. I needed another power strip for my lamp anyway because my computer, camera, printer, portable hard drive and phone charger were also in this area. But instead of deciding on a simple power strip I saw the Monster power strip that had everything color coded connections for my cable, which would make the entertainment center so much easier to manage. And right next to these power strips were the surround sound speaker stands that I asked the woman about two days before to which her reply was "we don't have any". So two more purchase decisions were made and still didn't have my lamp, which is all I really needed in order to do my homework. I still had the cup in my hand and I thought I would find the others first before getting the lamp but my hands were full and I was beginning to drop my merchandise as I stumbled onward.

I tried to fit them all into one of those hand-baskets but the speaker stands made that impossible. I saw a cart with only on item in it and decided to make a run for it. After taking the one item out I realized that I had just penetrated the heart of the DVD section and felt overwhelmed with desire to grab more movies. "No! No, I thought, continue onward" and I grabbed the cart and rushed out of the section, grabbing Everything is Illuminated along the way. I emerged from the section virtually unscathed but another trip into the section might not prove as successful. I decided that there could be no more close calls. I would ask the man where the cups were, get my lamp and leave.

I loaded the three extra cups that the man helped me find and the clip lamp to my cart and headed towards the checkout. On my way I saw a cute girl with what I thought was her daughter but the words "let's go find your mother" drifted into my ears and a little victory dance started to play in my mind. When I turned to see where she had gone, she was nowhere in sight. After seriously considering trying to find an excuse to backtrack through the store I decided that it was better to just get home because I was already way behind schedule. Besides, the girl in front of me didn't look too bad either. Tall but cute. Nothing was said as she headed out the door and I was calculating the amount of the items in my cart. The cashier commented on the cuteness of the cups that I was purchasing to which I replied:

"Yeah I know I was psyched when I saw those. Now all I need is a blender and a tiki bar."

That's about when it hit me. I was at Target, alone, on a Saturday night and "psyched" about some coconut cups that I happened to find.

Poems

Wonderboy's Poem:

Suburban Beauty

White picket fence neatly trimmed
Grass pressed flat beneath soles
Steady beat of solstice
Heel to toe heel to toe
Walk-in closets framed portraits
Eye level

Two feet sucked to the bathroom floor
Moisture gripping between skin and tile
A naked reflection and blank stare
Shared by one in the wall mirror
Hung above a sink
Two more feet take hold the surface
Stepping from a steamed abyss

Face down in down
Screaming into sheets to drown
The sound
Behind closed doors
Lies
A truth few come to know
If only these walls could talk
Chimes the grandfather clock

Cold chrome nips temples
Soon another black
Automobile parade down the
Street where neighbors share drinks
Barbeques and pools
White picket fences guard a castle
Defending all the kings horses
And all the kings men


MY Reaction:

Urban Reality

Blood stained couches breath the flame
Of a terror restrained in a shallow nihility
Constant beats of sorrow
Bumpitity bump bump bumpity bump
Licking the lips
And drooling

One foot sturdy on the shower floor
A dampened wall grasping the innocent toes
Breathing becomes heavy
The curtain is pulled
Metal spawns the scarlet flow
Of liquids drawn jaggedly down
Dragging masses through a steamed abyss

Warmth renews
The vacant accepts the solid
But the shrieks are saturated
And pain is rampant
In these Does that have no say
If only these neighbors would talk
Mutters the district attorney

Youth filled potholes are a prospering breed
Where buildings rise high
And the sky lacks color
Anonymous men stroll
Court systems ponder
White papers guard the individual
Attacking all the weak horses
And all the weak men.

Notes Fron Georgia

Special forces colonel- ramming techniques start slow and accelerate when close, "who does not want to get dirty?", point man, gunner

Former drill sergeant- all of his damn equipment, tall, chubby, mustache, balding, tattoos, looked like a real outdoors type of guy from the south who has a lot of shotguns

Army reserve captain, and navy officer along with sergeant holding on tight in back seat when I'm the sober driver driving them home.

At dinner in a fancy seafood restaurant with this girl, cant remember her name, she was short and chubby wearing a leather biker jacket and showing a lot of cleavage. Long black hair styled much like you'd expect a girl that was into death metal to. Overall trashy looking but had beautiful eyes. It was like looking at two roses in the middle of a swamp.

We ate at a fancy seafood restaurant just as we sit down and are asked if we are ready to order by the server:

"I'll have a shot of whiskey"

"Would you like a bourbon or a scotch?"

"whatever's cheapest!"

"Well we have a scotch that is fairly priced"

"How much is it?"

"3.75"

"That's the one I want"

"Okay."

"Are the rest of you ready to order?"

She had no money so the jag captain that we were with decided to order a bunch of appetizers that we could share and she could partake in. This is when we find out that she is a food tester in the army. That is her job.

"Oh yeah how long have you been in", the officer asks.

She pulls her hands out from under the table and puts up seven, no eight fingers.

"Eight months. Oh okay."

She then shakes her head no and says:

"No eight years."

"Oh", was all that he could say but I could see in captains face a look of puzzlement and astonishment. Eight years in the military and she had not advanced one grade. It seemed impossible.


Then, in the car:

"This is a picture of my husband."

He looked like Kid Rock.

"And this is a picture of my boyfriend."

He looked like a terrorist."

Recreating Self

I wrote this as an email a couple of days ago. I've been trying to keep the two separate but I haven't been writing much of either with my focus being school right now so I figured screw it.


Something was getting lost in the pursuit of
structures and ideas. The personal touch he had once
prided his writing on was now being submerged in
academic entanglements. The warmth and security he
once felt when writing about himself and others had
now become mysterious and violent. There was no solid
ground in the everyday activities of his world. At a
time when his mind was growing and changing and being
constantly exposed to a wealth of different music,
film and literature his personal life had become a
stagnant cornucopia of meaningless events strung
together with thin lines of optimism of a near distant
future that could not come soon enough.

That's about as accurate a description as I could make
of my life right now. I go out a lot. My mind is
accepting and expanding a whole lot. Yet, I dunno, I
feel like a person that is detached from himself. I'm
not sad OR happy. I just am. At times I'm
enlightened by ideas and at other times I'm enraptured
by the moment. I get my work done. I have fun with
my friends but there is just something lacking. Me,
I'm lacking in my life. I don't know where I am
anymore. Where have I gone? Sometimes I say things
and I'm not quite sure if I really mean it or not.
And it's not that I'm trying to lie. It's that I
really don't know. I guess maybe it's just something
to be said. It's like something has taken over my
mind and is using it for more useful purposes. It has
decided that I was just holding him down, so he
dispersed of me and started pursuing his own agenda.
Oh my, "I am Jack's bleeding desires".

I think I've been letting others do my imagining for
me. But instead of embracing their visions for the
created world that they are presenting to me, I'm
analyzing the structure of the plot. I'm identifying
the importance of the characters in the telling of the
story and what significance each action has on the
following action and noting why certain things work
and others don't. I'm embracing the camera's
different angles and movements and wondering about the
type of camera being used and whether there are
special lenses or filters added to it. I'm relating
the film's themes and form to others that I know have
come before it and comparing them to examples in
literature. I'm commenting on the music and sounds
that fit and don't and realizing the exact moment that
a suspension of disbelief has been reached and why. I
enjoy the films I watch and the books that I read and
definitely the music and sounds that accompany it all
but I'm not present in any of it, or if I am, I
realize that I am and stand back a look at myself as
though I'm a voyeur looking on my own life. It's all
become a big show and I'm watching myself act in it.

I guess I just… don't, exist anymore. I'm an illusion
of a me I once was and, at present, a me that I've
never met. There's no meaning as it pertains to self
anymore but a meaning derived in hopes of creating new
meaning which in turn is creating a new self that
hides in shadowy doorways waiting for the right time
to attack my body and stage a complete coup. Is that
all growth is? Am I growing? Is growth just a losing
of one self and the gaining of another, completely
different self? And if so, what happens to the old
self and where does the current self go during that
time of growth? When does the old self become the
current and the current become the new?

It's been some time now since I've tried to find my
current or developing self. I guess I just miss the
search. That's what these emails are usually about.
It's my search. But what is there to write about if
you've already found what you've been looking for?
What happens when all your "selves" converge and there
is no past or future but a fleeting present? Nothing.
Actions occur, days go by and eventually you get out
of the army and travel up and down the United States
in a car with a sunroof and a good friend.