This is the 2nd part of an ongoing series. Click here for the 1st.
“You going to get another beer?” my new found friend, Kevin, asked. He obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with. “Hell yes I’m going to get another beer,” I said as I reached in to my pocket. I love paying for drinks with cash. You pull out a big wad of bills, flick through ‘em, and toss a few on the bar like they mean nothing, like you’re a big shooter and you’re anteing up for another round. Your cards are shit and the stakes high, but you can’t fold, not as long as there’s a chance.
“I gotta go to the bathroom,” I told Kevin, “will you order me a PBR?” When I got back there was a cute girl in my seat – real cute – and she was talking to Kevin. If it was anyone else, I would’ve booted their ass out of there, but I couldn’t do that to Kevin. I couldn’t ruin his chances. So I walked over to the edge of the bar and waited for my chance at a beer. He was so busy buying a drink for the cute girl, he forgot to buy mine. That’s OK. I understand priorities.
The girl was trashed. She wasn’t quite slurring, but she had that carefree, reckless manner that comes once the booze has knocked down all the defenses. Her name was Abigail and she proceeded to tell us that she doesn’t like to dress nice or wear make-up. No shit. She didn’t need to. As my dad would say, she was a “natural.”
After she got her hands on that shot of whiskey and pint of beer – both compliments of Kevin, she slid back to the seat next to her friend. Kevin watched her slide away with a not all too surprised look on his face. He had been had and he knew it. Ah well, she was out of his league anyway.
I returned to my seat – the seat next to Abigail. “I saw you earlier over at the Black Forest,” I said. “Noooo,” she replied playfully, “I don’t know the place. Never been there in my life.” Did I say she was cute? She was cute. After while she confessed that she bartends there. Then she went back to talking to her friend. Her priorities were obviously getting drunk and talking to friends - not getting picked-up by strange guys. And with looks like hers I couldn’t blame her. She could do that any day of the week. I went back to talking to Kevin.
Later her and her friend went out for a smoke. Knowing that I smoke and not falling victim to that nasty habit himself, Kevin urged me to go out there and strike up a conversation. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told him.
I walked out into the cool night air and lit-up. Abigail and her friend were pretty involved in some deep conversation about something and there was no way for me to jump in without looking like a clumsy, overbearing idiot. So I dropped it. You have to do that sometimes - be willing to let things go. And if you’re lucky, when you let one thing go, another appears in its place.
There’s this girl I’ve been seeing around town and every time I see her, everything else fades. It’s not just her looks, it’s the way she dresses, the way she moves, the way she is. There’s something about her that takes my breath away. And now here she was standing outside of Lucky’s smoking a cigarette. I wasn’t going to blow this opportunity. “I saw you at the bike shop the other day,” I said.
“I remember,” she replied.
“And I saw you earlier at the library.”
“Oh yes, the library,” she said like someone speaking of a far off place full of fond memories. “My name’s Laura,” she said and held out her hand. “My name’s John,” I said and shook it.
“What’s your name?” I asked her friend.
“Erin.”
“Erin?”
“Eric,” he said.
“Oh, sorry. Eric.”
“Do you work at the bike shop,” Laura asked.
“No I just volunteer, building bikes.”
“Cool.”
“I love bikes.”
“Me too”
“There’s something about them. They’re just so…so,” I searched for the word, “sexy.”
“Yeah.” she agreed.
And then at some point, right of the blue, for no reason, she said, “You better be careful, I might bite you.”
What? I know what I heard, but part of me is saying, she couldn’t have said that, and another part is saying, but she did. It’s not that I don’t think a beautiful girl like that could be interested in me, it’s just that I’m 39 and here she is at an age that I’m surprised she’s even able to be at a bar, and is she flirting with me? I shook it off, still not knowing what to say, so I kind of just growled like a cat – “REEEERRR.”
With our cigarettes burnt away and the first bout of conversation extinguished, she said, “Let’s get a beer Eric.”
“OK, let’s get a beer,” he said.
“Let’s get a beer John,” she added and my heart skipped with glee.
Continued in part iii.
Monday 30 April 2007
Wednesday 25 April 2007
Late Night at Lucky's
This is the 1st part of an ongoing series....
The night started off innocent enough – me wandering the campus streets with a half smoked cigarette in my mouth and a closed-off coffee cup filled with red wine in my hand. My intention was to finish that off and call it a night. Then like an unsuspecting fool, I listened to the Stones – Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. Nothing revs me up more than the Stones. Defiance, sex, soul – the Stones are the blackest white boys around.
I stopped at home to refill my now empty coffee cup and headed downtown where the action is. Where would it be tonight? The Downtown Lounge? No, I was just there Sunday. Max’s? Too many college kids. Lucky’s? Yeah, that’s where I’m feeling it, Lucky’s.
Along the way I passed the Black Forest. I considered going in. I listened to the forces that guide everything. I listened to my heart. I entered.
The crowd was sparse - just what you’d expect on a Wednesday night. A girl was up on stage playing acoustic guitar and pouring her heart out. She was tall, thin, and beautiful. I fell in love with her right there and then, but I knew that would pass quickly enough.
I tried striking-up a conversation with a few people and they were polite and all, but the Black Forest just isn’t the place for that kind of thing. Everyone’s dressed in tattoos and black and skulls and bones and metal. After while you begin to realize that it’s the kind of place where any attempt to conversate with a stranger is viewed as a weakness. So I had a couple of beers and left.
There was another guy leaving about the same time as me. We both crossed the street. “Where you headed?” I asked.
“Lucky’s.”
“Really? So am I. Mind if I walk along with you?”
“Not at all.”
As we approached he gave me a warning, “I go to Lucky’s to play the video poker machine at the bar. So don’t take it the wrong way if I’m not too social.”
“That’s cool,” I said. I didn’t care. I blow with the wind.
“He knows,” my walking partner said as we walked entered the bar pointing to the guy at the door checking IDs, “where do I sit when I come in here?” The short, Mexican guy pointed toward the empty seat at the bar with a video machine blinking, demanding attention. Kind of funny, I thought, and better yet it provided just the diversion I needed to slide past and avoid paying cover. Life’s like that. You gotta jump on opportunities when they present themselves.
I grabbed a seat up at the bar. “How’s it going?” I asked the guy next to me. “Pretty good.” It was obvious he was on his own, looking to talk. So we talked. Mostly about girls….all about girls. He traveled a lot on his job and he was always looking to score. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed, but he was always trying. “It’s all a gamble. You gotta role the dice,” I said.
Continued in part ii.
The night started off innocent enough – me wandering the campus streets with a half smoked cigarette in my mouth and a closed-off coffee cup filled with red wine in my hand. My intention was to finish that off and call it a night. Then like an unsuspecting fool, I listened to the Stones – Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. Nothing revs me up more than the Stones. Defiance, sex, soul – the Stones are the blackest white boys around.
I stopped at home to refill my now empty coffee cup and headed downtown where the action is. Where would it be tonight? The Downtown Lounge? No, I was just there Sunday. Max’s? Too many college kids. Lucky’s? Yeah, that’s where I’m feeling it, Lucky’s.
Along the way I passed the Black Forest. I considered going in. I listened to the forces that guide everything. I listened to my heart. I entered.
The crowd was sparse - just what you’d expect on a Wednesday night. A girl was up on stage playing acoustic guitar and pouring her heart out. She was tall, thin, and beautiful. I fell in love with her right there and then, but I knew that would pass quickly enough.
I tried striking-up a conversation with a few people and they were polite and all, but the Black Forest just isn’t the place for that kind of thing. Everyone’s dressed in tattoos and black and skulls and bones and metal. After while you begin to realize that it’s the kind of place where any attempt to conversate with a stranger is viewed as a weakness. So I had a couple of beers and left.
There was another guy leaving about the same time as me. We both crossed the street. “Where you headed?” I asked.
“Lucky’s.”
“Really? So am I. Mind if I walk along with you?”
“Not at all.”
As we approached he gave me a warning, “I go to Lucky’s to play the video poker machine at the bar. So don’t take it the wrong way if I’m not too social.”
“That’s cool,” I said. I didn’t care. I blow with the wind.
“He knows,” my walking partner said as we walked entered the bar pointing to the guy at the door checking IDs, “where do I sit when I come in here?” The short, Mexican guy pointed toward the empty seat at the bar with a video machine blinking, demanding attention. Kind of funny, I thought, and better yet it provided just the diversion I needed to slide past and avoid paying cover. Life’s like that. You gotta jump on opportunities when they present themselves.
I grabbed a seat up at the bar. “How’s it going?” I asked the guy next to me. “Pretty good.” It was obvious he was on his own, looking to talk. So we talked. Mostly about girls….all about girls. He traveled a lot on his job and he was always looking to score. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed, but he was always trying. “It’s all a gamble. You gotta role the dice,” I said.
Continued in part ii.
Sunday 22 April 2007
Circle K II
After a few drinks with friends, I was headed home. The daily struggles of life were pulling me down like a freight train headed straight to hell. I needed a 40, so I stopped at the Circle K.
I was in a mood to kick some serious ass. Not in a violent way, but more like, “Hey world, this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, fuck you.” All with a smile on my face of course.
There was a huge line at the cash register. What a bunch of drunks. I grabbed my 40 of Bush, because they were out of the “High Life”. What a bunch of cheap drunks. I joined them at the end of the line.
I plopped my 40 on a shelf too lazy to hold it while I waited. The woman in front looked at it, then looked at me, “That looks like a fun evening.”
I shrugged my shoulders, lifted my palms up to the skies, “we’ll see.”
“I can never get to the bottom of one of them.”
“Oh, I can. Then I come back and get another. You gotta watch the next day though. It’ll kill ya.”
“I’m all about the micros.”
“Yeah, they taste good but they’re so filling I can’t drink too many of them.”
“Well that’s a good gauge don’t you think? I drink those,” she said pointing to my suspicious looking 40, “and I get all twisted.”
“Maybe, but gauges and me don’t get along too well.”
She moved back slightly from the hips up and had this look on her face. I know the look. I have it anytime a girl says something that really impresses me. She held out her hand, “I’m Jennifer.”
“I’m John,” I said and I shook it.
She was in her 30s. Dark hair and eyes. Kind of short and stout - not bad looking, but not really good either. I knew I could ask her home if I wanted to, and I seriously considered it. It sure would be fun to get drunk, get wild and get screwed. But she just wasn’t my type.
Damn standards.
I was in a mood to kick some serious ass. Not in a violent way, but more like, “Hey world, this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, fuck you.” All with a smile on my face of course.
There was a huge line at the cash register. What a bunch of drunks. I grabbed my 40 of Bush, because they were out of the “High Life”. What a bunch of cheap drunks. I joined them at the end of the line.
I plopped my 40 on a shelf too lazy to hold it while I waited. The woman in front looked at it, then looked at me, “That looks like a fun evening.”
I shrugged my shoulders, lifted my palms up to the skies, “we’ll see.”
“I can never get to the bottom of one of them.”
“Oh, I can. Then I come back and get another. You gotta watch the next day though. It’ll kill ya.”
“I’m all about the micros.”
“Yeah, they taste good but they’re so filling I can’t drink too many of them.”
“Well that’s a good gauge don’t you think? I drink those,” she said pointing to my suspicious looking 40, “and I get all twisted.”
“Maybe, but gauges and me don’t get along too well.”
She moved back slightly from the hips up and had this look on her face. I know the look. I have it anytime a girl says something that really impresses me. She held out her hand, “I’m Jennifer.”
“I’m John,” I said and I shook it.
She was in her 30s. Dark hair and eyes. Kind of short and stout - not bad looking, but not really good either. I knew I could ask her home if I wanted to, and I seriously considered it. It sure would be fun to get drunk, get wild and get screwed. But she just wasn’t my type.
Damn standards.
Saturday 21 April 2007
Sunday 15 April 2007
We're All Going to Die Someday
“Get-up. Get moving. You know you want to go to that wildflower hike and by the look of the sun, it’s already 8 or 9.”
I know. I know. But this bed just feels so good. Can’t you feel how soft everything is, how warm. I’m not ready to move yet. You know you want to stay here too.
“OK, but only for a little while.”
My body sinks deeper into the bed, pulls the blanket in tighter. My mind goes to that place somewhere between dreams and reality where everything seems possible….
“OK. Time to get-up. Time to move….You can do it. Just push off the covers, put on some clothes and get moving. It’ll be fine once you get started.”
OK.
My mind is already moving toward the kitchen, wondering what to make for breakfast. My body curls up into a ball...
“You said you were getting up. Come on.”
Yeah, I know, but it’s not gonna happen. I know you want to start the day. I know you think it’s wrong to stay in bed. But how can something that feels so good, be so wrong? Besides when’s the last time you had a day without any appointments? Any commitments? Any responsibilities?
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
My mind and body float off somewhere up into a cloud.
That’s how my day starts. I don’t have a clock in my room. Keeping track of time by seconds, minutes, and hours is like chopping a person up into tiny little bits and then saying each piece is the same. I track time by the sun, the moon, and the seasons.
I finally get-up, put on my clothes, make my breakfast of beans and eggs – a taste of Guatemala. I turn on the computer. 10:15. I guess I missed that nature hike. Oh well, I think I got more out of sleeping anyway. I stream in some music from one of the many college stations around the country – KWVA right out of Eugene, Radio K from Minnesota, and KAOS out of Olympia. KAOS, that’s the best name ever for a radio station.
We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day – interesting lyrics to start the day off I think.
Wow, a whole day to myself with nothing to do. I used to have days like this all the time. Now I can’t remember when I last had a whole day without one slice of time where I had to be somewhere. I’ve got no commitments, no responsibilities, no goals, no plans, no schedule, no agenda, no nothing. Nothing to do but nothing. Freedom baby. That’s what I’m talking about.
Now what do I do? I could call Beth, see if she wants to hang out. No, today is a day all for myself. Let’s see, I can scan Don’s drawings for my zine, I can work on the eisil, I can go take pictures, draw, paste e-mails into my journal, read. There’s Bukowski, there’s Snow Falling on Cedars, shit, there’s all kinds of stuff I can be doing. How about the coffee shop? Yeah, I haven’t been to a coffee shop for awhile. So, I gather my journal, my books, and my water and I walk out the door.
The air is fresh. It smells of spring. There’s a steady breeze and everything is in bloom. Spring is the best season of them all. It speaks of life. But still I can’t help singing... We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you're not immortal...
I get to the coffee shop, scan the people, look for cute girls, look for anyone interesting at all. There’s a girl with every square inch of her table covered in books and papers. Must be a student. I go in and order tea. The girl behind the counter is kind of cute. “I like your necklace,” I say as she hands me my tea. “Thanks, my partner bought it for me in Peru.” I knew she was going to say that.
I go back to the tables outside wondering why anybody would want to sit inside when they could be out here. I pick a table in the sun - no other will do - and I glance over to see what that girl is working on so studiously. Venga Espanol. Interesting.
“Are you a first year Spanish student,” I ask her hoping to recruit another student for the class I’m going to take - and just wanting to talk in general. “Actually, I teach first and second year students,” she says and then goes on to tell me all kinds of things about language, culture, and education, and how they’re all related. She taught English and helped build schools in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. She studied in a program called Education and Social Change, and now she wants to teach Spanish here in America. Language and social change are obviously her passion.
I admire people like that – people that have a clear vision on how to make the world a better place and go for it. My visions change from day to day, moment to moment, so I have a hard time going after anything.
After while, I go back to my table. She packs her books onto her bike, and pedals past me. “Bye John.” “Bye Monique.”
I sit at the busy intersection writing in my journal, watching people go by. The sun peaks its head out from behind the big, grey clouds now and then. I feel like a cat with nothing to do, but sit in the sun, stretch, and enjoy the day. And I still can’t get that song out of my head….We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you’re not immortal. Then the whistling kicks in, wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh. Wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shh.
I know. I know. But this bed just feels so good. Can’t you feel how soft everything is, how warm. I’m not ready to move yet. You know you want to stay here too.
“OK, but only for a little while.”
My body sinks deeper into the bed, pulls the blanket in tighter. My mind goes to that place somewhere between dreams and reality where everything seems possible….
“OK. Time to get-up. Time to move….You can do it. Just push off the covers, put on some clothes and get moving. It’ll be fine once you get started.”
OK.
My mind is already moving toward the kitchen, wondering what to make for breakfast. My body curls up into a ball...
“You said you were getting up. Come on.”
Yeah, I know, but it’s not gonna happen. I know you want to start the day. I know you think it’s wrong to stay in bed. But how can something that feels so good, be so wrong? Besides when’s the last time you had a day without any appointments? Any commitments? Any responsibilities?
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
My mind and body float off somewhere up into a cloud.
That’s how my day starts. I don’t have a clock in my room. Keeping track of time by seconds, minutes, and hours is like chopping a person up into tiny little bits and then saying each piece is the same. I track time by the sun, the moon, and the seasons.
I finally get-up, put on my clothes, make my breakfast of beans and eggs – a taste of Guatemala. I turn on the computer. 10:15. I guess I missed that nature hike. Oh well, I think I got more out of sleeping anyway. I stream in some music from one of the many college stations around the country – KWVA right out of Eugene, Radio K from Minnesota, and KAOS out of Olympia. KAOS, that’s the best name ever for a radio station.
We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day – interesting lyrics to start the day off I think.
Wow, a whole day to myself with nothing to do. I used to have days like this all the time. Now I can’t remember when I last had a whole day without one slice of time where I had to be somewhere. I’ve got no commitments, no responsibilities, no goals, no plans, no schedule, no agenda, no nothing. Nothing to do but nothing. Freedom baby. That’s what I’m talking about.
Now what do I do? I could call Beth, see if she wants to hang out. No, today is a day all for myself. Let’s see, I can scan Don’s drawings for my zine, I can work on the eisil, I can go take pictures, draw, paste e-mails into my journal, read. There’s Bukowski, there’s Snow Falling on Cedars, shit, there’s all kinds of stuff I can be doing. How about the coffee shop? Yeah, I haven’t been to a coffee shop for awhile. So, I gather my journal, my books, and my water and I walk out the door.
The air is fresh. It smells of spring. There’s a steady breeze and everything is in bloom. Spring is the best season of them all. It speaks of life. But still I can’t help singing... We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you're not immortal...
I get to the coffee shop, scan the people, look for cute girls, look for anyone interesting at all. There’s a girl with every square inch of her table covered in books and papers. Must be a student. I go in and order tea. The girl behind the counter is kind of cute. “I like your necklace,” I say as she hands me my tea. “Thanks, my partner bought it for me in Peru.” I knew she was going to say that.
I go back to the tables outside wondering why anybody would want to sit inside when they could be out here. I pick a table in the sun - no other will do - and I glance over to see what that girl is working on so studiously. Venga Espanol. Interesting.
“Are you a first year Spanish student,” I ask her hoping to recruit another student for the class I’m going to take - and just wanting to talk in general. “Actually, I teach first and second year students,” she says and then goes on to tell me all kinds of things about language, culture, and education, and how they’re all related. She taught English and helped build schools in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. She studied in a program called Education and Social Change, and now she wants to teach Spanish here in America. Language and social change are obviously her passion.
I admire people like that – people that have a clear vision on how to make the world a better place and go for it. My visions change from day to day, moment to moment, so I have a hard time going after anything.
After while, I go back to my table. She packs her books onto her bike, and pedals past me. “Bye John.” “Bye Monique.”
I sit at the busy intersection writing in my journal, watching people go by. The sun peaks its head out from behind the big, grey clouds now and then. I feel like a cat with nothing to do, but sit in the sun, stretch, and enjoy the day. And I still can’t get that song out of my head….We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you’re not immortal. Then the whistling kicks in, wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh. Wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shh.
Saturday 7 April 2007
What it's Like
“Sorry for wanting to alter my state of consciousness,” Mark said sarcastically with a 16 ounce of Hamms in his hand and an Altoid tin full of ganja in his pocket. He was addressing anyone who had a problem with how much he smokes and drinks. He and I were going to get along just fine.
Then the fucker broke my necklace. It was partially my fault I guess. I was walking down his hallway, exploring. “What are you doing,” he shouted at me, “don’t go back there.” Now, anybody that knows me, knows the best way to get me to one thing is to tell me to do the other. So I started running down the hallway. When I got to the end I stopped and spun around on my heels. Woooah. Behind the cracked door was a sea of green. I had discovered Mark’s growing operation. He flipped. “What were you doing?” he kept asking with intense, crazy eyes. I apologized and pushed my way out to the porch, out of his house. “Why did you go down there when I told you not to?” he repeated over and over. I felt like a teenage kid being chewed out by his dad and no answer was good enough for him. “Are you a cop? Are you a narc?” Now he was getting paranoid.
“Come on, you really believe that?” I responded.
“You could be. I really don’t know you that well.”
“You’ve looked into my eyes. You know me well enough.”
He still wouldn’t let it drop and with each accusation, he got more and more angry. He grabbed my shirt, and now I started getting pissed. “Get your fucking hand off me,” I shouted and ripped it away. I felt a strand of beads unravel from my neck, roll off my shoulders, slide down my stomach, and I watched as it plopped onto the boards below – beads everywhere. The whole world stopped.
I knelt down beside my necklace like someone kneeling down beside a gunned down lover. He was still questioning me, yelling at me, but all I could think about was the beads. I picked-up the broken remains and cupped them in my hands. “You broke my necklace,” I said as I rose to meet him face to face, “you broke my fucking necklace.” I was ready to kill him. “That necklace meant something to me,” I said. “That was the only piece of jewelry anybody ever gave me that I actually liked. I’ve been through all kinds of things with that necklace – different countries, fights, everything. And now you broke it.”
“I’m sorry man, I’m sorry,” he protested, “It’s just that I have to be careful. You understand. I guess I’m kind of paranoid.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I said. I tried to forgive him, but I was still pissed. Then he starts-up again, “Do I have anything to worry about?” he’d ask staring into my eyes, “Are you a narc?”
“I’m done with this,” I said and stomped away. His calls followed me down the street, but I ignored him.
Thump, thump, thump – the sound of his heavy hooves coming up my stairs. Great. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he kept saying, “I’m an idiot. Come on. Come back to my place and drink a beer with me.” Finally I gave in. “OK. But if you start-up again, I’m leaving.”
“OK.”
The next day I woke-up with another hangover - cobwebs on the brain, dead cells floating in a sea of alcohol and marijuana. I thought about the necklace and the events of the night. I’m still pissed, but I can't stay mad for too long. I know what it’s like to be drunk, stoned, and volatile.
Then the fucker broke my necklace. It was partially my fault I guess. I was walking down his hallway, exploring. “What are you doing,” he shouted at me, “don’t go back there.” Now, anybody that knows me, knows the best way to get me to one thing is to tell me to do the other. So I started running down the hallway. When I got to the end I stopped and spun around on my heels. Woooah. Behind the cracked door was a sea of green. I had discovered Mark’s growing operation. He flipped. “What were you doing?” he kept asking with intense, crazy eyes. I apologized and pushed my way out to the porch, out of his house. “Why did you go down there when I told you not to?” he repeated over and over. I felt like a teenage kid being chewed out by his dad and no answer was good enough for him. “Are you a cop? Are you a narc?” Now he was getting paranoid.
“Come on, you really believe that?” I responded.
“You could be. I really don’t know you that well.”
“You’ve looked into my eyes. You know me well enough.”
He still wouldn’t let it drop and with each accusation, he got more and more angry. He grabbed my shirt, and now I started getting pissed. “Get your fucking hand off me,” I shouted and ripped it away. I felt a strand of beads unravel from my neck, roll off my shoulders, slide down my stomach, and I watched as it plopped onto the boards below – beads everywhere. The whole world stopped.
I knelt down beside my necklace like someone kneeling down beside a gunned down lover. He was still questioning me, yelling at me, but all I could think about was the beads. I picked-up the broken remains and cupped them in my hands. “You broke my necklace,” I said as I rose to meet him face to face, “you broke my fucking necklace.” I was ready to kill him. “That necklace meant something to me,” I said. “That was the only piece of jewelry anybody ever gave me that I actually liked. I’ve been through all kinds of things with that necklace – different countries, fights, everything. And now you broke it.”
“I’m sorry man, I’m sorry,” he protested, “It’s just that I have to be careful. You understand. I guess I’m kind of paranoid.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I said. I tried to forgive him, but I was still pissed. Then he starts-up again, “Do I have anything to worry about?” he’d ask staring into my eyes, “Are you a narc?”
“I’m done with this,” I said and stomped away. His calls followed me down the street, but I ignored him.
Thump, thump, thump – the sound of his heavy hooves coming up my stairs. Great. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he kept saying, “I’m an idiot. Come on. Come back to my place and drink a beer with me.” Finally I gave in. “OK. But if you start-up again, I’m leaving.”
“OK.”
The next day I woke-up with another hangover - cobwebs on the brain, dead cells floating in a sea of alcohol and marijuana. I thought about the necklace and the events of the night. I’m still pissed, but I can't stay mad for too long. I know what it’s like to be drunk, stoned, and volatile.
Sunday 1 April 2007
My Favorite Letter
Dear John,
Here I am at the SOU Library computer room and I am stoned. It's being a pretty good time except that typing is nothing like playing the piano. Oh, for a piano!
Here I am at the SOU Library and I have nothing whatsoever to say. Here I am at the SOU Library and it's one of those nights when the stars come out and they are playing musical instruments right through us. I am here at the SOU Library and I'm tired of being ignored!
Here I am at the SOU Library and I think that I'm going a little crazy because it's just one of those things that's got to happen once in a while. I am here at the SOU Library and I'm a little scared and shakey but somehow still typing. This type of writing is so private yet exposed at the same time, yet who can help but be in the silicon snake oil valley that is behind the beautiful creation known as the internet? Here I am at the SOU Library and i'm suddenly quite cold because this is the edge of the mountains. In fact it really is the foothills of this incredible place of ice and snow. I just want to write and I don't want to shiver so much and definitely think that there is nothing wrong with any of this stuff and I guess this is free associating and I don't really know where I am tonight and that's o.k. because it reminds me of what I descovered in Europe this summer, that I CAN go anywhere and be o.k. except into war torn everywhere.
I can't handle this level of violence on the planet. Where is the peace? Is it still out there? Come on guys I know you can hear me!!!! I laugh when I think of all that I've missed by being in this here and now. ...Where am I going with this? Suddenly I'm at the Oregon Country Fair and not only is it crazy because of the intensity of everything, in a crushing kind of way, but the man whom I really like is there with his beautiful girlfriend who I also really like, so that was hard but o.k. and nothing whatsoever like being in the middle of downtown San Francisco and walking around with a man who I really love but who is crazy messed up in a big way while eating mushrooms and trying not to absolutely fucking freak out!! And this is getting a little too off the track because believe it or not and at some point I HAD a point and it was to get back to you John with your information that you requested. Yes, our department store has everything you could possibly want to buy AND sell in it. And suddenly it's like I'm freaking in the middle of Johannesburg, and I have a hard time with even thinking of it as Africa because it's Africa in serious fucked up pain!! I think I went to SOuth Africa because I had to know some of the pain of this place that I helped create. Only body couldn't take the force of the blow which confronted my emotional wall of resistence against my emotions. It stopped me like a train about to wreck for good unless it could learn that it's a magic fluid train that doesn't need to break apart because it can become like water instead and flow. Here I am again and reading back through that I kind of enjoy smiling about some of the crazy things I said in it. Like the mountains of fair Scotland where rain falls in misty blankets of gray and everything is crying out in beauty that a certain kind of wonderful sadness has created. It must be the colors and it must be the kids that keep me alive on this January night. Sorry, suddenly I was in a CAt Power song and she is beautiful, and yes, I am listening to it as I write and it didn't suddenly just pop into the middle of my head randomly as I wrote you because I'm not quite that far advanced into my state of craziness amongst the sea weed and the wind blown wackiness of everything that is.
Well Johnny my dear Pilgrim of the seventh Order I couldn't agree more that this has been a splendid good time but it's getting ready on time for me to be out of here. (And meanwhile you are covering your mouth in the house and going "hee, hee,)" For not only am I crazy but I have the feeling that this is getting a bit on the long side and even you the reader get a little bit tired of silly things being written in the woods of the mind, with their every growing forest of neural pathways and dendrites as branches, axons as trunks and those other nobby things at the end of the neuron for roots. Only dendrites make more sense (for roots that is). Well gotta go. Love ya, boyfriend.
L
Here I am at the SOU Library computer room and I am stoned. It's being a pretty good time except that typing is nothing like playing the piano. Oh, for a piano!
Here I am at the SOU Library and I have nothing whatsoever to say. Here I am at the SOU Library and it's one of those nights when the stars come out and they are playing musical instruments right through us. I am here at the SOU Library and I'm tired of being ignored!
Here I am at the SOU Library and I think that I'm going a little crazy because it's just one of those things that's got to happen once in a while. I am here at the SOU Library and I'm a little scared and shakey but somehow still typing. This type of writing is so private yet exposed at the same time, yet who can help but be in the silicon snake oil valley that is behind the beautiful creation known as the internet? Here I am at the SOU Library and i'm suddenly quite cold because this is the edge of the mountains. In fact it really is the foothills of this incredible place of ice and snow. I just want to write and I don't want to shiver so much and definitely think that there is nothing wrong with any of this stuff and I guess this is free associating and I don't really know where I am tonight and that's o.k. because it reminds me of what I descovered in Europe this summer, that I CAN go anywhere and be o.k. except into war torn everywhere.
I can't handle this level of violence on the planet. Where is the peace? Is it still out there? Come on guys I know you can hear me!!!! I laugh when I think of all that I've missed by being in this here and now. ...Where am I going with this? Suddenly I'm at the Oregon Country Fair and not only is it crazy because of the intensity of everything, in a crushing kind of way, but the man whom I really like is there with his beautiful girlfriend who I also really like, so that was hard but o.k. and nothing whatsoever like being in the middle of downtown San Francisco and walking around with a man who I really love but who is crazy messed up in a big way while eating mushrooms and trying not to absolutely fucking freak out!! And this is getting a little too off the track because believe it or not and at some point I HAD a point and it was to get back to you John with your information that you requested. Yes, our department store has everything you could possibly want to buy AND sell in it. And suddenly it's like I'm freaking in the middle of Johannesburg, and I have a hard time with even thinking of it as Africa because it's Africa in serious fucked up pain!! I think I went to SOuth Africa because I had to know some of the pain of this place that I helped create. Only body couldn't take the force of the blow which confronted my emotional wall of resistence against my emotions. It stopped me like a train about to wreck for good unless it could learn that it's a magic fluid train that doesn't need to break apart because it can become like water instead and flow. Here I am again and reading back through that I kind of enjoy smiling about some of the crazy things I said in it. Like the mountains of fair Scotland where rain falls in misty blankets of gray and everything is crying out in beauty that a certain kind of wonderful sadness has created. It must be the colors and it must be the kids that keep me alive on this January night. Sorry, suddenly I was in a CAt Power song and she is beautiful, and yes, I am listening to it as I write and it didn't suddenly just pop into the middle of my head randomly as I wrote you because I'm not quite that far advanced into my state of craziness amongst the sea weed and the wind blown wackiness of everything that is.
Well Johnny my dear Pilgrim of the seventh Order I couldn't agree more that this has been a splendid good time but it's getting ready on time for me to be out of here. (And meanwhile you are covering your mouth in the house and going "hee, hee,)" For not only am I crazy but I have the feeling that this is getting a bit on the long side and even you the reader get a little bit tired of silly things being written in the woods of the mind, with their every growing forest of neural pathways and dendrites as branches, axons as trunks and those other nobby things at the end of the neuron for roots. Only dendrites make more sense (for roots that is). Well gotta go. Love ya, boyfriend.
L
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