January 17, 2009
Post Adolescent Molestation And Its Ties To Getting Poor Studio Coverage on Kimberly And Valentine...
We hit the early bird at this buffet place where all the senior citzies rolled. I think we talked about baseball, the wars he'd been in, his distant family or lack of...girlfriends of mine, mysteries of his. At some point, he said something strange, something that knocked me on my heels. He mentioned or asked about...and I need some ellipses here...either my loss of virginity or my taking of virginity. I think I gave him something, maybe out of admiration of his asking something so odd so casually, then told him to top off and to-go the iced tea he was nursing...we were leaving.
On the way home, we made a park detour to look at some newly built youth baseball fields. We parked, got out, looked around...quick. When we got back in the car, he started talking about the military again. By then, I was kind of shut off, ready to fucking go, to get back on with my life. At some point, something about the whole ordeal had become an extreme chore. Something about it had turned odd...maybe because in my mind of minds, I had a feeling about what was coming. I heard it out the side of my ear, something about showering in the military and this joke they would play and then...
Then the old man grabbed my shit - this glancing swipe, reaching across the center console, straight into my crotch. I looked over to him, speechless and bewildered, not really knowing what to say. Mind you, when this happened, I was 30 pounds heavier than I am now, all power, probably hopped up on what would today be an entire regimen of banned and illegal substances. With a finger, I could have snapped the man...maybe that's why I didn't. I'm not really the passive type, but again, in my mind of minds...if that made his day - a man nearing the end of his days, then that's an after the fact gift I suppose I was willing to give. We drove away, moved on. Forgiven, odd, sad, whatever...
February 02, 2009
There Goes The Neighborhood...
Me and Durban finally broke ground on the novel we've been threatening.
We both have this thing that's probably not very charming to anyone outside the two of us -- belief that we're literary gods in the ripening. I suppose only time will tell. But I can tell you this...the novel, the novella...anything that takes time and genuine thought to consume in this world is going extinct. We're ending. When our children's children rule the world, there won't be a world left to rule. I can't explain how that exact notion is going to relate exactly to our mighty pens, but it will.
February 13, 2009
So I'm Starting To Think It's Me...
And I don't know why I'm saying this, other than to work through self-realization...and because I've got these bruises on my shoulder and back...and I was looking in the mirror and realized that I'd forgotten my response to her question in the backseat of my car, asking if she could bite me and then my daring her, then again...then again and soon after just hoping a cop wasn't going to drive by while all the while thinking to myself -- I should have gotten this out of my system in high school.
March 04, 2009
Love Is Carnage...
So this morning, I woke up to find this sweet (I see sweetness in odd things) and direct letter in my in-box that's peppered with words like rude and curt and douchebag. The douchebag thing was more of a warning and not an accusation. We all know I'm not a douchebag -- she does too. There were also quite a few f-bombs...not angry ones, just...expressive. And I think I got the letter because of everything I just mentioned, and my likely resulting behavior due to the laundry list of excuses as to why my life is supposedly in disarray...and it is, it absolutely is, and it will always be in absolute disarray because that's what I need in my life and only people in disarray can understand that.
If you follow me and read me and retain any of these words, you know that I was at least sometime in the last year touched up pretty badly by a girl. You know that before her, I have been touched up pretty badly in the past. You know that I own the sensitivity to handle reverse situations with grace and chivalry and you know of me as being an exemplary enough character that I remember my own broken hearts and that I would at least try my damnedest to never let my actions deal any ill-feelings or broken hearts. I hope you know that -- that I would never apologize for my supposed indiscretions -- but that I would at least always try to do right.
But love is carnage. Absolute fucking carnage. And no matter how clean we try to make it, no matter how great the intentions or how remarkable both involved parties are capable of being, someone always gets touched up. It's the price we should all be willing to pay. Because to me, there is nothing as awe inspiring in this world as being in love. The thought of it literally inspires my every turn. And the higher you rise and the better it gets, the greater the crater...and someone always winds up in the crater, always. The truth, there have been a short few that have left me there...some deep, others glancing. The truth, I've left many, many more - and don't you dare think that's me holding a trophy, that's the last thing I would ever do. It's a definition, a self-realization. Because every time I wake up with one of these letters, I'm reminded of my sweet incapability. I'm reminded of my true romance...
March 30, 2009
My Behavior II...
I'm at a bar and this girl is hawking me all night, because I'm a specimen or for whatever reasons people hawk other people, fill in your own shit. I write a lot about girl plural and the pursuit of good things that sometimes associate with them because the entire process defines fascination to me. This has all been said before. For the last month or so, in so many words, I've been absolutely out of the game - and I do this often, all the time, actually...because catch this theme as I make it obvious...it also suits me. Why? Well, because at this point in my life, I'm going to dish hurt to everyone and I'm going to dish it quickly. So I certainly tell people to tell people not to chase me. I certainly do that. And in the rare, rare case that I do actually meet a game changer, and they change my game, I know that in the end, I'll lose. They'll cut my legs out. Why? Because I think let them...because ultimately, I think that's exactly what I want. Because I look at myself and I hear what you don't hear and I can say because I know, I am incapable of anything but these absolutes, these extremes. Because it's destructive, unrealistic, temporary. Because it keeps me clean.
April 29, 2009
Mt. Baldy...
It took me about an hour to get down the first ridge. If you want me to fractionalize, I will...I was about 1/15th of the way down, just fucked. Have I made this abundantly clear yet? I started talking to the rocks, because they were so fickle. Most rocks were small and most steps caused them and about 30 of their ankle smashing friends to slide. So when I'd find a good one to grip, I'd say things like be strong my friend or take care of me now. Please don't think I'm kidding. There were at least two instances where I lost my footing and saved myself from a tumble with three fingers of an outstretched arm. Sometimes, I'd laugh it or the pain I'd recently suffered off, but most of the way, I was a little more panicked than I wanted to be, wondering what things were going to be like when the sun goes down.
