It was a transfer of energy; this introduced effusive outpouring bumped my tight, circled-wagon glow into movement like impact on a static pool ball. I felt it before I registered the source. I turned, as one does when jostled in a crowd or grabbed from an unseen friend unexpectantly, and looked into the shine of the energy. I wasn't disturbed and I wasn't startled and I wasn't confused and I wasn't anything that felt bothered...I was happy.
I was excited or energized or electrified. I was enlivened that my stadid glow had been forced into motion. And more, I was glad to find the origination of this forced impetus of action. It was truly unexpected, me poring over some boring article in the free weekly publication in an attempt to kill time on a Friday afternoon of possibility or recollection.
I peer into a smile, a neon sign curvature of lips and teeth and soft, caring eyes. I see creases around eyes, laughter lines I've heard women say, and high cheeks, and I register a hint of fun at my expense. I become incredulity and shine and sensation and comfort, like the cat who is awakened from sleep in a confused bliss of soft petting. And there we were...and that's exactly how it happened.
She ate a salad and talked and I drank a PBR and detailed experiences and we found the middle of two separated lives and it felt very nice. It was Friday, it was that day, it was the beginning--it was our introduction.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Slumped
How close is your death? Morbid, scary, harsh thought, a downer--most likely. Sorry. But, I touched a dead person this week, so forgive me if death is on my mind.
I ride Marta, back and forth each day, and there are countless stories I could tell about these travels. But Wednesday was a new level of weird. From 5 Points two trains depart: the Candler Park train, which is a stubby sucker that only goes four stops before making a loop back to become another short-trip train westbound; and the snaking eastbound train that chases the Candler short hop by about 4 minutes. I never take the Candler one because I'll have to get off and wait for the eastbound, but for some odd reason I jumped on that one on Wednesday.
The Candler short hop train was very nice, clean and full of cold air-conditioned air. There was no shortage of seats and even the windows were clean. We click-clacked along our four stops to Candler Park and all was well. Then, when reaching the last stop the lights were turned off and announcements were made explaining this was the end of the line. We, the myriad riders, gathered near the doors. One guy was slumped motionless in his seat. I went to jostle him to awaken him, thinking him to be hitting the sauce after work or something and passed out. Nope, he was dead. Eyes rolled back in his head-no chest movement-pale skin-dead.
I looked around: folks were freaking out. I walked up to the train conductor's window and told him he had a Medical, a problem; in fact, he has a dead guy on his train who was not deboarding as instructed. The conductor tries to awaken the man and I exit the train, the scene, the station. I walked the two stops onward, a good 5-7 miles, and went for a beer. I thought over how short life is for all of us. I then got back on Marta and went home, talked to my Mom about the random events of my day after 5 hours from my clockout at work, and started on my OT work. That's how I dealt with it.
This guy, this suit and tie guy, this dead person-who started the short hop on the Candler train alive because he had to walk onto the train and find a seat-passed during our short jaunt. I found him. I tried to shake him awake, but he was gone from this plane of existence.
Life is short, your time alive is incalculable, your breaths are not warrantied. I know, I touched death this week.
I ride Marta, back and forth each day, and there are countless stories I could tell about these travels. But Wednesday was a new level of weird. From 5 Points two trains depart: the Candler Park train, which is a stubby sucker that only goes four stops before making a loop back to become another short-trip train westbound; and the snaking eastbound train that chases the Candler short hop by about 4 minutes. I never take the Candler one because I'll have to get off and wait for the eastbound, but for some odd reason I jumped on that one on Wednesday.
The Candler short hop train was very nice, clean and full of cold air-conditioned air. There was no shortage of seats and even the windows were clean. We click-clacked along our four stops to Candler Park and all was well. Then, when reaching the last stop the lights were turned off and announcements were made explaining this was the end of the line. We, the myriad riders, gathered near the doors. One guy was slumped motionless in his seat. I went to jostle him to awaken him, thinking him to be hitting the sauce after work or something and passed out. Nope, he was dead. Eyes rolled back in his head-no chest movement-pale skin-dead.
I looked around: folks were freaking out. I walked up to the train conductor's window and told him he had a Medical, a problem; in fact, he has a dead guy on his train who was not deboarding as instructed. The conductor tries to awaken the man and I exit the train, the scene, the station. I walked the two stops onward, a good 5-7 miles, and went for a beer. I thought over how short life is for all of us. I then got back on Marta and went home, talked to my Mom about the random events of my day after 5 hours from my clockout at work, and started on my OT work. That's how I dealt with it.
This guy, this suit and tie guy, this dead person-who started the short hop on the Candler train alive because he had to walk onto the train and find a seat-passed during our short jaunt. I found him. I tried to shake him awake, but he was gone from this plane of existence.
Life is short, your time alive is incalculable, your breaths are not warrantied. I know, I touched death this week.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Whisper Unwound
I discarded a burden last night, writing into permanence this scared-cringing heaviness that has loomed right underneath my skin and wrinkles and blood-shot eyes since last September. It felt so good to face it, force it into a manageable form, archive it for my depressive curiousity in future days, and excrete it from my exhausted form. How did I finally know to do this? What caused all the feelings to adhere into a format? Why, when I began the writing, did all the words and memories line up in order? And what about all those mental snapshots I had repressed or forgotten, how did they reappear?
Do you know how it feels when you pass onward from something in your life...like, say, getting the cast taken off your leg now that it has healed? You hated that damn cast, cursed it and scorned it, but in the end your leg felt exposed and naked and odd without that loathed cast. That's how I feel now that I have dropped some of that gnawing pain, that unfinished conclusion, that ending to the ending. And fresh, deep breathes are easily come by, along with cleaner dreams and new directions. And hope has become an answered prayer instead of a breathy whisper.
This time in my life has been returned to me to repair, prepare, develop, and progress onward into the future I can now approach unhindered, standing upright with pride, and smiling with genuine joy.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Rainy Night
"You can't wish that, no don't say that...don't even think those thoughts. It will only jinx us."
The light was broken, haphazard, cutting through abstract raindrop-splattered patterns on the front glass. The floorboard was cluttered with trash and it looked like I felt when I reached into the two of us and tried to find words to explain away pain.
The drops held her diluted attention and kept her scanning the parking lot for recognizable delivery. I spoke to air, in the confined air, about airy wishes. She focused on the things that were real: the drops, the garbage, the hurt, the insatiable need, the clawing inside of her, the anger, and the hopelessness.
"Geeeeez, mfing Louise, will it ever stop raining?" I try to break the solid air inside the car, try to initiate something, elicit a hopefully civil response.
The sound of rain was overpowering and the drops obscured the view and the time loomed electronic-green accusations at us in that darkened parking lot where we were subject to someone else's schedule and hurt steamed the glass as we waited.
"What is it we're doing anyway?" she quietly asked the falling drops, and I had no answer.
Structured Exit
Absolute.
Discard.
Effusive.
Off-hand.
Alone.
Erase.
Resign.
Alter.
Disconnect.
Ineffective.
Malcontent.
Infected.
Discomfort.
Absolve.
Endure.
Discard.
Effusive.
Off-hand.
Alone.
Erase.
Resign.
Alter.
Disconnect.
Ineffective.
Malcontent.
Infected.
Discomfort.
Absolve.
Endure.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Upward, Beyond
He breathes heavily, expelling stale air and worry, and blinks away the aftermath of his mental daydream. It is the same one, the wishful thoughts of what he will do next, later, tomorrow, in the future, someday...whenever...hopefully, with his burning continuing inside of the body that contains the dreaming apparatus. And he exerts tiny movements in his lull of life, his lanquid self-centered bubble of thoughtful dead air; he is the half-deflated ballon tied to the bedpost of the kid who has forgotten the cotton candy, discarded the crappy stuffed bear, the entry stamp now faded from the small hand along with the lights and excitement and feeling of discovery and giddy recklessness.
It was inactive once, just as it was with the non-fenced open expansion: this drive to become, to rise above the slump of his surroundings, the impetus of forward direction consumed him into believing his heading to be correct. Just as this glowing force moved him so did the tidal wash of darkened disappointment clutch him into the undertow of immobility, the fear-faced inertia burdening his desperate, twitching limbs and numbing the impulsive attempted starts and fits to snap the atrophy of his stagnation.
Somewhere, some-dark-where, his grasping hand clutched a hand-hold and clung for his life on the slick walls of despair. And he climbed, he toiled, he gained upward movement, and he began to change. Was it the harsh bottom? Could he have belief?
Lessons in finding the proper placement of trust, the faith of a single step, the pulse of his blood in his constant ascent calmed that abandoned place inside, the desert that lacked hope or clarity.
He is tired. He clutches nobs and wedges his feet into strange positions of foundation. He worries about his rate, about his time, about his position. He sees no light ahead and blackness wishes to paint him into its endless, draining gulf as it snaps at his beaten ankles. On this arduous wall of shadows, he has but two choices: overcome or fail, fall, flail helplessly into the encroaching demise. He is worn, he is beat-down, he is fatigued. He breathes heavily, searching for the next step.
It was inactive once, just as it was with the non-fenced open expansion: this drive to become, to rise above the slump of his surroundings, the impetus of forward direction consumed him into believing his heading to be correct. Just as this glowing force moved him so did the tidal wash of darkened disappointment clutch him into the undertow of immobility, the fear-faced inertia burdening his desperate, twitching limbs and numbing the impulsive attempted starts and fits to snap the atrophy of his stagnation.
Somewhere, some-dark-where, his grasping hand clutched a hand-hold and clung for his life on the slick walls of despair. And he climbed, he toiled, he gained upward movement, and he began to change. Was it the harsh bottom? Could he have belief?
Lessons in finding the proper placement of trust, the faith of a single step, the pulse of his blood in his constant ascent calmed that abandoned place inside, the desert that lacked hope or clarity.
He is tired. He clutches nobs and wedges his feet into strange positions of foundation. He worries about his rate, about his time, about his position. He sees no light ahead and blackness wishes to paint him into its endless, draining gulf as it snaps at his beaten ankles. On this arduous wall of shadows, he has but two choices: overcome or fail, fall, flail helplessly into the encroaching demise. He is worn, he is beat-down, he is fatigued. He breathes heavily, searching for the next step.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Never-Lasting
Can't grab that fade or hold the dissolving impressions, upon waking, of the reason for the night's dream. That color in the sky will burn into my emotional registery, and it will pass onward into blue or black or gray. This slimy wet hand holding my hand in the other's grip of closeness and care will have to pull itself from our embrace to continue the necessary functions of the body and the mind, and put the heart into a period of patient, expectant waiting for the touch to return. The constant things, which all function according to an invisible schedule and routine, continue: Blood, breathing, blinking, bodily demands, and the ever-present search for understanding regulates and centers my vaporous rings of impermanent, transcendent sensory tendrils. My supernova mortality emits heat into the involvements of my feelings, my discoveries, my whipped, chagrin failures, my soulful beliefs, my whispy hopes. I spin, I pulse, I combust, I project my collection of me outward...into the void between us.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Watching The Sunset's Colors Blend
They leave, departing to the visionary dreams in life's richness, and I watch their exit and capture the vapor trails of their passage in the feelings and the memories of their impact on my life. I wouldn't stop them, prevent their leaving, hinder their motion, or spoil the excitement: actions of hope, determination, and resolutions tend to shape the road ahead and that is bigger than any of us. And I can only express the best of wishes for them and hold my sighs or slumped shoulders for their departure, because I would just be selfish in the face of their shining possiblities. But this old town, this old state, this old friend won't be the same without them, with their presence being so far away. It amazes me how solid and rooted moments of life or experiences shared or lessons learned become in my life when the folks that these adventures originated from are transported, flee, and depart. This shimmering mirage of the present moment echos the very impermance of life itself, and passes too close to mortality for my comfort.
Not good-bye, not so long, not later...be the best you can be with the opportunities that have been revealed to you.
Not good-bye, not so long, not later...be the best you can be with the opportunities that have been revealed to you.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Movement of the Spirit
5 A good man hates lies; wicked men lie constantly and come to shame.
6 A man's goodness helps him all through life, while evil men are being destroyed by their wickedness.
9 The good man's life is full of light. The sinner's road is dark and gloomy.
12 Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy.
14 The advice of a wise man refreshes like water from a mountain spring. Those accepting it become aware of the pitfalls on ahead.
16 A wise man thinks ahead; a fool doesn't, and even brags about it!
19 It is pleasant to see plans develop. That is why fools refuse to give them up even when they are wrong.
20 Be with wise men and become wise. Be with evil men and become evil.
25 A good man eats to live, while the evil man lives to eat.
Proverbs 13, selections
6 A man's goodness helps him all through life, while evil men are being destroyed by their wickedness.
9 The good man's life is full of light. The sinner's road is dark and gloomy.
12 Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy.
14 The advice of a wise man refreshes like water from a mountain spring. Those accepting it become aware of the pitfalls on ahead.
16 A wise man thinks ahead; a fool doesn't, and even brags about it!
19 It is pleasant to see plans develop. That is why fools refuse to give them up even when they are wrong.
20 Be with wise men and become wise. Be with evil men and become evil.
25 A good man eats to live, while the evil man lives to eat.
Proverbs 13, selections
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Twisty, Briar-Covered Path
This is a very brief history of all the women that I have loved or felt emotions for, starting from the beginning. Their names will be protected, unlike my heart.
First Grade-
G-My first kiss. It was on the playground. I tickled her until she kissed me. Later I did something stupid and that was the end of that.
Second Grade-
B-We couple-skated at the rollerskating rink. I think we kissed. Whoopee.
Sixth Grade-
L-She lived in my neighborhood and I was awestruck. I went to her house on lazy afternoons. I made her laugh. Eventually I tickled her and got one, sweet, everlasting kiss. She moved soon after.
Eighth Grade-
L-She was a complete diz. All the guys wanted her, probably just because that's what our raging hormones were goading our confused brains into thinking. I used to walk her home. I think I accidentally felt her boob once. It wasn't that great.
Ninth Grade-
JC-I fell hard for her. She was the coolest, most beautiful, entrancing creature ever to walk the face of the earth. She had big hair and smelled awesome in her cloud of perfume that I can still pick out of a crowd to this very day. We dated for a week and then I got the ominous note of doom. I still think about her from time to time, but she's married now.
Senior Year-
B-I think I was more amazed by her than in love with her, but she sure made an impression on me. We had a good evening on graduation but I think it scarred me more than anything. I have no idea where she is these days. I'm not so impressed anymore either.
Summer after Senior Year-
R-Went to SGSA and met R there. GEEE-GADS, this girl was the hottest formation of a human ever. She still makes me squirm. Some clueless, lucky SOB is out there cheating on her and verbally abusing her right now, there's no doubt in my mind.
College-
J-Probably the one I should've stuck with but I managed to completely screw it up. She was by far the coolest chick I've ever been fated to hang around. Our time together was innocent and pure. I cringe at my selfish actions.
K-One of the most self-centered people I've ever met. She cheated on me and verbally embarassed me in front of friends for sport. I say now to the world: she had three nipples. Take that you a-hole.
Real World (Post College)-
J-My longest, deepest, and most promising relationship. We ended up growing into friends from lovers. I still respect her and talk to her frequently. She's awesome and I cherish most of the time spent together.
P-My first writer girlfriend. She left for school out of state and things dissolved. I'm glad it is over, honestly.
B-One dangerous chick, a true game of russian roulette. I saw her boob once and it hooked me for a long time. She was fire, desire, danger, sin, and intrigue. I let her poison me for too long. She introduced me to Icy J.
K-This is the one I truly wanted to be with, the one who made me hot and excited and attentive and believe that things like true love and fate was for real. I wholeheartedly believe that I'm still in some state of love for K. She had me from the moment she looked at me and she still has a part of me. I simply found her and knew, but dumbass fate didn't know and I got burned, ruined, and destroyed. Twice. This trainwreck put me in an awful self-defeatist mode, which contributed to the next relationship implosion. K, oh K, you bleed me still.
Icy J-My downfall, my heart given to someone, my attempt at a family and normalcy and society standards of maturing. The exact opposite situation happened and my life fell apart...truthfully both of our lives fell apart...and I'm still putting the pieces back together. The only person I've ever proposed to and, perhaps, the only one I will ever propose to.
A-A haphazard blunder of two lonley folks trying to find some kind of contentment. She will remain in my thoughts most likely forever because I never knew that I could feel emotions of kindness, infactuation, or connection again after Icy J. But I found all of those in A, just trapped inside a broken timeframe of rules and regulations and placement of importance.
Makes me wonder who is next...
First Grade-
G-My first kiss. It was on the playground. I tickled her until she kissed me. Later I did something stupid and that was the end of that.
Second Grade-
B-We couple-skated at the rollerskating rink. I think we kissed. Whoopee.
Sixth Grade-
L-She lived in my neighborhood and I was awestruck. I went to her house on lazy afternoons. I made her laugh. Eventually I tickled her and got one, sweet, everlasting kiss. She moved soon after.
Eighth Grade-
L-She was a complete diz. All the guys wanted her, probably just because that's what our raging hormones were goading our confused brains into thinking. I used to walk her home. I think I accidentally felt her boob once. It wasn't that great.
Ninth Grade-
JC-I fell hard for her. She was the coolest, most beautiful, entrancing creature ever to walk the face of the earth. She had big hair and smelled awesome in her cloud of perfume that I can still pick out of a crowd to this very day. We dated for a week and then I got the ominous note of doom. I still think about her from time to time, but she's married now.
Senior Year-
B-I think I was more amazed by her than in love with her, but she sure made an impression on me. We had a good evening on graduation but I think it scarred me more than anything. I have no idea where she is these days. I'm not so impressed anymore either.
Summer after Senior Year-
R-Went to SGSA and met R there. GEEE-GADS, this girl was the hottest formation of a human ever. She still makes me squirm. Some clueless, lucky SOB is out there cheating on her and verbally abusing her right now, there's no doubt in my mind.
College-
J-Probably the one I should've stuck with but I managed to completely screw it up. She was by far the coolest chick I've ever been fated to hang around. Our time together was innocent and pure. I cringe at my selfish actions.
K-One of the most self-centered people I've ever met. She cheated on me and verbally embarassed me in front of friends for sport. I say now to the world: she had three nipples. Take that you a-hole.
Real World (Post College)-
J-My longest, deepest, and most promising relationship. We ended up growing into friends from lovers. I still respect her and talk to her frequently. She's awesome and I cherish most of the time spent together.
P-My first writer girlfriend. She left for school out of state and things dissolved. I'm glad it is over, honestly.
B-One dangerous chick, a true game of russian roulette. I saw her boob once and it hooked me for a long time. She was fire, desire, danger, sin, and intrigue. I let her poison me for too long. She introduced me to Icy J.
K-This is the one I truly wanted to be with, the one who made me hot and excited and attentive and believe that things like true love and fate was for real. I wholeheartedly believe that I'm still in some state of love for K. She had me from the moment she looked at me and she still has a part of me. I simply found her and knew, but dumbass fate didn't know and I got burned, ruined, and destroyed. Twice. This trainwreck put me in an awful self-defeatist mode, which contributed to the next relationship implosion. K, oh K, you bleed me still.
Icy J-My downfall, my heart given to someone, my attempt at a family and normalcy and society standards of maturing. The exact opposite situation happened and my life fell apart...truthfully both of our lives fell apart...and I'm still putting the pieces back together. The only person I've ever proposed to and, perhaps, the only one I will ever propose to.
A-A haphazard blunder of two lonley folks trying to find some kind of contentment. She will remain in my thoughts most likely forever because I never knew that I could feel emotions of kindness, infactuation, or connection again after Icy J. But I found all of those in A, just trapped inside a broken timeframe of rules and regulations and placement of importance.
Makes me wonder who is next...
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