Tuesday, September 30, 2008

{ACCURATE OBSERVATIONS VS THE CYNICS}

The next stop is 14th street Union Square; Stand clear of the closing doors.

At that very instance, a man started running through the turnstile and onto the train. He jumped right through the doors at the last second and barely made it through, but he did and that was all you really needed. Just that split second of luck, you took the chance and either you got through or you didn’t.

That was always a point I was trying to make when I wrote all this down, except not many seemed to understand the play on words and symbols that gave it all away. It became more of a mystery or a fable instead, to most. Everyone had something to say, too. They would say things about how it has to be done this way or that way. Completely missing the point of doing it in the first place instead of actually trying and failing and trying again.

They became the most dangerous weapon known to man; the high-powered critic. Analytical savages with nothing good to say to anyone about anything, anymore. They became so hopeless and miserable with themselves that they had nothing to project. Always looking for the stroke of the ego or the pat on the head from someone they thought was sub-par to them.

One thing they forgot to think about though was that when they placed themselves on the top of the world on their own self-sustaining pedestal, they only saw things from the surface. So, the people that they viewed sub-par to them were actually the ones with a deeper view and sure it was dark and depressing down there below the birds eye view, but there was progress happening. Only no one talked much about it. The change was taking place while people in the sky slept.

While people of the birds eye had their mediocre life and displayed it for everyone to know.

It is against the law to ride the train from the outside, please stand inside the train and do not walk between cars, thank you for riding with the MTA and have a pleasant day.

These people needed to hear these rules because they all followed each other around. They all learned from books and scriptures. If one person went against the grain then that would upset the balances and a whole domino effect would take its place of one person asking questions to another. Then a whole hoard of people would gather in the center of town with torches and they’d want their freedom. They’d want it now and it was hard to back out now, after all, you have learned. This was the way things have become and were to be.

You then would get the feeling that you had been cheated out of something, but you weren’t entirely sure what. That’s when the questions would kick in. Just what the hell was freedom, if some man or woman sat there in front of you waving it in your face like a carrot to a rabbit. Just what the hell did any of this mean anymore when the rules finally became obsolete?

These people of high places driving their fancy cars and living in their lap of luxury started a new way of life that was merely just a game. Something to pass the time. Complete with its play by play dramas and triumphs. You didn’t realize it, though, when you were apart of it because you were too blind to see it and you would make sure that you were only surrounded by what was familiar that way nothing could taint the vision of your new holocaust. The one that everyone keeps on saying is going to happen one day. Only it is happening now as we speak.

I'm tired, I'm hungry. I have no place to live. I need some help. Anything you can do to help would really help me. I need a dollar, a quarter, a nickel, a penny. Anything. Ma'am, can you help? Sir, can you help? Ma'am, can you help?

Fine, fuck you. Fuck You. FUCK YOU. I don't need your fucking help. I don't need anything. Someone will help me from the next car. fucking assholes. (Slam, the door slams.)

---

Four people are in a living room and they are watching television. One of them has a remote in hand and is going through the channels. They stop with the news:

I am Amy Smith and I am here at what is known to be the worst car accidents in human history.

If you look over there on the horizon you can see the metal damage and as well as the fires of destruction that the mayhem has caused. Late breaking details tell us that it was caused by a series of failed electrical conductors that seemed to have blown up making all of the lights of the city go out. If you know what it is like to have no street lights working then you already know what it's like and how gruesome it can be. On the scene of another section of the accident, we have Kent Wreckman who shares with us another point of view of the carnal wreckage.

Kent, can you tell us more about what is going on where you are, at this very moment.

Well, Amy, I am here in the middle of all the chaos and as you can see behind me there are a few cars piled up and dead bodies at the wheels of these machines. If you look over there you can really see where the cars just started pouring in and no one knew what to do, but by the time they did. It was too late. I was able to find a few people still alive, who came out of their cars wondering what had happened. All out of it and trying to regain a sense of reality.

Here with me is John Thompson, local volunteer firefighter and local resident of this neighborhood. John, could you tell us exactly what happened at the moment that it happened, on this gruesome day.

Well, you see I was minding my own business like I always do every day. I was walking down the street and all of a sudden like the change in the weather, everything went haywire. The lights went off and the cars just started crashing into each other and it was so surreal. Words can’t even explain the monstrosities that I witnessed in those very moments, it was like a giant cloud just took over and before you knew it, it was over and people were screaming. The whole bit. People just died behind the wheels of these massive machines. It was all twisted metal and glass. I couldn’t believe my eyes, one minute you think you are going for a walk and the next the whole world is in chaos and disorder.

You heard it first people; Chaos and Disorder ruling this mile radius of the city. (Channel Changes, click.)

(There is a critic on the television completely ripping apart the new Jack Johnson memoirs.)

The kids never going to make it anywhere, he's an artistic mess. He starts shit and never knows how to finish anything. I read the last stuff he wrote and it was just an orchestra of nothing. Crazy events always changing with different characters and faces with separate personalities. You just felt like you were being put on a rollercoaster and then he had the guts to throw in some life long lesson like that was going to tie the whole story together. Like, life lessons really teach us anything in the first place. That’s all the cynics do is observe and completely destroy the actual events that happen. Distorting the possibilities of our reality. I'll never understand why he wastes so much time doing a million and one things. (click)

We are live on the scene with Kent Wreckman in the terrible accident that caused the nation so much personal tragedy and heartache today. Kent, can you tell us what it's like down there now? Has any of the smoke or debris been cleaned up or cleared out? We are also told that almost everyone involved has either died or been seriously injured and emergency services are so backed up that even people that have a chance of survival will die too, from the lack of medical assistance.

That’s right Amy, it's ugly down here and it’s even beginning to be investigated because of possible ideas that this wasn’t just some random event; this might be the work of pure evil. Evil so evil that when using the word it cancels out itself. That’s how elusive of a terror we are dealing with here. When the lights all went out no one knew when to go because they are so used to having the green light go off telling them it is their turn to go. So everyone all went at once, thinking it was their turn to go and what you see here is a big mess. Sources say that if the lights had in fact been working that none of this would have ever happened and if none of this had ever happened then the world would be a much better place and people would live happily ever after.

(Meanwhile another survivor climbs out of a car that is on top of another car, he is then hit lightly by a car driving by the scene. He gets up quickly and begins to walk with a slight limp. The driver of the vehicle takes off. The man yells saying he got his license plate number. The camera pans to the action.)

Sir, Sir. Are you alright? We just saw what happened? What are you going to do now? What was it like out there, being trapped in the middle of it all? What is your view on this catastrophe sir?

What the fuck does it look like, I just got hit by one of them fucking cars and you want to ask me how I feel, what do you think it feels like when you get hit by a car? You think it feels good? My view on this catastrophe is that you should get that fucking camera out of my face and go out there and help some of these people.

(The man gets a bit violent and rips the camera out of the camera man's hands and begins to tell his own news story.)

My view is that everyone watching this fucking television crap should get off their fat fucking asses and do something! All of you, your all fat fucking lazy Americans. Sitting at home, watching the world's events like its a fucking soap opera. Like it isn't fucking real. Wake up. The soap operas over people. This is real. Be very afraid.

Sir! You cannot speak like that on live television. We are live right now! Is that how you want to be remembered? I hope you know sir, you cannot take any of those words back, and we can’t go back and edit any of that.

Yeah well, here’s to life. Do You want to live? Here it is.

(The man punches the news anchor in the face and throws the camera onto the ground smashing it into a million pieces. The television fades to black. The man continues walking. The cameraman helps the news anchor with his wounds.)

The four people around the television get pissed and move up from their seats.

What was that all about, that was just getting really good?

Why they got to fuck up the whole show, what’s going to happen next?

{5 ANTE MERIDIEM}

It's 5 am or maybe something that resembles the time. Where did it go? Where did all the people of our lives go? It’s almost as if they all disappeared completely and I am left here standing lost in my own self-involved world and I see my own Alice through the looking glass reflection on the other side, curiously staring back. What’s in a reflection beside the staring of the same sets of eyes and the same crooked smile? I guess it’s really nothing but someone just staring back at you while you stare back. It’s a big contest where both of the competitors are you. So who wins? Who’s the one that looks away and breaks the contact? It’s a case of what nourishes me, also destroys me.

This was me trying to write it all down. With as much loathing and curiosity to power a huge fucking rocket ship that could take the rest of us away from this god awful place. That place didn’t exist, though. That place was the gates of hell made to look like the huge castle in the sky and the unicorns jumping over the rainbow. The type of shit you see in movies and you see it morph once they get past the pleasantries. The gate bars melt at high burning degrees and the flames just engulphs everything around you. The unicorns turn into some weird looking goblins that are in no mood to chase you through the maze of your life. They want to taste and drain you of the very thing everyone was always after. Your soul. They would do anything in their power to take it from you. Hell even when you were alive, it was quite the kicking and screaming match just to walk down the street and not have some asshole try and tell you your worth.

What is love and what is life? Is it the constant question with the constant answer? The stinging of the wounds after you fall off your bicycle and scrape your knee on the ground. Is it our friends who help us up and our beloved mothers who bandage up the wound and tell us to never give up just because we fell once. Is it the sharing of the moons full capacity or an endless conversation that could span on for lifetimes and even after we die, someone else would take our place because of the cancers of inspiration and motivation. I think maybe that’s just what some of it is. In its most vulnerable and simplistic forms.

This is my homage of friendship. A few words shared for the ones of the road on the adventure of one lifetime. A lifetime that should not be taken for granted. A lifetime that you and I share. Remember also, that same moon we all look at, those same stars and buildings. Other people see them too, others write about them. 

That’s the only way I was ever able to find these words, because whether I knew it or not. 

It was implanted in me by old souls and new.

{ALL SENSES ARE MASTERPIECES WONDERFULLY WRITTEN}

Oh Canada, I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know if I should start telling you how weird you are or if you are the nicest person I have ever met in the entire world. I am unsure even when I walk through your streets. I look at your people. I drink your coffee. I watch kids play hockey at one o’clock in the morning and they get along. They even have fun. That’s the kind of thing that America has a very hard time with I have noticed as of late. The final frontier where everyone says you will retire and finally say that you made it and it is the resting grounds of everything you ever wanted out of life but could never find until now but I am not sure I really believe in all this shit. I was thinking about all this as I was almost anally raped and finger fucked by the lovely border patrol while just crossing the border. It didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary for them. Just a friendly hello, from the cold lined roads of a new land and an old one right behind us, but that is also a whole other story between myself and I. We finally made it across and it was high time that we finally did something. These are our lives and even though it is completely frozen over like hell there was still some warmth to the place. It wasn’t exactly hell though, it might have been somewhat related, like hell's cousin or something of the sort, but those are just some of the details that I have to give you for you to understand just exactly where we were coming from and just what we were doing in the frozen tundra land.

I walk down your streets and I see so much beauty and decay. It leaves you wondering is this just another place I could be. I look out the window of the top of the northern world and I see a place I could live. I see an opportunity to seize the day but the question is; had it been there the whole time already? You look out the window and you see little French cafes, little pubs and people walking hand in hand who are in the most love you can see it in their hearts as they walk by and the way that they stare at you and let you know you could be a part of it all too, you just have to be open and ready for it. The shimmer and the glimmer are almost unbearable because over where I am from even the most beloved have their hands on kryptonite every day and how they handle it is beyond me. It's not anyone’s fault to come from the land of the decrepit but if you ever get a chance to see what’s beyond the trash heaps and the marketing junkies you may see what truly lies within the hearts of other people of the land. That’s why I am writing this letter to you oh Canada because I am unsure of what we have had and what we may be. Is this meant to be? Is this what we were supposed to be doing? I don’t really know, do you? I don’t know at all, but you know what that’s one thing I do know.

I know it took me a little while to gather my thoughts and figure out just what I really want to say to you while it is all fresh and in my head. Maybe I could just pause right here at this very moment and take some time to recollect. Maybe ascertain the meanings of these words and find the meaning in them. Always trying to find the meaning. Always coming up with answers but finding many, too many god damned options that I don’t even know which one to go with. That’s a good problem in life to have maybe the ability to be unsure of anything you whole entire life but to get a lot of stuff done. Still I don’t know the answer. Do you? Are they all the answers? You could combine all of them and still have not one fucking clue. We will know all the answers but sorry we will be dead. That’s the whole affliction between life and death. Seems like we will know everything right when we close the curtains and there will be nothing more to look at. I can’t supply you with all the answers of the world but I do know that I love you in such a weird way and everything that happened meant something. 

Now I know I have said a lot and I hope you have been paying attention to the words because next week we will have a huge test on all of these subjects and I will be thoroughly disappointed if you do not pass. I hope you can handle it because I know that it’s a bit of a ballsy thing to do but this is very important to me that I know just where everything is. After that, we will move on from this then move onto the next step in life and that’s doing something. Even though we are doing something every day. We don’t have to rush the process of creativity because slow and steady can win the race. Look at the tortoise and the hare for instance. Dogs are Shepard’s too. It’s the kind of thing that is like a wine it gets better with age. I look at the people out the window and I see lights on and big yellow wallpaper. I don’t care for yellow that much but that’s because I don’t think that yellow will really care much about me. Enough with all this jargon and nonsense. You probably don’t understand anyway, or maybe you do. We should sit down and talk about this sometime soon and decide what we will do. Should I go or should I stay? If I stay I am sure we can work things out. If I go and never come back, I don’t know. I think I might actually miss you, a lot. I don’t know if that’s some sort of unhealthy attachment or if this is real.

---

Dear America, I know your sad and kind of down in the dumps. Things are going to get better, though. It's only a matter of time, you just have to give it a chance. If only you’d stop shitting where you are eating all the time and dumping all the world's problems on yourself. It’s never a good idea to do anything of the sort. You have to eat off the same plate and that’s pretty disgusting. I don’t know what we are going to do with you. You don’t really seem to know what you are doing. The people who are apart of your part of the four corners of the world just continue to trudge on without even looking up from the ground. I also thought that maybe you might have had a little self-control but it never seemed to really work out that way. It all was because you just fucked around too much. You fucked around with China, Russia, and Germany and then you went onto the French but they weren’t having any part of this orgy manifestation. This bizarre love triangle is a lot like that game twister where the people would get wrapped up in each other. That’s the kind of shit you should try and steer clear of. I am sure you know what I am talking about. I thought maybe you’d have a little more self-control. It only seemed logical, it was plain obvious because the answer was already right in front of your face. It was as plain as day and you didn’t even fucking see it. I guess no one's perfect you never really know and everything that has happened is also subject to personal interpretation. But, anyways I am getting a little off course to my original intentions. You just need a new leader to influence you to do the right things but that leader is inside you. Then one day you will see the headlines of god on the front page and sad, sad people that can't even fit into their own suits anymore. In closing, I guess basically, what I am trying to say are goodbye and good luck.

.gnirebmemer

There were bright lights and lizard-like people with red faces and broken soles on their shoes. There were twisted cannons and distorted faces in the mirrors. Giant people with legs like oak trees and people so small that even I felt like a giant amongst them.
This was the kind of place where people looked like they were having a good time but always a sense of some kind of undercurrent that once this was over you would be pulled out to the sea. If sharks didn’t get you then there was always the atrophy of muscles and a realization that giving up was not an option but drowning was inevitable. There are still some human beings out there in the world who haven’t lost touch with everything just yet. I know this because I saw a young man pick up a very small sparrow looking bird and placed it in a tree away from all the lead feet trampling the sidewalks. These people who put divots in cement have certainly lost their way. The compasses are flying in circles and hindsight is only as good as a blind man in a shooting contest with no thumbs. Similar to bicycle races that go absolutely nowhere, except in circles.

Chester was his name and he smelled like the pit of hell if it has opened up and showed us everything that it really was rather than watered down confusions with people used as the subjects to reinterpret the confusion and make it, even more, confusing than it was to begin with. My grandfather was there amongst the dirty pigeons and legions of blinds leading the blinds to certain doom. My mother was caught in the middle of all this feticide adultery. The fucking Ferris wheel would not just go fast enough around. 

The man at the wheel thought it would be funny not only to torture me with this weird man I would come to never know again but the fucking stench was the worst. Tarps filled with aborted livers and colostomy bags with a splash of vodka sauce and some ginger root. That was the only depiction I could give this foulness. Chester the child molester only this young boy would tear his eyes out had he even thought to touch my knee and then he did. Paralyzed by all the weirdoes my family had brought around from years ago. I let that one go. I let him have his free parking token but then next one would cost him his sight. I could only envision mountain lions attacking him and ripping both his legs from his torso or maybe even the bolts from the carriage of the Ferris wheel giving way and all the bright colors fading to a bright white.

My grandfather was like a wild boar that wore nothing but fake alligator shoes and a bathrobe or, at least, some outfit that wasn’t far from the mark. There were roughly thirty clocks on the wall ranging from cuckoo clocks, Lionel train clocks and other assorted gadgets that would ring, scream and chime. I have always thought that the birds wanted to jump off the diving board at twelve pm every day but that was just my imagination because every time they had the chance to do it they just stood frozen. Embarrassment? Cold feet? We will never know.

The inventor of more problems; if I had to coin a term of what to describe him as it would be just that. The things that made me think of this besides the endless porn collection and the mothball-filled closets would be the collection of used furniture that would be collected off the sidewalks in the neighborhood. We would visit him and he would insist on selling us a broken rocking chair for eighty dollars because it had so much value that ended up being some non-descript nonsense. He was convinced that junk would sell for more than the things of the same fashion that were brand new. The character was more of the selling point than the condition.

Retelling this story straight from the witness inside my head brings me back to some places I have actually yet travel since the days that these events happened. Have I created all these things to happen when god and I broke the contract? Was the fine print really too fine to read or was some used car salesman the one to blame for my lien owed to this life?

I walk across these fields of desperation with the coldest of cold January’s thrown on my back. The route I am taking leads to better ways of life. Ways that make knowledge and time well worth spent. It’s that kind of trade off where you lose big first and win in the end. You appreciate it because after the failure comes that final success. There’s the road behind me. A car travels towards us at outrageous speeds and I cannot tell if it is going down the road or up it. Inching its way to the future and possible final destination. That place where dreams are dreams within dreams and we control every movement. 

It's in the bedroom where she is undressing. I know the situation all too well that I second think about what I am really doing. I second think my second thought and just take over the situation to get it over with. Should as be as fearful of this lady passing me by with cold stone eyes and familiar glance of some diluted version of sheer terror. This is my last thought as I drift off into a land of never using the word never. I awaken to a familiar room that is not mine and still some lady sleeps rests without a sound. I feel like a paper mache` figure being thrown into the river. I turn on my light and I am alone. It’s all just shadows on the wall. Oak branches outside my window and faint light from the moon. The sound of a mouse disrupts my thoughts. There may even be two of these fuckers running around and I can never find that little hole in the wall that they always hide away in, the one that leads to the other side of a fictional hell. I am going to eradicate all those little fuckers.

Polyphonic sounds of phones ringing from the bed table. Her majesty my mother is going deaf but could talk to you forever and anything past that. She is slowly losing to the grips of sharp nails and saliva running down cheeks. The fridge is filled with many serve yourself meals. No more maids. No more high-class slavery. These are the kind of surplus leftovers from when the Nazi’s abandoned their sacred Reich. They taste like wet cardboard left in an oily New York City puddle. 

The ships are in the harbor and the frost sticks to my lips like metal-to-metal scraping. The job hunt continues on and on. Bicycle wheels and lost and found stares. These people take such a disinterested interest in my work but waste sixty minutes of my life. Flying at bricks walls as crash test dummies without vehicles. I feel like I am dying everywhere that is so familiar. 

That place where air circulates in sewer grates and everything is lost in a gray haze. 

Messages from god fly from the sky giving us lists of things to buy.

{SEEING THE SCENE}

Sunny Memorial Day morning, kids waving flags, families walking to the parade, you careening down Elm Street in your sunglasses and straw hat in your navy blue mom-mobile. It's Memorial Day, it's hot. I'd donned the requisite shorts and sandals and was schlepping across the street to buy my train ticket for Monday. Mind you it's hot and swampy and I hadn't had any coffee.

I'm crossing the street and unknown to me I must have delayed you in your pursuit to get Junior dropped off because you edged next to me and when I looked to see if you were going to graze me with your mirror you shouted "YOU DON'T LOOK THAT GOOD." WTF?! Are you kidding me? 

I'm sorry, was it my strutting across the street in my feather boa and over-sized sunglasses that set you off - oh wait, that's right - I wasn't wearing one, or strutting, or doing anything that remotely deserved your wrath and snarky comment. You Stepford freaks put on pearls and St. Johns to drop your tots at preschool. You're in 3" heels to do your grocery shopping. Don't act like I was some sort of primadonna using the zebra crossing as my own personal catwalk to impede your transit. Admit it, your daily routine probably consists of little more than being in a hurry to go nowhere.

I missed a connection with a couple things that day - the time to tell you that while I may not look that good I certainly look better than you, you menopausal Botox-laced breeder and/or (because either would have worked for me) a hot cup of joe in my hand that I could have hurled through your open window and sloshed all over your mommy & me Lilly dress and newly lasered face.

Listen, I’m sorry if your husband kicks back three cocktails on the metro north bar car just so he can put up with you and your ME-ME-ME kids. I’m sorry that little Sally is chubby and will never be as popular you’d like and that Jimmy has acne and throws like a girl. Get over it, get your own life and stop taking out your misery on pedestrians.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

{LUDLOW CAB RIDE WITH LUX}

I just feel like everything is a fucking lie.

---

I know, like we've been cheated, the big jokes on us.

---

(a cab slowly drives by, we see a very beautiful woman pawing at the window like a cat. The woman seductively waves at one of our characters and our character waves back. The cab stops and the door opens.)

(The woman speaks first)

---

Get in.

---

What about my friend?

---

He will call you back, it's just for a little while.

---

I guess this is the path then, the road split in the middle, I will be back buddy.

---

What the fuck!

---

What was the first thing you thought when you saw me?

---

Hmm, your eyes and probably the pawing at the window.

---

Yes, of course, it was my eyes, it was my hair too. mmm.

---

Yeah, your hairs pretty neat.

---

I know I am hot, you don't have to tell me.

---

(inside head: ok?)

---

What do you do for a living?

---

I do a few different things.

---

Oh, so you dabble here and there and everywhere.

---

Yeah, pretty much.

---

That's hot, I just totally got done watching the virgin suicides and I totally want to change my name to LUX.

---

Lux is a neat name.

---

I can totally make any guy want me, see how I got you to get into the cab.

---

it's mind over matter really. I made the choice to get in.

---

Is it? You don't think my seductive quality had anything to do with it? They didn't take you over and persuade you to get into the cab with me?

---

Well, it certainly helped a little.

---

So, my parents totally work for the Government and they won't talk about it with me. It's all top secret and stuff but they are totally supportive.

---

that's great, its great to have support.

---

Totally.

---

I pretty much work for everything I have and am trying to focus on what I need to do so I work enough to support myself and spend the rest of the time working on projects.

---

Oh, so you're like one of those lazy artists.

---

Naw, I'm not lazy, just like variety in life.

---

(cab driver says: ok sixteen dollars)

---

Now, you want to pay for the cab?

---

Naw, you invited me in, I am the guest of the moment.

---

Oh, will you buy me a drink at least?

---

Sure, a drink, no problem.

---

(they get out of cab and head to a club: at door)

---

I am bringing him in, ok?

---

yeah, fine. make sure he takes care of you, you hear me, buddy, she's a wild one.

---

sure.

---

enjoy the evening kids.

---

So, I pretty much know everyone who runs this place, and pretty much everyone in here.

---

neat.

---

yeah, it's all about who you know.

---

you don't think it has anything to do with what you know?

---

no, because what you know doesn't get you through the front door of this place.

---

buy me that drink right there, now.

---

what do you want, that drink doesn't look like anything I know of.

---

Kama-Kazi on the Rocks.

---

(how ironic)

---

(they sip their drinks, casually talk about nothing and in the middle she walks away. our character is left at the bar by himself, he drinks alone. Another woman begins to speak to him.)

---

are you here alone?
well, right now yes, but not in general.

---

oh. did you come with some girl?

---

that's quite a story in itself. this girl was passing by in a cab and stopped and I got in and ended up here.

---

haha, are you serious?

---

yes, for sure, kinda crazy huh?

---

yes, but funny and cute too at the same time.

---

(a great conversation happens between them for about 30 minutes, they get closer to each other and really start to open up, then the other woman from across the bar sees what is happening and comes over immediately: she starts yelling at the guy)

---

who's this slut you are talking to?

---

slut, what do you mean slut? she's actually a pretty nice girl.

---

you see this guy here(to the woman)don't talk to him, he's mine.

---

oh, you own him? that's too bad because he seems like a pretty nice guy and you seem like a total bitch.

---

look who's talking slut!

---

ladies, cut the shit, c'mon.

---

oh my god, do you really want to talk to this slut?

---

yeah, I do actually, maybe if you hadn't taken off for 30 minutes I wouldn't have met such a cool woman.

---

fuck you then, fuck you!
you know what?

---

what?

---

You're a fucking asshole.

---

am I?

---

Yeah, I got you into VIP and your totally acting like an asshole.

---

Really, is that the truth?

---

What else could it be?

---

What?

---

I have the power to get you kicked out of here.

---

You know what, I will save you all the time and energy, I am going to leave, (sorry for everything, it was great to meet you)

---

Fine then, leave. wait...

---

See ya, nice to meet you.

---

Wait, Wait...You forgot something.

---

Oh, Did I? What?

---

this(she kisses very hard, forcefully)

---

Here, take my number, call me tomorrow

---

Don't bother, I can already tell how we would get along.

---

Fine then, fuck you.

---

Best of luck in everything.

---

That was fucking ridiculous. What the fuck is wrong with the people in this city?

{DESCENDING ASCENDER/UNAPOLOGETIC}

I was standing on the edge of a decision. A decision that needed my immediate attention. Teeter-tottering if you will. I was trying to find out one good reason why I shouldn't just end it all. Right here. Right now. Then my fucking brain, the cerebral guide kicked in, as it always does. The choice it had was to terminate. To cease and desist all forward moments and memories. Of course, he took it a little personally. Started saying things back like; you mean to tell me that this is it. This has been what you lived your whole life for up to now. This pathetic little insignificant moment. For this moment of your own selfish, self-glory. This is how you want people to remember you? Some sad young fool who didn't even finish his life properly or give himself a chance to see the difficulties through.

Now at this moment, it was hard to not really hear what he was saying. There was no point in reasoning with him. But part of me inside my body kept saying, you're ready, do it. You don't think about it too much. You just go for it. You also hope that when you hit the water that everything turns black and you don't remember a thing. All 28 years of it and beyond. But you know that someone will mention your name occasionally and how what a shame it was you did this to yourself. That if you could have thought of the consequences, you wouldn't have done it. But life has a funny way of waking you up even when you think you are wide awake for it all. It's true what is said about how when you are high up above it and the whole city is watching when the open sky and light beckon you there is a moment of hesitation. There is a moment of doubt.

What is life worth anyways? Is it worth your watch? All the money in your bank account? Your car? Your friends? It's a series of twists and turns. Characters change. Introductions turn into familiarities. Sometimes even monotonous routines. People still die and people still live when you're gone. The world never forgets because you are a part of it but you remain some part of vacant history. Some fleeting glimpse of a hole with nothing in it.

So I hesitated, so what? You would have done the same thing if you ever brought yourself to this. It was a better idea then all the other ideas I had that involved jumping in front of buses, trains while mothers and daughters waited to get on. Who wants to see that. Up here it's just the sea, the nothingness and me. So I am weak because I second guessed but would have been weaker had I pulled through with all my might. 

I know I wouldn't have wanted anyone to come to my funeral and see me all bloated and disfigured. Then fell alienated because all that would be left of me is a shell. This vehicle that drives us all home. I'll just blame it on my insanity or the full moon or my parents. It'll be easier to divide up all the pain into tiny little fragments and hand them out to millions of different people. I could even make a pie chart in my will so I can give little slices to everyone.

I guess one thing for sure. It wasn't time yet. This just all started. This whole process. I could fill you in on the who did what, the when and the how it all happened but then I would have to write a book the size of the bible and I am sure that my perceptions of skewed, distorted, misconstrued. 

I could write all about it but it would all just amount to a fucking accident and even then everyone who sees it has their own idea of how it all went down. Even just narrowing it down to ten people still fucks up the whole thing. One man would say that there was a car involved, another woman would say that the pedestrian caused it but running right into the road throwing rocks at the drivers. Someone else would claim terrorism was the cause, then to counter balance that the terrorist would actually be a government official. Ideas are dangerous, but accidents will always happen.

I also remembered, again.

I forgot what it sounded like when the wind blew through trees and birds swooped and soared in Indian Summer Skies. 

Quite triumphant sounds even when you have your ear to the ground listening to the echoes speak.

Friday, September 19, 2008

{A YOUNG MAN DRIVES}

A car drives south down Broadway. He listens to the radio. The radio is playing some sounds from the early sixties. Maybe it's the Beatles. We cannot tell because it's not loud enough for us to hear. Rain hits the window which then gets hit off by the wiper blade which then falls down onto the ground and forms into small little pools of water.

Another car passes by the car of the young man. This car is going much faster. Inside is an old man smoking a corn cob pipe with a very foul smelling tobacco. The windows are a bit fogged up from the combination of smoke and the exhaling. The old man flips the switch for the heat and it immediately clears the smoke and the fog from the windows. A signal turns red ahead of us and both cars come to a halt next to each other. 

The man turns on his radio and an am talk radio station comes on. The man on the station talks about the possibility of peace treaty talks in the middle east. The man lights a match, continues smoking and turns off the radio in the middle of the discussion. The light turns green and the man hits the gas, the car moves. Both cars travel alongside each other. 

The rain continues to get stronger. It begins to get a little darker. We see people walking down the street with umbrellas. The people walk in a zig zag kind of way, almost bumping into each other. The wind blows harder and some umbrellas buckle, then fly away out of the hands of people who thought that had a firm grip.

The young man makes a left hand turn onto Bond Street and continues on. The old man makes a right hand turn and continues down Bond-street and straight onto Bowery to the nearest gas station. The young man and the old man may never see each other again.

The old man pulls into a gas station on Houston and Lafayette. He breaks for a pedestrian who walks right out into the front of him at the last moment. He puts the radio back on and it is still talking about peace treaty talks. 

He turns the keys off the moment he pulls in. He walks to the gas station and goes in. 

Pays for his gas and walks off into the night leaving his car behind as well as everything in it.

{ONE TIME I HAD THIS DREAM}

A long time ago and it involved some monkeys in Africa. A whole bunch of them. Like 100 of them. They weren't just the usual sit in a tree, eat bananas and make lots of noise monkeys. These monkeys were just a little bit different. Mainly the way they acted. 

Aside from that, they were all sitting in chairs at tables with big pads of paper strewn across. They looked like they were trying to decipher some sort of code. All wrapped up in trigonometry problems. Problem after problem never seeming to get anywhere. I remember walking up to one and he started to speak with me in a very intellectual way. He also handed me a map and said that I was to go on an adventure across Africa that would lead me to the solution of all the problems ever.

So I walked and I walked and walked. I came to a giant field filled with metal machines everywhere. Huge dinosaur bones fell from the sky and landed into the tops of these machines. They would be ground up into tiny bits and spewed into another field on fire. The fires got bigger and bigger as the bits flew out. Manned at each of these machines was a dead, tattered Asian person who was completely naked but still turning the wheels to keep the machines going. 

The people screamed in horror collectively as they did it all, and they never stopped.

{TOKYO 2010: PRECOGNITIVE}

Oddly shaped buildings that resemble scenes out of the Jetsons and Fibonacci numbers put together are the scene I come to. White skies, not blue, not gray. We arrive at my building that I live in, it's a new building that has just been built for people like me who are very wealthy. I am even greeted by ten different people along the way like I am someone important but I don't feel like anyone. Just some guy, with some key card to one of the world's fanciest worlds where everything is exactly the same. Same smiles. Same daydreams. Same service.

We arrive at the elevator and it's not just some elevator and my mother is there with me. She looks very happy to be here with me. The elevator is not just some elevator, it reminds me of the bank drops that they have at the drive-thru windows that suck this plastic container to the teller on the other side of the windows. You put the deposit in and shop, it gets thrown to the other side. Only this one has no particular track that it follows, it's completely open to going wherever it wants to. It goes all ways. We get in, I slide my key card and we are off in all kinds of directions. It is so intense it makes me sick. It travels so fast you don't get a moment to really take anything in around you, then boom you are home. The door opens and you walk into your palace in the sky. It's all glass, you see all the other buildings all around you and its a conglomerate of buildings. No one knows anyone anymore. It feels like a sad lonely existence around millions of people.

Then from out of nowhere, turmoil breaks out, war cries, things start exploding and your thinking to yourself how about 15 minutes ago you were just on the ground. You sit there and watch things happen in the streets that make no logical sense to you. Fire breaks out. people are running scared, frantic, running for their lives. Airplanes are flying in, then bombing and you realize you are in the sky, in a giant glass ship. Then your hit. The hit takes place right below you and the glass ship starts sinking forward slowly falling and you see the effects that gravity shows you.

We are stuck on the glass and falling very slowly, still attached to the nexus but scared as shit. We hit another building and get stuck there. The glass starts shattering in pieces as debris is falling from other buildings above us. This is all very unexpected. The building next to us takes a hit and we are off again falling. Falling to the depths of the ground. Luckily we get caught again just in the right time before we would smash to the ground and be crushed to tiny pulps. We get out and run. Chaos everywhere in the streets. Torn banners and flags and ribbons. People screaming. I notice from all sides of different streets army officers are killing everyone with sprays from uzis and machine guns. Some people escape. We run as fast as we can, past these men shooting and somehow are able to escape. 

It's a labyrinth maze of so much weird architecture and I realize this is my mind. 

This is the dream of my mind slowly killing itself.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

{MENACING NAMES OF PEOPLE LONG GONE}

Start at the surface right where water breaks and ripples. the water moves with itself. it moves upwards, backward, sideways, left ways and right ways. along with all kinds of other ways both linear and non-linear. it ebbs and tides and it waves goodbye. they say you only have to piss in the ocean to see it rise and I have seen it rise. oh, I have seen it rise. I have seen sea levels so low old skeletons of ships dried right out only to be covered back up by the menacing weight. I've seen the bottom underneath it all in dreams with washed up towns, washed up fleets. I've seen airplane crashes while watching myself die in the windows reflection. Seeing the faces all around me trapped in time. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to control the destiny. One thing I never saw was this.

Fran brings me a coffee. It's the third one I have had and I'm a bit jittery. A bit on the neurotic side but still keeping the wit and humor coming. we are sitting with friends. not the kind of friends that last forever, more of the kind that you see sometimes. the ones that are nice to you to your face but then you accidentally walk in on conversations about you just at the right time and you say something oh please continue, I am intrigued, then dead silence. Well, I guess it was the wrong time for you.

They call it a bottomless cup of coffee because they keep filling it up. topping it off so to speak. they just keep it coming until you stop drinking it and let it get cold and you see that nice layer of ice like cream sitting at the top. once this has happened they figure it out. the grade c, made in some chemical factory by people who don't know the first thing about coffee has finally done its trick.

There's nothing to talk about. nothing. my silence fills the air. I know what's going on all around me. I can tell you all about the chitter chatter of who just got fired at work, so and so's new baby that has made so and so's sister jealous because she recently had to have her tubes tied. I can hear the cocaine being sniffed in the bathroom by the dishwasher who is so sick of this dead end job/life. I can hear the arm of a grappling machine that grabs stuffed animals for twenty-five cents if you are lucky enough to figure out how it works. It's got a trick, just like everything else that has to do with machines. I can hear so much going on all around me that I have completely tuned out the conversation that I am supposed to be a part of.

Amos. Amos! she says. Are you even listening? Are you even paying attention to me? I give the usual nod and wave like I always do to at least show that I am somewhat present in the conversation but do I actually care is a whole other subject. So, what do you think? she says. what do I think? and this part kills me. I don't even know anymore, my mind says. I don't even know what I am doing here. who are these people? do they really even give a shit about what they are talking about or is it just filler for a nice night that could be spent in quiet contemplation. So, what do I think? What do I think about what?

You mean the whole time you haven't even been paying attention? that's her follow up. I was paying attention, I guess I got lost in thought. They finally hand me a clue. Do you think Bush is going to win or is it going to be Kerry? They say it all at once like my opinion is going to change everything. Like they had been planning this for centuries.

It doesn't really matter to me, I respond. It's, all the same, shit. One guy gets into office, plays king of the universes until it gets so bad that we want a new guy to replace him. This has been the problem since day one. I also remark with a nice slogan, my own slogan just to touch things up a bit, give them something familiar. "you need two wings to fly otherwise you are going to fly in circles." they just don't get it, though. they tell me either you are on one side or on the other, you can;t be bi-partisan. you have to choose and whoever you oppose, well its death to them. My mind starts interpreting; raise their taxes! kill their grandparents in the retirement homes! we don;t have room in this world for people who aren't moving or making a name for themselves. After all is said and done, all is said and done and I sit there with my usual relaxed complexion that hides an endless arsenal of everything.

No one believes that words could come out of such a monotone voice. I can tell what they are thinking, he doesn't feel anything. He doesn't care. If he felt anything he would choose sides. If he cared he would fight for a cause. but they don't seem to see the bigger picture. I am powerless in a world of thieves. Money is valueless. It's just the same for the morals and ethics that have bee carved in stone for centuries. They've always been good with words. Enough paper tablets to fill monasteries, but who could worship words like these? There's nothing to hold onto in words. In observations found from sitting back and taking it all in, even. There's something that happens in profound moments of stillness. Everything refreshes. Everything becomes one. You can't even decipher the difference between anything anymore. What good has it done anyways? 

A wise man once said to me that after the game of chess is over it doesn't matter who has won or who has lost, the pieces go back into the same box.

{THE DEATH OF A DEATH SALESMAN}

At the corner of desolation and despair is a man sitting down on the downtrodden sidewalk. The dust of snow blows off the tops of our skeleton city. Eastern Standard Time encompassing walking briefcases, manifold mandibles collapsing on each other with a cigarette burning in between. 

Thoughts swimming through membrane channels. Cancerous carcinogens exhaled. Nicotine stained esophagus. Crushed like elevators falling from the top floor to musky basement deathbeds. The sun is recycling itself. Inside these eyes are perceptions. The world and events unfold all around me. The colors contrast and there is surreal light.

Meanwhile.

Two lovers embrace as if it is the last time. Bodies entwined. Fingers running through hair like bodies in wax museums. Chemicals rush like mercury in thermometers. The wind blows and a leaf of the fall still holds on for dear life. It is as if this has happened over and over and over again.

Meanwhile in another place.

Hand and hand the social lepers march to and fro on this lonely isle. Their hands resemble chains. Their fashions are chastity belts. To be a part of the group is the disease, although the disease is the key. 

Fire escapes on the sides of buildings exist in case someone needs to escape. Fires will burn bright and start everything anew. A rose sits in a vase, so slender and beautiful. Yet abrasive and sharp. 

They don't last so long these days. They are easy to replace with a new one. Like torrid love affairs that burn bright and fade out so quickly with nothing but soft char. 

There is history amongst us everywhere. Each moment there is life as well as death. You can feel this all around you. So many lives have been lived in so many ways. With the same social order of the species. The kings still try and live on top of the world but only with a birds eye view of these lives. 

To be the fire of life is to immerse yourself in the gasoline and light the match.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

{WHAT"S GOTTEN INTO YOU TONIGHT?}

It starts off something like a dream. A sunrise. The lights reflection off of the glass in the windows. The cracks in the pavement moving in minuscule dimensions. The city sleeps but it is always moving. Whether it's the cars, trains, buses, airplanes or people. Everything is in its grasp. For some, that is the greatest despair. For other's they just simply hold on waiting for the right moment to let go and return back to a place once called home.

They say home is where the heart is. So wherever you go is home. Until they send you a bill. A tax for the treason. The treasurer's debt keeps piling high and our starving eye's just can't seem to get enough. I need a lookout tower so I can see above the pile, but our necks are too short and our sticks keep poking our eyes out. 

Then it all settles in, the doubt. The very destroyer of the dream within reality. The whole reason why I can never get past 5 pages of this shit. Why is it all I see behind these blue eyes of mine is broken faces, tragic places? The past keeps talking to me. 

I am listening but its response is so deeply hurting. It's very subtle.

Only the naked eye and the open heart can see it.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

{MEMORIES}

A man walks down a very long hallway. There are many doors inside this hallway. We get the feeling that behind each door is a small vignette of a life that once existed. They are all playing themselves out, over and over again. The same exact way that they all happened. We know that there is nothing that we can do to change any of these moments behind each of these doors. 

We start to walk through each one to see exactly what is going on behind each door and we truly find out what it's like to re-live it all over again. A thought comes to me about what it is like to push the rewind button in this life. Even when I do this I get the feeling that there is no more of a point in doing this than anything else. My rational and logistical perspective also tells me that I am missing out on key component moments while searching in and through all of these rooms. 

We walk on through anyways because the next thought tells me that if it doesn't matter then it doesn't even matter that we walk through them all over again and experience them in their fullest glory. After all this walking and thinking we walk to the end of the hallways. There is a door no different from any of the other ones. It has no markings of a number or a label that would tell me anything of my exact location but we know we are here. 

We open the door and slowly walk in. Up against the wall is a bed with many large blankets that are fluffy. There are many pillows as well. There are two giant long windows up against each side of the room. They have long luminous curtains slowly breathing with the room. The move back and forth in a swaying way. I suddenly get tired and I lay down and fall asleep in this giant bed. I start to dream. I have the same dream all over again. Everything is completely in its place as it was the last time we were here. We go into the same moment. 

We see the curtains and the room and the bed. We lay down and fall asleep. We start a new dream in the same room, only, this time, we are looking out. We look out to the end of the hallway. There is a black cat slowly walking down the hall toward us. It moved faster and fast. It jumps onto us in the bed. I wake from the dream in the same room. I look around and notice everything is in its place. 

Then I wake again from the dream. Same room. Same look around. Same everything. I finally wake from my own dream. In my own room and everything is not in its place. 

Everything is a giant mess and that's fine.