Alright. So it’s me again. It’s weird now. Things are weird now. Or weirder, I guess I should say. I don’t really expect anyone to have any sympathy for me. I don’t want any sympathy. But I don’t think I have very much for other people, either. I’m still sort of sitting here wondering where it all went. Visits with doctors, missed phone calls, long drives. Where did all of this come from?
I still fantasize about the CITY. The city. Yes. The CITY. I fantasize about giving all of this up. Just giving up everything I have and moving to the city. I won’t have a name or identity. I will be a small speck on a big apple. A piece of dust in the wind. I would just blend in. No family. No attachments. But I wouldn’t just exist there. I would live without consequences. I would start dealing drugs. Cocaine or heroin. I would work my way up from a runner to a King. I would use my intelligence to outsmart any opposition. I would drive fancy, foreign automobiles. I would have parties in the finest penthouses, but money is not what would draw people to me. No. I would have a gorgeous woman with me because of my natural charisma and charm. A different one every night. At first. Then I would find a young girl, innocent and impressionable with the same charisma and undeniable charm. At first she would be frightened, maybe even confused by me. Eventually she would become curious. She would see me out with friends. She would see how I walked the streets and how I interacted with people. The curiosity would grow to interest and I would go see her. I would take her out to a nice restaurant but I wouldn’t engage her sexually. I would take her some places. I would never, ever, show her my business, but I would take her out with me to show her things. Things and places she would have otherwise never seen. I would show her how I could walk with the aristocrats and never lose a step and then take the subway into the most poverty stricken neighborhoods and never even take a second look. I would show her how I could speed down any Avenue or Boulevard running red lights and stop signs. I would show her designer clothes after hours. I would amaze her by the way I would command respect. She would be intrigued by how I would take over a crowded room and then drift into the background. I would show her how I could have VIP access to the most exclusive nightclubs just by saying the words “I’m Thomas Burr.” The name would garner the attention in itself. Thomas Burr. Cold, unforgiving. Kind, loving. I would make her my wife and we would live like royalty in this CITY. No one would even know I existed outside of the limits, but I would run that fucking city. But I would do this without any arrogance or cockiness, she would see how unassuming I was. How I could do all of this and not even be aware that I was doing it. She would be madly in love with me. I fantasize about it. I’ve given her a name already. Alice Austen. Thomas Burr and Alice Austen riding around the most extravagant place on Earth with no enemies and all of our friends.
But that’s not who I am.
This is who I am. I sometimes hope everyone is proud, but then I stop.
It’s unfortunate that the last installment was so erratic. My thoughts were scrambled. Her letter threw me for a loop and I just didn’t know what to think. I still don’t know what to think. Based on what I’ve experienced all I know is that your old friends forget about you and your new friends are likely to dissipate at some point, but your family is what you have when the Sun goes down. No price tag is too high for that. No price can be named for that. And I know that life is temporary but if we have photographs and stories we can pretend that we will always exist here. And letters too. If we have letters we can stay the same. Sometimes it’s just exhausting when you’re something that you’re not.
But that’s not who I am. This is who I am. You can wear clothes with horses stitched on… you can dress upper class but you know where you came from. You can drive through the neighborhoods. See the American flags flying, the men mowing their own yards, raking their own leaves, cleaning their own cars, drinking the beer that they worked for. The type of people that didn’t need a terrorist to remind them about what it means to be patriotic. The type of men that would die for their families. The working class heroes that surround me.
Anyway, welcome to the city where your friends won’t visit your parents. The city where they make excuses not to hang out with each other. The city where no body celebrates your 21st birthday. The city… the house that protects you like a womb. The familiar footsteps and voices that resonate off of the different shades of tan. The Christmas lights on the bushes in the front yard. The backyard with the birdbath and a holly tree on each side. The spigot that we used to drink out of that was right next to the family room windows. There was that awkward green mat that lined the front steps. The patio that would get unbearably hot had the chair that I liked to spin around in. The train set down stairs. The accolades. The holidays. The handrails. This history. Yea, this is it. The city where everything stays the same, I guess. I guess it stays the same, but you can’t believe that because look at how different everything has become. And I guess that I guess about it because I’m not sure and when you’re not sure you consider the options and guess. I consider the options. I compare and contrast. I’m confident. Supremely. It’s not me I doubt. What’s the point?
So now I’m laying in my bed and the speakers are doing what they are told and they are speaking to me…
They say we don’t have heart but it’s pounding more now than ever…
And I’m just laying here thinking…
I find it humorous that for all those years I found it hard to listen.
I’m finding now that failure hurts; I’m failure fleeting.
No excuses, just revenge. No excuses, you prevail.
No excuses, just revenge. No excuses, you prevail.
And here I am, my phone lighting up with a text message from a girl and I don’t even care about it. What a boring conversation we are having. This is too easy. And another girl supposedly sent a letter in the mail, but I consider not even reading it. In fact, I’ll never read it because it’s not on it’s way. It’s not coming and I know it isn’t. And my speakers keep speaking to me and this time I am the therapist and not the patient. My phone lights up again and I don’t even respond to it. This is too easy.
I think back to when me and my best friend stood on a stoop in the middle of a bustling city… the giant city. There were vendors and men handing out pamphlets riddled with conspiracies that I’m not sure they believed in as much as they believed in the almighty dollar that is so hard to come by. Streaks of yellow pass by transporting other tourists and nomads looking for answers. There is not much to look at; we could barely see over the fence that lined the area. It was a feeling or a sense that let us know what this was. We could smell it. It was a mixture of trash, and people, and afternoon hot dogs, and cold. I could smell the cold. It was barely the early evening but the Sun was already going down. The walls told me to post no bills but I did anyway. Women walked by with heavy perfume on and men walked by in pea-coats and they were so numb but I can imagine that they pass this every day and the effects have worn off. I couldn’t stare at this forever. As we looked down at a vast emptiness, a giant hole, he said “this is what we’re fighting for.” Is it? Again, I’m not sure so I guess he’s right.
But fuck, man, fuck.
Did you know fuck was actually an acronym? It originated in the Middle Ages when religion was law. The citizens of the kingdom had to get permission from the King to have a child, so they put a sign in front of their homes that said “Fornication Under Consent of the King” or “Fornication Under Cardinal Knowledge.” Fuck.
There’s this riddle that I know and I want to take a second to see if you can figure it out. There is a green glass door and you have to figure out what is behind it. Here are some clues: There is no water, but there is a flood. There is no alcohol, but there is beer. There are no leaves or branches, but there are trees. There is no fruit, but there are apples. There is no orange, but there is yellow. There are no beds, but there are pillows and sheets. You can’t swim in a lake, but you can swim in a pool. You can’t swim, but you can go swimming. There are no buildings, but there are schools. You can’t taste, but you can smell. There are no losers, only winners. You can’t have everything, but you can have it all. That’s enough clues. Do you know what is behind the green glass door?
When I left my brothers home I noticed how much he’d aged without getting any older, but I let him know he’s not a man yet so he still has something to work for. I got back on that dreadful highway and endured. My engine was the Metal Moses and the rubber tires were following him. Anyway, welcome back to the city where your best friends are your family and your family are your best friends. And you spent years trying to think of reasons to leave but you’re still scared to death at the airport by yourself, trying to convince yourself that it’s not that long but you don’t even know what’s going to happen in two hours. You think things will stay the same but you’ve been gone for less than one day and things are already so different. It’s been a fucked up year so I guess we should just assume next year will be fucked up too.
“I’m the shit because I don’t even miss her.”
I’m starting to feel like I’m beating a dead horse with all of this. I’ll sit in here in this bed and write for a while, sometimes only a few minutes, but for how long can you just type and delete and type and delete? Type and delete. Type and delete. Type and delete. Like a hamster in a wheel or Algernon trying to find his cheese. Or a CD that will only play to a certain second, so you just keep starting over and starting over, but the song is the same every time. So you know what? I don’t even miss her. And why should I? Did she earn that? No.
So yes, I am the shit. I’m not a pessimist. Sometimes I reminisce, but that’s what we do when we’re bored. I don’t for long though because do they reminisce about me? Who fucking cares. It really makes no difference. You’re either with me or not, but I’m going forward either way. I try to apologize to Jimmy but he doesn’t want to hear it, so fuck him. Fuck him for not visiting our family in my absence. And fuck Suzanne for cheating on my best friend. And fuck Renee for every missed phone call and unsent letter. Fuck all of their unreliability. Fuck them for being occupied when I wasn’t. What’s the use of hiding anything behind a quill and some coffee stained parchment? That’s how old this is… my thrice told story. Thrice told stories. Yeah, that’s right, knock ‘em down for the Gold Medal Kids and fuck them to hell. You heard me. Fuck them. That’s the only way I can get anyone’s attention? So yeah, I mean that. Fuck all of you. I created it so I can do what I want with it. Maybe I should have expected less. Or maybe all of your future girlfriends will know everything about me.
Let’s keep going like this.
Couldn’t you feel the chemistry? We were practically building nuclear bombs and now I’ve got them stockpiled in my fingertips. I think most of what you believe is bullshit. I’ve had this fairytale built up in my mind. I’ve been trying to create the balance of the city and my home. At least I can admit that it’s fantasy. You think what you have is reality. It was just another dance to you, wasn’t it? That’s all it ever was. Just a fairytale. A movie role you could play until you got bored. But it seems the film ran out unusually quick, even for you. Not very surprising and extraordinarily predictable. But you have got to be fucking kidding me. That’s the best you could do? It was a poor performance. Not even a letter. Maybe I should have expected less. Or maybe all of your future boyfriends will know absolutely nothing about me.
Enough of this.
Have you ever looked at coins lined up? Take a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny place them in a line. Do you notice that three of the coins are a lighter color and one is dark? The copper is dark. Do you notice that George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Franklin D. Roosevelt are all facing the left and Abraham Lincoln is facing right? It’s like the other three are turning their backs on him because they are ashamed. It’s a subliminal message. Is it a coincidence that the coin Abraham Lincoln graces is practically worthless? He freed the slaves and it’s a secret subliminal message.
There are a few things I believe in. I believe in family, country, and God. But I also believe that letters are the most intimate form of communication and that every powerful man should wear a watch, an attractive watch. A watch that describes the man. My brother may have gotten qualities such as intelligence and talent, but he did not get the relentless nature that I have. The extremism. However, his intelligence and talent transfer easily into society, whereas my relentless nature only exists on a blank tablet or when I feel like expressing it.
How am I different than anyone else, though? I’m trying to tell you my story but it’s getting harder and harder to focus. I hope maybe this gives you some insight into my psyche. I don’t know if it will though because I’m so void of details. Okay lets see, I’m looking back into time and the last you saw of me I was leaving my brothers house. When I got home I had a letter in the mail from Renee and it really bugged me for some reason. The envelope was business like and the writing on the front was obviously hers. My heart was like a skier performing aerials in an avalanche. I placed it on my coffee table and stared at it for hours. Eventually I started listening to some music and I did some laundry. I forgot about it, which was strange because I’d being dying for some form of communication. Correction: I was living for it. I opened the letter a few days later after I had walked past the beasts lined up. They were so incomplete here, you could just tell by looking at them. Some of them had survived many wars but here they sat, alone and slightly relevant. I walk outside and start making my way towards them. The Sun is usually just rising in whatever direction that takes place. The asphalt still smells like rain. There’s always a puddle to my right and the rising Sun shimmers off of it like fire. The birds are singing their morning song. The jack rabbits are brushing the morning dew out of their eyes. It’s unusually warm for this hour and beads of sweat drip off of my forehead like a leaky faucet. I can feel my lower back start to moisten and it’s becoming uncomfortable. I imagine that if my body experienced this type of dampness on a beach or at a pool it would be much more pleasing. I walk past a building that is undergoing treatment for a flood that I didn’t have a chance to witness. And then another building with strange hallways that elevate and sink in place of the regular straightness. The parking lot I walk through is littered with gravel and potholes. The stones are just as displaced as everything else. The Sun glints and gleams off of chrome tires and bumpers and the flatness of the area provides a pleasant view of the sky. There are people coming to work and leaving work at the same time. There is an absence of wildlife and an abundance of steel. I start to feel their warmth. They have been domesticated but they are still warm from their years of life. The morning heat reverberates off of their midsections and brings an extra warmth to the area. The hearts have been dormant for years but if you listen close you can still hear traces of the distant hum. I come around the corner and there they are, clear as day. And there they are. There they are… what was I saying? The letter, let’s get back to the letter.
Back to the letter. Here is what it said:
Dear Thomas,
I’m not really sure why I’m writing this… I actually can’t believe that I’ve sent it off but if you’re reading this then I obviously did. We haven’t really had a chance to talk, but the way you just disappeared really hurt me. You never really let me in so how was I supposed to know how you really felt? This is all just very confusing to me. Sometimes I wish you had never left. Sometimes I wish you were dead. Other times I don’t even care. I really hated you. But I’m sure you also hated me. I know it wasn’t right, maybe we should have never even started. It was all really stupid. It was never going to happen. You probably think that what you’re doing is so amazing, but nobody cares. Your friends don’t care, the people you used to know don’t care, and I don’t care. I’m sorry because that sounds awful, but it’s the truth. And I really have no place to tell you that because I’m not doing anything amazing, either. What am I even saying? Of course I care. Come back, Thomas. I want you to come back so I can see you. I don’t want things to be like this, but I know they can never be the same. I guess I should tell you that I’m with someone right now and he doesn’t know much about you. He doesn’t know that I wrote this or that I want you to come back . I swear to you if you came back I would leave him in a second. Do you have anyone? How is your family? How are you?
The letter you left at the library… I didn’t how to respond to it which is why this took so long. But this isn’t a response, this is a new conversation. I don’t know what any of this even means. Come save the city from the fire.
I want to know how you are doing. What have you been up to? I want you to write back so I know you received this. I miss you. I’ll just keep this short because I’m sure you are busy.
Renee
Was it shocking? Yes. How did I feel about it? I’m not really sure. I put it in my folder and carried it around with me. I started writing drafts that would hopefully be some sort of response, but not much of them made any sense. It sort of brought me back to that little town and me losing my fucking mind trying to impress her with a story. But like I said, things are different now. So I wrote something back and I’m not sure if it’s impressive. In fact, I know it’s not impressive, but you have to believe when I say that it took every ounce of confidence to mark it with postage. I didn’t rush it. I actually intentionally waited several weeks to send it even though I wrote the final version maybe 5 or 6 days after I read Renee’s letter. I just wanted it to marinate a little bit. Even from a few thousand miles away you don’t want to seem too desperate or urgent. But this story will take place at a later date.
I walk outside and all I hear is arguments:
“What the fuck is a thousand millions? That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“How does that not make sense… a thousand millions is one billion. You’re an idiot.”
--
“Just fucking ask him man, I don’t understand why you’re being an asshole.”
“This is funny to me. I’m going to sit here until you go up and ask.”
--
“How do you not understand this? You came over here, took my shit, and now you want to pay? Do you go to Foot Locker and pay after you wear the shoes? No, you don’t, that’s backwards.”
“Relax man, I’m just trying to have a good time.”
--
I hear the arguments but I just keep walking. I reach a place where I can think and I decide that after many stops and starts and re-do’s and undo’s I want to go back a few months. I left you in an awkward position. I never really told you how I got here. I think you would be interested where the cynical side of my writing comes from. You see how sarcastic and vicious I can be? But then I turn it around into a moderate and restrained style just within a few words. Sometimes I feel like I hold back, however moderation is important in writing because I can’t just tell you everything. Something has to be left to the imagination… I think I’ve said that before. You have to leave something to be desired. I think one of biggest problems in literature is that people that write do things and they don’t even know why they’re doing it. It’s like there are unwritten rules you have to follow and there might have been a reason for the rules many years ago, but there‘s no point to them now. It reminds of the “monkeys in a cage” concept. You could take ten monkeys and put them in a cage with a basket of bananas and every time one of them got close you could spray them with a fire hose. At first they would keep trying to get to the bananas because monkeys like bananas, if you haven’t noticed. After some time, though, they wouldn’t try anymore. If you took five of those monkeys out of the cage and put five new ones in and the new ones tried to eat the bananas, the older monkeys would beat the new ones every time they got close to the basket until they didn’t want the bananas, either. If you took out the older monkeys and put five newer monkeys in, the other five monkeys would beat the new monkeys until they didn’t want the bananas. The cycle would perpetually continue, but now there’s no fire hose, so why can’t they have the bananas? It doesn’t make any sense at this point. I don’t know how to make this specific and vague at the same time. I haven’t found a way yet. I promise you I’m trying to figure it all out. This is just what I’ve come up with so far. I guess I can begin at the airport. No, no. That’s not right. I’ll begin at the beginning. This is has to start in a kitchen. A kitchen in a house. It’s not as clear as used it to be, but all the cutlery was placed appropriately.
I promise this is only the beginning…
William BraveHeart Wallace
I bid you adieu.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Day Break
With respect to penmanship and in regards to postage.
Some men climb from underneath
Imaginary mile by imaginary mile.
One imaginary step after another.
One brick by two bricks.
This is terrible… I remember thinking.
Two in one day? In one hour?
This is terrible.
I carry it with me every day.
We climb
Who knew the top could be so lonely?
And who is going to know?
That’s right.
Violet delights
Independence Day weather.
Why are you so difficult?
Just like you could let your roots get tied up in knots
And they rot.
I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. You’ve been on the receiving end of this once before. I let you see it. I don’t feel bad about it. I try my hand at writing things sometimes. That might be some sort of a pun. Hands and writing. These are just my thoughts.
With respect to penmanship and in regards to postage.
Here we go again, same old shit again.
Some of them bind to sword and sheath.
Imaginary trial by imaginary trial.
One imaginary step after a brother.
One kick by two kicks.
This is absolute… I remember writing.
To end one day with one flower.
This is absolute.
I drag it with me every pace.
We’re blind.
Who knew the top would be so bony?
And who is going to show?
That’s wrong.
Heliotrope delights.
July 4th weather.
Why am I so difficult?
Just like you could get your roots tied up with shots.
And they are not.
I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. A book no one reads. A movie no one watches. A candle no one lights. A story no one tells. A sad joke. You never wanted us to succeed at anything. You selfish fucks are thirsty for glory. Splendor. Grandeur. Brilliance. Laurels. Whatever.
You preach family and brotherhood but wouldn’t know what to do with it if you fell face first into it.
With respect to penmanship and in regards to the postage. The 35 cents.
The sum of them find word and wreath.
Imaginary dial by imaginary dial.
One imaginary step after a father.
One tick by two ticks.
This is hollow… I remember saying.
To end one’s day with one wilt and one blossom.
This is hollow.
I respond to it in this fashion.
We mind.
Who blew the stop so boldly?
And who is going too slow?
That’s left to personal judgment.
Lavender delights.
This cenotaph weather.
What is so difficult?
Just like you could feel your roots get tied up in knots.
And there they rot.
Whereas I embraced it,
You swore it off.
As it stands, the apple has not fallen far. As it sits, a family will gather, the sum equal to its whole. As it lays, a Mother smiles and sighs at the same time. As it sleeps, a Brother will stir once, but only once in safety. As it stands, a Father recognizes where the apple has fallen.
One day maybe I’ll be able to break the richest bread and drink the finest wine. But I’m sorry I’m so vague. So vague. So vague. So vague. So vague.
Maybe I’ll be able to watch another train go by in the passenger seat. Maybe I’ll be able to spend the night there. Maybe I could play on that floor again. Just one more night where I could sit by the framed photographs of aviation. Another Thanksgiving where we could just stand still.
The saga continues.
Some men climb from underneath
Imaginary mile by imaginary mile.
One imaginary step after another.
One brick by two bricks.
This is terrible… I remember thinking.
Two in one day? In one hour?
This is terrible.
I carry it with me every day.
We climb
Who knew the top could be so lonely?
And who is going to know?
That’s right.
Violet delights
Independence Day weather.
Why are you so difficult?
Just like you could let your roots get tied up in knots
And they rot.
I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. You’ve been on the receiving end of this once before. I let you see it. I don’t feel bad about it. I try my hand at writing things sometimes. That might be some sort of a pun. Hands and writing. These are just my thoughts.
With respect to penmanship and in regards to postage.
Here we go again, same old shit again.
Some of them bind to sword and sheath.
Imaginary trial by imaginary trial.
One imaginary step after a brother.
One kick by two kicks.
This is absolute… I remember writing.
To end one day with one flower.
This is absolute.
I drag it with me every pace.
We’re blind.
Who knew the top would be so bony?
And who is going to show?
That’s wrong.
Heliotrope delights.
July 4th weather.
Why am I so difficult?
Just like you could get your roots tied up with shots.
And they are not.
I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. A book no one reads. A movie no one watches. A candle no one lights. A story no one tells. A sad joke. You never wanted us to succeed at anything. You selfish fucks are thirsty for glory. Splendor. Grandeur. Brilliance. Laurels. Whatever.
You preach family and brotherhood but wouldn’t know what to do with it if you fell face first into it.
With respect to penmanship and in regards to the postage. The 35 cents.
The sum of them find word and wreath.
Imaginary dial by imaginary dial.
One imaginary step after a father.
One tick by two ticks.
This is hollow… I remember saying.
To end one’s day with one wilt and one blossom.
This is hollow.
I respond to it in this fashion.
We mind.
Who blew the stop so boldly?
And who is going too slow?
That’s left to personal judgment.
Lavender delights.
This cenotaph weather.
What is so difficult?
Just like you could feel your roots get tied up in knots.
And there they rot.
Whereas I embraced it,
You swore it off.
As it stands, the apple has not fallen far. As it sits, a family will gather, the sum equal to its whole. As it lays, a Mother smiles and sighs at the same time. As it sleeps, a Brother will stir once, but only once in safety. As it stands, a Father recognizes where the apple has fallen.
One day maybe I’ll be able to break the richest bread and drink the finest wine. But I’m sorry I’m so vague. So vague. So vague. So vague. So vague.
Maybe I’ll be able to watch another train go by in the passenger seat. Maybe I’ll be able to spend the night there. Maybe I could play on that floor again. Just one more night where I could sit by the framed photographs of aviation. Another Thanksgiving where we could just stand still.
The saga continues.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Subjects And Services
Wouldn’t you know it, but your beautiful face is all I have left. You would have never guessed it.
This is a feeble attempt at collecting my thoughts when they are purely scattered.
Purely, in a way that is innocent or pure. Thorough and definitive.
Just short drives. Short drives, nothing too far or risky.
We stay within safety. We stay within comfort.
Within radius and ambit. No. No comfort.
Do not prepare to be let down.
I am attempting something.
Obscurity by numbers.
Sheer amazement.
Nothing spared.
Cowards.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Courage.
No one cared.
Utter bemusement.
Infinite by slumber.
I am attempting something.
Do not prepare to be anything.
Comfortable in a new home. Comfort.
We embrace the vulnerability. Stay close.
Nautical miles. Dark red vials. Mountainous piles.
Traditional, established. In a white picket fence type of way.
This is a feeble attempt at scattering my thoughts when they are purely nostalgic.
Wouldn’t you know it, but there is substance surrounding me. You would have never guessed it.
I guess I should apologize for limiting my story telling. I just try so hard to write with a vengeance.
Vengeance. But why? I should have none. I deserve none. Just four digits and a short drive.
That’s all I’ve ever asked. This envelope torments me because I can’t open it. It won’t.
So I decided to write back and this time I make two copies. You can’t read them.
I can’t show you. It would ruin it for everyone else. The ones that can see.
Don’t try to resist. Don’t tempt your own curiosity. I have you.
In the mornings they scheme. Then they are tense.
They sear and are charred. Not burnt.
They are chomping at bits.
They line up to see it.
The parade.
Courage.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Cowards.
The discipline.
They line up to see it.
They are disgusting in laughter.
They freeze and are dried by the sun.
At night they fester. Then they are tranquil.
But we will not lose our discipline. Not yet devoured.
My friends once had friends. Now they have acquaintances.
And they smile and lie as if I can’t see through it all. Well dressed.
Well dressed but less inclined. Less inspired. Less like themselves. Less.
Reduced to marionettes just like the ones we hated. I dare you to question sacrifice.
I dare you to pretend like you were never side by side for the years that shaped who you are.
Furthermore.
I dare you to pretend like all of the photographs aren’t real. Tell me they are purely mirages.
I dare you to pretend like this would have been possible for either of us without the other.
I dare you to pretend like we wouldn’t love to see you two maintaining something that’s a part of me.
I dare you to pretend like I never asked you to take care of my brother. One simple request.
Tell me that a house of full of dynamite could be streamlined to static. Two houses. No noise.
You have wild imaginations if you thought you could ever just erase anything from recent memory.
But no. I digress. No vengeance. I don’t deserve it.
Start.
Stop.
Start.
WW
This is a feeble attempt at collecting my thoughts when they are purely scattered.
Purely, in a way that is innocent or pure. Thorough and definitive.
Just short drives. Short drives, nothing too far or risky.
We stay within safety. We stay within comfort.
Within radius and ambit. No. No comfort.
Do not prepare to be let down.
I am attempting something.
Obscurity by numbers.
Sheer amazement.
Nothing spared.
Cowards.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Courage.
No one cared.
Utter bemusement.
Infinite by slumber.
I am attempting something.
Do not prepare to be anything.
Comfortable in a new home. Comfort.
We embrace the vulnerability. Stay close.
Nautical miles. Dark red vials. Mountainous piles.
Traditional, established. In a white picket fence type of way.
This is a feeble attempt at scattering my thoughts when they are purely nostalgic.
Wouldn’t you know it, but there is substance surrounding me. You would have never guessed it.
I guess I should apologize for limiting my story telling. I just try so hard to write with a vengeance.
Vengeance. But why? I should have none. I deserve none. Just four digits and a short drive.
That’s all I’ve ever asked. This envelope torments me because I can’t open it. It won’t.
So I decided to write back and this time I make two copies. You can’t read them.
I can’t show you. It would ruin it for everyone else. The ones that can see.
Don’t try to resist. Don’t tempt your own curiosity. I have you.
In the mornings they scheme. Then they are tense.
They sear and are charred. Not burnt.
They are chomping at bits.
They line up to see it.
The parade.
Courage.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Cowards.
The discipline.
They line up to see it.
They are disgusting in laughter.
They freeze and are dried by the sun.
At night they fester. Then they are tranquil.
But we will not lose our discipline. Not yet devoured.
My friends once had friends. Now they have acquaintances.
And they smile and lie as if I can’t see through it all. Well dressed.
Well dressed but less inclined. Less inspired. Less like themselves. Less.
Reduced to marionettes just like the ones we hated. I dare you to question sacrifice.
I dare you to pretend like you were never side by side for the years that shaped who you are.
Furthermore.
I dare you to pretend like all of the photographs aren’t real. Tell me they are purely mirages.
I dare you to pretend like this would have been possible for either of us without the other.
I dare you to pretend like we wouldn’t love to see you two maintaining something that’s a part of me.
I dare you to pretend like I never asked you to take care of my brother. One simple request.
Tell me that a house of full of dynamite could be streamlined to static. Two houses. No noise.
You have wild imaginations if you thought you could ever just erase anything from recent memory.
But no. I digress. No vengeance. I don’t deserve it.
Start.
Stop.
Start.
WW
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Out Like A Lamb Part 5: Conversations With Thomas
“Okay, let’s get this started. Your name is Thomas… how do you pronounce your last name?”
“That doesn’t matter. I go by Thomas.”
“Well I’m glad you came to see me. I guess we can start whenever you’re ready.”
“I guess I’m just tired… and for the record I didn’t come to see you.”
“Right, okay. What are you tired of?”
“I guess I’m just tired of writing and talking and thinking about all of the same shit. I don’t want to talk about the city anymore or anyone that lives there. I don’t want to write about the liquids dripping off of me. I don’t want to write about the sun rising in the East because I can’t see it anymore. We’re splattered across the West.”
“What do you mean you didn’t come to see me? Who is in the West?”
“The sun is in the West. That’s where it rises. Google it. Wikipedia it. Whatever you want to do. That’s where that shit comes up. All this time I’ve been in the East thinking the world was round, but it’s not.”
“Why do you think it’s flat, Thomas?”
“When did I say I thought it was flat?”
“Well, you didn’t. But if you don’t think it’s round, then you must think it’s flat.”
“Ah. You are a slick one, Doc. That’s why I like you. The world is flat.”
“Why do you think that?”
“How else do people just fall in and out of you. Where do they go?”
“Well… I think that people enter and exit your life for a reason… even if that reason isn’t always clear.”
“That sounds like basic fucking bull shit, Doc.”
“The world is round Thomas.”
“The world is round. I don’t know, you know, I’m going to have to disagree with you. I’ve had a lot of friends make promises to me that they didn’t keep. I thought more.”
“Can you expand on that thought?”
“You know what? I have a question for you this time.”
“Well, go right ahead and ask, Thomas.”
“How many trucks are on an American military base?”
“I don’t know, Thomas. That’s an interesting question. I think it would vary from base to base.”
“No. There is 1.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“The truck you are referring to is called a vehicle. A “truck” is the gold ball on top of a flag pole. On American military bases there is a “truck” on top of the flag pole that is outside of Building 1, the Command Post. Do you want to know what is inside the truck?”
“Sure.”
“There is a razor, matches, and a loaded .38. You see, the flag is sacred and will never be surrendered. In the event that the enemy has overrun the base or post, the flag pole will be knocked over and the gold ball will be opened by the last soldier alive. The razor will be used to cut the flag off of the pole. The matches will be used to burn the American flag because the flag will not be desecrated by the enemy. Surrendering the flag to the enemy admits defeat and we will not admit defeat. The loaded .38 will be used by the remaining soldier on himself. The enemy will not take him alive. It is unlawful to surrender yourself when there is still a chance for victory and suicide will always prevent the soldier from revealing any information to the enemy. We will not let you take our flag. We will not give up the ship.”
“I don’t really see how that’s relevant.”
“Aren’t you the doctor? Analyze that shit.”
“Just what are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that my children will be forgotten and I will be forgotten with them.”
“That sound reasonable, but why do you feel it’s so necessary to be remembered?”
“I’ve heard that if you kill someone and keep them inside of a wall they don’t go to Heaven or Hell. I mean, I wouldn’t really know because I’ve never killed or been killed, but I’ve been told that the Grim Reaper can’t get to the body if it’s inside of a wall. They soul is stuck inside of the body. That’s terrible isn’t it? There are lives in the walls… life in the walls and they can’t be saved because God forgot to tell them that you‘re not supposed to die in the walls.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Guess what, Doc? I can make music with my fingers.” (snaps)
“Why don’t you try channeling your thoughts, Thomas?”
“No more questions, Doc. I just want to go to sleep now. You know, sometimes I think my dreams are real life and that real life is all a dream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago !
For old long ago, my dear
For old long ago,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago.
We two have run about the hillsides
And pulled the daisies fine,
But we have wandered many a weary foot
For old long ago.
We two have paddled (waded) in the stream
From noon until dinner time,
But seas between us broad have roared
Since old long ago.
And there is a hand, my trusty friend,
And give us a hand of yours,
And we will take a goodwill draught (of ale)
For old long ago!
And surely you will pay for your pint,
And surely I will pay for mine!
And we will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago!
Dial tone.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
-Hello?
-Hey, how are you?
-Who is this? Thomas? Is that you?
-Yea, it’s me. It’s… it’s Thomas.
-Oh my God! It’s so good to hear from you. How are you?
-I’m good. I’m… I’m doing well. How are you?
-I’m great! Just finishing up school for the semester. I can’t believe you called! What was it like?
-(Laughs) Well, um, you definitely can’t get dessert. I mean, it was okay.
-No dessert? That’s terrible. Do they yell?
-Yea, they yell. A lot. But you get used to it. Yea, it’s… you get used to it.
-And you just take it?
-Well… (laughs) you can’t really do anything about it.
-I’d never survive there.
-You’d be surprised. (laughs)
-So where are you going to be?
-I don’t know yet. Hopefully… um, I’m hoping for something… I don’t know.
-When are you coming back? I want to take you out for your birthday.
-It’s going to be awhile. I think. I’m not sure yet. Can we maybe talk about something else?
-Well, yea, sure. What do you want to talk about?
-Tell me about yourself. Tell me about what you’ve doing… everything.
-Thomas, you know enough about me. I’ve just been out with the girls. Having fun, getting into to trouble. The usual.
-I hope not too much trouble.
-No. Not too much trouble. Just a little.
-Good, good. Sounds like you’ve been having a great time.
-I still can’t believe you just left like that.
-Hey. Stop it. Stop. Not now.
-I’m serious, Thomas. I want to turn this thing around. You never really knew…
-Listen to me. You’ve had longer to get over it than me so I don’t want to even get into to it.
-So I guess your hair is a little shorter?
-Yea it is. It’s umm… it’s not bad. I really like it here. I’ve made some great friends and it’s pretty cool.
-That’s really good. I’m glad. Um… I’m getting another call from my… um… a friend, so can I call you back?
-You don’t have to call me back. It’s okay.
-No, I will. I promise.
-Just have fun tonight and be safe. Good-bye.
Dial tone.
-Hi, this is Thomas. I can’t get to my phone right now so just leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
-Hey! I was just giving you a call back like I said I would. Um… I guess you’re a little busy right now so, um, just give me a call back whenever you get a chance. Whenever you get a chance. Whenever you get a chance.
Row, row, row, your boat gently down the fucking stream.
ME
“That doesn’t matter. I go by Thomas.”
“Well I’m glad you came to see me. I guess we can start whenever you’re ready.”
“I guess I’m just tired… and for the record I didn’t come to see you.”
“Right, okay. What are you tired of?”
“I guess I’m just tired of writing and talking and thinking about all of the same shit. I don’t want to talk about the city anymore or anyone that lives there. I don’t want to write about the liquids dripping off of me. I don’t want to write about the sun rising in the East because I can’t see it anymore. We’re splattered across the West.”
“What do you mean you didn’t come to see me? Who is in the West?”
“The sun is in the West. That’s where it rises. Google it. Wikipedia it. Whatever you want to do. That’s where that shit comes up. All this time I’ve been in the East thinking the world was round, but it’s not.”
“Why do you think it’s flat, Thomas?”
“When did I say I thought it was flat?”
“Well, you didn’t. But if you don’t think it’s round, then you must think it’s flat.”
“Ah. You are a slick one, Doc. That’s why I like you. The world is flat.”
“Why do you think that?”
“How else do people just fall in and out of you. Where do they go?”
“Well… I think that people enter and exit your life for a reason… even if that reason isn’t always clear.”
“That sounds like basic fucking bull shit, Doc.”
“The world is round Thomas.”
“The world is round. I don’t know, you know, I’m going to have to disagree with you. I’ve had a lot of friends make promises to me that they didn’t keep. I thought more.”
“Can you expand on that thought?”
“You know what? I have a question for you this time.”
“Well, go right ahead and ask, Thomas.”
“How many trucks are on an American military base?”
“I don’t know, Thomas. That’s an interesting question. I think it would vary from base to base.”
“No. There is 1.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“The truck you are referring to is called a vehicle. A “truck” is the gold ball on top of a flag pole. On American military bases there is a “truck” on top of the flag pole that is outside of Building 1, the Command Post. Do you want to know what is inside the truck?”
“Sure.”
“There is a razor, matches, and a loaded .38. You see, the flag is sacred and will never be surrendered. In the event that the enemy has overrun the base or post, the flag pole will be knocked over and the gold ball will be opened by the last soldier alive. The razor will be used to cut the flag off of the pole. The matches will be used to burn the American flag because the flag will not be desecrated by the enemy. Surrendering the flag to the enemy admits defeat and we will not admit defeat. The loaded .38 will be used by the remaining soldier on himself. The enemy will not take him alive. It is unlawful to surrender yourself when there is still a chance for victory and suicide will always prevent the soldier from revealing any information to the enemy. We will not let you take our flag. We will not give up the ship.”
“I don’t really see how that’s relevant.”
“Aren’t you the doctor? Analyze that shit.”
“Just what are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that my children will be forgotten and I will be forgotten with them.”
“That sound reasonable, but why do you feel it’s so necessary to be remembered?”
“I’ve heard that if you kill someone and keep them inside of a wall they don’t go to Heaven or Hell. I mean, I wouldn’t really know because I’ve never killed or been killed, but I’ve been told that the Grim Reaper can’t get to the body if it’s inside of a wall. They soul is stuck inside of the body. That’s terrible isn’t it? There are lives in the walls… life in the walls and they can’t be saved because God forgot to tell them that you‘re not supposed to die in the walls.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Guess what, Doc? I can make music with my fingers.” (snaps)
“Why don’t you try channeling your thoughts, Thomas?”
“No more questions, Doc. I just want to go to sleep now. You know, sometimes I think my dreams are real life and that real life is all a dream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago !
For old long ago, my dear
For old long ago,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago.
We two have run about the hillsides
And pulled the daisies fine,
But we have wandered many a weary foot
For old long ago.
We two have paddled (waded) in the stream
From noon until dinner time,
But seas between us broad have roared
Since old long ago.
And there is a hand, my trusty friend,
And give us a hand of yours,
And we will take a goodwill draught (of ale)
For old long ago!
And surely you will pay for your pint,
And surely I will pay for mine!
And we will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago!
Dial tone.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
-Hello?
-Hey, how are you?
-Who is this? Thomas? Is that you?
-Yea, it’s me. It’s… it’s Thomas.
-Oh my God! It’s so good to hear from you. How are you?
-I’m good. I’m… I’m doing well. How are you?
-I’m great! Just finishing up school for the semester. I can’t believe you called! What was it like?
-(Laughs) Well, um, you definitely can’t get dessert. I mean, it was okay.
-No dessert? That’s terrible. Do they yell?
-Yea, they yell. A lot. But you get used to it. Yea, it’s… you get used to it.
-And you just take it?
-Well… (laughs) you can’t really do anything about it.
-I’d never survive there.
-You’d be surprised. (laughs)
-So where are you going to be?
-I don’t know yet. Hopefully… um, I’m hoping for something… I don’t know.
-When are you coming back? I want to take you out for your birthday.
-It’s going to be awhile. I think. I’m not sure yet. Can we maybe talk about something else?
-Well, yea, sure. What do you want to talk about?
-Tell me about yourself. Tell me about what you’ve doing… everything.
-Thomas, you know enough about me. I’ve just been out with the girls. Having fun, getting into to trouble. The usual.
-I hope not too much trouble.
-No. Not too much trouble. Just a little.
-Good, good. Sounds like you’ve been having a great time.
-I still can’t believe you just left like that.
-Hey. Stop it. Stop. Not now.
-I’m serious, Thomas. I want to turn this thing around. You never really knew…
-Listen to me. You’ve had longer to get over it than me so I don’t want to even get into to it.
-So I guess your hair is a little shorter?
-Yea it is. It’s umm… it’s not bad. I really like it here. I’ve made some great friends and it’s pretty cool.
-That’s really good. I’m glad. Um… I’m getting another call from my… um… a friend, so can I call you back?
-You don’t have to call me back. It’s okay.
-No, I will. I promise.
-Just have fun tonight and be safe. Good-bye.
Dial tone.
-Hi, this is Thomas. I can’t get to my phone right now so just leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
-Hey! I was just giving you a call back like I said I would. Um… I guess you’re a little busy right now so, um, just give me a call back whenever you get a chance. Whenever you get a chance. Whenever you get a chance.
Row, row, row, your boat gently down the fucking stream.
ME
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I'll Be Proud Of You No Matter What
Credits on all but two of these go to other people.
Don't tell them anything.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Out Like A Lamb: Part 4
I’ll see you in the east, where the Sun rises.
It’s all I see.
I was outside and he let me in, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I’m not even sure why I went. I wish you could tell me. I was there a few nights but things got bad. I started dreaming about a former life, a previous time. There was a man in my dream and he said… He said. He said. He said… Shit.
He said “what does a Jew want with a Samaritan? You know that they have no place among Samaritans.” But didn’t I stand on my own trying to hold back the tears on parade grounds? Six to the front, three to the rear, that’s the way we swing them here. Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four. Right here where they tell you not to lock your knees, because the position of attention is an exercise of discipline.
I see the pedestrians so pedestrian just dying to feel useful like the abandoned bible in a hotel drawer. And I hope I have been useful even for just a minute. I’m just tired of being tired of being tired of being tired. I don’t want to keep carrying my chains around with me. Which is why I stayed at a hotel just a few miles from my brothers house. Or maybe he decided to buy a house just a few miles from my hotel. Wherever the coattails lead, not who they belong to, that’s what I always say. And the romance novel I left behind was just another Technicolor dance in a dream that I still have. But be it train, plane, or automobile, I still exist.
If there’s nothing better to do we can practice parade. And we will be uniformed throughout the dormitory, because if it’s good for the goose then it’s good for the gander.
You can’t outrun the radio.
“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t remember much.”
I walked slowly down the hall to my brothers room and told him I had to stay in a hotel because I wasn’t comfortable sleeping with an alien in my room. I mean… he didn’t… how would you have taken that? Do you… Do you think she missed? Anything? Renee is that you? What a gorgeous nightmare. Now it’s back to sleep in this Holiday Inn. So I walked down the hall and then I left. Christmas was early and he left the scissors neatly on the counter top but I did not run with them I only used them to clip excess strings off of my shirt.
On the walk from the parking lot to the hotel reception desk I was stopped by a man. He told me he had built 10 carriages of equal size and equal measure. Ten carriages. For what? He wouldn’t say. I knew who he was. He didn’t fool me. You know what they say: fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, not going to fucking happen. God of Israel where were you when the infants were bleeding? Was theirs the blood that ran rivers red? Save the women and children, for they are the closest to God. Save the women and children, for they are the closest to us. Save the women and children, for they are the closest to love. Let the men die first. We fight the wars. We wear the scars. Let us do it.
And after I died in battle New York named fucking buildings after me. I never was able to take a picture of them; those buildings remain untouched. It’s written in stone and your heart is the throne. It’s written in stone and your heart is the throne.
Once things change how do you unchanged them? I’m always so inquisitive. The sex is free but the sound is not. That’s what she told me. Can you believe that shit?
“Going for a walk… what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m going for a fucking walk.”
On that pad I could drift away. I would lose myself in my mind as long as I stayed in step and pivoted on the correct foot. Inline, pivot, twelve, twenty-four, left, right, left. Right flanks, left flanks, discipline, and day dreams. It was those few days around Christmas when everything was supposed to be normal again. Was it? Was it?
A story: “Yea, sure, I’ll tell you a story, what’s the heck? I lived next to this girl I liked and for years I would buy her candy and little things like that. She used to say ‘Oh, Elvin, you remind me of my brother.’ I used to think she liked me too. So my brother went off and joined the Marines and he come back from boot camp and told me he been dating the girl for years. That made me mad, so we flung each other ‘round the backyard for a little bit. We was just a few country bumpkins. He was a Jarhead, so I wasn’t supposed to be able to do that to him. Long story short, if a girl tells you that you remind her of her brother… well, that’s her way of letting you down easy.”
“Oh, Mother, He came down from above and saved us all.” Maybe I’m wrong but weren’t we just dancing? He saved them all and the mothers and daughters that lived through the flood were thankful and scared because the fathers and sons were still drowning. They screamed “To Hell with those bastards, for we have been found!” We moved like one body. Two hearts one body and you weren’t there when Christmas came early. You probably told your Mother that I left and to this I say: get the lead out of your dancing shoes.
Then I received a letter. It was from far away. Rocks and hard places.
“So I’m wondering what you think of the labyrinth being used as a torture device”
“What?”
“Well, I mean, do you think it’s cruel and unusual or do you think we should keep it?”
“Thomas, what the fuck?”
“Think about it. It’s not the governments fault what the minotaur does in there. We just have a labyrinth. Right? Am I right? Right?”
Oh, the letter was from Renee and I thought it was great. It’s great you miss me. I’m Thomas the fucking Tiger over here. You were scamming second rate lawyers in nightclubs while I was fucking whores in motel parking lots. Vacancy. Now that is real romance. You lust for businessmen with college degrees in fancy suits at fancy clubs with fancy cars that fancy you. Businessman that can organize and execute flawlessly a beautiful open-face party chock-full of Jetsetters and people that hang out with stars but aren’t actually starts themselves. But they couldn’t manage themselves out of a wet paper bag. Shoulders for my friends and backs for my foes.
And the drone continues on.
Elvin says: “You play the game. ‘I love you.’ ‘No, I love you the most.’ Hang up on her. Go to bed. Put an end to that stuff.”
And the drone continues on. You once wrote about me. Here is the truth…
They speak: I listen.
I speak. And you get angry that nobody gives a shit.
Someone please take me back to the Twenties when pilots were American Idols and bank robbers were movie stars. New York was so bright then. I asked her where all of the love had gone and she told me it was right where I left it. So I guess it’ll be there waiting for me when I get back. Or am I just looking in all of the wrong places?
Speak/Speak/Speak/Speak
!I am not the words that you so eloquently put together!
She tells me what I want to hear.
Something that really flabbers my gast: The reason that the British soldiers used to wear red coats is a fact that is not widely known. They didn’t wear them for fashion, protection, nicknames or camouflage. They wore the red coats so that when they went into battle and the first ranks were shot, the remaining ranks would not become frightened or sickened by the blood. It would blend in with the coat. This is the same general thought process that lead the French to color their trousers brown. Think about it.
I saw what you said about me and fuck it all. You should have kept drowning, Old Man. I have it with me and I doused it in gasoline.
Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!
And the chorus goes:
Here we go again,
Same old shit again.
WW
It continues...
It’s all I see.
I was outside and he let me in, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I’m not even sure why I went. I wish you could tell me. I was there a few nights but things got bad. I started dreaming about a former life, a previous time. There was a man in my dream and he said… He said. He said. He said… Shit.
He said “what does a Jew want with a Samaritan? You know that they have no place among Samaritans.” But didn’t I stand on my own trying to hold back the tears on parade grounds? Six to the front, three to the rear, that’s the way we swing them here. Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four. Right here where they tell you not to lock your knees, because the position of attention is an exercise of discipline.
I see the pedestrians so pedestrian just dying to feel useful like the abandoned bible in a hotel drawer. And I hope I have been useful even for just a minute. I’m just tired of being tired of being tired of being tired. I don’t want to keep carrying my chains around with me. Which is why I stayed at a hotel just a few miles from my brothers house. Or maybe he decided to buy a house just a few miles from my hotel. Wherever the coattails lead, not who they belong to, that’s what I always say. And the romance novel I left behind was just another Technicolor dance in a dream that I still have. But be it train, plane, or automobile, I still exist.
If there’s nothing better to do we can practice parade. And we will be uniformed throughout the dormitory, because if it’s good for the goose then it’s good for the gander.
You can’t outrun the radio.
“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t remember much.”
I walked slowly down the hall to my brothers room and told him I had to stay in a hotel because I wasn’t comfortable sleeping with an alien in my room. I mean… he didn’t… how would you have taken that? Do you… Do you think she missed? Anything? Renee is that you? What a gorgeous nightmare. Now it’s back to sleep in this Holiday Inn. So I walked down the hall and then I left. Christmas was early and he left the scissors neatly on the counter top but I did not run with them I only used them to clip excess strings off of my shirt.
On the walk from the parking lot to the hotel reception desk I was stopped by a man. He told me he had built 10 carriages of equal size and equal measure. Ten carriages. For what? He wouldn’t say. I knew who he was. He didn’t fool me. You know what they say: fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, not going to fucking happen. God of Israel where were you when the infants were bleeding? Was theirs the blood that ran rivers red? Save the women and children, for they are the closest to God. Save the women and children, for they are the closest to us. Save the women and children, for they are the closest to love. Let the men die first. We fight the wars. We wear the scars. Let us do it.
And after I died in battle New York named fucking buildings after me. I never was able to take a picture of them; those buildings remain untouched. It’s written in stone and your heart is the throne. It’s written in stone and your heart is the throne.
Once things change how do you unchanged them? I’m always so inquisitive. The sex is free but the sound is not. That’s what she told me. Can you believe that shit?
“Going for a walk… what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m going for a fucking walk.”
On that pad I could drift away. I would lose myself in my mind as long as I stayed in step and pivoted on the correct foot. Inline, pivot, twelve, twenty-four, left, right, left. Right flanks, left flanks, discipline, and day dreams. It was those few days around Christmas when everything was supposed to be normal again. Was it? Was it?
A story: “Yea, sure, I’ll tell you a story, what’s the heck? I lived next to this girl I liked and for years I would buy her candy and little things like that. She used to say ‘Oh, Elvin, you remind me of my brother.’ I used to think she liked me too. So my brother went off and joined the Marines and he come back from boot camp and told me he been dating the girl for years. That made me mad, so we flung each other ‘round the backyard for a little bit. We was just a few country bumpkins. He was a Jarhead, so I wasn’t supposed to be able to do that to him. Long story short, if a girl tells you that you remind her of her brother… well, that’s her way of letting you down easy.”
“Oh, Mother, He came down from above and saved us all.” Maybe I’m wrong but weren’t we just dancing? He saved them all and the mothers and daughters that lived through the flood were thankful and scared because the fathers and sons were still drowning. They screamed “To Hell with those bastards, for we have been found!” We moved like one body. Two hearts one body and you weren’t there when Christmas came early. You probably told your Mother that I left and to this I say: get the lead out of your dancing shoes.
Then I received a letter. It was from far away. Rocks and hard places.
“So I’m wondering what you think of the labyrinth being used as a torture device”
“What?”
“Well, I mean, do you think it’s cruel and unusual or do you think we should keep it?”
“Thomas, what the fuck?”
“Think about it. It’s not the governments fault what the minotaur does in there. We just have a labyrinth. Right? Am I right? Right?”
Oh, the letter was from Renee and I thought it was great. It’s great you miss me. I’m Thomas the fucking Tiger over here. You were scamming second rate lawyers in nightclubs while I was fucking whores in motel parking lots. Vacancy. Now that is real romance. You lust for businessmen with college degrees in fancy suits at fancy clubs with fancy cars that fancy you. Businessman that can organize and execute flawlessly a beautiful open-face party chock-full of Jetsetters and people that hang out with stars but aren’t actually starts themselves. But they couldn’t manage themselves out of a wet paper bag. Shoulders for my friends and backs for my foes.
And the drone continues on.
Elvin says: “You play the game. ‘I love you.’ ‘No, I love you the most.’ Hang up on her. Go to bed. Put an end to that stuff.”
And the drone continues on. You once wrote about me. Here is the truth…
They speak: I listen.
I speak. And you get angry that nobody gives a shit.
Someone please take me back to the Twenties when pilots were American Idols and bank robbers were movie stars. New York was so bright then. I asked her where all of the love had gone and she told me it was right where I left it. So I guess it’ll be there waiting for me when I get back. Or am I just looking in all of the wrong places?
Speak/Speak/Speak/Speak
!I am not the words that you so eloquently put together!
She tells me what I want to hear.
Something that really flabbers my gast: The reason that the British soldiers used to wear red coats is a fact that is not widely known. They didn’t wear them for fashion, protection, nicknames or camouflage. They wore the red coats so that when they went into battle and the first ranks were shot, the remaining ranks would not become frightened or sickened by the blood. It would blend in with the coat. This is the same general thought process that lead the French to color their trousers brown. Think about it.
I saw what you said about me and fuck it all. You should have kept drowning, Old Man. I have it with me and I doused it in gasoline.
Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!
And the chorus goes:
Here we go again,
Same old shit again.
WW
It continues...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Out Like A Lamb: Poems For Thomas
Preface: www.myspace.com/sunbrothermusic. "Written In Stone"
Jimmy: Yea, we were best friends. Things change. I make a lot of money so I don’t give a fuck. I’ve managed to buy a lot of things and I’m pretty sure I’ll find another wife and another friend. How do you think I even got Suzanne in the first place? They can have each other. I’m not even mad. Fuck them. She will never be my wife ever again. I can’t even consider you a friend. You are dead to me. You will always be my brother. We will always be brothers. Until next time memories will get us by.
Suzanne: I kept calling and calling and calling and calling and calling but he never called back. I’m waiting for him. I’ve also moved on. Come back. I love you. I haven’t forgotten. We were sonnets. We were morning dew glistening on spring flowers. We were sunsets on abandoned beaches. We were sunken ships guarding buried treasure. We were what old writers wrote wistfully of. We made the sun rise in the east. Didn’t you see it, Thomas? They were just jealous. We were angels singing hymns on Sunday mornings. We were children laughing on Christmas morning. We were a midsummer day. We were murderers first. We happy few. That was us. I haven’t forgotten. What was I saying?
Old Man: Thomas was a good young man. He was strong and convincing. My wife and I loved his company. We had never had children but it felt like Thomas was our son. Sometimes when it was late at night, when neither of us could sleep, Thomas and I would talk until the sun came up. He was very interested in my World War 2 stories and he would often take notes. We would sit by the fireplace and talk about the Civil War. We would sip on tea and eat crackers. He loved the marmalade that my wife and I bought from the grocery store. He loved his room and the serenity of it. Towards the end of his stay he became increasingly eccentric, but I assumed he was just homesick. I never bothered him about keeping our guest room clean or anything like that. For so long all my wife and I had was each other. It was sort of comforting to have someone to take care of. He didn’t need it. He could take care of himself.
Thomas liked going into town. We live in a very small town. It is filled to the brim with Veterans and wives of Veterans. It is a good town. It breeds good people. We are strong here. Thomas fit in perfectly. He liked to go the library to visit a young woman he liked… I think her name was Renee. He didn’t talk about her much, but when he did he was always very polite and respectful. Thomas never really had a bad thing to say about anyone. At first. When Renee left him he became very erratic. One day he was just gone. He left everything in our guest room. I went through some of his writing. I was shocked at what Thomas had been writing and thinking. I was equally shocked at how good it was. I threw it all away before my wife could find any of it. I cried for the first time since 1946. We just try to forget about Thomas now. I hope he is okay, wherever he is. I miss the kid, though. Yea. I miss him. I miss you but we have to forget about you. Talk about civil war.
Old Woman: I would just like to start this off by saying that if any of you think this town is golden then I own a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you. I know what my husband wants you to believe. This place is terrible. There are drugs users, alcohol abusers, and I know I can speak for more than just myself when I say that we have our fair share of cheaters. I have only ever cheated on my husband twice. He was away at war and I didn’t know if he’d ever come back. Two days after the second incident I received a letter from him saying he would be home within two months. That was the last time I committed an act of infidelity. I can’t remember the day, month, or even the year. It’s been so long. I never told him because he doesn’t deserve that. I know it’s wrong, but who are you to tell me that I’m less of a person? I’m sure you’ve all done your fair share of sinning, so just let it go.
Thomas? This is about Thomas? I taught him how to sleep and then I forgot everything. He loved her. Who is Thomas? I don’t know a Thomas.
Renee: Oh, that town is gorgeous! I love going to school there. It is a nice break from the normal hustle and bustle of my hometown. I think you need to have the balance, though. That’s the main reason I go home on the weekends. It’s only a two hour train ride, plus I always miss my friends so much. During the week I never really have time to go out. You know, working at the library and going to school can get time consuming, so Thursday nights I go home for the weekend and go out to the bars and clubs. I’m not even 21 but we get away with so much it’s crazy.
How do you know so much about me? From Thomas? Anyway…
So today me and my friends went shopping on 5th Avenue. I bought Ray Bans, YSL…I went a little crazy, but it’s my money so who really cares? Tonight we’re going out drinking and… you want to know about Thomas? This fucking city is burning and he’s not here to stop it. No, wait, I mean I can’t stop it. It’s burning and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. We like to go out and dance and drink. It’s just cause we’re young and search of something. I don’t know what it is… maybe romance in suits and ties and expensive drinks and downtown bars and designer shit and sex and drugs and scandal. Maybe I just like to forget about things sometimes. I don’t really think about it that much. They are just jealous.
How do you know all of this? From Thomas? Anyway…
There’s this little space in my bathroom right between… I have to stop.
This fucking city is burning and he’s not here to stop it. Are you happy now? Did you miss anything? I have to stop.
William Wallace
More soon.
Jimmy: Yea, we were best friends. Things change. I make a lot of money so I don’t give a fuck. I’ve managed to buy a lot of things and I’m pretty sure I’ll find another wife and another friend. How do you think I even got Suzanne in the first place? They can have each other. I’m not even mad. Fuck them. She will never be my wife ever again. I can’t even consider you a friend. You are dead to me. You will always be my brother. We will always be brothers. Until next time memories will get us by.
Suzanne: I kept calling and calling and calling and calling and calling but he never called back. I’m waiting for him. I’ve also moved on. Come back. I love you. I haven’t forgotten. We were sonnets. We were morning dew glistening on spring flowers. We were sunsets on abandoned beaches. We were sunken ships guarding buried treasure. We were what old writers wrote wistfully of. We made the sun rise in the east. Didn’t you see it, Thomas? They were just jealous. We were angels singing hymns on Sunday mornings. We were children laughing on Christmas morning. We were a midsummer day. We were murderers first. We happy few. That was us. I haven’t forgotten. What was I saying?
Old Man: Thomas was a good young man. He was strong and convincing. My wife and I loved his company. We had never had children but it felt like Thomas was our son. Sometimes when it was late at night, when neither of us could sleep, Thomas and I would talk until the sun came up. He was very interested in my World War 2 stories and he would often take notes. We would sit by the fireplace and talk about the Civil War. We would sip on tea and eat crackers. He loved the marmalade that my wife and I bought from the grocery store. He loved his room and the serenity of it. Towards the end of his stay he became increasingly eccentric, but I assumed he was just homesick. I never bothered him about keeping our guest room clean or anything like that. For so long all my wife and I had was each other. It was sort of comforting to have someone to take care of. He didn’t need it. He could take care of himself.
Thomas liked going into town. We live in a very small town. It is filled to the brim with Veterans and wives of Veterans. It is a good town. It breeds good people. We are strong here. Thomas fit in perfectly. He liked to go the library to visit a young woman he liked… I think her name was Renee. He didn’t talk about her much, but when he did he was always very polite and respectful. Thomas never really had a bad thing to say about anyone. At first. When Renee left him he became very erratic. One day he was just gone. He left everything in our guest room. I went through some of his writing. I was shocked at what Thomas had been writing and thinking. I was equally shocked at how good it was. I threw it all away before my wife could find any of it. I cried for the first time since 1946. We just try to forget about Thomas now. I hope he is okay, wherever he is. I miss the kid, though. Yea. I miss him. I miss you but we have to forget about you. Talk about civil war.
Old Woman: I would just like to start this off by saying that if any of you think this town is golden then I own a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you. I know what my husband wants you to believe. This place is terrible. There are drugs users, alcohol abusers, and I know I can speak for more than just myself when I say that we have our fair share of cheaters. I have only ever cheated on my husband twice. He was away at war and I didn’t know if he’d ever come back. Two days after the second incident I received a letter from him saying he would be home within two months. That was the last time I committed an act of infidelity. I can’t remember the day, month, or even the year. It’s been so long. I never told him because he doesn’t deserve that. I know it’s wrong, but who are you to tell me that I’m less of a person? I’m sure you’ve all done your fair share of sinning, so just let it go.
Thomas? This is about Thomas? I taught him how to sleep and then I forgot everything. He loved her. Who is Thomas? I don’t know a Thomas.
Renee: Oh, that town is gorgeous! I love going to school there. It is a nice break from the normal hustle and bustle of my hometown. I think you need to have the balance, though. That’s the main reason I go home on the weekends. It’s only a two hour train ride, plus I always miss my friends so much. During the week I never really have time to go out. You know, working at the library and going to school can get time consuming, so Thursday nights I go home for the weekend and go out to the bars and clubs. I’m not even 21 but we get away with so much it’s crazy.
How do you know so much about me? From Thomas? Anyway…
So today me and my friends went shopping on 5th Avenue. I bought Ray Bans, YSL…I went a little crazy, but it’s my money so who really cares? Tonight we’re going out drinking and… you want to know about Thomas? This fucking city is burning and he’s not here to stop it. No, wait, I mean I can’t stop it. It’s burning and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. We like to go out and dance and drink. It’s just cause we’re young and search of something. I don’t know what it is… maybe romance in suits and ties and expensive drinks and downtown bars and designer shit and sex and drugs and scandal. Maybe I just like to forget about things sometimes. I don’t really think about it that much. They are just jealous.
How do you know all of this? From Thomas? Anyway…
There’s this little space in my bathroom right between… I have to stop.
This fucking city is burning and he’s not here to stop it. Are you happy now? Did you miss anything? I have to stop.
William Wallace
More soon.
Friday, March 5, 2010
I AM BACK
I will have several new things soon.
I hope you are as excited about them as I am.
Thank you for being patient.
The speculation will resume shortly.
William Wallace.
I hope you are as excited about them as I am.
Thank you for being patient.
The speculation will resume shortly.
William Wallace.
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