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
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
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.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Out Like A Lamb (Part Three)
The Sun is up it’s all I see.
Have you ever just sat in a chair and thought about sand? You don’t really have to sit in a chair to think about it. I like to think in the shower. Or when I’m driving. Or in a chair. I also like to pee in the shower, but I don’t pee when I’m driving. Or in a chair. Sand is interesting. There is so much of it. It has no life span. It is either exposed to the Sun, submerged in water, or buried underneath hundreds of trillions of other little pieces of sand. They say that no two snowflakes are identical. Is it the same for sand? I wonder. They say that no two palms are the same. Is it the same for people? I wonder. It can’t be true. They say that no two psalms are the same, but I’ve never read, so I wouldn’t know.
I really hate the sand. You can’t get rid of the shit.
In this part of my story I will introduce you to my brother. I have other family members, but he is the only one you will ever meet. More on him later. I duped Suzanne into loving me. Fucking right, I did.
Everyone has that relative. That aunt or cousin or grandparent that sends you a sweater every Christmas, and every year you do the same thing with that sweater. You hang it up and put it all the way in the back of your closet because you know you will never wear it. You probably wind up calling the relative to thank them for the kind gesture at some point, but there is a very selfish feeling that you suppress. You wonder why they even wasted their time on such a stupid gift. It’s fucked up to feel that way and of course you don’t have the heart to tell them your thoughts, because no matter how you look at it, that person took time out of their busy day to go to the mall, spend money on that sweater, and then package it up and send it hundreds of miles to your doorstep, not caring if you ever actually wear the sweater. They just want you to be happy.
They just want you to be happy. There is nothing quite like the philanthropic family member. Transfixed on their own cataleptic state of charity. It is not even limited to family. Friends or acquaintances can fill out this application as well. It is the act of giving which is usually reserved for the colder portion of the year. Or warmer, depending on which hemisphere you live in. And because you are very quick to identify errors, you will say “But Thomas, the Western countries are the only ones civilized enough to celebrate the act of giving, the birth of Christ. Or the lighting of the Menorah, depending on your beliefs.” I would like to personally thank all proprietors for being politically correct and enhancing the holiday experience. Happy Holidays in substitute of Merry Christmas. The 21st century is a sensitive one.
In response to your Western Civilization bias, I say you are an asshole. You are no better than any Eastern native that prays and gives thanks to Allah or Buddha or Mohammed. We only believe what we believe. The radicals are few. The casual are many. It seems to be only a Western practice to forcibly spread the thought of Christianity or Democracy. Such force insinuates that other beliefs and ideals are wrong. That is what we told the “Redman” or “Savages” while we burned their villages and raped their women. Corrupting two races of young minds in the process and the saga continues. Sometimes I think that these radicals are the reason that Eastern fundamentalists hate us. A radical living in a cave built into a mountain hates me because people that look and talk like me are fools. If given the chance he would kill me and my family and himself in the process. “Your people fear what my people embrace.”
But they don’t just hate the West and our ideals. They hate each other. That is what the media wants us to believe. The rivalries they supposedly share are a fabrication of an elaborate imagination. An imagination funded by the government. The government that infuses our media with propaganda and lies. The media that tortures the citizens with images of fear and hatred and sympathy and a tightly wound ball of emotions. The government that young boys die in protection of. The media that is fueled by the organs and blood of these young boys. They die to protect us. Our safety rests on the trigger fingers of well trained American boys. And more recently, girls. They are as American as apple pie. Or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Or 34th Street. As American as those coping with PTSD. Or those on medication for illnesses that may or may not be real and may or may not be caused by the PV pill packs that soldiers were required to take in the event of a chemical attack.
I’d like to know when the hatred started. It’s hard for me to imagine that in 1850 there was a Taliban leader hiding in the mountains saying “Mother fuck America.” Did they even know we were here? Did we know they were there? When was the exact day? These are the questions that I need answered. Now the children are stuck in the sand. And you can’t get rid of it.
My name is Thomas and I like to go by Thomas. Sometimes I am angry. Sometimes I am happy. Sometimes I am upset. Sometimes I am not. I feel a lot of different things, but I mostly feel nothing. You have met me before. The first time I was hopelessly in love. The second time I was full of vengeance. Nothing I write is necessarily in chronological order. I don’t hide from my mistakes. You are lucky, because today I am calm and serene. The same way the ocean is after the storm. There is no promise that another storm will never pass. There will be more storms. But for now we are alone. The candles are lit. The music is playing. I am writing this hoping that you will read it.
Jekyll and Hyde has already been written and read. Most of the time I wish I had been that author.
My mood right now is somber. I am serious but not quite melancholy. I am lacking a certain light but I am not dark. I am sober. I am not intoxicated or under the influence of any drug, although I am not opposed to that concept. In this moment no one is missing me or thinking about me. Not even Suzanne, and even if she is I could care less. I wish Renee was. I can’t do anything about it. I can’t go back. She left me figuratively. So I returned the favor literally.
This installment is different than the rest. I have introduced you to my brother although I have not yet told you his name. I am not writing about the old man or his old wife. I am not writing about Suzanne or Jim. I am not writing about Renee. Not right now, anyway.
They say the family that prays together, stays together. I don’t know. My family never prayed together but we’ve manage to stay undivided. I realize that the majority of what I’ve just written is useless to most of you. No one cares about my opinions on political issues or religious matters. I like to present them to you on occasion for my own benefit.
The morning after Suzanne and I had sex for the first time I skipped town. Our actions had consequences. I had sex with my friends wife. I could only assume she would leave him in hopes of starting over with me. That was unrealistic. If she was unfaithful to Jim then I presume that she would commit similar acts of infidelity in the future. As I said before, I didn’t love her and I never will. If there were no strings attached I would enjoy continuing the sexual aspect of our friendship, even if it was at the expense of my unfaithful friend and the inevitable destruction of his marriage.
I wanted to go see my brother. He lived only a few hours away from where I lived. He was younger than me by three years. He had a beautiful wife. I did not and will not ever covet her. He is my brother not my neighbor. My brother was very successful. We were very close, making me feel equally successful. I left early in the morning, just as the Sun was rising. It was all I could see as I got on the interstate and once again left this God-awful fucking town or city or whatever you want to call it. The rats in the sewers and on the subway tracks. The skyscrapers. The bodegas. Everything about it was just distasteful. I drove and drove.
I got caught up in some rush-hour traffic. Thousands of men and women embarking on their daily early morning commute to the lonely island of tedious office work and half an hour lunch breaks with the guy that doesn’t appreciate the value of silence. I think to myself that whoever designed the highway system in America was not very intelligent. I can’t think of a more chaotic scheme in the world. Thousands upon thousands of cars trying to merge and squeeze and bump and honk their way into a space that is not fit for this amount of volume. I guess when the roads were built the baby boomer generation was not anticipated. Who could have foreseen that type of population increase?
I am surrounded by an equal amount of American made automobiles and foreign vehicles. I am driving a Honda Civic. “Buy American” lost it’s luster when American jobs started mysteriously disappearing across various ponds and borders. I try to be patient in this mess of metal and multi-colored machines. Manufacturing geniuses. For miles I see nothing but the glaring red of brake lights. There are assorted state license plates furthering the melting pot mentality. I go through a couple of tolls, wishing the whole time I had an EZ pass. The radio station I have on is starting to fade to static. Instead of struggling to find something aesthetically pleasing I turn it off. After a few hours of stops and starts that remind me of children playing “Red Light, Green Light” I break out of the monotony. Every few miles I see Exit signs for towns that I will never have the pleasure of visiting, although I can only assume that they are mostly the same. Working class. Maybe poverty stricken. I wonder what GM plants are closing in their town. Did unions destroy your economy as well?
I see various billboards owned by Clear Channel that are intended to get my attention, but very few of them do. Thus far I think I’ve seen 6 or 7 Snickers brand billboards with comedic phrases on them like “Patrick Chewing” or “Dehungerize.” I am repeatedly informed about the amazing deals at the local car dealerships and when I can see whatever new, boring, sitcom is playing on ABC or CBS or NBC. Sometimes a city will pop up and I try and make comparisons to mine just based on the short glimpse I take of them. I rarely change lanes and rarely speed. I hum to myself and eventually turn the radio back on to further explore the standard verses and choruses that are polluting the Clear Channel airwaves.
I stop to get gas and my interaction with the ordinary cashier is strange. In some odd way of appearing hip or cool she said to me “What do you need?"
For these types of situations I usually have a built in response that I administer typically without any thought. For as far back as I can remember, every time I’ve entered a convenience store or gas station the cashier has said “Hi, how are you etc. etc.” to which I respond “I’m fine, how are you?”
Not expecting this young girl to throw a stick in between the spokes of my proverbial social wheel, which had previously been rotating just fine, I replied to her with “I’m fine, how are you?”
Seconds after reciting my orthodox and pre-prepared response I realized that we were operating on two different wave lengths. I abruptly told her that I needed 25 dollars on pump 11. As I was walking out the door she said “Don’t you remember me?”
I said, “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t. But I don’t remember much.”
I filled up and merged back on to the interstate. Once again I noticed signs advertising upcoming rest stops with fast food restaurant logos on them trying to convince me to make a quick stop. I was uninterested in these pathetic multi colored pleas for business. I often wondered what it must feel like to be the subject of someone’s poetry or lyrics. As the lonely sounds of top 40 radio pulsated out of my speakers like unwanted sewage I thought about this. Renee often told me about how she tried her hand at poetry or story telling. I wonder how many times, if any, I was the subject in question. I hope I was. I wonder if I was the hero or the villain? I can imagine that I am now the villain plaguing her once romantic sheets of notebook paper. That is not what I intended. I continued on my way.
Young and full of running, tell me where’s that taken me? Just a great figure eight or a tiny infinity. My reaction to this was visceral. I was used to running, but not like this. I had been on the road for roughly three hours at this point. I had two tolls and two hours left. I allotted myself very little time for reflection. It was better if I just shut all of it out. You will not gain any insight, the best you can do is assume. At random moments I considered dialing her number. Or changing direction and going back to her. That is not how it will be. I continued on my way.
I came half an eyelash away from crashing a few times. After these few times where my heart rate increased I would sigh and thank the charm resting in a compartment underneath my steering wheel. Lord, give me grace and dancing feet. Just get me to that house. It only took nine words to get me on that path, “He’s done a lot for you. You know that.” And that was the dead-ass truth. I didn’t expect much this time. I continued on my way.
I was only about 15 exits away from my brothers house. I’m not telling you his name on purpose. As I came closer I started to recognize the scenery. Empty outlets, forsaken boardwalks, lost chicken wire. I was driving on roads that lead to nowhere, to nothing. I saw farm houses scattered throughout miles of flat land like they were accidental snowflakes that fell for no reason. Although I was still on the highway, the road was now desolate and my radio began to lose signal once more. I took the exit.
As I drove down the exit ramp I saw the usual corner store and gas station. I was here now. This wasn’t my home, but it was my family’s home. These people were not like me, but then again, nobody was really “like me.” I hadn’t told my brother I was coming and I didn’t pack for an extended stay. A few hours ago it seemed like the only woman I could love was dressed in a black asphalt dress with a yellow ribbon tied around her waist. And I rode her. I don’t think I feel any different. To get away from Renee I had to use more extreme measures… the road ran out so I had to look to the sky. For story telling purposes I do not indulge in plain speaking. I do not apologize for that and hopefully you can keep up.
My phone’s battery had expired and I chose not to bring the charger with me. I can imagine that once I turned it on I would have several missed calls and voice messages from Suzanne. I wasn’t concerned in the least bit. It was around noon now and normally my brother would be at work, but today is Saturday, so I drove directly to his house. It was cloudy. His porch lights were on.
It feels like the city never changes. Who is out there? I don’t know, I don’t think anyone is. I am out here. It’s me. What happens when you do it to yourself? What happens when I am the product? I am the cause and the effect… now what? I don’t care about anyone but myself. I don’t care about my friends. I don’t care about Renee. I don’t care, I just run. That is what I do. I run. Do you care about your family? I care about my family. It’s me. I’m out here. It’s your brother. You can stay as long as you want, yea. Come inside, let me take your jacket. I wasn’t going to come inside… I, I, I don’t even know why I came this was stupid. No, I won’t stay long. Please, just stay. I don’t want to go back. You have everything. Who cares what they think? What do they think? She’s asleep? I’m proud of you. You don’t have to. It’s me. I’m out here. It’s me. Let me take your jacket. Sit down… do you want something to drink? Eat? No? I should have just stayed in the car. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t like taking things. Just stop, just relax, it’s alright. It’s alright. It’s alright. I fucking coveted her. She left me. I came back, that’s why. It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re okay now. It’s alright. Stay as long as you need. I won’t stay long. I know you won’t. It’s alright. It's alright. Thank you. It's me. I'm here.
It only took six words to get me on that path. “This is what we’re fighting for.”
William Wallace
Have you ever just sat in a chair and thought about sand? You don’t really have to sit in a chair to think about it. I like to think in the shower. Or when I’m driving. Or in a chair. I also like to pee in the shower, but I don’t pee when I’m driving. Or in a chair. Sand is interesting. There is so much of it. It has no life span. It is either exposed to the Sun, submerged in water, or buried underneath hundreds of trillions of other little pieces of sand. They say that no two snowflakes are identical. Is it the same for sand? I wonder. They say that no two palms are the same. Is it the same for people? I wonder. It can’t be true. They say that no two psalms are the same, but I’ve never read, so I wouldn’t know.
I really hate the sand. You can’t get rid of the shit.
In this part of my story I will introduce you to my brother. I have other family members, but he is the only one you will ever meet. More on him later. I duped Suzanne into loving me. Fucking right, I did.
Everyone has that relative. That aunt or cousin or grandparent that sends you a sweater every Christmas, and every year you do the same thing with that sweater. You hang it up and put it all the way in the back of your closet because you know you will never wear it. You probably wind up calling the relative to thank them for the kind gesture at some point, but there is a very selfish feeling that you suppress. You wonder why they even wasted their time on such a stupid gift. It’s fucked up to feel that way and of course you don’t have the heart to tell them your thoughts, because no matter how you look at it, that person took time out of their busy day to go to the mall, spend money on that sweater, and then package it up and send it hundreds of miles to your doorstep, not caring if you ever actually wear the sweater. They just want you to be happy.
They just want you to be happy. There is nothing quite like the philanthropic family member. Transfixed on their own cataleptic state of charity. It is not even limited to family. Friends or acquaintances can fill out this application as well. It is the act of giving which is usually reserved for the colder portion of the year. Or warmer, depending on which hemisphere you live in. And because you are very quick to identify errors, you will say “But Thomas, the Western countries are the only ones civilized enough to celebrate the act of giving, the birth of Christ. Or the lighting of the Menorah, depending on your beliefs.” I would like to personally thank all proprietors for being politically correct and enhancing the holiday experience. Happy Holidays in substitute of Merry Christmas. The 21st century is a sensitive one.
In response to your Western Civilization bias, I say you are an asshole. You are no better than any Eastern native that prays and gives thanks to Allah or Buddha or Mohammed. We only believe what we believe. The radicals are few. The casual are many. It seems to be only a Western practice to forcibly spread the thought of Christianity or Democracy. Such force insinuates that other beliefs and ideals are wrong. That is what we told the “Redman” or “Savages” while we burned their villages and raped their women. Corrupting two races of young minds in the process and the saga continues. Sometimes I think that these radicals are the reason that Eastern fundamentalists hate us. A radical living in a cave built into a mountain hates me because people that look and talk like me are fools. If given the chance he would kill me and my family and himself in the process. “Your people fear what my people embrace.”
But they don’t just hate the West and our ideals. They hate each other. That is what the media wants us to believe. The rivalries they supposedly share are a fabrication of an elaborate imagination. An imagination funded by the government. The government that infuses our media with propaganda and lies. The media that tortures the citizens with images of fear and hatred and sympathy and a tightly wound ball of emotions. The government that young boys die in protection of. The media that is fueled by the organs and blood of these young boys. They die to protect us. Our safety rests on the trigger fingers of well trained American boys. And more recently, girls. They are as American as apple pie. Or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Or 34th Street. As American as those coping with PTSD. Or those on medication for illnesses that may or may not be real and may or may not be caused by the PV pill packs that soldiers were required to take in the event of a chemical attack.
I’d like to know when the hatred started. It’s hard for me to imagine that in 1850 there was a Taliban leader hiding in the mountains saying “Mother fuck America.” Did they even know we were here? Did we know they were there? When was the exact day? These are the questions that I need answered. Now the children are stuck in the sand. And you can’t get rid of it.
My name is Thomas and I like to go by Thomas. Sometimes I am angry. Sometimes I am happy. Sometimes I am upset. Sometimes I am not. I feel a lot of different things, but I mostly feel nothing. You have met me before. The first time I was hopelessly in love. The second time I was full of vengeance. Nothing I write is necessarily in chronological order. I don’t hide from my mistakes. You are lucky, because today I am calm and serene. The same way the ocean is after the storm. There is no promise that another storm will never pass. There will be more storms. But for now we are alone. The candles are lit. The music is playing. I am writing this hoping that you will read it.
Jekyll and Hyde has already been written and read. Most of the time I wish I had been that author.
My mood right now is somber. I am serious but not quite melancholy. I am lacking a certain light but I am not dark. I am sober. I am not intoxicated or under the influence of any drug, although I am not opposed to that concept. In this moment no one is missing me or thinking about me. Not even Suzanne, and even if she is I could care less. I wish Renee was. I can’t do anything about it. I can’t go back. She left me figuratively. So I returned the favor literally.
This installment is different than the rest. I have introduced you to my brother although I have not yet told you his name. I am not writing about the old man or his old wife. I am not writing about Suzanne or Jim. I am not writing about Renee. Not right now, anyway.
They say the family that prays together, stays together. I don’t know. My family never prayed together but we’ve manage to stay undivided. I realize that the majority of what I’ve just written is useless to most of you. No one cares about my opinions on political issues or religious matters. I like to present them to you on occasion for my own benefit.
The morning after Suzanne and I had sex for the first time I skipped town. Our actions had consequences. I had sex with my friends wife. I could only assume she would leave him in hopes of starting over with me. That was unrealistic. If she was unfaithful to Jim then I presume that she would commit similar acts of infidelity in the future. As I said before, I didn’t love her and I never will. If there were no strings attached I would enjoy continuing the sexual aspect of our friendship, even if it was at the expense of my unfaithful friend and the inevitable destruction of his marriage.
I wanted to go see my brother. He lived only a few hours away from where I lived. He was younger than me by three years. He had a beautiful wife. I did not and will not ever covet her. He is my brother not my neighbor. My brother was very successful. We were very close, making me feel equally successful. I left early in the morning, just as the Sun was rising. It was all I could see as I got on the interstate and once again left this God-awful fucking town or city or whatever you want to call it. The rats in the sewers and on the subway tracks. The skyscrapers. The bodegas. Everything about it was just distasteful. I drove and drove.
I got caught up in some rush-hour traffic. Thousands of men and women embarking on their daily early morning commute to the lonely island of tedious office work and half an hour lunch breaks with the guy that doesn’t appreciate the value of silence. I think to myself that whoever designed the highway system in America was not very intelligent. I can’t think of a more chaotic scheme in the world. Thousands upon thousands of cars trying to merge and squeeze and bump and honk their way into a space that is not fit for this amount of volume. I guess when the roads were built the baby boomer generation was not anticipated. Who could have foreseen that type of population increase?
I am surrounded by an equal amount of American made automobiles and foreign vehicles. I am driving a Honda Civic. “Buy American” lost it’s luster when American jobs started mysteriously disappearing across various ponds and borders. I try to be patient in this mess of metal and multi-colored machines. Manufacturing geniuses. For miles I see nothing but the glaring red of brake lights. There are assorted state license plates furthering the melting pot mentality. I go through a couple of tolls, wishing the whole time I had an EZ pass. The radio station I have on is starting to fade to static. Instead of struggling to find something aesthetically pleasing I turn it off. After a few hours of stops and starts that remind me of children playing “Red Light, Green Light” I break out of the monotony. Every few miles I see Exit signs for towns that I will never have the pleasure of visiting, although I can only assume that they are mostly the same. Working class. Maybe poverty stricken. I wonder what GM plants are closing in their town. Did unions destroy your economy as well?
I see various billboards owned by Clear Channel that are intended to get my attention, but very few of them do. Thus far I think I’ve seen 6 or 7 Snickers brand billboards with comedic phrases on them like “Patrick Chewing” or “Dehungerize.” I am repeatedly informed about the amazing deals at the local car dealerships and when I can see whatever new, boring, sitcom is playing on ABC or CBS or NBC. Sometimes a city will pop up and I try and make comparisons to mine just based on the short glimpse I take of them. I rarely change lanes and rarely speed. I hum to myself and eventually turn the radio back on to further explore the standard verses and choruses that are polluting the Clear Channel airwaves.
I stop to get gas and my interaction with the ordinary cashier is strange. In some odd way of appearing hip or cool she said to me “What do you need?"
For these types of situations I usually have a built in response that I administer typically without any thought. For as far back as I can remember, every time I’ve entered a convenience store or gas station the cashier has said “Hi, how are you etc. etc.” to which I respond “I’m fine, how are you?”
Not expecting this young girl to throw a stick in between the spokes of my proverbial social wheel, which had previously been rotating just fine, I replied to her with “I’m fine, how are you?”
Seconds after reciting my orthodox and pre-prepared response I realized that we were operating on two different wave lengths. I abruptly told her that I needed 25 dollars on pump 11. As I was walking out the door she said “Don’t you remember me?”
I said, “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t. But I don’t remember much.”
I filled up and merged back on to the interstate. Once again I noticed signs advertising upcoming rest stops with fast food restaurant logos on them trying to convince me to make a quick stop. I was uninterested in these pathetic multi colored pleas for business. I often wondered what it must feel like to be the subject of someone’s poetry or lyrics. As the lonely sounds of top 40 radio pulsated out of my speakers like unwanted sewage I thought about this. Renee often told me about how she tried her hand at poetry or story telling. I wonder how many times, if any, I was the subject in question. I hope I was. I wonder if I was the hero or the villain? I can imagine that I am now the villain plaguing her once romantic sheets of notebook paper. That is not what I intended. I continued on my way.
Young and full of running, tell me where’s that taken me? Just a great figure eight or a tiny infinity. My reaction to this was visceral. I was used to running, but not like this. I had been on the road for roughly three hours at this point. I had two tolls and two hours left. I allotted myself very little time for reflection. It was better if I just shut all of it out. You will not gain any insight, the best you can do is assume. At random moments I considered dialing her number. Or changing direction and going back to her. That is not how it will be. I continued on my way.
I came half an eyelash away from crashing a few times. After these few times where my heart rate increased I would sigh and thank the charm resting in a compartment underneath my steering wheel. Lord, give me grace and dancing feet. Just get me to that house. It only took nine words to get me on that path, “He’s done a lot for you. You know that.” And that was the dead-ass truth. I didn’t expect much this time. I continued on my way.
I was only about 15 exits away from my brothers house. I’m not telling you his name on purpose. As I came closer I started to recognize the scenery. Empty outlets, forsaken boardwalks, lost chicken wire. I was driving on roads that lead to nowhere, to nothing. I saw farm houses scattered throughout miles of flat land like they were accidental snowflakes that fell for no reason. Although I was still on the highway, the road was now desolate and my radio began to lose signal once more. I took the exit.
As I drove down the exit ramp I saw the usual corner store and gas station. I was here now. This wasn’t my home, but it was my family’s home. These people were not like me, but then again, nobody was really “like me.” I hadn’t told my brother I was coming and I didn’t pack for an extended stay. A few hours ago it seemed like the only woman I could love was dressed in a black asphalt dress with a yellow ribbon tied around her waist. And I rode her. I don’t think I feel any different. To get away from Renee I had to use more extreme measures… the road ran out so I had to look to the sky. For story telling purposes I do not indulge in plain speaking. I do not apologize for that and hopefully you can keep up.
My phone’s battery had expired and I chose not to bring the charger with me. I can imagine that once I turned it on I would have several missed calls and voice messages from Suzanne. I wasn’t concerned in the least bit. It was around noon now and normally my brother would be at work, but today is Saturday, so I drove directly to his house. It was cloudy. His porch lights were on.
It feels like the city never changes. Who is out there? I don’t know, I don’t think anyone is. I am out here. It’s me. What happens when you do it to yourself? What happens when I am the product? I am the cause and the effect… now what? I don’t care about anyone but myself. I don’t care about my friends. I don’t care about Renee. I don’t care, I just run. That is what I do. I run. Do you care about your family? I care about my family. It’s me. I’m out here. It’s your brother. You can stay as long as you want, yea. Come inside, let me take your jacket. I wasn’t going to come inside… I, I, I don’t even know why I came this was stupid. No, I won’t stay long. Please, just stay. I don’t want to go back. You have everything. Who cares what they think? What do they think? She’s asleep? I’m proud of you. You don’t have to. It’s me. I’m out here. It’s me. Let me take your jacket. Sit down… do you want something to drink? Eat? No? I should have just stayed in the car. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t like taking things. Just stop, just relax, it’s alright. It’s alright. It’s alright. I fucking coveted her. She left me. I came back, that’s why. It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re okay now. It’s alright. Stay as long as you need. I won’t stay long. I know you won’t. It’s alright. It's alright. Thank you. It's me. I'm here.
It only took six words to get me on that path. “This is what we’re fighting for.”
To be continued...
William Wallace
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