The breath of early June is in the air, so sweet, so warm——-laced with the scent of lilacs. The evening breeze ruffled through my hair, for me, this is the fairest time of day. Thinking back, her face resembled someone with a hybrid pedigree, part French, part gypsy——-a precocious child of the Greek God Hedone. She hid unspoken promises and dirty secrets behind her waning smile. She must of thought I was a pervert because when she noticed me staring at her, she gave me the stink eye.
I liked the way she stroked a pool cue and the way her cleavage was exposed when bending over the perfectly lit pool table. She took her shot with blue cigarette smoke hallowed around her. She spoke softly with an exotic accent from an unknown foreign land. It didn’t even matter what she had to say, I just liked listening to her hypnotic voice. Then she screeched, “What are you looking at weird-o?” I knew right then and there, this was not going to have a 1940’s happily-ever after movie ending. But I was already in way too deep to back down now. The shot of tequila burned the back of my throat. I knew I wasn’t going home until either I made her, or she made a fool out of me.
She was like an old fashion vinyl record, something that needed to be treated with reverence and handled with sensitively——-to hurry and fumble with her would only leave an indelible scare on something of such perfection. She’s a song I’d never grow tired of. Pretty girls grow old, but good songs never do. She had me humming “Girl From The North Country”.
Her rose colored lipstick clung to an empty shot glass. She wasn’t one of those chardonnay sipping bores easily impressed with stock-market babel, she craved the excitement that came with jazz musicians, black magic dealers and men who knew what they wanted and how to get it. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding as my libido pushed me forward. I prowled about in a circle at the edges of her perimeter. I threw back another shot and walked on over to her and with a pandering voice asked her to dance. She shook her head no. Shaken and perplexed I blurted out, “Okay, how bout an an arm wrestle?” She didn’t answer, she just spit on her palms, rubbed her hands together and then stretched out her small manicured fingers——-at least I was touching her flesh, even if it were in a contest of strength and courage. She dipped her head down and then locked her eyes on mine in an intimate manner. Neither one of us allowed ourselves to blink.
Her hand felt soft and warm. I applied pressure and she responded with a quiver in her grip. I felt the momentum moving in my favor as her forearm began to falter. From under the cocktail table she allowed her soft warm inner thigh to rub up against my knee. That poor cotton summer dress didn’t stand a chance, inching up closer and closer, slowly giving way. She looked up at me with those fucking eyes——she wasn’t playing fair, she played dirty——Goddamn, losing never felt so good. From the jukebox the song “Bitter Sweet Surrender” blared—–her leg began to mercilessly move in rhythm with the song. For God’s sake, she was taking advantage of me, breaking me down.
My forehead glistened with sweat, my bicep began to tremble——my trousers grew even tighter. She had me, she knew it——-She teased me——moving in a little——moving out a little—there was a wave of tension leading to a singe point of no return. She was unexpectedly much stronger than she first appeared to be—–isn’t that the way of all woman.
They tore down that old bar where we use to hangout. It was a place where we spent many a night laughing and getting drunk. I have a memory of us dancing beneath a streetlamp at two in the morning. She had the power to turn a dark dank alley into a place where broken glass, dumpsters and the sound of screeching car tires became a stage for danger and romance.—— Yes, I said romance, minus the stench of stale piss.
Soundtrack “Comatose” by Sierra Eagleson.
I have my fathers temper, stirring just below my skin
And then there’s my mothers compassion, lingering in the marrow of my creaking bones
I’ve made my camp in this flag tattered crossfire
It’s always been a battle of attrition
I’m forever at war with myself
It’s trench warfare, two steps forward
Two steps backwards
Where’s god in this circular calculus
Beware, history is written by the winners
For the rest of us, it’s white flags, white crosses and unmarked graves
I may offer you an olive branch with a hug
Or perhaps a sucker punch to the nose
I’m a danger to myself and others
A classic case of 51-50,
I’m the static clinging to the radio station, while you’re straining to hear your favorite song
We don’t get to decide if we are born
Who’s to say when it will all come to an end
That’s fate, destiny, god’s propagative
But in between birth and death
There’s much to lose, much to gain
Refusing to choose, is choosing
There in lies the hazards of freewill
Anything is possible
Nothing is promised
Surrender to the openness
Do what inspires you
Love’s an imperfect science
It’s the art of misdirection
Sometimes you pull the rabbit out of the hat
Other times a rat……
Regardless, don’t give up on the magic…….
Soundtrack “Coming In The Air Tonight” By Sierra Eagelson
She’s like me, she loses herself in the dark things, the sad things, the unexplainable things
Like the thoughts that arise in her, when staring up at the canopy of wish-less stars
She beholds it all with awe and wonder, wanting to feel connected to someone or something, or maybe to all things
She has reverence for the fragile things, only to watch them shatter and fall through her heart
All people will let you down, thank god for the loyalty of a dog
She’s fearless, she digs deeper into the places where others choose detours
All seekers are loners, except for the company of their cats
People are vicious, unpredictable and for no apparent reason will suddenly turn on you
She and I hold hands with each others shadow, we’ve fumbled about, finding ourselves alas within one another
She’s like me, she hates liars, mean people, hypocrites
And all those zealots who nail others to their faux pious crosses
She’ll confront the mean spirited, but then become sick of it all, throwing up both her hands
Silence becomes her amor, but she whispers beautiful things in my ear
Her words are warm and damp, tickling a place deep down in my belly
Like me, she becomes sick of the fight, there’s just too many comatose people
It’s been too long, to feel this empty, this lonely how it had always been before her
She’s my last chance, suspending reality with her magic, my final faith in humanity I don’t want to ever let her down,
If I should ever lose her, it’d once again be just me, alone in my darkness
Soundtrack “Son Of A Highway Daughter” by Ruston Kelly.
I messed up again, got drunk and pissed everyone off, let myself down with a thousand discarded and broken pledges, I’m wanting morning light at this 3:03 am, its the darkest of corners to turn in the middle of the night, the sheets have become untucked and tangled, the room is stuffy and hot, I’m mad at the likes of me for being a poor version of what I might have been, I’m pleading with the dark shadows and demons to stop coming round and convicting me with a movie reel on repeat, revealing me and all the stupid shit I’ve ever done, my sanity meter is starved for another quarter, for a shard of clarity——the walls are closing in=====Oh my god, where are you now, my holy ghost has gone MIA
I’m nervous all the time, my breath stale beer and bitter nicotine, people can see through me, I never learned how to be coy or clever, my bravado has caved in, I’m teetering on being too far gone to come back again, I no longer belong anywhere or to anyone, everywhere I go I feel out of place, people stare at me like I’m a two headed monster in a nickel and dime freak show——can’t you see, that under all this ugliness it’s still me
I’d call you, but at this hour it would be a selfish thing for me to do——-I wish I’d never worn you out with my rants and ramblings, I’m afraid I’m gonna drag you down with me—— a drowning man with arms flailing, we played hide and seek one too many times with our emotions, and what was once found is now lost. it’s Amazing Grace in reverse——-I’m sorry I painted you into my landscape, you’re far too pretty to be sketched within the same canvas with the likes of someone like me
People want to choose relationships the same way that they pick out corn on the cob. They secretly peel back a small portion of the husk and take a quick peek to see what’s on the inside. They take a hurried look around to see if anyone is watching and then hastily decide if it’s a keeper or a throw back.
I wonder what becomes of the cobs that have been discarded and left behind, their husk pulled down exposing all their flaws, for all the world to see. Maybe some are fed to the pigs while others are sent to the popcorn factory.
And now you know why popcorn explodes—–
Soundtrack “Mercury” by Ruston Kelly.
When sitting at a extra long red light, do you ever wonder if perhaps you’re wasting your life
When standing in the chips isle, struggling to choose between Doritos and Barbecue Chips, have you ever found youself questioning if maybe you’re wasting your life
When lying in bed with the snooze alarm going off for the third time do you ever conceive of the notion that you’re probably wasting your life
Have you ever sat in a crowded bar watching everyone laugh, flirt and drink and come to the conclusion that you’re possibley wasting your life
When sitting in front of your big screen watching the same commercial for the third time, have you ever pondered why you’re wasting your life
Sitting silently in a cluttered break room, have you ever decided that you’re definitely not doing what you’d like with your life
Have you ever sat on a couch in the middle of some big party filled with laughter and loud music and despise the idea of wasting your life
Have you ever traded three hours of inebriation for a tomorrow that guarantee’s a headache, sour stomach, a worn outness and once again it leaves you questioning why you’re wasting your life
Has your life ever felt like a grainy B movie with no plot, or a corny country song about a broken hearted cowboy and you find yourself humming along to the soundtrack of his wasted life
Standing in a long line at DMV waiting to renew your vehicle registration, have you ever viewed yourself from above and watched as you wasted away
Sitting on a squeaky pew in an empty church, crumpled up and praying for faith only to find that my guarding angel is refusing to circle, Jesus is busy choosing the next big lottery winner and the fucking silence of it all grows ever more deafening
Have you ever found yourself watching the news, different day, different names, but the same old bullshit and ask yourself why does everyone seems to be wasting their life away
While waiting in a huge line at Starbucks to pay an exorbitant amount of money for a fancy coffee, I suddenly become shocked by the insanity of it all
Does anyone else suffer a similar craziness to it all?????
I pump gas, pay bills, feed the cat, do laundry, shop, cook and clean, only to find myself tearing another month off my calendar
Have you ever walked into another room and forgotten what you came there for, and this is what wasting my life feels like
Amongst all the nothingness of me, I see us flying kites on a windy day and the green field smells of freshly cut grass, the blue sky stretches out to the Sierra Nevada foothills—–and your dress blows up in the wind and it makes us laugh. We let our kites go and I kiss you and it feels like I’m cutting all my strings. And for that small moment, all the nothingness of you and me no longer matters to anyone or anything……
Soundtrack “Empty” by Ray LaMontagne
There’s a fleeting secret hidden between night fading and morning coming on, it’s an experience not constructed of time———or belonging to anything. It’s hard to describe the color of that sky——it’s not a color, so much as an attitude, it’s a hello and a goodbye wrapped around one another, it’s traces of an emerging promise, it’s disguised in the sketches of grace, with its few stubborn stars not letting go of their reign in the sky. And in this eternal briefness the air is fresh and new, it taste of second chances and everything is right and as it should be. There’s no holding on too——-or———letting go of——it is——as it is—-it is—-as it is—-it is——as it is——it is——-All that unravels comes back together again—-is this universe falling apart or coming together? Who’s to say if your universe is the same as mine—–but for now we share this empty space in time.
In the city, there’s that transcendental moment just before all the lights go out in the tall buildings, it’s in the dying breath of street lamps losing their power to separate shadow from substance. It’s when being alone feels right. A city silenced is a beautiful thing to be a part of——-
Once, while camping, I awoke and built a new fire from the remnants of last nights dying embers. The air carries within it the sweet sappy scent of smoke, as the kindling pops and snaps, the dew drops glisten on the tips of lush ferns——-I’m not in need of anything. I’m aware, of being aware. I’m a part of everything and everything is a part of me. The chill in the air stirs an awakening in me stronger than a double espresso. The moon hangs his sleepy head over the horizon and says goodnight to the breaking morning.
Almost imperceptibly the sound of singing birds begins to fill the silence. The rising sun filters through the Jeffrey pines casting shafts of light between the tree branches. All the little floating specks of dust stand out in this light, each a universe within itself. I don’t wish on falling stars, I make wishes on our rising sun, that faithful star that returns to us each morning——In this immaculate light, anything and all things are possible. There are no wars, no hate, no religions, no heroes, no villains, no tomorrows, no yesterdays——there is only me compressed within the walls of this orgasmic moment.
I’m learning to love myself, like it or not, I’m eternally trapped within me———thank God I enjoy my own company.