Enter:
ever watchful eyes of evil intent,
the very same utilized to seal in a positive faith
(through sardonic fits of hammurabi).
mystical, tempting, threatening, action-packs of
this paranoia, the state of suspension,
limbo, rides on, further and farther.
what, just a drop off the edge,
semantics and nonsense,
enough fresh air to allow
red blood cells to bustle,
clairvoyance.
no more down
no more up
just level.
the filament glows bright tightly
under such tension.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Where the World Ends and You Begin
If there is a purpose to human life, then we certainly haven't a clue what it is. Maybe thats for the better, if all people knew everything, life would be boring, trite, depressing and pointless. What questions would remain to be answered? This is a similar feeling to playing a strategy or puzzle game where you keep conquering levels until you reach the end. Now that you are at the end, you have a moment of triumph and bliss. But soon after that passes, you realize, there is nothing left. You are alone. Some would at this point settle to play the game over and over again, perfecting their score. But no matter what, that replay of the game just isn't as satisfying as the original feeling, the first time you went through each level. Does that mean we should quit while we are ahead? Revel at our achievements and move on? Does it mean we should go level at a time, spacing out our playing time, stretching out the game's enjoyment.
By that rational, live life in pieces, each step of the way you ask some questions, you answer some of them. Then you are content and you stop asking questions. Then at the next break point, you start posing them again. This way you go through life playing level after level, never quite reaching the end. Never quite reaching that down point or slope downward in the curve. The game stays fresh, the levels are always new.
Solo, center of the universe, wrong way to think. The only purposeful way to see: a "creator" or a "judge" or simply a way to measure points in life. Units of success, units of failure, etc.
The only purposeful way to see these things, is to see yourself as part of a whole. You are part of a bigger plan, a piece of the code that accomplishes X. You die, he dies, she dies, it dies, to balance something else. That something else is positive and feeds the whole, makes the whole happy, gives it a sugar rush like a Snickers bar.
How do you get closer to this point of seeing yourself in the whole? In this capitalist society, full of notions, objects and other material, how can you truly see yourself as part? You can see yourself, the truth is you don't ever feel like you are contributing to it in a positive way. Some succumb to their fear and take on a penance of some sort (social work, men of the church, ascetic vagabonds). Others use the easier methods of leaving such thoughts behind via rationalizations, pleasures, vices. Some of the pleasures or vices seem altruistic, others are more obviously self servient. I submit that perhaps the only way to truly do this is in complete solitude, consistently working to understand one's place in our ecosystem, the natural ecology as opposed to the social one.
Some would say this is extreme. Some would say they have accomplished the same, growing humanity healthily while staying apart of society, rather than "quashing all needs for the social." These people are somewhat correct. Not everyone can or should try to reach this level of connection. Again, there needs to be that balance, some do and some don't, but overall a neutral charge. In other words (going back to the original thought), if everyone knew everything, the world would seem meaningless (a paradox, we would have thought it would be ever meaningful). How different is this from a Puritanic village? Everyone believes the same (we've seen the story) and out of this come those who are tired of the banality of their thoughts. They break from the norm and order turns to chaos (though we translate these situations in fiction as order turning into beauty or art or love, etc.). Wouldn't we do the same? Wouldn't someone or revolution just bring us back to the state we are in now? I submit it would. Therefore, we'll never find the answers to what we seek. And if we do, we'll burn the playbook the first chance we get.
By that rational, live life in pieces, each step of the way you ask some questions, you answer some of them. Then you are content and you stop asking questions. Then at the next break point, you start posing them again. This way you go through life playing level after level, never quite reaching the end. Never quite reaching that down point or slope downward in the curve. The game stays fresh, the levels are always new.
Solo, center of the universe, wrong way to think. The only purposeful way to see: a "creator" or a "judge" or simply a way to measure points in life. Units of success, units of failure, etc.
The only purposeful way to see these things, is to see yourself as part of a whole. You are part of a bigger plan, a piece of the code that accomplishes X. You die, he dies, she dies, it dies, to balance something else. That something else is positive and feeds the whole, makes the whole happy, gives it a sugar rush like a Snickers bar.
How do you get closer to this point of seeing yourself in the whole? In this capitalist society, full of notions, objects and other material, how can you truly see yourself as part? You can see yourself, the truth is you don't ever feel like you are contributing to it in a positive way. Some succumb to their fear and take on a penance of some sort (social work, men of the church, ascetic vagabonds). Others use the easier methods of leaving such thoughts behind via rationalizations, pleasures, vices. Some of the pleasures or vices seem altruistic, others are more obviously self servient. I submit that perhaps the only way to truly do this is in complete solitude, consistently working to understand one's place in our ecosystem, the natural ecology as opposed to the social one.
Some would say this is extreme. Some would say they have accomplished the same, growing humanity healthily while staying apart of society, rather than "quashing all needs for the social." These people are somewhat correct. Not everyone can or should try to reach this level of connection. Again, there needs to be that balance, some do and some don't, but overall a neutral charge. In other words (going back to the original thought), if everyone knew everything, the world would seem meaningless (a paradox, we would have thought it would be ever meaningful). How different is this from a Puritanic village? Everyone believes the same (we've seen the story) and out of this come those who are tired of the banality of their thoughts. They break from the norm and order turns to chaos (though we translate these situations in fiction as order turning into beauty or art or love, etc.). Wouldn't we do the same? Wouldn't someone or revolution just bring us back to the state we are in now? I submit it would. Therefore, we'll never find the answers to what we seek. And if we do, we'll burn the playbook the first chance we get.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
?arkin? on Underworld
Ominous, British voices
Soothing, see like, there --> ?
????????, ??? ????, ????? --> O(hhh)
?error, ?reedom, ?bscurity..
?ounce, ?ounce ?ounce. .. ... ....
engrosse?, collecte?, parte?
water, fruit, clarity.
Soothing, see like, there --> ?
????????, ??? ????, ????? --> O(hhh)
?error, ?reedom, ?bscurity..
?ounce, ?ounce ?ounce. .. ... ....
engrosse?, collecte?, parte?
water, fruit, clarity.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Megaman
Particle bit brain
Manipulate, finger by finger,
Pleading for lightning,
A flat space of ethereal blindness.
Disemboweled nerves, bloodied yolk,
A crippled commitment to becoming healthy.
Sounds drowned in synapse firings,
General disconnects, and now,
Blank
Particle masters, cycling the universe, must be havin' a good ol' time hitting the reset button.
Manipulate, finger by finger,
Pleading for lightning,
A flat space of ethereal blindness.
Disemboweled nerves, bloodied yolk,
A crippled commitment to becoming healthy.
Sounds drowned in synapse firings,
General disconnects, and now,
Blank
Particle masters, cycling the universe, must be havin' a good ol' time hitting the reset button.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Comments on Passages
i envisioned that it could be a bit difficult to follow at times because of it's disjointed...as far as perspective goes, it's kind of tricky to explain because of where the story is at the moment...essentially, it is in fact written from the author's point of view in 3rd person...since Cal and the author are the same person (story wise) I know where you're coming from...this is by no accident however...for background purposes, i'll try to explain why i'm doing it that way...basically, the author looks at himself as a person he used to be - in a way, almost as if Cal is in fact a different person, a doppelganger of himself so to speak...
i have a pretty good idea of where i want the plot to go though haven't figured out yet all the smaller parts that will take it there yet...the story will have 2 main twists which will enable the reader (hopefully!) to understand why Cal would write about himself in the 3rd person as the author...the main points in the plot are (here come the spoilers so if you prefer not to know, i'd skip to the end of this paragraph)......Cal's friend Venkat will die, probably in about 5 more chapters due to an overdose...this will put Cal in further conflict with his own drug use, his friends, lifestyle, etc. and will start to make him question his path...there will be a few more situations like that for Cal until towards the last 3rd of the story when Cal himself will die...this will be the big turning point in the plot because when Cal dies the story will actually catch up to 3rd person present...Cal the author is actually writing this story postmortem...the idea is that the first 2/3rds of the story is his account of his life in the past...the final 1/3 of the novel will be written in the same perspective though present tense, with Cal the author trying to come to terms with what happened in his life, his breakdown of the events that led up to his death and coming to grips with his actions...so essentially, as you're reading the first 2/3rds of the story, the bouncing back and forth between Cal the person in the story and Cal the author is Cal the author's way of realizing that Cal the person is/was a different kind of individual in life than as a person writing about his life afterwards…all that is probably confusing though i hope it makes some sense and more so i'm hoping that it will come off in the novel itself...
the boy in the bush isn't meant to foreshadow too much but rather play a comic relief role throughout the scene...symbolically he represents the drug dealing world and their underhanded methods of getting around law enforcement...essentially, he's just a front, a tip of the iceberg that represents the much more shady and deeper covered people who deal drugs (represented by the house the boy goes back into)….the door that mysteriously opened and closed was done by somebody who's closer to the actual drug dealing world - point being these people are always lurking in the shadows, never truly visible, and use ignorant or needy people to do their deeds…like the door opening/closing, they only leave small traces of their existence...as far as that kid goes though, the character itself is negligible, but what he represents will be important
as far as structure goes, i have good sense of where i want the story to go and the major plot points are planned out, however, how the story gets to those plot points is not worked out at all...a lot of the writing happens in spurts where i hammer out a big chunk of a chapter or two and then put it on pause and let it stew for a bit...i usually try to stop writing where it's logical though i always make sure i know what's going to happen in the story next...this way when i start up again, i'm already going and by the time i finish writing the part i already know will happen, i've already generated more ideas to continue it, hence the spurts...once those ideas are flushed out, i usually stop again leaving one last idea on ice for next time...in some cases those ideas are very improvisational and organic, in other cases, they're conceived first and then written out...it's somewhat mood driven and situational...
indeed the story is meant to leave the reader feeling uneasy and written in a dark tone purposely…primarily because Cal the author is wrestling with himself most of the time to put down the story objectively from his perspective while also trying to figure out a deeper knowledge of himself...i guess in that sense, it's very autobiographical to myself...as i'm writing the story i'm also reflecting on myself as an individual and trying to obtain some knowledge of myself through these fictional characters...
i do draw a lot from personal experiences to write this, especially the setting and types of situations - on the other hand though, all the characters are fictional and not a 1 for 1 representation of myself or people around me…the way i've been doing it so far is fracturing myself and the others, as well as the events that happened to me and them, into certain characteristics and pools of events and remapping them onto the characters in the story...so in a way, most of the stories are actually true (in the general sense), however, each specific character in the story has events and characteristics that actually belong to several real people i know or used to know.
chapter 3 is an interesting case…in the grand scheme of things that chapter is written from personal experience, however some of the smaller events in that chapter are actually drawn from 2 other people's experiences...i knew this girl for a couple of years…we were close friends but never hooked up or even had romantic feelings for each other…i went to her birthday party at the golden rail and everyone got a bit tipsy…after, the plan was that i'd drive her home because her friend's car was too packed…on the way home, we passed a bar and decided to stop in and do some shots…as it turned out we drank 3 shots of goldschlagger…back in the car at a red light on the way back she excitedly leaned over and kissed me on the cheek as a thanks for coming to party with her…i jokingly kissed her back on the cheek…she then jokingly kissed me back again, although i didn't realize she was going to and turned to glance at her when she did, and she accidentally kissed me on the lips…this sparked some new feelings i suppose because we started hooking up right there…then i parked the car and we continued making out…then in the heat of the moment she decided she didn't want to go to her friend's house and instead wanted to go back to her dorm…not really my style to start anything serious with friends after drinking so i kept insisting to bring her back to her friend's and she just wouldn't budge and even pulled the "it's my birthday and i do what i want card" so after arguing about that for a bit i took her back to the dorm…she was tipsy but very coherent and seemed quite well under control (not my style to take advantage of drunk girls)…so anyway we continued hooking up in the dorm and started having sex…after a short while she started crying which made me concerned so i asked "what's up?"…then she said "i love you" and i was floored…i never had anything like that happen to me…so i tried to nicely tell her that it was too soon for those words but again she continued to cry which kinda freaked me out but she was still fucking back and then all of a sudden she just stopped and pulled me out and lay to her side and passed out really quick, even before i could talk to her…i was dumbfounded…firstly by the fact that she was crying and then by the fact that she said i love you and then i was like, did she just use me?…so i lay there for a bit and realized she must have been way more drunk than i previously thought…after a while i fell asleep and in a few hours had to wake up to catch a 6:30 train into new york for work…unfortunately, that fucked our friendship up because it made it look like i just left her there and didn't stay around…later i found out she blacked out even before we got to the dorm…even though i tried to talk it through with her, things always seemed weird afterwards…my hunch is in the back of her mind she thought that i knowingly took advantage of her and she couldn't trust me anymore…it left a strong impression on me at the time…probably the strangest one night stand i've ever had actually…funny thing is i'm not really into one night stands…i prefer to get to know a girl before i do anything…as a result it happened to become a dumb situation that ultimately ruined a good friendship…in any case, i mainly used that experience and wove in two other stories…one from an acquaintance in college who told me about this girl he hooked up with at a frat party but didn't even know her name…they just had sex in his frat brother's room and that was it…i could never really understand that but to each his own i guess….the other story was about another frat guy i knew who had all these elaborate methods of getting back at girls who cheated on him…one of which was the roman helmet which sadly enough wasn't the worst of them but still sounded pretty bad…apparently he actually did do that to a girl that cheated on him and she passed out on a couch with her shoes on at one of his frat parties - in front of everyone with pictures and everything…if you reread chapter 3 you can get a sense of what i mean by making the story a blend of personal experiences and other's stories as well…one way or another there's truth to them even though i'm not necessarily putting the events in order or into the original setting or using the original real life characters…hopefully that makes it a bit clearer…
…i'm not really writing it for any particular purpose…just a way to keep myself creative and also reflective i guess and i do share it with some people and it's good to hear their feedback as well…financially or business wise though i don't expect it to go anywhere…
i have a pretty good idea of where i want the plot to go though haven't figured out yet all the smaller parts that will take it there yet...the story will have 2 main twists which will enable the reader (hopefully!) to understand why Cal would write about himself in the 3rd person as the author...the main points in the plot are (here come the spoilers so if you prefer not to know, i'd skip to the end of this paragraph)......Cal's friend Venkat will die, probably in about 5 more chapters due to an overdose...this will put Cal in further conflict with his own drug use, his friends, lifestyle, etc. and will start to make him question his path...there will be a few more situations like that for Cal until towards the last 3rd of the story when Cal himself will die...this will be the big turning point in the plot because when Cal dies the story will actually catch up to 3rd person present...Cal the author is actually writing this story postmortem...the idea is that the first 2/3rds of the story is his account of his life in the past...the final 1/3 of the novel will be written in the same perspective though present tense, with Cal the author trying to come to terms with what happened in his life, his breakdown of the events that led up to his death and coming to grips with his actions...so essentially, as you're reading the first 2/3rds of the story, the bouncing back and forth between Cal the person in the story and Cal the author is Cal the author's way of realizing that Cal the person is/was a different kind of individual in life than as a person writing about his life afterwards…all that is probably confusing though i hope it makes some sense and more so i'm hoping that it will come off in the novel itself...
the boy in the bush isn't meant to foreshadow too much but rather play a comic relief role throughout the scene...symbolically he represents the drug dealing world and their underhanded methods of getting around law enforcement...essentially, he's just a front, a tip of the iceberg that represents the much more shady and deeper covered people who deal drugs (represented by the house the boy goes back into)….the door that mysteriously opened and closed was done by somebody who's closer to the actual drug dealing world - point being these people are always lurking in the shadows, never truly visible, and use ignorant or needy people to do their deeds…like the door opening/closing, they only leave small traces of their existence...as far as that kid goes though, the character itself is negligible, but what he represents will be important
as far as structure goes, i have good sense of where i want the story to go and the major plot points are planned out, however, how the story gets to those plot points is not worked out at all...a lot of the writing happens in spurts where i hammer out a big chunk of a chapter or two and then put it on pause and let it stew for a bit...i usually try to stop writing where it's logical though i always make sure i know what's going to happen in the story next...this way when i start up again, i'm already going and by the time i finish writing the part i already know will happen, i've already generated more ideas to continue it, hence the spurts...once those ideas are flushed out, i usually stop again leaving one last idea on ice for next time...in some cases those ideas are very improvisational and organic, in other cases, they're conceived first and then written out...it's somewhat mood driven and situational...
indeed the story is meant to leave the reader feeling uneasy and written in a dark tone purposely…primarily because Cal the author is wrestling with himself most of the time to put down the story objectively from his perspective while also trying to figure out a deeper knowledge of himself...i guess in that sense, it's very autobiographical to myself...as i'm writing the story i'm also reflecting on myself as an individual and trying to obtain some knowledge of myself through these fictional characters...
i do draw a lot from personal experiences to write this, especially the setting and types of situations - on the other hand though, all the characters are fictional and not a 1 for 1 representation of myself or people around me…the way i've been doing it so far is fracturing myself and the others, as well as the events that happened to me and them, into certain characteristics and pools of events and remapping them onto the characters in the story...so in a way, most of the stories are actually true (in the general sense), however, each specific character in the story has events and characteristics that actually belong to several real people i know or used to know.
chapter 3 is an interesting case…in the grand scheme of things that chapter is written from personal experience, however some of the smaller events in that chapter are actually drawn from 2 other people's experiences...i knew this girl for a couple of years…we were close friends but never hooked up or even had romantic feelings for each other…i went to her birthday party at the golden rail and everyone got a bit tipsy…after, the plan was that i'd drive her home because her friend's car was too packed…on the way home, we passed a bar and decided to stop in and do some shots…as it turned out we drank 3 shots of goldschlagger…back in the car at a red light on the way back she excitedly leaned over and kissed me on the cheek as a thanks for coming to party with her…i jokingly kissed her back on the cheek…she then jokingly kissed me back again, although i didn't realize she was going to and turned to glance at her when she did, and she accidentally kissed me on the lips…this sparked some new feelings i suppose because we started hooking up right there…then i parked the car and we continued making out…then in the heat of the moment she decided she didn't want to go to her friend's house and instead wanted to go back to her dorm…not really my style to start anything serious with friends after drinking so i kept insisting to bring her back to her friend's and she just wouldn't budge and even pulled the "it's my birthday and i do what i want card" so after arguing about that for a bit i took her back to the dorm…she was tipsy but very coherent and seemed quite well under control (not my style to take advantage of drunk girls)…so anyway we continued hooking up in the dorm and started having sex…after a short while she started crying which made me concerned so i asked "what's up?"…then she said "i love you" and i was floored…i never had anything like that happen to me…so i tried to nicely tell her that it was too soon for those words but again she continued to cry which kinda freaked me out but she was still fucking back and then all of a sudden she just stopped and pulled me out and lay to her side and passed out really quick, even before i could talk to her…i was dumbfounded…firstly by the fact that she was crying and then by the fact that she said i love you and then i was like, did she just use me?…so i lay there for a bit and realized she must have been way more drunk than i previously thought…after a while i fell asleep and in a few hours had to wake up to catch a 6:30 train into new york for work…unfortunately, that fucked our friendship up because it made it look like i just left her there and didn't stay around…later i found out she blacked out even before we got to the dorm…even though i tried to talk it through with her, things always seemed weird afterwards…my hunch is in the back of her mind she thought that i knowingly took advantage of her and she couldn't trust me anymore…it left a strong impression on me at the time…probably the strangest one night stand i've ever had actually…funny thing is i'm not really into one night stands…i prefer to get to know a girl before i do anything…as a result it happened to become a dumb situation that ultimately ruined a good friendship…in any case, i mainly used that experience and wove in two other stories…one from an acquaintance in college who told me about this girl he hooked up with at a frat party but didn't even know her name…they just had sex in his frat brother's room and that was it…i could never really understand that but to each his own i guess….the other story was about another frat guy i knew who had all these elaborate methods of getting back at girls who cheated on him…one of which was the roman helmet which sadly enough wasn't the worst of them but still sounded pretty bad…apparently he actually did do that to a girl that cheated on him and she passed out on a couch with her shoes on at one of his frat parties - in front of everyone with pictures and everything…if you reread chapter 3 you can get a sense of what i mean by making the story a blend of personal experiences and other's stories as well…one way or another there's truth to them even though i'm not necessarily putting the events in order or into the original setting or using the original real life characters…hopefully that makes it a bit clearer…
…i'm not really writing it for any particular purpose…just a way to keep myself creative and also reflective i guess and i do share it with some people and it's good to hear their feedback as well…financially or business wise though i don't expect it to go anywhere…
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Passages - Part 5 - Review or Footnote
(Sorry!)
Sorry for making mistakes;
I shrunk instead of growing as I aged.
timeline (I perceived):
past,
moroccan,
nutjob realtors,
vans,
reasonable man,
dub in ya mind,
hemorrhaged beliefs,
emaciated confidence,
death stab,
rebirth,
neglect,
phototropic nihilism,
inexorably denied.
reasons:
quiet confusion,
foreign objects are closer than they appear,
bleached brains,
torched soul like a torched bowl.
results:
Surface indifference,
internal explosion.
dormant resentment,
dense, dense words.
conclusion:
petals on a wet, black bough.
Sorry for making mistakes;
I shrunk instead of growing as I aged.
timeline (I perceived):
past,
moroccan,
nutjob realtors,
vans,
reasonable man,
dub in ya mind,
hemorrhaged beliefs,
emaciated confidence,
death stab,
rebirth,
neglect,
phototropic nihilism,
inexorably denied.
reasons:
quiet confusion,
foreign objects are closer than they appear,
bleached brains,
torched soul like a torched bowl.
results:
Surface indifference,
internal explosion.
dormant resentment,
dense, dense words.
conclusion:
petals on a wet, black bough.
The Facts of Hate
I hate this keyboard
And these words
and this stupid language
and all the actors who speak it
and all the inequities of happenings
the ability of some to lay guilt free
the ability of some to lay guilt stricken
stupid fucking emotional breakdowns
fatigue and its ugly piece of shit breath
chivalry and its neverending depiction of less than the truth
cowardice in the style of fatigue
anything wrapped in smoke, mirrors, dust, nothingness
pacmen of kindness,
generalizations of anything, soon nothing,
restated facts draped in night time revelary.
midnight attacks,
nowhere to run,
nothing but stress,
nothing but the opposite of clarity, not the word,
not the word,
not the word,
not the word.
the feeling
the feeling
the feeling
Words suck due to the fact they don't really say what they mean,
they are only inklings of a natured thought,
semantics and its ugly head,
a giant, pathetic monster.
like a lake of terms and fruitless actions,
this is a full fledged dip,
spiralling pencil dive.
and in the end? amounts to nothing.
couple of choice memories,
the less desirables are expunged,
convenience is the key to the language game.
fuck you convenience.
And these words
and this stupid language
and all the actors who speak it
and all the inequities of happenings
the ability of some to lay guilt free
the ability of some to lay guilt stricken
stupid fucking emotional breakdowns
fatigue and its ugly piece of shit breath
chivalry and its neverending depiction of less than the truth
cowardice in the style of fatigue
anything wrapped in smoke, mirrors, dust, nothingness
pacmen of kindness,
generalizations of anything, soon nothing,
restated facts draped in night time revelary.
midnight attacks,
nowhere to run,
nothing but stress,
nothing but the opposite of clarity, not the word,
not the word,
not the word,
not the word.
the feeling
the feeling
the feeling
Words suck due to the fact they don't really say what they mean,
they are only inklings of a natured thought,
semantics and its ugly head,
a giant, pathetic monster.
like a lake of terms and fruitless actions,
this is a full fledged dip,
spiralling pencil dive.
and in the end? amounts to nothing.
couple of choice memories,
the less desirables are expunged,
convenience is the key to the language game.
fuck you convenience.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Passages — Chapter 5
Unpleasant conversations...Treacherous stairs to attic rooms...Rasta Jah at the Meat Market...Hawaiian Grass and Malaysian Hash...Replay the Drama
"Hey, are you still mad at me?" It was Kim saying it in her little voice, timid and afraid of the response, with a cadence of interest.
"I don't know, Kim." The author of these passages responded. "Honestly, I really don't know." Then, "Actually, Yes. I am still mad." It's not that Cal was actually mad at Kim, in fact, it was opposite, he wasn't really mad at all...anymore. He was way past mad. It stretched out so far, it went into the territory of apathy. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about this anymore, bye."
Apathy for a person who he spent countless hours talking to, discussing anything and everything and the world seemed completely possible with Kim and now he's completely apathetic and could care less if she dropped dead right now. If he got a call tomorrow from Dave and found out Kim killed herself, Cal would just think about the fact that Kim won't call him anymore and that this idea pleased him. Though it's not that Cal ACTUALLY wishes or wants Kim to die. He could care less either way.
Here comes another call. So he picks up the phone because he can't not pick it up and he tries to keep it civil but always comes back to Kim wondering if the author was still mad at her. This time, for a split second, he wanted to be honest with her - truly honest like he was when they began dating - then reason set his mind onto the fact that honesty doesn't work with Kim because she has the uncanny ability to twist anything you say into a pretzel and physically throw it back at you...even over the phone. Kim was crazy. Kim IS crazy. Cal is an idiot for even bothering to pick up the phone and bothering to try and reconcile this titanic failure of a relationship. Kim is insane. Both literally and figuratively. She has to go to a psychatriast for bipolar disorder and now takes pills to keep her temper and depression fits in check. The author knows this because Dave told him. Dave is also friends with Kim. She sometimes forgets to take the pills, like she sometimes used to forget to take her birth control pills -- to the chegrin of Cal. She sometimes wouldn't tell Cal that she missed a pill. Like the author said, Kim is crazy.
Kim is on the line, "Hello?"
Silence, then, it's her again "Hello?"
"Hey Kim."
"Hey Cal, how are you?"
"I'm fine," silence, "yourself?" Silent exhale.
"I'm good," silence, "I guess."
A long "So," then "what's up?"
"Nothing much, just wanted to see how you were doing," said Kim.
"Well, I'm fine."
"That's good, I guess."
"I've also been wondering how your brother is doing."
"He's alright, still living and working in the city."
"Oh, that's good," oh like she really cares.
What was the point of this conversation? The author did not know.
Just wait, it will happen.
"So I've been thinking," and here it is, "maybe we should hang out some time, you know just as friends," it was hesitant and painful and meak and ignorantly hopeful.
"I'm sorry, Kim, I can't do that."
"I see," thoughtful pause, "so you're still mad at me, then?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know–"
"Nevermind."
"I just want to understand, Cal!"
"Kim I gotta go."
It was Dave calling on the other line, he was about to turn onto Goodluck st. and pick up the author.
Getting into the car, Cal noticed a strong scent of cologne on Dave. "Where the hell are you coming from?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why do you smell like you just took a shower in cologne?"
"Oh, yea, I smoked a bowl before and I didn't want the car to stink."
"Right on, you got any pot?"
"Nah, it was a bit of shake I had from the last batch."
"Damn, hold on, let me see what Rasta Jah is up to." He opened his phone and dialed up Rasta Jah.
"Where is this place?"
To Dave, "Just go like you're heading to Paul's place, but turn at the big red brick building on Livingston," then to the phone, "Yo! It's Cal, what's up brother?"
Dave turns and drives towards New Brunswick.
"Nice, nice. You going to be around in an hour?...Awesome...Yeah, OK, I will. Sweet, that's all set up. Let's smoke."
"You got some?"
"Yea, you got that bowl?"
"Umm…yea...hold on." Dave felt around under his seat for it but couldn't come up with it. "I think it might of rolled behind the seat."
"Alright, drive and I'll look for it."
The author leaned behind Dave's seat and patted the floor with his hand feeling around for the glass pipe. It was nowhere to be found. He crawled onto his seat to get a longer reach. He still couldn't find it.
"I don't think it's there man."
"You sure?" Dave reached under to look for it as well.
"Yea, I can't feel it anywhere."
Dave then turned his attention to the door pocket. "Maybe I put it in here." Then, "Yea here it is."
"Pothead."
"My bad, I could of sworn I left it under the seat," then a nervous laugh.
"Ok, it doesn't matter." Cal took the bowl from Dave and started filling it up out of the cigarette plastic pouch that crinkled as he pinched little buds out of it and crushed them into the pipe.
"So is this place any good?"
"I have no idea, I found it on the Rutgers housing site," then the author lit the filled bowl, coughed really loudly and passed it to Dave, "I'm hoping it is because I gotta find a place quick."
Dave pulled a hit and coughed. "Isn't Livingston kinda far from campus?"
"Yea, kinda. I don't really have a choice though because it's so short notice."
"How are you going to get to work and class then?"
"I don't know, probably just take the bus I guess."
"Rutgers busses go that far?"
Cal was coughing from another hit, "No," some more coughing, "the NJ transit bus."
"Shit man, that blows."
"Yea, whatever I guess."
"Well, let's see if you take the place first," then he took a hit again and coughed.
"Exactly," the author wasn't feeling the music on the stereo, "what the fuck are we listening to? Got any Underworld?"
"Yea I think so, hold on," Dave looked up to the sun visor and fingered through the CD's in the case hanging off it and pulled out a blue and white CD, "here it is."
"Thanks," then another hit, "by the way, I really appreciate you giving me a ride, you're a fucking lifesaver."
"Sure no problem man," he took the bowl as Cal was passing it, "least I can do…it sucks that your dad took your car away."
"Yea man, tell me about it." Cal lit a cigarette and puffed on it distressingly. "Fucking dick." The author of these passages looked out the window and stared into space.
"Soo, how much is this place anyway?"
Cal didn't respond.
"Yo, you there? I asked how much is the room in this place?"
Cal snapped out of it, "Oh, sorry, yea it's 375 a month."
"That's not bad."
"Could be worse," puffing on the stoge, "I just hope it's not a shithole."
"Well, it is New Brunswick."
"True, pretty much every place is a shithole, just look at Venkat's place."
Dave cached the bowl and put it away in the door side pocket and lit a cigarette.
"What street is it on again?"
"Talmadge street."
"Talmadge? We are on Talmadge!"
"No not this one, there's another Talmadge in New Brunswick, off Livingston."
"Oh, that's weird."
"Yea I guess, I'll tell you where it is when we're close."
"Ok," a beat, then, "Did you hear Underworld is playing at the Field Day Festival?"
"Really? Shit we should go."
"Yea I really want to."
"How much are tickets?"
"I don't know I have to check."
"Definitely let me know if you find out."
Dave nodded that he will as he puffed on his cigarette.
"I was thinking about going to Berk fest this year. Galactic is playing and I really want to see them, plus it'll be my birthday at that time, should be fun!"
"Really? That'd be awesome, but how are you going to get there?"
"I don't know, I guess I can rent a car or figure something else out…you interested in going?"
"No I can't afford that."
"Really? Didn't Bob give you a raise last month?"
"He did but I don't want to spend the money, I barely have enough as it is."
"But he also increased your hours, I mean I asked him to because of all the projects we have."
"He did but I've been spending a lot on weed and alcohol and shit. I just don't think I can swing it."
"OK well if you change your mind, let me know."
"Yea no doubt."
"So keep going down George st. here."
"OK." Dave was looking around making sure he was going in the right direction, as if he never drove there before when really he's been down this way a million times and almost got arrested a bit further down. "Don't you need to be 25 to rent a car?"
"That's true, fuck! You're right."
"So how are you going to get one?"
"I'll have to think about that. Make a hard right here."
"Do you think your parents will let you rent one?"
"I don't know, probably not, although it is my birthday." The author's eyes lit up with ideas as he started devising a plan to convince his parents to rent a car for him so he can go to Berkfest.
"When is Berkfest anyway?"
"In a few weeks, early to mid August."
"How many days is it?"
"Just 4 days although I'll probably just go for three 'cause I can't take a day off Thursday…I need the money as it is."
"With rent now due and everything..."
"Absolutely," rent is a bitch. "Rent is a bitch."
"Where are you going to stay when you go there?"
"People usually just camp out on the grounds so I figure I can bring a tent and crash on some ski slope."
"SKI slope?!"
"It's at the Ski Butternut mountain."
"Really? Do you even have a tent?"
"Nope, make a left here."
"Ok."
"Worse comes to worse I'll buy one then return it after."
"Can you do that?"
"Yea I don't see why not."
"Just seems like they won't take it back after it gets used."
"I'll just snap the pole and bring it back and say it broke when it got windy." Cal looked to the right to check out the numbers on the houses, "There it is, park here."
Dave parked the car and they threw the cigarette butts out of the window onto the street and Dave turned the car off as Underworld's Cups finished and they stepped out of the car and went up to the front door of 224 Talmadge st. and the author of these passages first tried the doorbell but it seemed broken so he knocked really loud and heard a dog bark in the background then a girl's voice telling it to stop barking and to get away from the door.
Cal looked at Dave, Dave looked back at Cal, then the door opened.
"Hi!"
"Hey," Cal said back, "are you Katie?"
"Yes I am," Katie said, trying really hard to hold back the big dog. Cal stretched out his hand to greet the dog and pet it on the head. "This is Whoopie."
"Hey Whoopie!" It was a yellow labrador mixed with some other breed the author of these passages could never figure out.
"Well, come on in, let me show you the place."
"Sounds good," then pointing to Dave, "by the way, this is my friend Dave."
"Nice to meet you Dave."
"You too," Dave responded.
Katie showed Cal and Dave the house, describing the various features. The house was old and busted which is par for New Brunswick. It was large, had creaky wood floors and walls that desperately need a fresh coat of paint. Regardless of that fact, the available room was perfect. It was big attic room, with sloped walls and an atrociously steep staircase leading up to it. The bathrooms were tiny. The backyard was long, grassy with ample space for interesting opportunities. All it needed was a table and some chairs. Katie said the landlord was planning to build a patio deck later in the summer.
"I'll take it," said Cal. He gave Katie a security deposit check and first month's rent, then left.
"Well, that was quick," said Dave when they got in the car.
"Yea, no reason to waste time," Cal lit a cigarette and exhaled. "I figure it's as good as anything else available plus I don't have time to be picky…and we do have to meet with Rasta Jah still."
"Good point, let's go." Dave drove off towards Rasta Jah's house over on Harvey St. Cal in the meantime called Rasta Jah and told him they were on the way.
At Rasta Jah's house, Cal and Dave came in without knocking and went upstairs. The aroma of marijuana was unmistakable as they climbed the stairs, and when they walked in they encountered a fragrant array of grass laid out on Rasta Jah's coffee table. Rasta Jah was in the process of gutting a Dutchmaster and didn't get up to greet them. He motioned with his eyes for them to take a seat on the couch.
"What's up dude!"
"Nothin' much, Cal," Rasta Jah finished splitting the cigar paper and emptied out the tobacco. "How you been? What up Dave."
"Good man," Cal said
"Chillin, Jah," Dave said. "What have we here?" Dave glanced to the coffee table and picked up a few baggies to take a closer look.
"I just pick't up some rediculous shit, mon."
"Oh yea?"
"Ya mon, ma boy made a special delivery, 4 different kinds of shit. I got some crazy Hawaiian and da Amsterdam shit," then pointing to the blunt, "I'm about to mix all dem into dis blunt."
"Sweet," this pleased Dave.
"Yea man, nothing wrong with a little cocktail blunt action," Cal said, "what's the price on the Hawaiian shit?"
"Sixty for four grams."
"Not bad," Cal says to Dave, "what do you think?"
"Let's try it."
"Tek a look at it," pointing to Dave's left hand, "it's dat hairy shit you got in your hand." Dave poked his nose into the bag to have a smell, then pulled out a green nugget for a look. It was bright green and frosted with crystals. He passed it over to Cal so he can have a look. Cal took it and smelled it and turned it in his hand.
"Smells good to me." Cal laid out three twenty bills on the table. Rasta Jah finished closing the blunt and wrapped up the outside leaf. He was a good roller. He picked up a lighter off the table and lit it under the freshly finished blunt and dried it for a few minutes. Once it was ready, he sparked the end of it and took a few puffs.
In the middle of his cough, he started saying, "I wanna show you dis crazy bud I pulled out." He leaned over behind his chair and grabbed a black duffle bag, opened it and felt inside for a plastic bag. Dave took the blunt out of his hand and smoked from it. Rasta Jah opened the bag and took out a footlong bud that looked like a kabob on a stick. The look and smell of it was instant and extraordinary.
"Damn dude, that is amazing!" Dave was amazed.
"Fuck yea!" Cal agreed.
"I can't stop looking at it!" Rasta Jah handed the bud to Dave as Dave passed the blunt to Cal. "I was like, I can't sell dis!"
"How much does that thing weigh?" Cal was curious.
"I dunno, lemme check." Rasta Jah pulled out an electronic scale from a drawer in the coffee table, took the bud from Dave's hand and rested it on the top of the scale. "Nine grams!"
"Shit dude! I can't believe it's so well intact!" Dave was amazed.
"Let me check it out," Cal stretched his hand out and Rasta Jah handed him the bud. Cal passed the blunt over to Rasta Jah. "This is one beautiful bud, dude."
"Yea mon, respect!"
"So what are you going to do with it? Plant it?" Dave asked.
"Haha, nah mon, gonna hold onto it for little den smoke it!"
They continued smoking the blunt with Bob Marley playing in the background.
"This blunt is awesome! I'm fucking ripped!" Cal commented.
"Yea dude the cocktail blunt idea was brilliant." Dave agreed.
"Yea dude." Cal added.
"I tink I'm gonna keep buying dis much different weed from now on so I got more variety, ya know?"
"That's why you're the best Jah." Dave said.
"Haha tanks, mon. You white boys are my best customers. I don't got problems ever wit you."
"That's cause we pay on time and never fuck you over." Cal noted
"Respect, not like some of my others, dem a pain in my fuckin ass, mon."
"Shit, I'm fucked up!" Cal leaned back in the couch and lit a cigarette. The blunt was a roach by this point and Cal wanted nothing to do with it anymore. "Listen, Jah, I just got a place over off Livingston ave."
"Oh yea? What da fuck you doing in little Mexico?"
"It was cheap and the room is pretty big. It's all good, I'm not that far really."
"That's cool, bro. When you moving der?"
"Soon, probably Saturday or Sunday."
"Oh yea? Well, let me know if you need help."
"Thanks, I might, though should be OK. I'm not really bringing that much stuff."
"So why you moving?"
"Long story, short of it is my dad got mad last Sunday and kicked me out."
"Dat sucks, mon."
"Yea it's alright, probably better this way."
"You're too old to be living wit your parents anyway."
"Yea."
"Ow many roommates you got?"
"Four, I just met one of them today, a girl, her name is Katie."
"Dat's good, is she good lookin?"
"Nah, she's a whale, and has a boyfriend that lives there too. The other two roommates are two girls as well, they're lesbian."
"Shit man, oh well. Dem lezzies, you watch out."
"Yea should be OK. I'm hoping anyway," then, "Yo! Jah, I'm going to Berkfest in a few weeks. Wanna come? You can make a killing there!"
"Tanks, mon. I would but I gotta be here taking care of da business."
"You sure? Fucking killing bro!"
"Ya mon. Too many hippies for me. You're all the white folk I can handle, heh heh heh."
"Alright, figured I'd ask."
"Who's playing dis year?"
"Galactic and M.O.E are headlining. Steve Kimmock and a bunch of others are gonna be playing as well."
"Dat's cool, I like Galactic. No reggae?"
"Probably some but I didn't see anyone big."
"Oh well den."
At that moment, Dave got a call on his cell phone. It was Venkat. He wanted to see if they wanted to chill. Dave and Cal decided why not? Rasta Jah decided not to, other people were going to stop by his place later.
The author of the passages and Dave set off to Venkat's. When they arrived there, they passed a familiar looking black minivan. Cal's heart jumped and stopped for a brief beat. They stepped out of the car and there she was, just as Cal hoped she wouldn't be.
"Hey...Kim." Dave greeted her.
"Hey Dave...hey, Cal."
"Hey," bitch, Cal responded.
"What are you doing here?" She pointed the question to Dave, but directed it through to Cal.
"We were going to meet Venkat here," Dave said.
"I see."
"Where is Venkat?" Cal asked.
"I don't know, he told me to come over but when I did he wasn't home."
Cal took out his cell phone and called Venkat.
"Yea man," Venkat picked up. It was noisy on Venkat's side.
"What's up, Venkat. We just go to your place, we thought you were here."
"Oh, you there already? Yea man, I'm on the bus coming back." Venkat was shouting somewhat. "I should be there soon, dude."
"Ok, I guess til then."
"Yea man."
Cal put away the phone and said, "He's on the bus coming back, should be here soon."
Cal sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. Dave sat down between Kim and Cal and lit as cigarette as well. Kim then lit a cigarette too.
"So what did you guys do today?" Kim inquired.
"We went to check out a - I mean, check out some new buds. Found some nice Hawaiian shit," Dave said.
"Nice, let me see."
Cal took out the baggy from his pocket and passed it to Dave. Dave passed it along to Kim.
Kim took it and unrolled it. Then she opened it up and had a sniff to smell it. Then she pulled out a small bud and took a long look at it. She put it back while saying, "Very nice, have you tried it yet?"
"Yea, just smoked a blunt before," Dave said. "It's good shit."
"Sweet. I got some goodies as well."
"Oh yea? What did you bring?" Dave asked.
"I got this Malaysian hash from my friend Simi." She dug her hand into her purse and pulled out small plastic wrapped bag with a brown winget of hash inside. Carefully she unwrapped it and took out a chunk and passed it to Dave.
Dave pinched at it and smelled it and worked it with his fingers some more. It was soft and pliable but breakable if bent far enough. Didn't smell like much but left a tar residue on your fingers after handling it. It looked really good.
"That's awesome!" Dave exclaimed. "I can't wait to try it!"
"Who said I was gonna let you guys smoke it!" Kim laughed. "I'm just kidding, just kidding." It was an awkward laugh, like a game show host forcing a joke on an unwilling contestant.
Dave passed the hash to Cal during the awkward silence that followed. Cal looked at it with great interest. He never saw Malaysian hash before. He was curious to try it.
"Nice." Cal passed it back to Dave. The author of these passages now realized the cruel joke in this. The hash was tempting, the person who's providing it is the very last person he'd want to smoke it with. Two years ago it was different -- Kim would be the first person he'd want to smoke with -- and that person is just a ghostly counterpart of the living Kim sitting near him at the moment.
"Hey listen, I'm gonna go to Skinny Vinny's and get some grub. Anyone want anything?"
"Ok...umm, yea, can you get me something kiwi strawberry?" Dave shuffled through his pockets for some bills.
"That's alright, I got it. Kim you want anything?" Cal asked forcefully.
"No thanks. I'm good."
"Ok." Cal walked off the porch and went down the street towards Skinny Vinny's. Five minutes later, Cal walked back toward Venkat's because his wallet wasn't in his pocket. When he got to the house he saw the wallet lying on the porch near the chair. It must of fell out of his pocket. He walked over and up the steps and said, "I forgot my wallet - " not realizing that Dave and Kim weren't there.
He looked around and didn't see them anywhere. He looked towards Dave's car but nobody was inside. He looked towards Kim's car and nobody was inside it either. He shrugged to himself wondering what happened to them. It's only been five minutes.
He walked back towards Skinny Vinny's. Spur of the moment, he decided to cross the street. He wanted to walk past Kim's car and look inside. He remember that she used to always keep a cougar stuffed animal on her dashboard and for some reason he wanted to see it again. As he walked by, he noticed something in the back seat of the van. A head of hair bobbed up for a quick second, Cal recognized it as Kim's. He carefully peered inside and saw that she was laying on top of Dave and they were hooking. Cal didn't look too long - he didn't want to be noticed. He took a step back almost in a stumble then walked off, that image of them hooking up was enough and he didn't want to see anymore. He stepped away towards the pizzaria. His movement quickened as he got away from that black minivan. He was mad but didn't know it. He was shocked and knew it more.
At Skinny Vinny's he picked up the two slices and two bottles of water and a bottle of Pink Lemonade for Dave. He decided to eat the slices in the pizza shop rather than taking them back. He had only 1 slice and decided to get the other slice wrapped up to go.
At first, rage envoloped his mind but he quickly relaxed and subsided into calm. The kind of calm only pure anger can generate. Most men would blow up and react out of control but the author of these passages is different and when truly angry he becomes quiet and distant.
He walked out of Skinny Vinny's, then back to Venkat's porch to wait. Venkat finally arrived - Dave and Kim were still gone.
"Hey man!" Venkat greeted Cal.
"What's up dude?" replied Cal.
"Not much, man." Venkat smiled then shook Cal's hand then leaned back on the porch rail and lit a cigarette.
"What did you today?"
"Just went to class, then ate lunch with my friend Jonesy, dude."
"Nice," then, "who's Jonesy?"
"He's a friend of mine from class," he took a drag, "you don't know him because he's from Middlesex." Venkat continued smoking his cigarette, then reflected, then asked, "where is Dave?"
"I'm not sure, I came here with him then went to get some pizza at Skinny Vinny's and when I came back he was gone."
"Oh, that's cool, did you see Kim here?"
"Yea she was waiting here for you as well - I don't know where she went either. Maybe they went somewhere to get cigarettes or something."
"Oh OK, that's cool."
"Let's go to the back so we can smoke."
"OK, man, let's go."
They went through the house and out the back door to the deck. Cal felt through his pockets then realized Dave was holding the weed. He turned to Venkat and asked if he had any pot. Venkat then went inside to fetch it. On the way in, Cal called out to him and asked him to grab the bowl as well.
Venkat came out a few minutes later with a bowl and a plastic baggy and handed it to Cal. Cal took the bowl and set it aside. Inside the bag, he grabbed a nugget and started breaking up the weed. He filled it and began smoking out of it. He leaned back to exhale, up towards the sky - calm as an eye in a hurricane.
Sensing something was wrong, Venkat asked, "What's the matter, dude?"
"I don't know," then, "it doesn't really matter anyway." Cal passed the bowl to Venkat. "I got a new place today, I'm moving in on Saturday."
"Nice dude," he took a hit on the bowl, "where is it?"
"Little Mexico, off Livingston Ave."
"That's cool man."
"Yea, you gotta come visit me when I'm moved in."
"I will." He coughed then passed the bowl over to Cal.
Cal took another hit and lay back against the deck railing. He passed the bowl and lit a cigarette. They quietly sat and smoked. Venkat went inside again to get his laptop and came back out and put on some Led Zeppelin, No Quarter. They listened to the music not saying much.
Dave and Kim walked through the back door. "Hey what's up Venkat!" Kim said.
"Hey man!" Dave greeted.
"Wassup guys!" said Venkat.
Cal nodded at both of them, but only looked in the direction of Dave. If he looked at Kim, he knew she was see his disgust and he didn't want to expose it.
"The bowl is still going, do you want a hit?"
"Sure," said Kim. "Hey I brought some hash, we should smoke it!"
"Oh yea?" Venkat got excited. "That's awesome, Kim. Yea let's smoke it when we fill the next bowl."
"OK," she took out the winget and passed it to Dave. Dave's shifty eyes passed around the group, pausing momentarily at Cal then over to his hand. After making the handoff to Dave, she closed her canvas surplus army purse and slid up closer to Cal and quietly whispered, "Hey, are you still mad at me?"
"Hey, are you still mad at me?" It was Kim saying it in her little voice, timid and afraid of the response, with a cadence of interest.
"I don't know, Kim." The author of these passages responded. "Honestly, I really don't know." Then, "Actually, Yes. I am still mad." It's not that Cal was actually mad at Kim, in fact, it was opposite, he wasn't really mad at all...anymore. He was way past mad. It stretched out so far, it went into the territory of apathy. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about this anymore, bye."
Apathy for a person who he spent countless hours talking to, discussing anything and everything and the world seemed completely possible with Kim and now he's completely apathetic and could care less if she dropped dead right now. If he got a call tomorrow from Dave and found out Kim killed herself, Cal would just think about the fact that Kim won't call him anymore and that this idea pleased him. Though it's not that Cal ACTUALLY wishes or wants Kim to die. He could care less either way.
Here comes another call. So he picks up the phone because he can't not pick it up and he tries to keep it civil but always comes back to Kim wondering if the author was still mad at her. This time, for a split second, he wanted to be honest with her - truly honest like he was when they began dating - then reason set his mind onto the fact that honesty doesn't work with Kim because she has the uncanny ability to twist anything you say into a pretzel and physically throw it back at you...even over the phone. Kim was crazy. Kim IS crazy. Cal is an idiot for even bothering to pick up the phone and bothering to try and reconcile this titanic failure of a relationship. Kim is insane. Both literally and figuratively. She has to go to a psychatriast for bipolar disorder and now takes pills to keep her temper and depression fits in check. The author knows this because Dave told him. Dave is also friends with Kim. She sometimes forgets to take the pills, like she sometimes used to forget to take her birth control pills -- to the chegrin of Cal. She sometimes wouldn't tell Cal that she missed a pill. Like the author said, Kim is crazy.
Kim is on the line, "Hello?"
Silence, then, it's her again "Hello?"
"Hey Kim."
"Hey Cal, how are you?"
"I'm fine," silence, "yourself?" Silent exhale.
"I'm good," silence, "I guess."
A long "So," then "what's up?"
"Nothing much, just wanted to see how you were doing," said Kim.
"Well, I'm fine."
"That's good, I guess."
"I've also been wondering how your brother is doing."
"He's alright, still living and working in the city."
"Oh, that's good," oh like she really cares.
What was the point of this conversation? The author did not know.
Just wait, it will happen.
"So I've been thinking," and here it is, "maybe we should hang out some time, you know just as friends," it was hesitant and painful and meak and ignorantly hopeful.
"I'm sorry, Kim, I can't do that."
"I see," thoughtful pause, "so you're still mad at me, then?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know–"
"Nevermind."
"I just want to understand, Cal!"
"Kim I gotta go."
It was Dave calling on the other line, he was about to turn onto Goodluck st. and pick up the author.
Getting into the car, Cal noticed a strong scent of cologne on Dave. "Where the hell are you coming from?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why do you smell like you just took a shower in cologne?"
"Oh, yea, I smoked a bowl before and I didn't want the car to stink."
"Right on, you got any pot?"
"Nah, it was a bit of shake I had from the last batch."
"Damn, hold on, let me see what Rasta Jah is up to." He opened his phone and dialed up Rasta Jah.
"Where is this place?"
To Dave, "Just go like you're heading to Paul's place, but turn at the big red brick building on Livingston," then to the phone, "Yo! It's Cal, what's up brother?"
Dave turns and drives towards New Brunswick.
"Nice, nice. You going to be around in an hour?...Awesome...Yeah, OK, I will. Sweet, that's all set up. Let's smoke."
"You got some?"
"Yea, you got that bowl?"
"Umm…yea...hold on." Dave felt around under his seat for it but couldn't come up with it. "I think it might of rolled behind the seat."
"Alright, drive and I'll look for it."
The author leaned behind Dave's seat and patted the floor with his hand feeling around for the glass pipe. It was nowhere to be found. He crawled onto his seat to get a longer reach. He still couldn't find it.
"I don't think it's there man."
"You sure?" Dave reached under to look for it as well.
"Yea, I can't feel it anywhere."
Dave then turned his attention to the door pocket. "Maybe I put it in here." Then, "Yea here it is."
"Pothead."
"My bad, I could of sworn I left it under the seat," then a nervous laugh.
"Ok, it doesn't matter." Cal took the bowl from Dave and started filling it up out of the cigarette plastic pouch that crinkled as he pinched little buds out of it and crushed them into the pipe.
"So is this place any good?"
"I have no idea, I found it on the Rutgers housing site," then the author lit the filled bowl, coughed really loudly and passed it to Dave, "I'm hoping it is because I gotta find a place quick."
Dave pulled a hit and coughed. "Isn't Livingston kinda far from campus?"
"Yea, kinda. I don't really have a choice though because it's so short notice."
"How are you going to get to work and class then?"
"I don't know, probably just take the bus I guess."
"Rutgers busses go that far?"
Cal was coughing from another hit, "No," some more coughing, "the NJ transit bus."
"Shit man, that blows."
"Yea, whatever I guess."
"Well, let's see if you take the place first," then he took a hit again and coughed.
"Exactly," the author wasn't feeling the music on the stereo, "what the fuck are we listening to? Got any Underworld?"
"Yea I think so, hold on," Dave looked up to the sun visor and fingered through the CD's in the case hanging off it and pulled out a blue and white CD, "here it is."
"Thanks," then another hit, "by the way, I really appreciate you giving me a ride, you're a fucking lifesaver."
"Sure no problem man," he took the bowl as Cal was passing it, "least I can do…it sucks that your dad took your car away."
"Yea man, tell me about it." Cal lit a cigarette and puffed on it distressingly. "Fucking dick." The author of these passages looked out the window and stared into space.
"Soo, how much is this place anyway?"
Cal didn't respond.
"Yo, you there? I asked how much is the room in this place?"
Cal snapped out of it, "Oh, sorry, yea it's 375 a month."
"That's not bad."
"Could be worse," puffing on the stoge, "I just hope it's not a shithole."
"Well, it is New Brunswick."
"True, pretty much every place is a shithole, just look at Venkat's place."
Dave cached the bowl and put it away in the door side pocket and lit a cigarette.
"What street is it on again?"
"Talmadge street."
"Talmadge? We are on Talmadge!"
"No not this one, there's another Talmadge in New Brunswick, off Livingston."
"Oh, that's weird."
"Yea I guess, I'll tell you where it is when we're close."
"Ok," a beat, then, "Did you hear Underworld is playing at the Field Day Festival?"
"Really? Shit we should go."
"Yea I really want to."
"How much are tickets?"
"I don't know I have to check."
"Definitely let me know if you find out."
Dave nodded that he will as he puffed on his cigarette.
"I was thinking about going to Berk fest this year. Galactic is playing and I really want to see them, plus it'll be my birthday at that time, should be fun!"
"Really? That'd be awesome, but how are you going to get there?"
"I don't know, I guess I can rent a car or figure something else out…you interested in going?"
"No I can't afford that."
"Really? Didn't Bob give you a raise last month?"
"He did but I don't want to spend the money, I barely have enough as it is."
"But he also increased your hours, I mean I asked him to because of all the projects we have."
"He did but I've been spending a lot on weed and alcohol and shit. I just don't think I can swing it."
"OK well if you change your mind, let me know."
"Yea no doubt."
"So keep going down George st. here."
"OK." Dave was looking around making sure he was going in the right direction, as if he never drove there before when really he's been down this way a million times and almost got arrested a bit further down. "Don't you need to be 25 to rent a car?"
"That's true, fuck! You're right."
"So how are you going to get one?"
"I'll have to think about that. Make a hard right here."
"Do you think your parents will let you rent one?"
"I don't know, probably not, although it is my birthday." The author's eyes lit up with ideas as he started devising a plan to convince his parents to rent a car for him so he can go to Berkfest.
"When is Berkfest anyway?"
"In a few weeks, early to mid August."
"How many days is it?"
"Just 4 days although I'll probably just go for three 'cause I can't take a day off Thursday…I need the money as it is."
"With rent now due and everything..."
"Absolutely," rent is a bitch. "Rent is a bitch."
"Where are you going to stay when you go there?"
"People usually just camp out on the grounds so I figure I can bring a tent and crash on some ski slope."
"SKI slope?!"
"It's at the Ski Butternut mountain."
"Really? Do you even have a tent?"
"Nope, make a left here."
"Ok."
"Worse comes to worse I'll buy one then return it after."
"Can you do that?"
"Yea I don't see why not."
"Just seems like they won't take it back after it gets used."
"I'll just snap the pole and bring it back and say it broke when it got windy." Cal looked to the right to check out the numbers on the houses, "There it is, park here."
Dave parked the car and they threw the cigarette butts out of the window onto the street and Dave turned the car off as Underworld's Cups finished and they stepped out of the car and went up to the front door of 224 Talmadge st. and the author of these passages first tried the doorbell but it seemed broken so he knocked really loud and heard a dog bark in the background then a girl's voice telling it to stop barking and to get away from the door.
Cal looked at Dave, Dave looked back at Cal, then the door opened.
"Hi!"
"Hey," Cal said back, "are you Katie?"
"Yes I am," Katie said, trying really hard to hold back the big dog. Cal stretched out his hand to greet the dog and pet it on the head. "This is Whoopie."
"Hey Whoopie!" It was a yellow labrador mixed with some other breed the author of these passages could never figure out.
"Well, come on in, let me show you the place."
"Sounds good," then pointing to Dave, "by the way, this is my friend Dave."
"Nice to meet you Dave."
"You too," Dave responded.
Katie showed Cal and Dave the house, describing the various features. The house was old and busted which is par for New Brunswick. It was large, had creaky wood floors and walls that desperately need a fresh coat of paint. Regardless of that fact, the available room was perfect. It was big attic room, with sloped walls and an atrociously steep staircase leading up to it. The bathrooms were tiny. The backyard was long, grassy with ample space for interesting opportunities. All it needed was a table and some chairs. Katie said the landlord was planning to build a patio deck later in the summer.
"I'll take it," said Cal. He gave Katie a security deposit check and first month's rent, then left.
"Well, that was quick," said Dave when they got in the car.
"Yea, no reason to waste time," Cal lit a cigarette and exhaled. "I figure it's as good as anything else available plus I don't have time to be picky…and we do have to meet with Rasta Jah still."
"Good point, let's go." Dave drove off towards Rasta Jah's house over on Harvey St. Cal in the meantime called Rasta Jah and told him they were on the way.
At Rasta Jah's house, Cal and Dave came in without knocking and went upstairs. The aroma of marijuana was unmistakable as they climbed the stairs, and when they walked in they encountered a fragrant array of grass laid out on Rasta Jah's coffee table. Rasta Jah was in the process of gutting a Dutchmaster and didn't get up to greet them. He motioned with his eyes for them to take a seat on the couch.
"What's up dude!"
"Nothin' much, Cal," Rasta Jah finished splitting the cigar paper and emptied out the tobacco. "How you been? What up Dave."
"Good man," Cal said
"Chillin, Jah," Dave said. "What have we here?" Dave glanced to the coffee table and picked up a few baggies to take a closer look.
"I just pick't up some rediculous shit, mon."
"Oh yea?"
"Ya mon, ma boy made a special delivery, 4 different kinds of shit. I got some crazy Hawaiian and da Amsterdam shit," then pointing to the blunt, "I'm about to mix all dem into dis blunt."
"Sweet," this pleased Dave.
"Yea man, nothing wrong with a little cocktail blunt action," Cal said, "what's the price on the Hawaiian shit?"
"Sixty for four grams."
"Not bad," Cal says to Dave, "what do you think?"
"Let's try it."
"Tek a look at it," pointing to Dave's left hand, "it's dat hairy shit you got in your hand." Dave poked his nose into the bag to have a smell, then pulled out a green nugget for a look. It was bright green and frosted with crystals. He passed it over to Cal so he can have a look. Cal took it and smelled it and turned it in his hand.
"Smells good to me." Cal laid out three twenty bills on the table. Rasta Jah finished closing the blunt and wrapped up the outside leaf. He was a good roller. He picked up a lighter off the table and lit it under the freshly finished blunt and dried it for a few minutes. Once it was ready, he sparked the end of it and took a few puffs.
In the middle of his cough, he started saying, "I wanna show you dis crazy bud I pulled out." He leaned over behind his chair and grabbed a black duffle bag, opened it and felt inside for a plastic bag. Dave took the blunt out of his hand and smoked from it. Rasta Jah opened the bag and took out a footlong bud that looked like a kabob on a stick. The look and smell of it was instant and extraordinary.
"Damn dude, that is amazing!" Dave was amazed.
"Fuck yea!" Cal agreed.
"I can't stop looking at it!" Rasta Jah handed the bud to Dave as Dave passed the blunt to Cal. "I was like, I can't sell dis!"
"How much does that thing weigh?" Cal was curious.
"I dunno, lemme check." Rasta Jah pulled out an electronic scale from a drawer in the coffee table, took the bud from Dave's hand and rested it on the top of the scale. "Nine grams!"
"Shit dude! I can't believe it's so well intact!" Dave was amazed.
"Let me check it out," Cal stretched his hand out and Rasta Jah handed him the bud. Cal passed the blunt over to Rasta Jah. "This is one beautiful bud, dude."
"Yea mon, respect!"
"So what are you going to do with it? Plant it?" Dave asked.
"Haha, nah mon, gonna hold onto it for little den smoke it!"
They continued smoking the blunt with Bob Marley playing in the background.
"This blunt is awesome! I'm fucking ripped!" Cal commented.
"Yea dude the cocktail blunt idea was brilliant." Dave agreed.
"Yea dude." Cal added.
"I tink I'm gonna keep buying dis much different weed from now on so I got more variety, ya know?"
"That's why you're the best Jah." Dave said.
"Haha tanks, mon. You white boys are my best customers. I don't got problems ever wit you."
"That's cause we pay on time and never fuck you over." Cal noted
"Respect, not like some of my others, dem a pain in my fuckin ass, mon."
"Shit, I'm fucked up!" Cal leaned back in the couch and lit a cigarette. The blunt was a roach by this point and Cal wanted nothing to do with it anymore. "Listen, Jah, I just got a place over off Livingston ave."
"Oh yea? What da fuck you doing in little Mexico?"
"It was cheap and the room is pretty big. It's all good, I'm not that far really."
"That's cool, bro. When you moving der?"
"Soon, probably Saturday or Sunday."
"Oh yea? Well, let me know if you need help."
"Thanks, I might, though should be OK. I'm not really bringing that much stuff."
"So why you moving?"
"Long story, short of it is my dad got mad last Sunday and kicked me out."
"Dat sucks, mon."
"Yea it's alright, probably better this way."
"You're too old to be living wit your parents anyway."
"Yea."
"Ow many roommates you got?"
"Four, I just met one of them today, a girl, her name is Katie."
"Dat's good, is she good lookin?"
"Nah, she's a whale, and has a boyfriend that lives there too. The other two roommates are two girls as well, they're lesbian."
"Shit man, oh well. Dem lezzies, you watch out."
"Yea should be OK. I'm hoping anyway," then, "Yo! Jah, I'm going to Berkfest in a few weeks. Wanna come? You can make a killing there!"
"Tanks, mon. I would but I gotta be here taking care of da business."
"You sure? Fucking killing bro!"
"Ya mon. Too many hippies for me. You're all the white folk I can handle, heh heh heh."
"Alright, figured I'd ask."
"Who's playing dis year?"
"Galactic and M.O.E are headlining. Steve Kimmock and a bunch of others are gonna be playing as well."
"Dat's cool, I like Galactic. No reggae?"
"Probably some but I didn't see anyone big."
"Oh well den."
At that moment, Dave got a call on his cell phone. It was Venkat. He wanted to see if they wanted to chill. Dave and Cal decided why not? Rasta Jah decided not to, other people were going to stop by his place later.
The author of the passages and Dave set off to Venkat's. When they arrived there, they passed a familiar looking black minivan. Cal's heart jumped and stopped for a brief beat. They stepped out of the car and there she was, just as Cal hoped she wouldn't be.
"Hey...Kim." Dave greeted her.
"Hey Dave...hey, Cal."
"Hey," bitch, Cal responded.
"What are you doing here?" She pointed the question to Dave, but directed it through to Cal.
"We were going to meet Venkat here," Dave said.
"I see."
"Where is Venkat?" Cal asked.
"I don't know, he told me to come over but when I did he wasn't home."
Cal took out his cell phone and called Venkat.
"Yea man," Venkat picked up. It was noisy on Venkat's side.
"What's up, Venkat. We just go to your place, we thought you were here."
"Oh, you there already? Yea man, I'm on the bus coming back." Venkat was shouting somewhat. "I should be there soon, dude."
"Ok, I guess til then."
"Yea man."
Cal put away the phone and said, "He's on the bus coming back, should be here soon."
Cal sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. Dave sat down between Kim and Cal and lit as cigarette as well. Kim then lit a cigarette too.
"So what did you guys do today?" Kim inquired.
"We went to check out a - I mean, check out some new buds. Found some nice Hawaiian shit," Dave said.
"Nice, let me see."
Cal took out the baggy from his pocket and passed it to Dave. Dave passed it along to Kim.
Kim took it and unrolled it. Then she opened it up and had a sniff to smell it. Then she pulled out a small bud and took a long look at it. She put it back while saying, "Very nice, have you tried it yet?"
"Yea, just smoked a blunt before," Dave said. "It's good shit."
"Sweet. I got some goodies as well."
"Oh yea? What did you bring?" Dave asked.
"I got this Malaysian hash from my friend Simi." She dug her hand into her purse and pulled out small plastic wrapped bag with a brown winget of hash inside. Carefully she unwrapped it and took out a chunk and passed it to Dave.
Dave pinched at it and smelled it and worked it with his fingers some more. It was soft and pliable but breakable if bent far enough. Didn't smell like much but left a tar residue on your fingers after handling it. It looked really good.
"That's awesome!" Dave exclaimed. "I can't wait to try it!"
"Who said I was gonna let you guys smoke it!" Kim laughed. "I'm just kidding, just kidding." It was an awkward laugh, like a game show host forcing a joke on an unwilling contestant.
Dave passed the hash to Cal during the awkward silence that followed. Cal looked at it with great interest. He never saw Malaysian hash before. He was curious to try it.
"Nice." Cal passed it back to Dave. The author of these passages now realized the cruel joke in this. The hash was tempting, the person who's providing it is the very last person he'd want to smoke it with. Two years ago it was different -- Kim would be the first person he'd want to smoke with -- and that person is just a ghostly counterpart of the living Kim sitting near him at the moment.
"Hey listen, I'm gonna go to Skinny Vinny's and get some grub. Anyone want anything?"
"Ok...umm, yea, can you get me something kiwi strawberry?" Dave shuffled through his pockets for some bills.
"That's alright, I got it. Kim you want anything?" Cal asked forcefully.
"No thanks. I'm good."
"Ok." Cal walked off the porch and went down the street towards Skinny Vinny's. Five minutes later, Cal walked back toward Venkat's because his wallet wasn't in his pocket. When he got to the house he saw the wallet lying on the porch near the chair. It must of fell out of his pocket. He walked over and up the steps and said, "I forgot my wallet - " not realizing that Dave and Kim weren't there.
He looked around and didn't see them anywhere. He looked towards Dave's car but nobody was inside. He looked towards Kim's car and nobody was inside it either. He shrugged to himself wondering what happened to them. It's only been five minutes.
He walked back towards Skinny Vinny's. Spur of the moment, he decided to cross the street. He wanted to walk past Kim's car and look inside. He remember that she used to always keep a cougar stuffed animal on her dashboard and for some reason he wanted to see it again. As he walked by, he noticed something in the back seat of the van. A head of hair bobbed up for a quick second, Cal recognized it as Kim's. He carefully peered inside and saw that she was laying on top of Dave and they were hooking. Cal didn't look too long - he didn't want to be noticed. He took a step back almost in a stumble then walked off, that image of them hooking up was enough and he didn't want to see anymore. He stepped away towards the pizzaria. His movement quickened as he got away from that black minivan. He was mad but didn't know it. He was shocked and knew it more.
At Skinny Vinny's he picked up the two slices and two bottles of water and a bottle of Pink Lemonade for Dave. He decided to eat the slices in the pizza shop rather than taking them back. He had only 1 slice and decided to get the other slice wrapped up to go.
At first, rage envoloped his mind but he quickly relaxed and subsided into calm. The kind of calm only pure anger can generate. Most men would blow up and react out of control but the author of these passages is different and when truly angry he becomes quiet and distant.
He walked out of Skinny Vinny's, then back to Venkat's porch to wait. Venkat finally arrived - Dave and Kim were still gone.
"Hey man!" Venkat greeted Cal.
"What's up dude?" replied Cal.
"Not much, man." Venkat smiled then shook Cal's hand then leaned back on the porch rail and lit a cigarette.
"What did you today?"
"Just went to class, then ate lunch with my friend Jonesy, dude."
"Nice," then, "who's Jonesy?"
"He's a friend of mine from class," he took a drag, "you don't know him because he's from Middlesex." Venkat continued smoking his cigarette, then reflected, then asked, "where is Dave?"
"I'm not sure, I came here with him then went to get some pizza at Skinny Vinny's and when I came back he was gone."
"Oh, that's cool, did you see Kim here?"
"Yea she was waiting here for you as well - I don't know where she went either. Maybe they went somewhere to get cigarettes or something."
"Oh OK, that's cool."
"Let's go to the back so we can smoke."
"OK, man, let's go."
They went through the house and out the back door to the deck. Cal felt through his pockets then realized Dave was holding the weed. He turned to Venkat and asked if he had any pot. Venkat then went inside to fetch it. On the way in, Cal called out to him and asked him to grab the bowl as well.
Venkat came out a few minutes later with a bowl and a plastic baggy and handed it to Cal. Cal took the bowl and set it aside. Inside the bag, he grabbed a nugget and started breaking up the weed. He filled it and began smoking out of it. He leaned back to exhale, up towards the sky - calm as an eye in a hurricane.
Sensing something was wrong, Venkat asked, "What's the matter, dude?"
"I don't know," then, "it doesn't really matter anyway." Cal passed the bowl to Venkat. "I got a new place today, I'm moving in on Saturday."
"Nice dude," he took a hit on the bowl, "where is it?"
"Little Mexico, off Livingston Ave."
"That's cool man."
"Yea, you gotta come visit me when I'm moved in."
"I will." He coughed then passed the bowl over to Cal.
Cal took another hit and lay back against the deck railing. He passed the bowl and lit a cigarette. They quietly sat and smoked. Venkat went inside again to get his laptop and came back out and put on some Led Zeppelin, No Quarter. They listened to the music not saying much.
Dave and Kim walked through the back door. "Hey what's up Venkat!" Kim said.
"Hey man!" Dave greeted.
"Wassup guys!" said Venkat.
Cal nodded at both of them, but only looked in the direction of Dave. If he looked at Kim, he knew she was see his disgust and he didn't want to expose it.
"The bowl is still going, do you want a hit?"
"Sure," said Kim. "Hey I brought some hash, we should smoke it!"
"Oh yea?" Venkat got excited. "That's awesome, Kim. Yea let's smoke it when we fill the next bowl."
"OK," she took out the winget and passed it to Dave. Dave's shifty eyes passed around the group, pausing momentarily at Cal then over to his hand. After making the handoff to Dave, she closed her canvas surplus army purse and slid up closer to Cal and quietly whispered, "Hey, are you still mad at me?"
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
time deprived
I have time in one hand, sand in the other - I can't hold onto either and just end up with grains between wrinkles.
Monday, July 19, 2010
(The tune of Aquarius by Boards of Canada)
Prelude
oh how long...has it...been.
father faria...greek relationship reminiscent of Socrates/Plato.
Interlude
12 12 12 (tune of Aquarius by Boards of Canada)
the count, the count, the count.
the count, the count, the count.
1 1 2 2 (x 2)
he comes,
in waves,
he comes,
in waves.
he comes,
in waves,
he comes,
in waves.
123. 123. 123.
revenge.
revenge.
revenge.
1, 1, 2, 2,
it comes,
in waves,
it comes,
in waves.
123, 123, 123, 123.
(blank)
waves.
waves.
waves.
Epilogue
(blank)
oh how long...has it...been.
father faria...greek relationship reminiscent of Socrates/Plato.
Interlude
12 12 12 (tune of Aquarius by Boards of Canada)
the count, the count, the count.
the count, the count, the count.
1 1 2 2 (x 2)
he comes,
in waves,
he comes,
in waves.
he comes,
in waves,
he comes,
in waves.
123. 123. 123.
revenge.
revenge.
revenge.
1, 1, 2, 2,
it comes,
in waves,
it comes,
in waves.
123, 123, 123, 123.
(blank)
waves.
waves.
waves.
Epilogue
(blank)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Blanket statement
"I got it!"
I see Hector trying to lift the last box.
"Ahhhh...finally!"
"Piece of shit task #4, check."
We sat on the porch of a grand, old grey house,
set on a swooping hill, moderate wind, high 60s,
almost 100% clear skies, cars whizzing by and
couriers, truckdrivers, mailmen, Chinese delivery men,
children on bicycles, tricycles and skateboards all
painting and harmonizing.
I grab my beer, tilt it up, swig, swig.
"Look at this shit!"
There across the street was a meter maid.
There across the street was the meter maid holding a boot and sliding it on
the blue Dodge Neon's front passenger wheel.
"Wait, is that real?"
Hector pointed further down the street. There stood another meter maid.
BLASPHEMY, we thought. Two on one street? Double jeopardy?
"SHIT!"
Hector dropped his beer (the bottle slipped out of his hand and took a meaningful bounce towards the dirt piled up just a few inches below where the wood of the deck
ends) and he booked down the street, knocking over an 18 year old geek (mp3 player, headphones and all) and disappeared around the corner, clipping the hedge in haste.
I look the other way down the street and I see not one but two tow trucks dragging a Japanese car each away towards fiefdom. As I turned back to my beer, I noticed a sign across the street, "Street Cleaning, Mon and Fri 8am to 3pm."
I glanced at my watch and chuckled at Hector.
I see Hector trying to lift the last box.
"Ahhhh...finally!"
"Piece of shit task #4, check."
We sat on the porch of a grand, old grey house,
set on a swooping hill, moderate wind, high 60s,
almost 100% clear skies, cars whizzing by and
couriers, truckdrivers, mailmen, Chinese delivery men,
children on bicycles, tricycles and skateboards all
painting and harmonizing.
I grab my beer, tilt it up, swig, swig.
"Look at this shit!"
There across the street was a meter maid.
There across the street was the meter maid holding a boot and sliding it on
the blue Dodge Neon's front passenger wheel.
"Wait, is that real?"
Hector pointed further down the street. There stood another meter maid.
BLASPHEMY, we thought. Two on one street? Double jeopardy?
"SHIT!"
Hector dropped his beer (the bottle slipped out of his hand and took a meaningful bounce towards the dirt piled up just a few inches below where the wood of the deck
ends) and he booked down the street, knocking over an 18 year old geek (mp3 player, headphones and all) and disappeared around the corner, clipping the hedge in haste.
I look the other way down the street and I see not one but two tow trucks dragging a Japanese car each away towards fiefdom. As I turned back to my beer, I noticed a sign across the street, "Street Cleaning, Mon and Fri 8am to 3pm."
I glanced at my watch and chuckled at Hector.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
flood of letters.. syllables... spots....
Tiny rocks that splash through the wafts of water
spilling over the table's edge down, down, down
into the chasm below, humidity, smoke, a mist
shrouding the oncoming traffic as it trickles
into a sea of nothingness, jagged edges and
blackened moss waving to onlookers as a crowd
after a big hit.
free fall, spinning, twirling, bounding, some
screaming towards impending splashes,
ready to disappear into the rubble of a building
soon to become a pile of political rubble,
terrorism, television and theaters all to come.
which kamikaze myth will come true today?
The print springs to force and the masses will
come to the periphery and peer over it, starry eyed,
looking for neon signs and electric dreams,
ready to parachute, plunge and pummel themselves.
Deep, deep in the belly of the abyss, a grumbling begins;
when will it end?
spilling over the table's edge down, down, down
into the chasm below, humidity, smoke, a mist
shrouding the oncoming traffic as it trickles
into a sea of nothingness, jagged edges and
blackened moss waving to onlookers as a crowd
after a big hit.
free fall, spinning, twirling, bounding, some
screaming towards impending splashes,
ready to disappear into the rubble of a building
soon to become a pile of political rubble,
terrorism, television and theaters all to come.
which kamikaze myth will come true today?
The print springs to force and the masses will
come to the periphery and peer over it, starry eyed,
looking for neon signs and electric dreams,
ready to parachute, plunge and pummel themselves.
Deep, deep in the belly of the abyss, a grumbling begins;
when will it end?
Convoluted
Convolu(ted,)
Ripe dis(tress)
Unfinished tho( ).
how to get to Go?
collect and mope.
collect and mope.
or maybe
mope and collect
mope and collect
show them
show them all
never reality without it.
what, why, where, when, how?
show them all
show them all
show them nothing at all.
Ripe dis(tress)
Unfinished tho( ).
how to get to Go?
collect and mope.
collect and mope.
or maybe
mope and collect
mope and collect
show them
show them all
never reality without it.
what, why, where, when, how?
show them all
show them all
show them nothing at all.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Passages — Chapter 4
The waiting game...Watering Holes and the Jim Morrison Blanket...Hunters and the hunted...Harshing mellows to create Men
"Yea man, I think I'm feelin it," says Venkat.
"Really?" asks Dave. Apparently he wasn't yet.
"Yea man, definitely."
"Yea dude, I think I am too," added Vik.
Dave and the author of these passages looked at each other. He wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure whether he was feeling it and ignoring the effects or if in fact the acid hasn't hit him yet.
He was looking at Cal, who took a hit on the bowl and coughed loudly and heavily in beat with Heroin, the Velvet Underground song, playing on Venkat's notebook computer. Drum-Drum-Drum-Drum-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum-COUGH-COUGH-"I-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum-have--made--COUGH-Drum-COUGH-Drum-big-decision"-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum
Then the author looked at Dave's tensed up face looking back at Cal, "What?"
Drum-Drum-Drum-Drum "Wwhhaaatt? Nnotthhii-," then Dave turns to Venkat and says, "I thhinnk Ii'mm fefeeeling iiit toooo nooowww."
Venkat laughs that high pitched wheezy laugh, "heh-heh-heh-" resonating in Dave's head until it overwhelmes him and he starts to laugh.
Cal smiles and passes the bowl to Vik. Venkat bobbed his head up and down to the beat, then lit a cigarette, took a drag and looked at the lit end for a dazed moment, entranced by its glow. Spirals vibrated out of the smoke, like the cosmos was shaking the life out of it. The red ambers bubbled like violent volcanos scorching up wiggling tumbleweeds of tobacco until it reached it's flashpoint and evaporated everything in its bloody path. The cascading plumes coming out of this white smokestack thunderously boomed in an increasingly fast pulsing clamor. Venkat looks up at Cal, exhales his smoky breath and notices Cal was looking directly at the cigarette too. He smiled then, "Did you see that also?"
"Yea, I'm feeling it."
------
Birds kept chirping loudly, everything far away seemed close, there was no way of telling whether that tree over there is 1 foot or 40 feet away - there was no way of knowing if that tree over there is imagined. What are these flashy spots in his vision? The author of these passages didn't know. What was that?! Walking over there? Cal looks, but nothing is over there. Is that person looking at me? He thinks. Wait, damn, it's not a person, it's nothing. It's something. But nothing, it's not anyone. It's NOT anymore.
The loud percussion of Vik playing Venkat's hand drum pleasantly pierced the author's ears. This was an echoing delight! Feeling like he was on a safari - over there behind the trees, is that a garafe? Yes, I think that's a garafe indeed, Cal considered. Let's go over there and investigate it some more he says to himself.
...That watering hole over there that has my name written all over it I'm there I'm everywhere I'm coming I'm coming there it is there is the water there are the animals those beautiful animals I love you animals I am here with you the lions rhinos garafes jackals elephants raise their trunks and splash away...
...the willow tree hangs softly on the water, it's reflection of the afternoon sun more real than the tree can ever be...
"Come here!" There is Dave too exclaiming in his turtle voice.
No one paid attention.
Venkat was raising and lowering his head to the beat of Vik's drumming.
Dave was on the other side of the watering hole seemingly laying eggs – trying to hatch wisdom.
The author of these passages was about to swoop in and impale the surface of the water and cup the cold refreshing liquid and Venkat put his hand on the author's shoulder and said, "Dude, this water is dirty, don't drink it."
"Ah, of course, right, right." Another time perhaps, but he knew it was never to be. "Wait where are we?"
"Passion Puddle, man. Heh-heh-heh. I think Passion Puddle...yeah, Passion Puddle." Then, "I think."
"Alright, I think I need to lay down."
"Ok, man. I brought my Jim Morrison blanket," Venkat pointing to the Jim Morrison blanket says, "you can lie there, yeah?"
"Yeah, I think that is a stupendous idea." Stupendous? He really does need to lie down.
He does so. On his back. The lions can't see him that way. Elephants won't touch him, to them, the author of these passages is a just a mouse – a less furry mouse.
It's getting cold. The sun must be setting. What else happened? It was hard to remember. The author's memory seemed blurry, only The Now existed.
What about the rhino's. Damn those rhino's, they'll charge you like you're a matador flashing a big red cloth. Just for lying there.
...Au Bon Pain: that's right, Cal tried to order a sandwich, but it was hopeless. Words splashed off his toungle like class five rapids and his brain was kayaking through just trying not to capsize. It was hopeless. The poor girl didn't know what to make of it. She leaned in and Cal got to see her cleavage. It was too much. Just too much. A flowery burst of petals flew out like bats from a dark cave. It was amazingly beautiful and mezmorizing and the sight rendered the author confused and it was hopeless. He ended up stealing a bottle of water because the order was hopeless...
He opened his eyes and saw the puffy clouds over his head and couldn't help think of the Little Puffy Clouds song by The Orb and he likes that song and the girl in that song talking about colors and skies and clouds and the clouds started vibrating and drifting towards each other like Pangaea was reforming some 200 million years later.
The shapes kept morphing and the more the author looked at them, the more new objects he recognized. Sleeping bear, crawling panther, coiled snake, giant roach, soaring dragon. The imaginary animal kingdom shapeshifted seamlessly.
Damn. Lions can smell you.
"We need to go on a hunt!" It was the author yelling to everyone. They all stopped and looked at him.
Again.
"A hunt?" asked Dave.
"Yes, a hunt! Get the rifles ready." Vik orders.
"Yes, yes - keep playing that drum Vik. We're going to need a fast beat!" Cal, picked up his rifle, gave the elephant gun to Dave and Venkat got the 44 Handcannon in case the beasts got too close.
"Wait, wait guys!" Venkat drew a cigar out of his kurta pocket and lit it with a match.
They started creeping along the edge of the grassy knoll near the watering hole. Looking for targets.
Dave whispered to Cal, "What do you think?"
"Not sure yet...wait, I see something," and he points to the left edge of the knoll where stood a large beast, still too far to recognize the type. "Let's go take a closer look."
Vik played a low and steady beat for the careful approach, hugging the treeline, they tried not to disturb the scene, inching along in a line, half duckwalking to keep a low profile. Venkat was in the back, looking behind and around to make sure nothing was trailing them, holding the 44 ready and the cigar is cemented to the side of his mouth.
Dave was in front of Venkat, pivoting mostly to the right towards the watering hole. He kept the elephant gun pointed down, trigger finger straight -- off the lever -- squinting to get deeper vision.
Vik's beat was starting to creep faster, Cal stared out front and could sense something big is going to happen, the beast in the distance was starting to take shape, a large and angry looking Rhino with a huge tusk that was begging to shred something or someone. He whispered, "I see a rhino, we need to keep slow and get within range. Once we get within 50 feet, we will charge for 30 feet, take aim and shoot him down."
"Aren't rhino's endangered?" asked Dave.
"I don't know, but it's better the rhino than us."
"Good point."
"OK, dudes. Get ready...hold steady." Cal was waiting for the rhino to turn away so they can take him by surprise. Rhino's are surprsingly very fast and have an even higher degree of power. It was going to be a challenge, but the author knew his crew was up for it. "Steeeady...Go! Go! Go!"
They broke column and ran as hard as they could. Cal, Dave and Venkat sprinted downhill away from the tree line at the rhino, quietly and quickly. Vik lagged behind, drumming a uptempo tribal beat on the djembe bounced under his armpit, hands feverishly flogging the tight skin.
Cal drops to the ground and points Dave to the rhino, signaling him to shoot. Dave drops to his knee, his eye had a laserlike focus down the gunbarrel at the beast, finger on the trigger ready to pull, stone solid concetration painted in his facial expression. Venkat kneels down behind them ready for any stragglers thinking of joining the party. Vik is still charging up, the beat all frenzied like his running.
Dave fires, Venkat turns and shoots his 44, dropping round after round until the rhino is peppered with bullets and leaky.
Cal slowly gets up and walks over to the rhino laying on his side breathing gasps, the crew behind him ready for anything. The rhino bucks and Dave and Venkat flinch, instinctively raise their guns and shot one last round at its head. The tension in its muscles ease and the carcass lays falls to the ground one final time, the dust still settling around on the warm, rough, blood basted skin.
A car drove by on the road to their left. The two passengers were girls and they were laughing for some reason.
----
Try to imagine -- the two girls driving into Douglas campus, passing the co-op bookstore, the passion puddle, the bus stop, going around the curve and looking to the right and see a group of guys huddled and walking together, one with a trombone, another with a guitar, another with a drum and they all stop and raise their instruments yet pointing them toward a point in the ground and they all simultaneously blast the horn and loudly bang on the drum and wildly strum the guitar while deliberately angling the tip of the guitar toward that point in the ground as if shooting something with the guitar, intensely wailing away at their instruments, these guys then suddenly stop! and at that very moment the girls burst out laughing right as they pass -- and you might have a vague idea of what the author of these passages is trying to convey.
----
It was dark. Back at Venkat's house, they smoked some bowls and listened to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, discussing things like David Gilmour's guitar effects and Dostoyevsky's Notes from the Underground and the crazy ideas our internal little voices conjure up and sometimes don't you wish to be able to just act on them? But, then, yet, we digress.
...laying still, on ice slowing everything down until it burns like fire, now you know EXACTLY where you are...
"Alright, I gotta go." Cal got up and slapped five with everyone.
"You sure you ok to drive?" Dave asked, though really it was a question emptier than a cup in a dessert.
"Yea, I'll be alright." It was true that Cal was still seeing trails and his vision was framing a bit but it was manageable an he remembered Electric Kool Aid Acid Test and Neil Cassidy's wise advise about driving while on acid - it was something like: the trick is to realize what the hallucinations are and then drive through them. To Cal, the man was a sage.
After a rather uneventful drive to his parent's house, he came home and walked inside and went downstairs and didn't say anything because the house was dark and Cal's parents seemed to be asleep.
He walked through his room and into the bathroom. He took a piss and washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror - his face looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot. The door behind him was open, and in the background Cal sees his father appear. He wasn't sure if he was imagining this or if his dad was actually standing behind him, scowling at him with daggers of hate coming out of his eyes.
"Hey...dad?"
"Cal, I need to talk to you, turn around." Cal does.
The father of the author of these passages glared into his son's eyes and became disgusted with the dull pink orbs in the eyesockets staring back at him. He shook his head and said, "Cal, where were you all weekend?" A shrug. "Son, I asked you to help me with the yardwork and you never even bothered to call us to let us know where you are. We were worried something happened to you. Now...you come home, it's almost 3 in the morning after disappearing for almost 3 days. This is unbearable!"
Cal blankly stared at his father, his father's eyes swirling and trailing as his head shaked unapprovingly. "I can't have this. You are twenty years old, you're a man, so act like a man." He walked over to Cal's keys laying on the desk, picks them up and starts taking off the car key. "I'm taking your car because it's obvious you drove home drunk or high or whatever you are. By next weekend you will pack up your crap and move out. Enough! Be a man, act like man!" He stormed out of the room, his heavy footsteps up the stairs echoing in Cal's mind like thunder.
Cal yells, "How am I supposed to find a place without a car?"
"That's your problem!"
"Yea man, I think I'm feelin it," says Venkat.
"Really?" asks Dave. Apparently he wasn't yet.
"Yea man, definitely."
"Yea dude, I think I am too," added Vik.
Dave and the author of these passages looked at each other. He wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure whether he was feeling it and ignoring the effects or if in fact the acid hasn't hit him yet.
He was looking at Cal, who took a hit on the bowl and coughed loudly and heavily in beat with Heroin, the Velvet Underground song, playing on Venkat's notebook computer. Drum-Drum-Drum-Drum-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum-COUGH-COUGH-"I-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum-have--made--COUGH-Drum-COUGH-Drum-big-decision"-COUGH-COUGH-Drum-Drum
Then the author looked at Dave's tensed up face looking back at Cal, "What?"
Drum-Drum-Drum-Drum "Wwhhaaatt? Nnotthhii-," then Dave turns to Venkat and says, "I thhinnk Ii'mm fefeeeling iiit toooo nooowww."
Venkat laughs that high pitched wheezy laugh, "heh-heh-heh-" resonating in Dave's head until it overwhelmes him and he starts to laugh.
Cal smiles and passes the bowl to Vik. Venkat bobbed his head up and down to the beat, then lit a cigarette, took a drag and looked at the lit end for a dazed moment, entranced by its glow. Spirals vibrated out of the smoke, like the cosmos was shaking the life out of it. The red ambers bubbled like violent volcanos scorching up wiggling tumbleweeds of tobacco until it reached it's flashpoint and evaporated everything in its bloody path. The cascading plumes coming out of this white smokestack thunderously boomed in an increasingly fast pulsing clamor. Venkat looks up at Cal, exhales his smoky breath and notices Cal was looking directly at the cigarette too. He smiled then, "Did you see that also?"
"Yea, I'm feeling it."
------
Birds kept chirping loudly, everything far away seemed close, there was no way of telling whether that tree over there is 1 foot or 40 feet away - there was no way of knowing if that tree over there is imagined. What are these flashy spots in his vision? The author of these passages didn't know. What was that?! Walking over there? Cal looks, but nothing is over there. Is that person looking at me? He thinks. Wait, damn, it's not a person, it's nothing. It's something. But nothing, it's not anyone. It's NOT anymore.
The loud percussion of Vik playing Venkat's hand drum pleasantly pierced the author's ears. This was an echoing delight! Feeling like he was on a safari - over there behind the trees, is that a garafe? Yes, I think that's a garafe indeed, Cal considered. Let's go over there and investigate it some more he says to himself.
...That watering hole over there that has my name written all over it I'm there I'm everywhere I'm coming I'm coming there it is there is the water there are the animals those beautiful animals I love you animals I am here with you the lions rhinos garafes jackals elephants raise their trunks and splash away...
...the willow tree hangs softly on the water, it's reflection of the afternoon sun more real than the tree can ever be...
"Come here!" There is Dave too exclaiming in his turtle voice.
No one paid attention.
Venkat was raising and lowering his head to the beat of Vik's drumming.
Dave was on the other side of the watering hole seemingly laying eggs – trying to hatch wisdom.
The author of these passages was about to swoop in and impale the surface of the water and cup the cold refreshing liquid and Venkat put his hand on the author's shoulder and said, "Dude, this water is dirty, don't drink it."
"Ah, of course, right, right." Another time perhaps, but he knew it was never to be. "Wait where are we?"
"Passion Puddle, man. Heh-heh-heh. I think Passion Puddle...yeah, Passion Puddle." Then, "I think."
"Alright, I think I need to lay down."
"Ok, man. I brought my Jim Morrison blanket," Venkat pointing to the Jim Morrison blanket says, "you can lie there, yeah?"
"Yeah, I think that is a stupendous idea." Stupendous? He really does need to lie down.
He does so. On his back. The lions can't see him that way. Elephants won't touch him, to them, the author of these passages is a just a mouse – a less furry mouse.
It's getting cold. The sun must be setting. What else happened? It was hard to remember. The author's memory seemed blurry, only The Now existed.
What about the rhino's. Damn those rhino's, they'll charge you like you're a matador flashing a big red cloth. Just for lying there.
...Au Bon Pain: that's right, Cal tried to order a sandwich, but it was hopeless. Words splashed off his toungle like class five rapids and his brain was kayaking through just trying not to capsize. It was hopeless. The poor girl didn't know what to make of it. She leaned in and Cal got to see her cleavage. It was too much. Just too much. A flowery burst of petals flew out like bats from a dark cave. It was amazingly beautiful and mezmorizing and the sight rendered the author confused and it was hopeless. He ended up stealing a bottle of water because the order was hopeless...
He opened his eyes and saw the puffy clouds over his head and couldn't help think of the Little Puffy Clouds song by The Orb and he likes that song and the girl in that song talking about colors and skies and clouds and the clouds started vibrating and drifting towards each other like Pangaea was reforming some 200 million years later.
The shapes kept morphing and the more the author looked at them, the more new objects he recognized. Sleeping bear, crawling panther, coiled snake, giant roach, soaring dragon. The imaginary animal kingdom shapeshifted seamlessly.
Damn. Lions can smell you.
"We need to go on a hunt!" It was the author yelling to everyone. They all stopped and looked at him.
Again.
"A hunt?" asked Dave.
"Yes, a hunt! Get the rifles ready." Vik orders.
"Yes, yes - keep playing that drum Vik. We're going to need a fast beat!" Cal, picked up his rifle, gave the elephant gun to Dave and Venkat got the 44 Handcannon in case the beasts got too close.
"Wait, wait guys!" Venkat drew a cigar out of his kurta pocket and lit it with a match.
They started creeping along the edge of the grassy knoll near the watering hole. Looking for targets.
Dave whispered to Cal, "What do you think?"
"Not sure yet...wait, I see something," and he points to the left edge of the knoll where stood a large beast, still too far to recognize the type. "Let's go take a closer look."
Vik played a low and steady beat for the careful approach, hugging the treeline, they tried not to disturb the scene, inching along in a line, half duckwalking to keep a low profile. Venkat was in the back, looking behind and around to make sure nothing was trailing them, holding the 44 ready and the cigar is cemented to the side of his mouth.
Dave was in front of Venkat, pivoting mostly to the right towards the watering hole. He kept the elephant gun pointed down, trigger finger straight -- off the lever -- squinting to get deeper vision.
Vik's beat was starting to creep faster, Cal stared out front and could sense something big is going to happen, the beast in the distance was starting to take shape, a large and angry looking Rhino with a huge tusk that was begging to shred something or someone. He whispered, "I see a rhino, we need to keep slow and get within range. Once we get within 50 feet, we will charge for 30 feet, take aim and shoot him down."
"Aren't rhino's endangered?" asked Dave.
"I don't know, but it's better the rhino than us."
"Good point."
"OK, dudes. Get ready...hold steady." Cal was waiting for the rhino to turn away so they can take him by surprise. Rhino's are surprsingly very fast and have an even higher degree of power. It was going to be a challenge, but the author knew his crew was up for it. "Steeeady...Go! Go! Go!"
They broke column and ran as hard as they could. Cal, Dave and Venkat sprinted downhill away from the tree line at the rhino, quietly and quickly. Vik lagged behind, drumming a uptempo tribal beat on the djembe bounced under his armpit, hands feverishly flogging the tight skin.
Cal drops to the ground and points Dave to the rhino, signaling him to shoot. Dave drops to his knee, his eye had a laserlike focus down the gunbarrel at the beast, finger on the trigger ready to pull, stone solid concetration painted in his facial expression. Venkat kneels down behind them ready for any stragglers thinking of joining the party. Vik is still charging up, the beat all frenzied like his running.
Dave fires, Venkat turns and shoots his 44, dropping round after round until the rhino is peppered with bullets and leaky.
Cal slowly gets up and walks over to the rhino laying on his side breathing gasps, the crew behind him ready for anything. The rhino bucks and Dave and Venkat flinch, instinctively raise their guns and shot one last round at its head. The tension in its muscles ease and the carcass lays falls to the ground one final time, the dust still settling around on the warm, rough, blood basted skin.
A car drove by on the road to their left. The two passengers were girls and they were laughing for some reason.
----
Try to imagine -- the two girls driving into Douglas campus, passing the co-op bookstore, the passion puddle, the bus stop, going around the curve and looking to the right and see a group of guys huddled and walking together, one with a trombone, another with a guitar, another with a drum and they all stop and raise their instruments yet pointing them toward a point in the ground and they all simultaneously blast the horn and loudly bang on the drum and wildly strum the guitar while deliberately angling the tip of the guitar toward that point in the ground as if shooting something with the guitar, intensely wailing away at their instruments, these guys then suddenly stop! and at that very moment the girls burst out laughing right as they pass -- and you might have a vague idea of what the author of these passages is trying to convey.
----
It was dark. Back at Venkat's house, they smoked some bowls and listened to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, discussing things like David Gilmour's guitar effects and Dostoyevsky's Notes from the Underground and the crazy ideas our internal little voices conjure up and sometimes don't you wish to be able to just act on them? But, then, yet, we digress.
...laying still, on ice slowing everything down until it burns like fire, now you know EXACTLY where you are...
"Alright, I gotta go." Cal got up and slapped five with everyone.
"You sure you ok to drive?" Dave asked, though really it was a question emptier than a cup in a dessert.
"Yea, I'll be alright." It was true that Cal was still seeing trails and his vision was framing a bit but it was manageable an he remembered Electric Kool Aid Acid Test and Neil Cassidy's wise advise about driving while on acid - it was something like: the trick is to realize what the hallucinations are and then drive through them. To Cal, the man was a sage.
After a rather uneventful drive to his parent's house, he came home and walked inside and went downstairs and didn't say anything because the house was dark and Cal's parents seemed to be asleep.
He walked through his room and into the bathroom. He took a piss and washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror - his face looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot. The door behind him was open, and in the background Cal sees his father appear. He wasn't sure if he was imagining this or if his dad was actually standing behind him, scowling at him with daggers of hate coming out of his eyes.
"Hey...dad?"
"Cal, I need to talk to you, turn around." Cal does.
The father of the author of these passages glared into his son's eyes and became disgusted with the dull pink orbs in the eyesockets staring back at him. He shook his head and said, "Cal, where were you all weekend?" A shrug. "Son, I asked you to help me with the yardwork and you never even bothered to call us to let us know where you are. We were worried something happened to you. Now...you come home, it's almost 3 in the morning after disappearing for almost 3 days. This is unbearable!"
Cal blankly stared at his father, his father's eyes swirling and trailing as his head shaked unapprovingly. "I can't have this. You are twenty years old, you're a man, so act like a man." He walked over to Cal's keys laying on the desk, picks them up and starts taking off the car key. "I'm taking your car because it's obvious you drove home drunk or high or whatever you are. By next weekend you will pack up your crap and move out. Enough! Be a man, act like man!" He stormed out of the room, his heavy footsteps up the stairs echoing in Cal's mind like thunder.
Cal yells, "How am I supposed to find a place without a car?"
"That's your problem!"
Friday, April 9, 2010
she says, "you'll take what i give you"
deleting thoughts
contextual loss
blind spots in my memory
i'm such an american
lunch tray in hand, waiting
to take my pick of feel-good sustainance
but its all blended like pulp
the damn mashed potatoes are mixing with the chocolate cake
and i agitate this mix
and i agitate myself
because i don't want to use these tastebuds any more
there are so many precursors so much context
my mouth is scarred, tastes tainted
the spirit needs nourishment -
must learn to love the pulp
contextual loss
blind spots in my memory
i'm such an american
lunch tray in hand, waiting
to take my pick of feel-good sustainance
but its all blended like pulp
the damn mashed potatoes are mixing with the chocolate cake
and i agitate this mix
and i agitate myself
because i don't want to use these tastebuds any more
there are so many precursors so much context
my mouth is scarred, tastes tainted
the spirit needs nourishment -
must learn to love the pulp
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Passages — Chapter 3
Burning Goldschlagger...L-Bombs and Roman Helmets...Comedown with Skinny Vinnie...Venkat's surprise from the freezer
Cal and the other girl were climbing up the stairs, utterly failing because of the intense kissing session, they staggered back and forth onto the second floor.
"You taste like goldschlagger."
"Haha," replied, the girl. "I actually got some, you wanna drink it?"
"Yeah, let's go."
They walked into someone's room and she pulled out a bottle of Goldschlagger and put it on the coffee table. Cal found two shot glasses on a ledge, dusted them off and sat down on the flea bag someone considers their couch.
She poured the alcohol and they raised the shots.
"Salut," said Cal.
"Cheers!"
They drank the glittering liquor and took deep breaths while putting down the shot glasses. The firewater instantly made them feel warm and their insides tingled with numbing delight and anticipation.
"Mmm, that was really good."
"Let's have another."
This time Cal raised the bottle and poured two more. "This is my favorite because I like the taste of cinamon," she said.
"I like it because it's stronger and it's a good drunk." He pulled out a shiny golden Zippo and showed it to her. It said Goldschlagger in those olde style letters. "Nice!" She played around with it, opening and snapping the cover shut, then flicking it open again with her thumb. Cal pulled out his smokes and offered one to her. She took two out of the pack, puckered her lips and lit both with the lighter. He took one out of her hand and puffed on it.
Then, he said, "that looked sexy."
She smiled, then said, "thanks."
He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as they embraced. They kissed for a while then pulled back to put the cigarrettes out and get naked. She started pulling Cal's pants off while his hands slid up her back to the braw clasp. Once the pants and braw were loosened, she pulled off her shirt and he slid down the pants. Then she straddled the author and leaned her bare chest in his face. He pulled her in tighter and closer into the couch.
Cal pulled up her skirt, found no underwear, while kissing and feeling her up, he slowly penetrated her until all her moist softness surrounded him. She bounced up and down this way for a while until her legs got tired and they went horizontal. She was getting intensely wild and held on really tight. While fucking her and kissing her and they sweated together he felt on the side of his face something and noticed it was dark. He leaned back away from her to notice her mascara was running and realized she was beginning to cry. He craddled her head in his arms while jackhammering her like a train piston, he muttered, "what's the matter?"
She looked away, slightly turned her head but didn't say anything.
He leveraged her head back toward him with his hand and asked again, "what's the matter?" a few more pumps, "are you ok?"
"It's just that I think," she paused, perhaps for effect perhaps, no it was a slight sob, "I think I love you."
The emergency breaks were activated and the travellers and the baggage and all of it on tilt because she just dropped the L-bomb.
Cal, leaning away now stops and thinks about this. Then proceeds to keep fucking her. "Hey," fuck fuck fuck fuck, "hey, I" fuck fuck fuck, "I like you and everything, but" fuck fuck fuck fuck, "I like you,love (fuck fuck fuck)...?"
She turned her head slightly again and didn't say anything, little black tears falling off her face onto the carpet. You can probably roll the carpet up, light it and get the entire Rutgers basketball team high.
Then, she said, "I knew you wouldn't understand."
Understand what? Cal thought. Understand? I'm too fucked up and drunk to understand anything besides...hey. She stopped pulsating back and pulled him out. Then rolled out from under him into the deepest crevaces this flee bag had to offer and before he could say, hey! she was asleep and he lay there teetering on tilt, on the edge of the couch unsure of what just happened, and the choo-choo train is about to explode and there is no one there; not one soul to witness it! FUCK!!
He looked over to see her face and watched her for a minute as her face slowly dried, her mascara black, blotchy like too much purple watercolor and too much water and her body was still warm from the sex and his mind wasn't made up.
What did he want to do about THIS? He leaned back, almost falling off but managing to grab the smokes out of his jeans pocket, pulled one out and lit it with the Zippo. Further review made this day seem more surreal than previously thought possible. What a crazy fucking day, were the author's thoughts. Then, maybe I should give her the roman helmet.
He pondered this smoking the cigarrette, weighing his options. What did she mean by the part about not understanding. Why was she crying? These things perplexed him. At the same time, he wasn't finished and this bothered him as well. He started going soft but decided it would be better to get done with it so he got up, put the cigarrette out and started stroking himself while looking at her mostly naked body to excite himself.
He was almost there and poised to shoot his load all over her when two frat boys come barging into the room. "Fuck!" He thought she locked the door while he was looking for the shot glasses.
He stood there for a moment, they stood there for a moment. It wasn't a long pause but it felt long. Then one of the guys said, "What the fuck are you doing, bro?"
"Shit man, this bitch passed on me while we were fucking and I couldn't just stop!"
"Get the fuck out of here!" He looked over to the couch to see who the girl was. His face froze for a second then he started laughing.
"You Cal?" Cal was trying to get his clothes on with great difficulty, stumbling and falling on the couch into the girl who sadly just kept sleeping.
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I'm John," he pointed to the other guy, "This is Brian." Then, he motioned somewhere outside the room. "I ran into Vik downstairs, he said you were somewhere around with Jamie's pledge sister." He paused to let it sink in and gave a knowing smile to Brian, then he laughed again to himself.
This made Cal pause with realization, then he continued putting on his clothes. After getting dressed, he said thanks to John for the party and that he had a good time but had to go.
Before he left the room, John asked, "Yo how'd it feel?"
"What do you mean?"
"Before tonight, she WAS a virgin." Then, that knowing smile.
He closed the door behind him and left to go find Vik, his crotch still sore and his mind warped with confusion.
Downstairs, the party was thinning and it wasn't too difficult to find Vik. He was still hanging out with Jamie and a few other people. Cal walked over to him and lit a cigarrette. After a few minutes they decided to head back.
Rambling home, Vik and Cal talked about the girl and the party and jail all the way through a late night snack at Skinny Vinnie's Pizza and down to Venkats house where they passed out on the gritty living room floor.
In the morning, the night still lingered in their skulls and it reflected in their eyes. Venkat came downstairs and said, "Wassup guys!" Then he lightly laughed and walked into the kitchen to get some water.
He walked back into the living with a filter full of water, some cups and a frosty looking bag with a small piece of paper inside. "Look what I got from the freezer, he-he-he," goes Venkat. He put down the water and cups, then pulled out the paper to show Vik, Cal and Dave. Then he broke off a tiny slip and put it on his tongue. He ripped off a few more pieces and handed them out to the rest of the guys.
They went outside and drank water and smoked some cigarrettes. Dave says, "Let's go to 'Hole in the Wall,' I need to eat something before this trip starts."
Vik, rubbing his temples, replies with a no. He offered some money if Dave decided to go. Dave tried to convince the author to come along and get some breakfast sandwiches, but he wasn't having any of it. Venkat offered to make some hotdogs. It wasn't much though it was something. After chucking their butts to the street, they went back in and made hotdogs in the microwave.
Cal and the other girl were climbing up the stairs, utterly failing because of the intense kissing session, they staggered back and forth onto the second floor.
"You taste like goldschlagger."
"Haha," replied, the girl. "I actually got some, you wanna drink it?"
"Yeah, let's go."
They walked into someone's room and she pulled out a bottle of Goldschlagger and put it on the coffee table. Cal found two shot glasses on a ledge, dusted them off and sat down on the flea bag someone considers their couch.
She poured the alcohol and they raised the shots.
"Salut," said Cal.
"Cheers!"
They drank the glittering liquor and took deep breaths while putting down the shot glasses. The firewater instantly made them feel warm and their insides tingled with numbing delight and anticipation.
"Mmm, that was really good."
"Let's have another."
This time Cal raised the bottle and poured two more. "This is my favorite because I like the taste of cinamon," she said.
"I like it because it's stronger and it's a good drunk." He pulled out a shiny golden Zippo and showed it to her. It said Goldschlagger in those olde style letters. "Nice!" She played around with it, opening and snapping the cover shut, then flicking it open again with her thumb. Cal pulled out his smokes and offered one to her. She took two out of the pack, puckered her lips and lit both with the lighter. He took one out of her hand and puffed on it.
Then, he said, "that looked sexy."
She smiled, then said, "thanks."
He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as they embraced. They kissed for a while then pulled back to put the cigarrettes out and get naked. She started pulling Cal's pants off while his hands slid up her back to the braw clasp. Once the pants and braw were loosened, she pulled off her shirt and he slid down the pants. Then she straddled the author and leaned her bare chest in his face. He pulled her in tighter and closer into the couch.
Cal pulled up her skirt, found no underwear, while kissing and feeling her up, he slowly penetrated her until all her moist softness surrounded him. She bounced up and down this way for a while until her legs got tired and they went horizontal. She was getting intensely wild and held on really tight. While fucking her and kissing her and they sweated together he felt on the side of his face something and noticed it was dark. He leaned back away from her to notice her mascara was running and realized she was beginning to cry. He craddled her head in his arms while jackhammering her like a train piston, he muttered, "what's the matter?"
She looked away, slightly turned her head but didn't say anything.
He leveraged her head back toward him with his hand and asked again, "what's the matter?" a few more pumps, "are you ok?"
"It's just that I think," she paused, perhaps for effect perhaps, no it was a slight sob, "I think I love you."
The emergency breaks were activated and the travellers and the baggage and all of it on tilt because she just dropped the L-bomb.
Cal, leaning away now stops and thinks about this. Then proceeds to keep fucking her. "Hey," fuck fuck fuck fuck, "hey, I" fuck fuck fuck, "I like you and everything, but" fuck fuck fuck fuck, "I like you,love (fuck fuck fuck)...?"
She turned her head slightly again and didn't say anything, little black tears falling off her face onto the carpet. You can probably roll the carpet up, light it and get the entire Rutgers basketball team high.
Then, she said, "I knew you wouldn't understand."
Understand what? Cal thought. Understand? I'm too fucked up and drunk to understand anything besides...hey. She stopped pulsating back and pulled him out. Then rolled out from under him into the deepest crevaces this flee bag had to offer and before he could say, hey! she was asleep and he lay there teetering on tilt, on the edge of the couch unsure of what just happened, and the choo-choo train is about to explode and there is no one there; not one soul to witness it! FUCK!!
He looked over to see her face and watched her for a minute as her face slowly dried, her mascara black, blotchy like too much purple watercolor and too much water and her body was still warm from the sex and his mind wasn't made up.
What did he want to do about THIS? He leaned back, almost falling off but managing to grab the smokes out of his jeans pocket, pulled one out and lit it with the Zippo. Further review made this day seem more surreal than previously thought possible. What a crazy fucking day, were the author's thoughts. Then, maybe I should give her the roman helmet.
He pondered this smoking the cigarrette, weighing his options. What did she mean by the part about not understanding. Why was she crying? These things perplexed him. At the same time, he wasn't finished and this bothered him as well. He started going soft but decided it would be better to get done with it so he got up, put the cigarrette out and started stroking himself while looking at her mostly naked body to excite himself.
He was almost there and poised to shoot his load all over her when two frat boys come barging into the room. "Fuck!" He thought she locked the door while he was looking for the shot glasses.
He stood there for a moment, they stood there for a moment. It wasn't a long pause but it felt long. Then one of the guys said, "What the fuck are you doing, bro?"
"Shit man, this bitch passed on me while we were fucking and I couldn't just stop!"
"Get the fuck out of here!" He looked over to the couch to see who the girl was. His face froze for a second then he started laughing.
"You Cal?" Cal was trying to get his clothes on with great difficulty, stumbling and falling on the couch into the girl who sadly just kept sleeping.
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I'm John," he pointed to the other guy, "This is Brian." Then, he motioned somewhere outside the room. "I ran into Vik downstairs, he said you were somewhere around with Jamie's pledge sister." He paused to let it sink in and gave a knowing smile to Brian, then he laughed again to himself.
This made Cal pause with realization, then he continued putting on his clothes. After getting dressed, he said thanks to John for the party and that he had a good time but had to go.
Before he left the room, John asked, "Yo how'd it feel?"
"What do you mean?"
"Before tonight, she WAS a virgin." Then, that knowing smile.
He closed the door behind him and left to go find Vik, his crotch still sore and his mind warped with confusion.
Downstairs, the party was thinning and it wasn't too difficult to find Vik. He was still hanging out with Jamie and a few other people. Cal walked over to him and lit a cigarrette. After a few minutes they decided to head back.
Rambling home, Vik and Cal talked about the girl and the party and jail all the way through a late night snack at Skinny Vinnie's Pizza and down to Venkats house where they passed out on the gritty living room floor.
In the morning, the night still lingered in their skulls and it reflected in their eyes. Venkat came downstairs and said, "Wassup guys!" Then he lightly laughed and walked into the kitchen to get some water.
He walked back into the living with a filter full of water, some cups and a frosty looking bag with a small piece of paper inside. "Look what I got from the freezer, he-he-he," goes Venkat. He put down the water and cups, then pulled out the paper to show Vik, Cal and Dave. Then he broke off a tiny slip and put it on his tongue. He ripped off a few more pieces and handed them out to the rest of the guys.
They went outside and drank water and smoked some cigarrettes. Dave says, "Let's go to 'Hole in the Wall,' I need to eat something before this trip starts."
Vik, rubbing his temples, replies with a no. He offered some money if Dave decided to go. Dave tried to convince the author to come along and get some breakfast sandwiches, but he wasn't having any of it. Venkat offered to make some hotdogs. It wasn't much though it was something. After chucking their butts to the street, they went back in and made hotdogs in the microwave.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
a whole half
sample the tip of this extract.
there are vulgar niceties flirting across thick air.
with seiger working and practicing, the chatter dances around.
simple, jovial banter and backdrops of despair.
globs of nacho flavored opinion drip and drool from orifaces.
teethy teethy grins shadow this so real grind and resign.
boys against girls
young against old
red sox against the yankees!
who will laugh last?
will this pen permiate the facade?
will they notice and wonder of furious scribble?
drafts and drunken snarls
i am poised to jump at anything
with shake and a studder
bounce and rattle.
these benign opinions.
but, my malignant perspective -> ultimately isolating
he doesn't
she doesn't
they don't
want to peel the crusty scab to look at the festering issue beneath
ok sport,
let it slide....
open your angst into a container
and fertilize
there are vulgar niceties flirting across thick air.
with seiger working and practicing, the chatter dances around.
simple, jovial banter and backdrops of despair.
globs of nacho flavored opinion drip and drool from orifaces.
teethy teethy grins shadow this so real grind and resign.
boys against girls
young against old
red sox against the yankees!
who will laugh last?
will this pen permiate the facade?
will they notice and wonder of furious scribble?
drafts and drunken snarls
i am poised to jump at anything
with shake and a studder
bounce and rattle.
these benign opinions.
but, my malignant perspective -> ultimately isolating
he doesn't
she doesn't
they don't
want to peel the crusty scab to look at the festering issue beneath
ok sport,
let it slide....
open your angst into a container
and fertilize
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Passages — Chapter 2
Getting punked from "jail"...Dry and not so high...I ho, I ho, off to the ghetto they go...Madness inevitably needs refueling...Traps, cops and phony tales...Collect call, will you buy us a keg?...Rage and chaos ensues
It would be fair to tell the story from this point but really? Fairness or not the author is going to feed his little penguins the regurgutated backstory so you can at least understand if not appreciate the beginnings.
so there he was, Cal sitting at his computer on a Friday night by himself reading an email from a friend and his friend Pat calls him and Cal picks but not before 3 rings go by to hear, "Oh, hey Cal."
"Hey man!"
"What's up?"
"Nothing much, what are you up to?"
"Well that's the thing, I'm stuck in jail."
"Jail? Really?" If the author had to pick the most likely friend to call him from prison, Pat would be the last person on the list.
"Yeah jail, theyre chargin me with possession of marijuana."
"I see, how long ago?"
"Oh about, say...2 maybe three hours ago."
"Where are you?"
"At the new brusnwick police station."
"Damn dude, should I come pick you up...like do u need bail money or something?"
"No, no thanks though. But, a ride would be good."
"Ok what station ae you?"
"The one off Rt 18..."
...and so this went on for several more minutes until Cal was ready to leave. He grabbed his keys and walks out of the house toward his car. In the distance he sees a familiar looking car, a small hatchback and there seems to be people in it and before reaching his car Cal calls Pat from his phone.
"You just pranked me didnt you?"
Laughter follows on the other end.
Then into the feature you arrive, the author Cal, Pat, Paul, Vik and Venkat are hanging out on Venkat's back porch thinking of possible ways to get high. It was the start of the weekend, a nice friday afternoon, beginning of summer during the lull between the madness of spring semester and beginning of the summer class crunch.
Vik says he knows a spot. "I know this corner spot in downtown New Brunswick where you can usually score some weed - maybe get some X."
"Ok lets go," says Dave. By the way, Dave was there too.
Dave and Vik drive over to pickup what they can. "Nah man, this place is chill...all those townies go to get their shit here - it's the spot." Vik steps out of the car to go talk with the guy on the corner as Dave sits in his car with a sweat bead dripping down the side of his face because the car was parked and the AC was broken.
Vik comes back, hops in the car and directs Dave to drive around the corner to the next block where another guy will talk to them.
As they pull up, a kid no older than 14 jumps off a stoop and comes up to the window. "Whatchu need?"
Vik tells him they're looking for some weed and rolls if possible.
"'Ow much you want?"
"Can you hook up a quarter, maybe 6 hits?"
"Aiight, lemme see."
He goes over to the house and talks to someone inside though through the door using some kind of hatch. The kid comes back and tells them to drive up another block and someone will be waiting for them.
...purched on a cliff, an avalanche coming behind you, no golden parachute, just always knowing you're in the center of no-man's land...
They arrive at the corner and wait. Some time passes, a few songs later, another guy, this time late teens, walks up, leans into the window, and says "I got the quarter you wanted but only 4 hits of the E."
"What kind is it?"
"Some kinda crazy shit outta Amsterdam. I dunno if its good, I mean I only smoke dutches thats it, know wut Im sayin? It's $160." The guy puts a small rolled up plastic bag between the door and handle. Vik pulls out a bunch of twenties, quickly shuffles through 8 of them, folds them up and shakes hands with the guy while sliding the money in his hands. "Peace," and the guy walked back into the yard of the house behind him.
Dave drove off and they popped two pills each. After they returned to Venkat's, they rolled a big blunt and smoked that to their heads.
Several hours go by, it got dark, everyone was stoked partying and realizing there was very little pot left and everyone wanted to get more. Vik and Dave, in the ecstatic zeal of another wave coming on and the looming catastrophe of not having grass for the come down later, volunteered to go again to the spot they used earlier.
This time, as they pull up and talk to the first kid, they will not be as lucky. The kid comes over again but before he can reach the car, a cop pulls up to Dave's car and turns on the Christmas lights and Dave would shit a brick right there and then if he could but he cant because ecstacy makes his timing go off kilter and it's impossible for him to finesse the fine-tuned muscle movements one needs during such an act. So there he is intellectually, emotionally, and physically constipated in a car without air conditioning as the cop comes up to his window and he's thinking about what he SHOULD be thinking but it's too late, the window must be opened, he will need to talk to him, what will he do? I don't want to go to -- wait I didnt do anything, he thinks.
"Yes, sir."
"License, insurance and registration please."
"Yes, sir...Here you go, sir"
"Thank you, please step out of the car."
...fucking asshole...Dave's sweat glands and adrenal glands and tear glands and the rest of the fluid producing glands in his body simaltaneously shut down and jump started - his heart climbed to a drumb and bass rhythm roni size can't match - his legs noodled and his brain turned to lukewarm jello. His first step towards the rear end of the car almost caused him to end up on his own rear end. He tried to say "Sorry, my leg fell asleep," but it was so fast only a cheetah could catch it.
There he was sweating liquid lead out of every gland, unsure, the kid hiding behind a bush, Vik completely baffled, not by Dave's baffoonary (though this was a cause of puzzlement to him) but by the fact that another cop car drove up in front of them and a DIFFERENT cop was at HIS window ready to pounce.
Vik's tongue knotted up like a pretzel and the salty aftertaste in his mouth felt like sandpaper against his throat. He couldn't turn around..total AMBUSH..utter failure...panic...disaster...THEY got him and Dave and the cop said something so Vik starts to open the door and the cop reaches for his gun, steps back and reaches to close the door with his other hand, and yells "I TOLD you to stay in the car!" and pushed on the door so Vik lost his balance and lamely tripped back into the seat, across the shifter emphatically blathering to the cop but it was too late. The car shifted into neutral and started rolling towards the cop car. The cop interigating Dave jumps towards the drivers seat, pulls Vik up and over and went head first for the break.
By this point the little kid in the bushes starts to laugh out loud, Dave profoundly unbalanced by the emotional rollercoaster he just experienced threw himself into a stalled spin towards giggle fits intercut with intense crying sessions.
The cop stopped the car just in time though not before making a lovetap to his mate's beloved cruiser that also threw him forehead first into the steering wheel. One could say sarcastically with a grim touch of irony that things were shaping up well for Vik and Dave.
It was hard for the cops to get their bearings straight with all the comotion coming from Dave's childlike outbursts, the kid's laughter from behind the bushes and Vik's unintelligable blast of excuses, not to mention the cop in Dave's car who now has blood on his hands from the cut on his eyebrow. The cop outside quickly regained his composure, turned around and said to the kid "Who are you?"
"I live..ha-ha..live...here..hahaha...."
"What are you doing here? Go back inside!" The kid slowly steps out of the bushes, laughing the whole way in. Mysteriously, the door opened before he even got there and closed just as well. The cops didn't notice.
"Now, what are you two doing here?" He looks at Dave, "Where are you from?"
It took a long minute for Dave to compose himself. When he finally got his senses back, he lost it again. "Oh man haha...Oh...ha..man...I don't want to go to jail! Please, please, we didn't do anything!"
"Relax - I'm just asking you a simple question." There are no simple questions from five-o's.
"Please! I mean...haha....I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. I'm sorry. Aww, shit, I'm fucked aren't I?"
"You will be if you don't answer my question." The other cop was in the trunk of the cruiser pulling out a first aid kit. "You were looking for drugs weren't you?"
"No sir." Vid and Dave said so simultaneously. After that there was no point putting on pretentions, not even a pinch.
Vik had a strong desire to punch the asshole in the groin and run. He would have if his coordination wasn't so unhinged. The run would probably kill him anyway. But it would have been good payback for pushing him onto the shift knob.
Another cop rolls up and goes over to Vik.
Meanwhile, Dave was talking to the other cop. "Why are you so sweaty?"
"Because it's really hot and I nearly witnessed my car hitting yours."
"I see, and you are from?"
"I'm from Edison."
"OK, what are you doing here?"
"Listen...ok...we were just looking to get some pot."
"Was that kid going to sell it to you?"
"No not really. I mean, like, he would tell us where to go to pick it up, but he doesn't have any."
"Ok." He gave Dave the drunk tests and miracoulously Dave exhibited perfect agility and control causing the cop to think, maybe his leg was asleep.
He goes over to the other cop to confer. For some reason Vik decided it's still better to lie. For that, the bastards made him pay. Intent to purchase which meant he had to go to court.
Back at Venkat's place, the rest of the pot was gone and the people were too drunk to wonder what happened to Vik and Dave who were coming into the house and coming down from the rolls. Feeling viciously incontent, Vik said, "Shit, man, my ass still hurts from that damn shifter!" He was also just as bitter at Dave for not backing up his lie and dodging the ticket.
-----
"Are you playing me?" Cal said in disbelief then said "I thought you went to court and all that? Nice try." Everyone's attention was still locked on the author.
"No, no I did man! Apparently I was supposed to pay my fine that day," said Vik.
Cal then responds in a more serious tone, "And let me guess, you didn't pay."
"Well, I thought I could come back and take care of it, you know - and like they put out a warrant and came to my room man and for some reason your number was the only one I remembered," he tried to laugh, it sounded strained.
"Shit dude, the court ain't the fucking QVC channel you know," This totally killed the author's mellow, "I would bail you out but I'm broke right now dude."
"What's QVC? That's OK man. My sister is coming right now to bail me out, I just wanted tell you so you guys know"
"How much is the bail?"
"It's the fine plus another $200 for not paying on time and I need to come back before the judge."
"How much was the fine?"
"Four hundred."
"Bummer."
"Yeah, man."
"When do you get out?"
"I don't know, a couple of hours."
"OK, man - well, we'll be here waiting for you to join us in the festivities."
"Yeah, dope man I can't wait."
"Alright, take care dude."
"Peace."
Vik didn't come back until 4 hours later. His sister got stuck in traffic, then while walking home some frat kids asked him if he can help them get a keg for their party. Vik helped them out and in return they invited him to come to the party.
He came back to Venkat's in a gloomy mood. Took a hit on the bowl and pulled a few swigs on the Jack. Basically they made him sit in detention for 4 hours and then pay $600 to leave. Everyone made an effort to cheer him up and it sometimes helped lighten things only a little.
The night went on and everyone was merry except for Vik who wanted to rage, and rage hard. He went up to the author and said, "Yo Cal, let's go to that frat party."
"Haha, man, I haven't been to frat party in ages! You think it's any good?"
"I don't know, I know the beer is good, haha!"
"Hehe, interesting...ok let's go check it out." Vik and Cal offered the idea but no one was really biting, so it was just the two of them.
When they got to the house, it seemed dead inside. It was mid-summer towards the end of first session so understandably not many students were partying, but it was Saturday night so hopes were higher than usual.
At the door, Vik told the door guy that he was the one that got the beer and John said he could come to this party and bring anyone he liked. The guy watching the door let them into a hallway that immediately turned and went downstairs.
In the basement, there were 4 large speakers, one in each corner, the keg in a garbage can full of ice and a beer pong table with a bunch of muscleheads around it yelling loudly. The music was atrociously loud. There wasn't much light down there but the author was able to make out some faces. A bunch of random faces, mostly good looking girls drunk until ugly.
They went straight for the keg and got online. A girl was in front of the author, but he didn't notice her because he was talking to Vik about the arrest. She must of overheard him talking about it because she jumped into the conversation and asked, "Did you get the keg for us?"
Vik, slightly off guard "Umm, yeah actually."
"Awww...that's really nice of you - John told me about your story."
"Oh you know John, hehe, yeah I guess I've had a crazy day."
"Here!" She passed him a beer and then another to Cal. "I'm Becca, his girlfriend."
"Hey, I'm Vik," then pointed to Cal, "this is Cal."
"Hi!" Then she turned around to fill another cup. Vik and Cal inched around to get out of the way and let others online get beer, then Becca screamed, "Jamie!"
Jaime bounced over dancing to the music. A sexy girl with long dark hair, nice body and a face only a creeper would enjoy humiliating. Smiling she screams, "What's up, my love!"
"This is Vik and that's his friend Cal," she pointed over and then leaned in to whisper something in Becca's ear. Later, the author learned that Becca is Jamie's old sister and sorority pledge queen or master or whatever they do in sororities. It doesn't really matter. Jamie leaned over to Vik, grabbed his hand and whisked him away to dance while handing off her drink to Cal's other free hand, grabbed him and pulled towards the abyss into the crowd. By the time they reached the stairs, another girl was with them and all the beer was spilled and their shirts were wet and Jamie started unbuttoning hers. The author never caught the other girl's name, but she was lowering her top as well.
Jamie pulled out a vile of what looked like coke, tapped some out on her hand then the other girl's, they snorted the bumps then Jamie bumped out a little more on her left boob, some on the other girl's right boob, grabbed Vik by the back of his head and stuffed his face to her breast. Before the author was completely aware of this, his face was sniffing away on the other girl's tit. All this for a keg of beer? Cal thought. Why couldn't he be 21 already?
It would be fair to tell the story from this point but really? Fairness or not the author is going to feed his little penguins the regurgutated backstory so you can at least understand if not appreciate the beginnings.
so there he was, Cal sitting at his computer on a Friday night by himself reading an email from a friend and his friend Pat calls him and Cal picks but not before 3 rings go by to hear, "Oh, hey Cal."
"Hey man!"
"What's up?"
"Nothing much, what are you up to?"
"Well that's the thing, I'm stuck in jail."
"Jail? Really?" If the author had to pick the most likely friend to call him from prison, Pat would be the last person on the list.
"Yeah jail, theyre chargin me with possession of marijuana."
"I see, how long ago?"
"Oh about, say...2 maybe three hours ago."
"Where are you?"
"At the new brusnwick police station."
"Damn dude, should I come pick you up...like do u need bail money or something?"
"No, no thanks though. But, a ride would be good."
"Ok what station ae you?"
"The one off Rt 18..."
...and so this went on for several more minutes until Cal was ready to leave. He grabbed his keys and walks out of the house toward his car. In the distance he sees a familiar looking car, a small hatchback and there seems to be people in it and before reaching his car Cal calls Pat from his phone.
"You just pranked me didnt you?"
Laughter follows on the other end.
Then into the feature you arrive, the author Cal, Pat, Paul, Vik and Venkat are hanging out on Venkat's back porch thinking of possible ways to get high. It was the start of the weekend, a nice friday afternoon, beginning of summer during the lull between the madness of spring semester and beginning of the summer class crunch.
Vik says he knows a spot. "I know this corner spot in downtown New Brunswick where you can usually score some weed - maybe get some X."
"Ok lets go," says Dave. By the way, Dave was there too.
Dave and Vik drive over to pickup what they can. "Nah man, this place is chill...all those townies go to get their shit here - it's the spot." Vik steps out of the car to go talk with the guy on the corner as Dave sits in his car with a sweat bead dripping down the side of his face because the car was parked and the AC was broken.
Vik comes back, hops in the car and directs Dave to drive around the corner to the next block where another guy will talk to them.
As they pull up, a kid no older than 14 jumps off a stoop and comes up to the window. "Whatchu need?"
Vik tells him they're looking for some weed and rolls if possible.
"'Ow much you want?"
"Can you hook up a quarter, maybe 6 hits?"
"Aiight, lemme see."
He goes over to the house and talks to someone inside though through the door using some kind of hatch. The kid comes back and tells them to drive up another block and someone will be waiting for them.
...purched on a cliff, an avalanche coming behind you, no golden parachute, just always knowing you're in the center of no-man's land...
They arrive at the corner and wait. Some time passes, a few songs later, another guy, this time late teens, walks up, leans into the window, and says "I got the quarter you wanted but only 4 hits of the E."
"What kind is it?"
"Some kinda crazy shit outta Amsterdam. I dunno if its good, I mean I only smoke dutches thats it, know wut Im sayin? It's $160." The guy puts a small rolled up plastic bag between the door and handle. Vik pulls out a bunch of twenties, quickly shuffles through 8 of them, folds them up and shakes hands with the guy while sliding the money in his hands. "Peace," and the guy walked back into the yard of the house behind him.
Dave drove off and they popped two pills each. After they returned to Venkat's, they rolled a big blunt and smoked that to their heads.
Several hours go by, it got dark, everyone was stoked partying and realizing there was very little pot left and everyone wanted to get more. Vik and Dave, in the ecstatic zeal of another wave coming on and the looming catastrophe of not having grass for the come down later, volunteered to go again to the spot they used earlier.
This time, as they pull up and talk to the first kid, they will not be as lucky. The kid comes over again but before he can reach the car, a cop pulls up to Dave's car and turns on the Christmas lights and Dave would shit a brick right there and then if he could but he cant because ecstacy makes his timing go off kilter and it's impossible for him to finesse the fine-tuned muscle movements one needs during such an act. So there he is intellectually, emotionally, and physically constipated in a car without air conditioning as the cop comes up to his window and he's thinking about what he SHOULD be thinking but it's too late, the window must be opened, he will need to talk to him, what will he do? I don't want to go to -- wait I didnt do anything, he thinks.
"Yes, sir."
"License, insurance and registration please."
"Yes, sir...Here you go, sir"
"Thank you, please step out of the car."
...fucking asshole...Dave's sweat glands and adrenal glands and tear glands and the rest of the fluid producing glands in his body simaltaneously shut down and jump started - his heart climbed to a drumb and bass rhythm roni size can't match - his legs noodled and his brain turned to lukewarm jello. His first step towards the rear end of the car almost caused him to end up on his own rear end. He tried to say "Sorry, my leg fell asleep," but it was so fast only a cheetah could catch it.
There he was sweating liquid lead out of every gland, unsure, the kid hiding behind a bush, Vik completely baffled, not by Dave's baffoonary (though this was a cause of puzzlement to him) but by the fact that another cop car drove up in front of them and a DIFFERENT cop was at HIS window ready to pounce.
Vik's tongue knotted up like a pretzel and the salty aftertaste in his mouth felt like sandpaper against his throat. He couldn't turn around..total AMBUSH..utter failure...panic...disaster...THEY got him and Dave and the cop said something so Vik starts to open the door and the cop reaches for his gun, steps back and reaches to close the door with his other hand, and yells "I TOLD you to stay in the car!" and pushed on the door so Vik lost his balance and lamely tripped back into the seat, across the shifter emphatically blathering to the cop but it was too late. The car shifted into neutral and started rolling towards the cop car. The cop interigating Dave jumps towards the drivers seat, pulls Vik up and over and went head first for the break.
By this point the little kid in the bushes starts to laugh out loud, Dave profoundly unbalanced by the emotional rollercoaster he just experienced threw himself into a stalled spin towards giggle fits intercut with intense crying sessions.
The cop stopped the car just in time though not before making a lovetap to his mate's beloved cruiser that also threw him forehead first into the steering wheel. One could say sarcastically with a grim touch of irony that things were shaping up well for Vik and Dave.
It was hard for the cops to get their bearings straight with all the comotion coming from Dave's childlike outbursts, the kid's laughter from behind the bushes and Vik's unintelligable blast of excuses, not to mention the cop in Dave's car who now has blood on his hands from the cut on his eyebrow. The cop outside quickly regained his composure, turned around and said to the kid "Who are you?"
"I live..ha-ha..live...here..hahaha...."
"What are you doing here? Go back inside!" The kid slowly steps out of the bushes, laughing the whole way in. Mysteriously, the door opened before he even got there and closed just as well. The cops didn't notice.
"Now, what are you two doing here?" He looks at Dave, "Where are you from?"
It took a long minute for Dave to compose himself. When he finally got his senses back, he lost it again. "Oh man haha...Oh...ha..man...I don't want to go to jail! Please, please, we didn't do anything!"
"Relax - I'm just asking you a simple question." There are no simple questions from five-o's.
"Please! I mean...haha....I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. I'm sorry. Aww, shit, I'm fucked aren't I?"
"You will be if you don't answer my question." The other cop was in the trunk of the cruiser pulling out a first aid kit. "You were looking for drugs weren't you?"
"No sir." Vid and Dave said so simultaneously. After that there was no point putting on pretentions, not even a pinch.
Vik had a strong desire to punch the asshole in the groin and run. He would have if his coordination wasn't so unhinged. The run would probably kill him anyway. But it would have been good payback for pushing him onto the shift knob.
Another cop rolls up and goes over to Vik.
Meanwhile, Dave was talking to the other cop. "Why are you so sweaty?"
"Because it's really hot and I nearly witnessed my car hitting yours."
"I see, and you are from?"
"I'm from Edison."
"OK, what are you doing here?"
"Listen...ok...we were just looking to get some pot."
"Was that kid going to sell it to you?"
"No not really. I mean, like, he would tell us where to go to pick it up, but he doesn't have any."
"Ok." He gave Dave the drunk tests and miracoulously Dave exhibited perfect agility and control causing the cop to think, maybe his leg was asleep.
He goes over to the other cop to confer. For some reason Vik decided it's still better to lie. For that, the bastards made him pay. Intent to purchase which meant he had to go to court.
Back at Venkat's place, the rest of the pot was gone and the people were too drunk to wonder what happened to Vik and Dave who were coming into the house and coming down from the rolls. Feeling viciously incontent, Vik said, "Shit, man, my ass still hurts from that damn shifter!" He was also just as bitter at Dave for not backing up his lie and dodging the ticket.
-----
"Are you playing me?" Cal said in disbelief then said "I thought you went to court and all that? Nice try." Everyone's attention was still locked on the author.
"No, no I did man! Apparently I was supposed to pay my fine that day," said Vik.
Cal then responds in a more serious tone, "And let me guess, you didn't pay."
"Well, I thought I could come back and take care of it, you know - and like they put out a warrant and came to my room man and for some reason your number was the only one I remembered," he tried to laugh, it sounded strained.
"Shit dude, the court ain't the fucking QVC channel you know," This totally killed the author's mellow, "I would bail you out but I'm broke right now dude."
"What's QVC? That's OK man. My sister is coming right now to bail me out, I just wanted tell you so you guys know"
"How much is the bail?"
"It's the fine plus another $200 for not paying on time and I need to come back before the judge."
"How much was the fine?"
"Four hundred."
"Bummer."
"Yeah, man."
"When do you get out?"
"I don't know, a couple of hours."
"OK, man - well, we'll be here waiting for you to join us in the festivities."
"Yeah, dope man I can't wait."
"Alright, take care dude."
"Peace."
Vik didn't come back until 4 hours later. His sister got stuck in traffic, then while walking home some frat kids asked him if he can help them get a keg for their party. Vik helped them out and in return they invited him to come to the party.
He came back to Venkat's in a gloomy mood. Took a hit on the bowl and pulled a few swigs on the Jack. Basically they made him sit in detention for 4 hours and then pay $600 to leave. Everyone made an effort to cheer him up and it sometimes helped lighten things only a little.
The night went on and everyone was merry except for Vik who wanted to rage, and rage hard. He went up to the author and said, "Yo Cal, let's go to that frat party."
"Haha, man, I haven't been to frat party in ages! You think it's any good?"
"I don't know, I know the beer is good, haha!"
"Hehe, interesting...ok let's go check it out." Vik and Cal offered the idea but no one was really biting, so it was just the two of them.
When they got to the house, it seemed dead inside. It was mid-summer towards the end of first session so understandably not many students were partying, but it was Saturday night so hopes were higher than usual.
At the door, Vik told the door guy that he was the one that got the beer and John said he could come to this party and bring anyone he liked. The guy watching the door let them into a hallway that immediately turned and went downstairs.
In the basement, there were 4 large speakers, one in each corner, the keg in a garbage can full of ice and a beer pong table with a bunch of muscleheads around it yelling loudly. The music was atrociously loud. There wasn't much light down there but the author was able to make out some faces. A bunch of random faces, mostly good looking girls drunk until ugly.
They went straight for the keg and got online. A girl was in front of the author, but he didn't notice her because he was talking to Vik about the arrest. She must of overheard him talking about it because she jumped into the conversation and asked, "Did you get the keg for us?"
Vik, slightly off guard "Umm, yeah actually."
"Awww...that's really nice of you - John told me about your story."
"Oh you know John, hehe, yeah I guess I've had a crazy day."
"Here!" She passed him a beer and then another to Cal. "I'm Becca, his girlfriend."
"Hey, I'm Vik," then pointed to Cal, "this is Cal."
"Hi!" Then she turned around to fill another cup. Vik and Cal inched around to get out of the way and let others online get beer, then Becca screamed, "Jamie!"
Jaime bounced over dancing to the music. A sexy girl with long dark hair, nice body and a face only a creeper would enjoy humiliating. Smiling she screams, "What's up, my love!"
"This is Vik and that's his friend Cal," she pointed over and then leaned in to whisper something in Becca's ear. Later, the author learned that Becca is Jamie's old sister and sorority pledge queen or master or whatever they do in sororities. It doesn't really matter. Jamie leaned over to Vik, grabbed his hand and whisked him away to dance while handing off her drink to Cal's other free hand, grabbed him and pulled towards the abyss into the crowd. By the time they reached the stairs, another girl was with them and all the beer was spilled and their shirts were wet and Jamie started unbuttoning hers. The author never caught the other girl's name, but she was lowering her top as well.
Jamie pulled out a vile of what looked like coke, tapped some out on her hand then the other girl's, they snorted the bumps then Jamie bumped out a little more on her left boob, some on the other girl's right boob, grabbed Vik by the back of his head and stuffed his face to her breast. Before the author was completely aware of this, his face was sniffing away on the other girl's tit. All this for a keg of beer? Cal thought. Why couldn't he be 21 already?
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Passages — Chapter 1
Procession into the unknown...Drinking on grave misteps...Memory Lane Maze...Distruptions and disturbances...Beef with the po-po's
He feels like writing though doesn't know where to start. As a writer this perplexes him. He knows KNOWS he wants to write. Wants to is so similar to desire, but WANTS is not desire. Wanting is like a crooked lampshade, a broken pen compared to the dark room and unused keyboard of desire. Speakers slammed, friendships tarnished, new friendships flourish and old family try to reunite feebly, unconquered techniques still flashing by - these things he wants to write but does not know how to connect (those dots-.-.-.). They will be on paper as is. They will not be finished ideas until he finishes writing them and then, even THEN, they will be muddy sand on the floor of the ocean...the thoughts are too nebulous and the vaporous gas has dissolved from the bubbling spring into the current of time.
Yet, YET, harnessing these thoughts for him is crucial and a crime against THESE thoughts at the same time. Concurrently, he's a freedom fighter and prison warden. When experiences are created in the light of crooked lampshades and crowded flickering sidewalks a writer cannot simply stitch the plot together and expect its structure to develop eloquently, perfectly - it just doesn't happen.
Too much confusion, too many experiences, too many ironies and paradoxes create excitement and the confusion still remains. Perhaps he wants to write to examine these intricacies - perhaps to decipher and lay them out in coherent symbols someone else may interpret as truth, reality, obfuscated facts clearly illustrated. But, that would not seem right and there isn't enough time to explain why.
So far this writing about writing hasn't done much good in creating the beginning and these passages are all dead ends to somewhere.
As a matter of fact, the writer grew up on a dead end street - it was called Good Luck Street, although now changed to Goodluck Street and became a dead end again too.
Damp floors from spilled beer, foggy corridors filled with strangers and cigarette smoke, crumb and ring stains on the table, empty bowls filled with resin, empty lighters in a box that won't light incense, ripped posters on the wall, offset tapestries on couches, burns in the carpet, streaks on vinyl floors, splatter on the stove top, wet bars, broken stools, knolls of grass so slushy they suck shoes off your feet, fucking in snow drifts through 4 layers of waterproof gear, ear piercing bass from speakers on every wall of every floor, road trips destined for white knuckled slams into guardrails, empty conversation around full vodka bottles, vomit and sweat all over the place, pint glasses tipped and spilled, muddy bare footprints, wet clothes, dirty bed sheets, broken bongs, pieces of foil crispy and brown, snapped CD cases engulfed with white residue, stockpiles of trash and bags of beercans, broken guitars, buzzing amps, flickering tv's, girls those beautiful baby dolls with flaky make up, guys with tight shirts and veiny muscles, sly pointless arguments, serious laughter, strict drug regiments, empty Camel packs, ripped Trojan wrappers, blurry videos, the list goes on...
He had to go, although unwillingly, throw clothes in the laundry machine and by the time he came back the trainwreck had already happened. A symbolic cymbal crash thoughtfully collided with the inside wall of his skull - hemoragging anger, hate, laughter. The warden has a prison riot on his hands and the wry smile appears on his face and the smoldering residue of meaning maybe IS contained though ultimately dust, red ashes and these words are...
...broken Carona bottles on ceramic kitchen tiles, spit, sweat, hair gel, giz and alochol and all in the ice cold jacuzzi and cigarette butts float on the surface, incoherrent text messages from 4am, homeless men living on the street under light blue bed sheets (hey watch it!), clubs full of tease dancers and the douchie assholes who battle for them, friendly strip dancers, coy black jack dealers, lucky purses, college dorm coutches, getting lucky on them, suffocating in the subway heat, box wine in winter green park, blunts and cops on the hill, ecstacy fueled binges going into sunrise, and then drawing it with pastels with the help of shrooms, acid, hash and grass, listening to music on porches with the glow of stoges enhancing the mood, mind bending confabulation about synchrocities we can't touch and only know by feel, duplicitious questions in neon lounges over tequila shots, passing out in couches, awakining to bouncers flashing lights in your eyes, puking into closet utility sinks, getting high in dorm bathrooms and student center rooftops, drum circles, getting hassled by cops at them, getting pulled over later that night by the same cops, are you any closer to getting the picture?
spectacular...but, not technicolor -- maybe more like monochrome.
sitting rather stooping at venkat's house after smoking a fat L and downing some beers, a discussion about music started and calling it a heated exchange would be considered more suitable and Stan thinks it's not really worth thinking about so he doesnt listen in. But Paul and Chris think its worth listening to so too they want to throw their opinions in. While all this happens Stan plays on an accoustic guitar, going through his usual reportoire of songs he wrote while staring through the floor into presumably China or perhaps the Phillipines if the angle is right.
So anyway there everyone was toasty and ear to ear and Paul whose propensity to weigh his opinion in on everything was about to take the stump but he wouldnever get to it because the author of these passages got a call from a local phone number he didnt recognize. Hesiitantly, he picked up and waited to see what the person, if it really was a person, on the other end would do.
...as time stood still for those brief seconds, each its own lifetime recaptured and lost again, those moments wait for spotlights...
"...Hello? Hey its Vik. Hello?" It was Vik. "Cal you there?"
"Yo! Whats happening, man?" said the author.
"Well, actually a lot...I'm in jail."
Just as Paul was about to continue with what he was going to say about the group AIR —
"What?! Why are you in jail?" and everyone locked their attention on the author.
He feels like writing though doesn't know where to start. As a writer this perplexes him. He knows KNOWS he wants to write. Wants to is so similar to desire, but WANTS is not desire. Wanting is like a crooked lampshade, a broken pen compared to the dark room and unused keyboard of desire. Speakers slammed, friendships tarnished, new friendships flourish and old family try to reunite feebly, unconquered techniques still flashing by - these things he wants to write but does not know how to connect (those dots-.-.-.). They will be on paper as is. They will not be finished ideas until he finishes writing them and then, even THEN, they will be muddy sand on the floor of the ocean...the thoughts are too nebulous and the vaporous gas has dissolved from the bubbling spring into the current of time.
Yet, YET, harnessing these thoughts for him is crucial and a crime against THESE thoughts at the same time. Concurrently, he's a freedom fighter and prison warden. When experiences are created in the light of crooked lampshades and crowded flickering sidewalks a writer cannot simply stitch the plot together and expect its structure to develop eloquently, perfectly - it just doesn't happen.
Too much confusion, too many experiences, too many ironies and paradoxes create excitement and the confusion still remains. Perhaps he wants to write to examine these intricacies - perhaps to decipher and lay them out in coherent symbols someone else may interpret as truth, reality, obfuscated facts clearly illustrated. But, that would not seem right and there isn't enough time to explain why.
So far this writing about writing hasn't done much good in creating the beginning and these passages are all dead ends to somewhere.
As a matter of fact, the writer grew up on a dead end street - it was called Good Luck Street, although now changed to Goodluck Street and became a dead end again too.
Damp floors from spilled beer, foggy corridors filled with strangers and cigarette smoke, crumb and ring stains on the table, empty bowls filled with resin, empty lighters in a box that won't light incense, ripped posters on the wall, offset tapestries on couches, burns in the carpet, streaks on vinyl floors, splatter on the stove top, wet bars, broken stools, knolls of grass so slushy they suck shoes off your feet, fucking in snow drifts through 4 layers of waterproof gear, ear piercing bass from speakers on every wall of every floor, road trips destined for white knuckled slams into guardrails, empty conversation around full vodka bottles, vomit and sweat all over the place, pint glasses tipped and spilled, muddy bare footprints, wet clothes, dirty bed sheets, broken bongs, pieces of foil crispy and brown, snapped CD cases engulfed with white residue, stockpiles of trash and bags of beercans, broken guitars, buzzing amps, flickering tv's, girls those beautiful baby dolls with flaky make up, guys with tight shirts and veiny muscles, sly pointless arguments, serious laughter, strict drug regiments, empty Camel packs, ripped Trojan wrappers, blurry videos, the list goes on...
He had to go, although unwillingly, throw clothes in the laundry machine and by the time he came back the trainwreck had already happened. A symbolic cymbal crash thoughtfully collided with the inside wall of his skull - hemoragging anger, hate, laughter. The warden has a prison riot on his hands and the wry smile appears on his face and the smoldering residue of meaning maybe IS contained though ultimately dust, red ashes and these words are...
...broken Carona bottles on ceramic kitchen tiles, spit, sweat, hair gel, giz and alochol and all in the ice cold jacuzzi and cigarette butts float on the surface, incoherrent text messages from 4am, homeless men living on the street under light blue bed sheets (hey watch it!), clubs full of tease dancers and the douchie assholes who battle for them, friendly strip dancers, coy black jack dealers, lucky purses, college dorm coutches, getting lucky on them, suffocating in the subway heat, box wine in winter green park, blunts and cops on the hill, ecstacy fueled binges going into sunrise, and then drawing it with pastels with the help of shrooms, acid, hash and grass, listening to music on porches with the glow of stoges enhancing the mood, mind bending confabulation about synchrocities we can't touch and only know by feel, duplicitious questions in neon lounges over tequila shots, passing out in couches, awakining to bouncers flashing lights in your eyes, puking into closet utility sinks, getting high in dorm bathrooms and student center rooftops, drum circles, getting hassled by cops at them, getting pulled over later that night by the same cops, are you any closer to getting the picture?
spectacular...but, not technicolor -- maybe more like monochrome.
sitting rather stooping at venkat's house after smoking a fat L and downing some beers, a discussion about music started and calling it a heated exchange would be considered more suitable and Stan thinks it's not really worth thinking about so he doesnt listen in. But Paul and Chris think its worth listening to so too they want to throw their opinions in. While all this happens Stan plays on an accoustic guitar, going through his usual reportoire of songs he wrote while staring through the floor into presumably China or perhaps the Phillipines if the angle is right.
So anyway there everyone was toasty and ear to ear and Paul whose propensity to weigh his opinion in on everything was about to take the stump but he wouldnever get to it because the author of these passages got a call from a local phone number he didnt recognize. Hesiitantly, he picked up and waited to see what the person, if it really was a person, on the other end would do.
...as time stood still for those brief seconds, each its own lifetime recaptured and lost again, those moments wait for spotlights...
"...Hello? Hey its Vik. Hello?" It was Vik. "Cal you there?"
"Yo! Whats happening, man?" said the author.
"Well, actually a lot...I'm in jail."
Just as Paul was about to continue with what he was going to say about the group AIR —
"What?! Why are you in jail?" and everyone locked their attention on the author.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
an intersection with an audience
the mix of all things transient
in the glow of a blinking red light
an intersection
paradigm police patrol the possibilities of what is real
while onlookers eat chicken soup and hold score cards
7.2
6
10!
now the world is spinning like a centrifuge
and our contestant peels from the wall
jumping spaces before the music stops
a slow drag crackles, burns
the urge
and then the purge
and now, the declining posture
evidence of incest
-mind fucking the body
-body fucking the mind
the blinking red becomes blinking yellow
proceed....
in the glow of a blinking red light
an intersection
paradigm police patrol the possibilities of what is real
while onlookers eat chicken soup and hold score cards
7.2
6
10!
now the world is spinning like a centrifuge
and our contestant peels from the wall
jumping spaces before the music stops
a slow drag crackles, burns
the urge
and then the purge
and now, the declining posture
evidence of incest
-mind fucking the body
-body fucking the mind
the blinking red becomes blinking yellow
proceed....
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Pluto is not a planet
the universe wipes away tears as mortality slithers around the minds of those awake, aware
there are still supple beings - impressionable, but easily bruised like ripe fruit
the problem is:
freckles, curly hair, and ta-tas
she, in the red dress with pairs of testicles in grasp will tow naive victims through
bush, thick, and thorn.
even consciousness is spoiled by pheromones and fantasy
inebriated
intoxicated
shrivel- shrink- shy away
from the shameful shit
that leaves you sleepless,
shivering/sweating/swearing
that you can stop
and submerge yourself
safe from the crossfire.
there are still supple beings - impressionable, but easily bruised like ripe fruit
the problem is:
freckles, curly hair, and ta-tas
she, in the red dress with pairs of testicles in grasp will tow naive victims through
bush, thick, and thorn.
even consciousness is spoiled by pheromones and fantasy
inebriated
intoxicated
shrivel- shrink- shy away
from the shameful shit
that leaves you sleepless,
shivering/sweating/swearing
that you can stop
and submerge yourself
safe from the crossfire.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
a largescale game of steel jenga
sweeping up laughter
like it's disaster
the awkward agent moment killer
unsparing and judging every tither
carrying skyscrapers across streetcars
(to topple church steeples)
politicos acting like crusaders
there will be shocks and tremors
and the only thing left is death & what one discovers
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