Saturday, May 30, 2009

Untitled (FICTION)

I walk in through the front door. "What the fuck is this?" I yell, tossing my keys across the room. It's been three seconds and she's already managed to piss me off. She pulls her feet off the coffee table, fear reflecting in her eyes. I love having this control over her. Her eyes are beautiful though; they really are. I will probably miss them most. 

She scrambles to her feet as I draw near, pulling her gaze away. She has no idea what she did wrong, and I'll admit, sometimes neither do I. But it's better this way than being Mr. Nice Guy. Nice guys never get too far. 

"Is there any food in this damn house?" I growl. She runs in the direction of the kitchen, mumbling something under her breath. Well, I think to myself, I have time to take a shower, eat a nice meal, and then the deed must be done. 

I walk into the bedroom and close the door. She has no business in here anyways; her place is in the kitchen. I undress and look at myself in the mirror. Shit, I think, for a man of 44, I'm in damn good shape. The gym membership has definitely been worth the money. And that hussy at work isn't so bad either, I smile to myself in the mirror. Lunch breaks aren't all that bad. 

I climb into the shower and turn on the hot water. The sting of the heat slaps my skin senseless, but I stand there and take it. I like the pain. Besides, I probably deserve it. Tonight's the night.

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. In the mirror, my skin is bright red, scorched. It looks disgusting but it feels great. She will like it. 

I make my way towards the kitchen, praying, for her sake, there's a hot meal on the table. I won't hit her. Not tonight. No, it would be too much before...

I stop at the door and I listen to the noises coming from within the kitchen. She's hustling about, worried what I will think, what I will say, what I will do. She trains well. It makes me sad a little, but tonight is the night. I walk into the kitchen, pleased with myself. 

(to be continued)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Nothing (FICTION)

"Do you think we are alone?" she asks me, gazing up at the stars. 

"No," I reply, sounding more assured than I really am. She is referring to aliens; I to God, but what difference does it really make? Couldn't we both be talking about the same thing, really? Couldn't God be an alien of the greatest kind?

We lay on my rooftop, as on so many nights, and stare at the stars up above. Tonight the sky is particularly clear, and you can make out the exact line where the light ends and the nothingness begins. There is always a border, isn't there?

"What do you think they look like?" she asks. We've had this conversation before, but immediately I start to think about heaven. I'm not sure I believe in the place, but there's gotta be something better than this.

"They're disgusting ugly creatures," I tell her. "They feed their intellect alone and they know far more than we do." She's quiet, as if processing the information. For the first time I realize that it's the blackness she's looking at, and not the stars. "I think I've met them before," I say. 

She lays still, not responding to the words I say. Perhaps she understands more than I think, more than I know. I look where she's looking, into the empty darkness, but I see nothing there. 

"What if it all fell down?" she asks, and I'm not really sure what she means. The stars? The world? God?

"What direction is down?" I retort, stalling for time. What if it did fall, where would that leave us? And in the grand scheme of things, who are we anyways? Who is she, and who am I? And does it really matter?

We lay on the rooftop, gazing at the nothingness between the stars. But the light, it's always there. 


I drink the wine, but the wine drinks me
I start to think to myself, silently
Why does this always happen to me?

You think you're the one in control, but you're not
Sometimes I wish I was a smart little teapot
It would simplify things, but I"m not

So back to the bottle then I go
Let's see what comes out, may be a good show
Can never tell ahead of time, you know
Stick around folks, here I go

Monday, May 11, 2009

Work-Edited (FICTION)

Work, all I ever do is work.  All I know is work, and I am tired. I’m so tired of working.

I want to live! I want to see the beauties and wonders of the world, to travel all over the globe to find them. I want to ride an elephant in India and a camel in Egypt. I want to stand beneath the Eiffel Tower and feel small, then climb the Empire State Building and feel huge. I want to eat an exquisite lunch in some obscure Italian restaurant. I want the meal to melt in my mouth, as I savor each delicious bite of it. And then I want dessert – chocolate and strawberries! I want to swim in chocolate-covered strawberries! 

I want to be serenaded on a gondola in Venice, and hear sweet nothings whispered in my ear over a candlelit dinner in Ibiza. I want to walk on the Great Wall of China, and follow a tour-guide up the side of the Giza Pyramid, listening to him weave riddle upon mystery. I want to have a Latin lover, one who will love me and leave me. I want to cry over him for days as I imagine what could have been, and vow to never forget each beautiful moment we shared.

I have never been in love; I want to fall madly in love! I want to wake up in the morning and sing about how wonderful life is. I want to bake brownies for no reason, and think about my beloved all day and all night. I want to write his name over and over on a piece of paper, and color little hearts all around. I want to come up with names for our future children.

I want to make love on a moonlit beach, and not even worry about the sand mixing into my hair. I want to get lost in the moment, and forget Egypt, Ibiza, Venice, Paris and China; I want to forget my very name. Then I want him to remind me!

But all I ever do is work, and all I know is work. What for? What the hell am I working for?

Not only human (Heather Nova Lyrics)

Morning is almost here, let it wait.
I just want to lie here a while, tempting fate.
I don't think I can breath now, with you gone.
But it's not weakness, it's just something I've begun.

Maybe there's a light that's always on
Maybe we're not only human, maybe
Maybe there's a light that's always on
And we're not only human

When you're sleeping, you're ceramic
You're surrounded by little stars
Every shimmer is a searchlight
Every planet is ours

Change the street, change the decade
Still the longing's left inside
Why am I too small to carry you?
Why does twilight make me cry?

Maybe there's a light that's always on
Maybe we're not only human, maybe
Maybe there's a light that's always on
And we're not only human

When all is said and done
When all the weight is gone
When all is said and done
When all the weight is gone
We're not only human

Life is something set to music
I can hear it when I'm sad
There's a cord in every muscle
Every kiss you've ever had
There's a power when you're near me
In our heads or in our bones
I know nothing, but I'm guessing
When we die, we're not alone

Maybe there's a light that's always on
Maybe we're not only human, maybe
Maybe there's a light that's always on
And we're not only human

When all is said and done
When all the weight is gone
When all is said and done
When all the weight is gone
We're not only human

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Memories (FICTION)

I remember, I remember,
It was in the late September,
...But perhaps it was November?

Each dying ember lay beneath the snow.
No, I do not wish to speak of Poe.
We may have things in common, though, you know?
But the memory I have is of so long ago.

I was a child, perhaps less so than now. 
You stood above me, and you kissed my brow. 
How that kiss disturbs me now.

But that is not my memory still!
Tonight, I listen only to my will.
And my brain churning, like the blades of a mill.

I was a little girl back then.
I wore my hair in pigtails, when
I fell in love with you. Yes, you, Stan!
You broke my heart - you were  a grown man.

You saw me only as a child,
A small thing, that runs around, wild.
Yet my heart melted each time you smiled. 

I was very sick that day, yes. 
You came over, I believe to play chess;
or so I remember in all of this mess.
At that moment, I considreed myself blessed.

You spoke my name, Stan, so beautifully,
I imagined what ties we could have, lawfully.
You were my prince, then, allegorically.
Life was so easy back then, literally.

I want to go back to those childhood days.
I want to see my life in a kind of haze. 
I want life to be one big playful maze. 
I want to awaken upon your gaze.

But you lie in your grave, silently.
While gray creeps into my hair violently.
What a life has been wasted on me.