An Orchestrated Rise to Fall

The trust me fund:
She's getting married next weekend, It's what they would call all-of-a-sudden. The bride, she's only 18 and it's her first. first husband, first wedding, first cake, first ring, first everything.

" ... and Yes, she's pregnant", that's what I hear her mother telling people over the phone. Her mother is the secretary for my company and that's how i know all these things. She had two weeks to pull it all together. I'm told it's supposed to look and feel like a big deal wedding since the father of the child and husband to-be has a 2 million dollar trust fund waiting when he turns 35. Impress his family sort of thing.

Wait. He's almost 30, she's 18. You're thinking this isn't going to work out. You're thinking child-bride and who is holding the shot-gun. And I think you know.
The old me would say one word to him: Run.
I'm trying to be more positive these days. plus, you should know I'm rooting for the kid and her unborn. Starving artist boys with trust funds, I guess they get what they deserve.



One night to speed up truth:
I'm invited to the wedding extravaganza and I can't say I've ever turned down an offer to attend a wedding. (nor to be wed) I'm such a foolish romantic at heart. Will there be wine? food, music, cake? Yes, yes, yes and yes. Then yes.
Of the marriages I've attended it's about 50- 50 the couples have remained married.
true fact.
I must also mention that this whole thing is taking place on Sunday. Opening day of football season Sunday. Priorites. How dare them, I know. So, I'll have to Tivo/Dvr the game.
You're thinking Christian, miss his Dallas Cowboys game live!!!? okay maybe your not thinking that. but I am.
Oh, but that bitter taste they left in my mouth. They shouldn't have broken my heart like they did last year in the playoffs. They're like that slice of cake that falls on the floor, it still looks all good and sugary but, it fell on the floor. You think it might be okay. You pick it up, wipe it off, check to see if any ones looking and take a big bite. It could be the most delicious cake you've ever had. That something you've been waiting for all your life. Or it could have dirt on it and you wish you could just spit out. instead you know you'll just choke on it. So, The safe bet is not to get all worked up. Save yourself the broken heart and leave the cake on the floor for someone else to take a chance on. In other words.... record it - Then see how it all turns out later.


I wonder when it's winter am I going to wish for it to be summer again?

credits:

ohgirl

I'm better than apple jacks

First and now :
the air is broke or maybe it isn't. it could be but maybe it's just so hot outside that it doesn't cool down enough. it's no hotel room we are staying in. maybe things don't work that way when it's 100 degree's in the shade. who used to say that? 100 in the shade. who'd say something like that let alone write it?. Things aren't working right.

My house and in it: has my girl and pets and t.v. sets, radios, a refrigerator and other things that break.

we all break.

2nd and then:

I remember I waited all summer for school to start. Fucking high-school and all the shit that goes with it. Girls with tits, for one. Girls with tits for another. But mostly I'd been thinking of this girl that i saw last year. I didn't have the stomach to even say hi to her in the hallway. She had cool new wave hair and I thought that made her somehow off limits to me. She was like Molly Ringwald and I was like farmer Ted. Except not as funny. I never fell into hilarious hi-jinx or built an obscenely beautiful woman in my basement either. No weird science projects, no writing about detentions after school. The coolest thing about me was that I had pair of checkered Vans like Spicoli in Fast Times. Speaking of which, Phoebe Cates......OMG.

The first day of school I am looking all over for her. By 5th hour the news had spread of a girl
who was killed over summer break in a car accident. Yes, you guessed it. Her. My new-wave girl. Even though i never knew her, the news it hit me hard. I mean I had fantasized about this pretend meeting and falling in love for over two months. I was devastated.

At home, I locked my bedroom door , put on a Cure record and laid on top of my bed staring at the ceiling fan spinning for what seemed like hours. I took out my note book and wrote about how shitty my life was. What girl would fall for someone as fucked up and ugly as me? and why was it that every time i have something good does it always get taken from me ??. never mind that I never had her to begin with. just.... you know what i mean.
Then I went and cut her picture out of my 8Th grade year book and taped it to my notebook. next to it I wrote down: Never Was. Should have Been. Will Be Again. Rest in Peace. On the 2nd day of school I wore black and every day after.

lastly: (back to present)
i cut the lawn and after I try to cool down by going inside the house. i don't think the air is working. maybe it is but it's so hot it takes all day to cool off. I'm afraid of the heat to hot and the cool to cold.
i like it somewhere in between here and there.
i sit by the pool and watch the automatic cleaner climb the steps and walls and back. over again.
It's strange that i know this.

That in between here and there is you.

-

Your ghost fits my skin

Rearranging the house takes my mind off of it. I watch football in between the lifting and carrying and taking down and placing back up. Football reminds me of winter. So does this room i'm in.

I've moved the BIG screen t.v. into a different room. You know that room where nobody ever goes into? A living room that you never see anyone actually living in. Although she has been on that couch.

I changed it all up an now I'll be using the supple leather sofa and I am surrounded by great artwork and books, and this is where I put the Christmas tree come December. so now i am in there and it smells like Halloween candy corn and ghosts of past Holidays. It feels different.

cleaning, moving, shaking. the addiction still lingers. always there, underneath it all. always hidden. always waiting. I go through fits of rearrangement. my home, my job, my music, my life.

and I have a wife that my girlfriend would know about. and I have you that i can't resist. Everyone else tends to know me for the wrong reasons. words and repetition. recall and tattoos.
striped socks and panties pulled to the side. glasses, no glasses. an over active imagination. dirty. A girl coming to visit. disaster. A girl leaving. heart break.

I've mixed things around in the bedroom too.
moved the bed to near the window, the dresser, the vintage cedar love chest. lying on the bed they start to feel like they belong. Would she ever have felt that too?
Now, my head faces north when I sleep, in the direction you are now. in the direction of snow and winters. the furniture has moved. There has been change but nothing has changed only became more certain, more real. I've shamelessly borrowed her memories and stories, rearranged things and I've made them mine. her body, her shape, she finally feels familiar.

marked you like a scar

every blank page becomes some kind of story. Even if they're all lies or just moments pulled from imaginary times or even real people mixed up together. Every blank page, i do this. Not that i like words or poetry. I don't. Although, I'll probably pour over these very words over and over admiring my own voice. Wondering, Have i not said this all before?


It's just soothing. It feels right. I feel right with you.
Like mowing the lawn in perfect rows underneath the summer sun. Something about it makes me calm. you calm me.

I'm sorry but I can't stand to read her blogs any longer or his or yours or mine. And when i see stanza lines of poetry they make me shutter instantly.
I mean
What is this?
writing a few words and then.....
down to the next!
stupid
stutter

the next pretty word
pretty boy
pretty girl
pretty lies
maybe if it's written this way
you'll read it this way
and then understand
how I see it in my head

one breath at a time
one kiss
one orgasm
one hold her in my arms under a
dirty moon glow

it doesn't matter how bad we are together
it's still calming
the words feel like touch
and i will
if you let
me

photo credits: 1.heliumglow 2.pearlandopal 3.mladyieva 4.TrishMoreira