I wanna do bad things to you

I'm in 3rd grade and the girl holding my hand, her name is Amy, she's in 8th. She volunteered from upper school with a group of other students. We are lined up along the wall, in the hallway as if being placed in front of a firing squad. Everyone from my class has to have their own "buddy” who will escort them to and from the school church. "Your buddy will meet you on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning" instructs Sister Mary. The hallway is bright with sun. I have my left shoe off. im touching the cold white floor through a hole in my sock, my big toe pokes through. .. i bet if i ran i could slide 20 feet or more. i have the urge to run but don't. the older girls creep closer through the glowing white light. I can feel myself breathing. I feel the blood inside my skin - pulse.pulse.pulse.

I'm focusing my mental powers. I posses no true point of reference to what is or isn't pleasing to the eye. It is or isnt. im in 3rd grade everything is visual. everything is honest and heart-felt, mostly. Im attracted to peculiar details; a small gap between front teeth, a thin gold chain , a green hair barrette in the shape of a butterfly. The girls all wear the same school uniform; plaid skirt, white blouse, knee socks. I say a silent prayer. she is in front of me. Im lost in the shadow of her. she speaks, i mumble something to my feet. She tells me her name is Amy and takes my hand.

Sister Mary stays behind to grade papers. what i like best about her is she tells our class the most wonderful stories. stories of when she was younger, how difficult it was to become a nun, how she felt all she ever did was sin. she rubbed the beads of her rosary smooth over “thinking bad thoughts” and in repentance she once recited over two hundred Hail Marys in a single day! Her stories often ended with a deep sigh and watery eyes. I was taken in by her world, mesmerized by the rise and fall of sin - so much like mine.. so much like me

"bad thoughts". I wondered where she slept at night, if she ever drove a car, if she shopped for groceries, what was her favorite food and if she had ever listened to my favorite band KISS.

Amy loved the band Kiss. Peter Criss was her favorite because "he played drums like sex". I didnt know what "sex" meant, but is sounded like “bad thoughts” and that instantly excited me. what she asked me right before she took my hand was who my favorite band was. When i mumbled “Kiss.” She screamed "Rock and Roll all Night!!!! "

The church sat just west of the class room building. the sun stings my eyes walking toward cathedral ceilings and stained-glass glitter and shine. A somber Jesus- hangs above the altar, arms out-stretched as if saying "Why?" sometimes it looked more like " come let me give you a hug, you look like you could use one" It was both calming and scary at the same time and i liked this quite a bit.

Amy smelled of band-aids and strawberry shampoo, wore her hair in two braided hoops clipped with barrettes. when she spoke, I liked to look at the small space between her two front teeth.

It seemed like months but it was probably more like a few weeks. Three times a week, the short walk, holding her hand, answering questions she'd ask. Her laugh, her voice, her smile. She'd ask What was my favorite number? color? what girl did i think was prettiest in my class?

On Friday, it's hot, it will be summer vacation soon. no school. no nuns. no church. no Amy. We are walking back to class everyone is ahead of us. When we are alone she grabs me by the shoulders and grips me tight. she leans into my face and kisses me on my mouth. hard and wet and tasting like zebra stripe gum. She says it will be the last time she'd be able walk me, to see me, the school year was over for the 8th graders, two weeks earlier than lower grades. and then something about next year she'd be in another school and she really liked me, if i were older, when i get older..and I was thinking how I liked my mouth feeling so numb and bruised. she looked at me very serious and told me most times in life we never get a kiss goodbye, never even get to say goodbye. "People just"....she paused. "Leave" so this was a good thing but that i shouldn't tell anyone. She took my hand and it was true and true.

blueprint for something never finished

A false ending has two contexts; in literature it is a narrative device where the plot seems to be heading to its conclusion, but in reality, there's still more to the story. In a musical composition, it is a complete stop of the song for one or more seconds before continuing.
The presence of a false ending can be anticipated through a number of ways. The medium itself might betray that it isn't the true ending (i.e. it's only halfway into a book or a song, a film's listed running time hasn't fully elapsed, only half the world has been explored in a video game, etc.), making only stories with indeterminate running length or a multi-story structure able to pull this off effectively. Another indicator is the feeling that too much of the story is incomplete when the false ending comes, making it feel like there has to be more

Ive lost interest in chasing you with words. it's all headache and heart break. memories fragmented into tiny pieces. i take the pills, i drink the wine. i lied. I've built this story of you and us and of how we pine through this distance. the moon and stars we share, texas and shitty stucco walls , spanish guitar, romance and cigarettes. the medication and her new short hair-cut. the last time you called and wouldn't say good bye, but you meant it. baby, this time you meant it.

Ive built this story of myself. I hate you for it. I love you for it. Ive lost interest in chasing you with words. there is a feeling of relief and yet a sense of overwhelming loss. a day of the dead painted face, walking around like the whores we used to be. like we still are. for you and for everything. we are buried, still writing it all down. this is the end. that's what i write... The end.

the downward spiral

what have i been doing? let's see. vizcaya , last weekend. amazing architecture and gardens. maybe i should get down to Miami more often, there is an awful lot to see and do there.

the frustration over writing - or should i say... my attempts to update - saying what i want to say - saying anything.
it's due to lap-top failure. a computer on it's last breath. literally held together by duct-tape and porno and prayers. it's sloooooooow, crashes or hangs up every 10 minutes. I often end up slamming the taped-up lid down and calling it horrible names. this lap-top has gotten me laid in the past, i can almost forgive it for anything, but I sense my relationship with it coming to a bitter end. I slam it shut and walk away. im done for the weekend. over it.

I have limited time at work to fuck around on the internet. I do. i find music and photos and look at sites. my work computer is lightning fast and that only causes further frustration when i come home, back to this. this.
yeah, im looking into a replacement. Im thinking of going Mac. either an egocentric Ipad? or the stylish notebook? something sleek and fun, fast and expensive.

but, distractions come along, ive been spending all my extra money on art and things for the house. mid-century modern furniture lately. I also like Spanish\Mediterranean revival. thrift-store finds for the most part and ive had a good run of late.


another thing taking over my life: this stupid little Roku box. It lets you access and stream netflix playable media on your TV. I have to admit i never streamed a movie or tv show on my computer. I just thought is seemed lame: small screen, a chair that hurts. I want to watch shows on my 60" Plasma, thats what i got it for. I rarely go OUT to movies anymore. why would I when i have a huge screen and surround sound (that took 3 years to pay off) at home? I love it. i love TV. I love movies and doc's and I love fucking Football and sports too,,,. and I really like this Roku. Im streaming tv series ive never seen, movies, all sorts of wonderful mind numbing stuff. It took about 5 minutes to hook-up and the quality is close to DVD.
want to see one of my latest thrift-store finds?

Well, yes the green chair too. But, focus in on the mid-century record cabinet. It's made by LANE, walnut and mahogany wood and best of all it holds 200 records!!

I didnt know what it was when i first went over to inspect it. I thought it was just a cabinet, I was intrigued by the look of the wood. I opened it and wow!!! finally somewhere to store all my records. I thought.
Im from the age of vinyl, in fact i still have my first Kiss album. I somehow managed to keep all my 80's music records too. The rest of my current collection was picked up at flea-markets, thrift stores and yard sales. dirt cheap, with no regard for any particular genre. I have classical, opera, frank sinatra, movie sound tracks, big band, hair bands, metal, Prince, 80s pop, Queen, Folk, electronic. Shit, I have Tom Waits to Air Supply.... and ive gone a very very long period of time with NOTHING to play them on. Picking up this cabinet gave me no more excuses, So that's new too. the portable record player is a cheap Crowsley I bought at Target. It's made to look retro. Let's face it .. Quality is for the rich. Design is for the rest of us. For the money it sounds decent. I had a piece of crap one while growing up, so to me, It sounds about the same as i remember. Anyway, if you come over we can play records.