I cut myself and push you out of my skin

We chased shadows and ghosts and we weren't always the kindliest of ones. Now we chase dreams hold to memories and we reach out  for summery reconnection. 
under the skin, under the sheets,
under the water.  What's another word for drowning?

Our past filled with smoke and hotel rooms. Private therapy. And a little twinge of pain when she drove off. because she was too close to what-might-have been.  That little frenzy of bad habit. If there's no pain and no loss, it's only recreational, and we can leave it to the wolves. People have to be valued.   

We exchange words few and far and in between our silences. I've found comfort in the knowing. in the heat of the summer night. just knowing. 

there will be traffic and smoke. there will be pay. (edit)

- It's not hard to trace the doubt but never you'll find me in regret. the cost of living through a sea of words. salt water tending to these old wounds. I have never been on my own and always alone. I have never been on paths secured by guard rails. I have heard her voice. i have kissed her mouth. i have fell. i have tasted you. sweet eve, sweet victory, the sting of bee, the venom of snake, the tear of salt, the blood of your wine. if poison be the drink we serve best, let me drink from your cup. and if there be lies in the stories we tell, let there between the lines be always truth. -

11 days out of work. though I had some money saved and unemployment funds were deposited into my account. I went into survival mode. i went into force of habit. I filled out application after online application. and after no instant results i pushed harder. maybe the media is right, maybe there are no jobs? but i looked around and saw movement and flow and just didn't see it fitting the pattern. If you want something. you'll get it. it comes to you. always. I wanted everything and everything came- at once. 3 job offers. Two of them for more money than i had been making two weeks ago.

I figured maybe i could devise a way to work at home part-time (making a few bucks doing creative things) and have a part-time job. Besides being unfair to my wife(though she gets to help people and enjoys her job) but also curse me for wanting wine from a bottle and not out of box, for my love of buying things on a whim, like sneakers and expensive ingredients to prepare my favorite meals. So, I found a job that is in area of work Ive never done before, but uses many of the skills i have. It pays more than i was previously making and seems challenging enough. I will be able to add these new skills and experience to my arsenal. My thinking is in terms of 3 to 5 year plan. Obtain knowledge and skills i don't already have while working in something new, and either move forward or find something I enjoy even more using the combined experience. It just doesn't make sense to go backwards- to take less pay for something I'm not focused on really enjoying. This still follows my philosophy: Live, work, create. 

edit: I went to a 2nd interview with a company in my field (electrical), except it's the supply side, not the contractor side. (I'm sick of the contractor side) a Big name in the industry, benefits, paid vacation. opportunity for growth. They matched my other offer. It's closer to my home, i wont have to be behind a desk all day and i know people who have worked their for many many years. I think this will be a good thing.

before you're gone

 

before i knew it, i had misplaced summer. your hand in my back pocket, a  tourist in my own town. beach towels and a pirates map. i was never your prude. always wine. always gold. always above. always under.
 I have a good mix for this, i have certain songs in my head. life is moving within a sound track. numbers, patterns. collisions. near misses. beats that make you melt and sway.  there was the holiday party. drunk kisses under garnish. before you go, before you sleep. frost on our lips. a hug so tight. it's obscene. before you close your car door and head home to him.   

before the end of this something- something - or anything and then winter. I drove my truck to the grocery where they sell Christmas trees out front. the cool air and smell of pine. i fall in love with pretty faces, pretty words. pretty sunshine. with blood on the snow, anything, everyone. you.  I made you hot chocolate and we sat by the fire pit in the back-yard. I hate everything about endings. the last moment. the last kiss.
the last
word.

different at night

maybe the night and something different. i waited for her call, her laugh, her fall.  maybe because of the cool October air. so how about tonight?  black cats and candles. we laugh, we fuck , we get high. maybe i leave marks. maybe he'll ask how you got those bruises on your neck.
she says,  maybe it won't last.and why do you only say i love you when you're inside me?  but that's all elementary. like the beginning and end. like how its easy to groove to this song. the start and stop. maybe this time we meet behind our lovers back. or maybe we are those lovers.
I talk to much in the dark. I say the things i should keep secret...I've never believed as much as i do now,  anything is possible. and she says where did that sad boy i knew once, go? I was inside you. say yes....nothing ever really ends. the devil comes and gets what's due.  

la la la la take me home

my two dogs are ashes. one inside a wooden box carved by a Tibetan monk, the other a hand blown  black urn, her  name is embossed in gold. they were big dogs and you wouldn't believe the weight of these things. i guess everything , even the slightest whisper, even ashes- have weight.

I plan on doing a bit of  traveling, minor explorations and hedonistic adventures. As much as id like to i can't commit to getting more fur friends just yet. So for now, I volunteered at the local Tri-county animal shelter. It's a No-Kill shelter. The dogs don't just sit sad-eyed in cages all day waiting to get adopted. there are many great volunteers and they help train, walk,  give millions of pets, brush, and  play with all the "guests" as much as possible. The shelter is situated on a few gated acres so the dogs can run loose for exercise too. Some of these dogs are amazing. Two of them were adopted in just my short time there. It's pretty great seeing that, especially when an older dog get a home. Its what the No-kill shelter is about.

Home is wherever I'm with you - don't you know? I have difficulty having to put them back in the caged pens after i hang it with them. Id like to take them all home. I imagine them all having homes. each one, the older ones, the puppies. I visualize it. I send it out to the universe. Even thoughts. Everything has weight.            

drowning in dreams

there were fights and sweat soaking fucks, like animals. but there were also sweet dreams fortified with red wine and soft pillows. sleep was easy and it was probably the soft sheets and they way the scent of it all sunk deep. everything clings.

when she was gone i knew i had to wash them, but i put it off because i wanted  my skin against
the smell of her ghost. even though she was miles away somewhere next to him - she was with me. funny how that works. funny just how true that seems in our heads. 

the silence doesn't stop me.  it only pushes me to look deeper inside myself.  heart beats. muscle tissue. expansion, contraction. disintegration. I  wont let go.

late at night i play instrumentals so fucking loud the paint might peel from the walls. cellos and trombones. real woods and metals. real flesh and bones. the part inside the inside - the narrator. nothing can stop me from getting what i want in this life. nothing can stop me from living this story.

sweet dreams fortified with sugar rush and piano chords. we gave our blood in a mobile-bank outside a library. we  never stop giving. we share our sin.


photo revivify

choking on salt water

water pools in the drive-way mixing with motor oil, black-top. a flow, a stream, a rainbow hurricanes into the drainage ditch. but it's not nearly fast enough. over-flow. small floods.memories, tide pools.
summer heat is followed by mid afternoon summer storms. reducing the mood to a purer state. i fold paper sail-boats looking out the window. stuck inside. we are always stuck inside for something, stuck inside because of rain or work or the oppressive humidity. stuck inside our own heads, thoughts of sweat and fuck and silence. It is that kind of summer holiday. the long sight lines, the emptiness, the building wind. I fall into myself. thunder-storms. the soft tap of rain against the window. i wish you were here.

A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again

     I bought this new shave gel and the fragrance instantly takes me back years ago when I was vacationing with my ex. We were young and crazy and somewhere in the subtropics. Costa Rica. surfing and fishing, drinking and fucking. I brought along our video camera that recorded on 8mm video tape. she did some of the dirtiest things. I figured why not marry the slut and it wouldn't really be married since we are way over here and we live way over there. It didn't count. Just the honeymoon and sunshine and drinking and kissing other girls and the things you did in the men's bathroom. . 
The smell of this Nivea shave gel brings it all back and gets me hard. it makes me want to go searching the box in the back of the closet for the tapes. Problem is, the camera died years ago, I have no way to play them. It's comforting just knowing I have them. It's not good revisiting shit like that anyway. memories of a forgotten youth. Whores in love in a foreign country living out a fantasy or two. every time I shave my face I hear Spanish guitar and waves crashing, I see moonlight and think of the couple we went home with from that crazy dive bar. Slow dancing. Your lit cigarette and quiet promises. I wonder where the fuck you are. And does it still count?

yours not mine

She stood with her knees slightly flexed, one foot forward, head down, her hands at belt level, held slightly out from her body. Arrested motion. I saw them right away, lustrous black bees,enormous, maybe a dozen, bobbing in the air around her. At twenty yards I heard the buzzing.
    I told her not to worry, they wouldn't sting. I moved in slowly, as much to reassure her as to keep the bees from getting riled. Burnished, black-enameled. They rose to eye level, dropped away, humming in the sun. I put my arm around her. I told her it was all right to move. I told her we move slowly up toward the path. I felt her tense up even more. Her way of saying no, of course. She was afraid even to speak. I told her it was safe, they wouldn't sting.  They hadn't stung me and id walked right through them. All we had to do was move slowly up the slope. They were beautiful i said. I'd never seen bees this size or color. They gleamed, i told her. They were grand, fantastic.
  

  As I held her close she gave me a look that spoke some final disappointment. As if i could convince her, stung twice before. As if i could take her out of her fear, a thing so large and deep as fear, by going on about the beauty of these things. As if i could tell her anything at all, fake lover, liar.
     We held that inept stance a moment longer. Then i took her arm and led her through the field.

the fade away

 Am I her bruise? I wonder this under the halogen canopy lighting glow. In the stillness of night pumping four dollar-a- gallon gasoline into my truck. glug- glug- glug. road trips and bruises are an extravagant expensive. Soon, i fear we wont go anywhere at all. bruises and memories fade. will she remember me?  

I prefer to pay inside because enhances the two a.m. twilight zone experience. the people inside are crazy and smell like cough medicine and cigarettes. I feel i am seconds away from an armed robbery but nothing ever happens. there are zombies picking out candy and porno magazines devouring them like fresh brains. A girl with a blank stare. the floor is dirty. choosing the right energy drink is crucial. and let me ask you, at what age should one stop mixing every soda together to form the 40oz concoction we used to call " the suicide " as kids. I want to tell this  guy at the dispenser, holding his cup under one then the other, back and forth.  Dr.Pepper i believe is well enough alone (there have been extensive tests and studies) no need to hit it with cherry coke and mountain dew too. But it's his gut, his lost childhood. I open the glass cooler door avoiding   my reflection and choose a  red bull. Another form of suicide.

I kept the motor running in the truck, which is illegal. An empty car left running outside a convenience store is called a get-a-way car. I just call it my ride home. No cops. No hassles, I put the truck in gear. Red bull sweating bullets in my hand. Humid nights in south florida. Another then another then another. This is how it goes. I have to go to work in a few hours. I want to live somewhere where a scooter is a viable means of transportation. Somewhere like Italy or the Florida keys. A mint green vespa and the wind in my hair.. Aviator goggles and 5 dollars worth of fuel taking me 80 miles per the gallon. Every night a trip there and back there and back. This is how it goes.

i follow rivers

 (I found this Canon AE-1 camera, telephoto lenses, filters and other accessories for 14 bucks at the thrift-store. Old school 35mm and works perfectly. I won't lie, I'm a  huge fan of digital cameras and photo editing the result. I might even like the photo-editing part best of all.  I used  FX Photo Studio  app on my I-pad to process the photo above. That said , I respect the art, patience and knowledge of those using the manual settings of a film camera and getting cool effects naturally. I'm looking forward to learning this camera a little bit, take a few rolls of film, let the joy and nostalgia course my veins.) 


gold hearts
and breezes
this isn’t what i
expected
fist fights
funerals
big dogs
little cats
big lies
big dicks
my heart on a sleeve
hopeless romantics
whores
love
and work
all day
everyday
all day
sunday
on the couch
t.v.- radio.
 book
computer
porn
popcorn
gold hearts and the price of oil
the price of a diamond ring
just know
you are not
alone

What you can and can’t do. Go. I had love and fear holding me back. A good job, mad love, my favorite team. There was luck in this town and superstition. Maybe it left when you did. The job, the money and the good times Charlie. But there are good songs left to share and wine and smokes and I’ve stayed up half the night writing - my fingers are numb. I could probably work harder and make a few bucks, relieve half my so called troubles. Love wont keep me warm at night. All this chopping wood and carrying water. All this health amongst the sick and weary.  nothing to keep me from running. The moon will glow and the sun will rise and fall. Wherever you are, wherever you go it’s the same. I know this. Streets with different names, shadows on higher walls, whispers from ghosts. What you can and can’t do. let the dust settle. Then go.

Promise not to forget me

My best-friend almost killed me. He had his fathers shot-gun but pulled it away at the last hair-trigger moment. "It's not loaded " he said but just to be sure he moved the barrel from my chest, pointed past my shoulder and proceeded to blow a pancake sized hole through his parents front door. Yeah,  good thing it wasn't loaded. My ears rang for two weeks. I couldn't hear myself  thanking the fucking stars but I was happy to be alive. I opened the front door with the smoking hole in it and crossed the street to my house just as two patrol cars came screaming around the corner. I don't know what happened to my friend. He stopped going to school after that.  I never saw him again. I'm pretty sure his father beat him to death. I saw him bury something in the backyard late one night. People said it was the family cat, but I'm not so sure. I promised god I wouldn't play with guns again. One of many promises Id make and break in my short time on earth.

I used to like wrapping things around my neck. At first it was just to see what it would feel like to run out of breath. Stupid things kids do in their rooms when they get bored. I discovered I quite liked it. Tighter tighter tighter until I was barely able to breathe then I'd let go and the air was back. There was a rush I can't describe to you. I used belts, jump ropes, clothesline, socks. Eventually I thought about rubbing my dick and doing this at the same time, a natural progression though I don't know why. I was to young to achieve any kind of orgasm at that time, no ejaculation, no release but it still felt good.
 I got hung up once, by then I could cum and I did all the time several times a day and in as many different ways as I could think of. I remembered choking myself but I'd heard stories about kids found dead half naked so I counted myself lucky for making it through those dumb early years . Fifteen, stupid and bored and hard all the time. I took my finest black leather belt and cinched it around my neck. I was hard just thinking about it. It worked great the first time, to good, I sucked in air and shot cum so hard and so much it would take extra cleaning time to remove it from the ceiling, walls and floor. Fuck it was good. I should have quit but now i was hooked. I couldn't wait to get home from school. Radio up high, the marks on my neck. Fuck school, fuck everything. Then It happened i couldn't get the belt loose. I was thinking - please don't let it end like this. Running out of air and starting to panic.  rock hard all the same. I was seeing stars through my tears. I promised I wouldn't do it again, please just one more....chance. The buckle broke and clanked on the floor. I came and finally breathed or the other way around. I was tired and crawled to my bed. Half hour later I woke up and jerked off again. But I kept my promise.
 
photos(flickr):
1. arbyreed - 2. emma louise

messages that fall like snowflakes

frost on the car windshield, or ice, i don’t know. I'm unfamiliar living in south Florida with the terms, with cold-  brisk winds, with what most probably view as usual winter.  LL Bean flannel shirt, cafe racer motor cycle jacket, over doing it. how many more times will i get to wear this? to look heavily clothed. to feel warm and  secure. false warmth, false security. I'm over doing it because that's what i do. it's that good or that bad and nothing in between.Yet, in between is where i live. the devil between us.

 I'm making it out to be colder than it is, I'm making it hurt more than it does or should or ever would. she didn't hurt me has bad as i say. Ive almost forgotten. Almost.

 its not really that cold out. but, what I'm feeling isn't fake. it never is, it never was.  I want comfort. warm. do you remember what warm feels like?

the sky is clear. night. day. night. somewhere there is wood burning.  it smells like mountains and pine trees. like my cabin in the woods. like the dream i have of a cabin in the woods. books and music piled floor to ceiling. a dog by a fire in twitch sleep. breathing. always forever breathing.
music with horns or piano, string bass. maybe cellos. music for the lost loves and pets and family. winters we spent silent. guitar drone the lyrics you can’t quite make out. this is vague. these are my words and my arms around you on a cold night. warm.

And when your fears subside And shadows still remain

1.     Ive been throwing things around more since August, less sleep, clenching my jaw, balling my fists. bad dreams. everything. anything. Since august. since my Dallas Cowboys took the field and started losing game after game after game, then injuries, and more losses. they fire the head coach, good. Win one. I'm elated this week. I'm different. I shouldn't care this much, i always say this. but i do,  and i know there is some sweetness in losing. feeling lost, feeling alone, feeling sunken. You cant touch me here, you cant reach me in this place.  The pain of losing, the feeling of being down, i have found it lasts far longer then the feeling of winning. the feeling you get from getting what you want-is never as good as you think and it never lasts. Its the journey from below..that is the sweetness.

I learned to lose, early. It was like learning to swim. At first its scary and you don't like it. But then, you kick and fight your way to the surface and breathe. Just fucking breathe.
I was 7 and on my first soccer team, Mcdonalds. we had a big corporate sponsor. (really, the coach owned a franchise) our colors are famous: golden arches yellow (over one billion served). we have knee high tube socks with three golden stripes. Under the South Florida sun we look like mini french fries running around kicking a ball. I loved soccer and hated it. which is the way I learned to love things. All things. When we won a game we were rewarded with a team trip to Mcdonalds after wards. A treat since my Mother always cooked, We rarely if ever ate out. I can count on one hand how many times we ate fast-food. which is a good thing, i guess. but seemed cruel when you're 7. So, i tried very hard to win. I hated to lose. but we almost always lost. I had a total of 3 cheeseburgers, 89 fries, 2 soft serve ice-cream cones- a large COKE the entire season. we received a trophy at the end of the year in a ceremony where every team in the league got one. win or lose. an "everyone wins!" booby prize. a losers prize.  a trophy for last place? I looked at it and on the ride home i was silent. I walked straight to my room, closed the door and  threw the trophy in my tin Dallas Cowboys trash can. I cried for 2 hours. It was the best i felt all year. 

2.   Be consistent. don't try to be perfect. just write. write more and write anything. be consistent. write because you have to, because you hate it and because you can't stop. bleed because there is no other way. this isn't what you love,  school isn't what you love, you're job it isn't what you love. what do you love? Stop writing with your heart. for just once, let this not be about her.

photos:
goodwinter
ohashleylove (flickr)

Penny Candy

     Not much here. the road - a few dirty pennies on the ground. leaves falling from trees. On the grass, a light morning dew, the pavement reflects a diamond mist, shards of glass in amounts endless. birds song over hum of a\c condenser. It shakes beneath the window. shades are open but the windows are fogged so badly - the room is cold. blankets.
she met me here, stayed the night. she's gone now , maybe to work, im not sure she has a job. maybe school? she says she's writing. im not sure. im a writer. ha ha ha. Im writing this on the back of a book of matches. the words are small, Ill light it on fire when im finished.
she left early this morning. It was still dark. It was the first time weve seen each other in a few years. It was the same but different. No, it was the same. it was whatever i told myself it would be. If i still wanted to love her i could. If i wanted her body, if i wanted to hate her. I could.  i only know one way to make love to her - hard. dirty. my body wont let me do anything else. it is difficult to be tender. i cant be anywhere but in the moment. like an animal. It's chemicals..she believes it too. Its why we follow each other. state to state, city to city. in dreams.  there are often no words and long distances and... no words. not before or after or now. we just sometimes fall together...cosmically by design. we say hi,  she asks would you?  just one more time. let's.  we should, we shouldn't. Shall we? Yes. say yes. just say yes.

  I didn't  find the bible but i prayed. It's usually in the top drawer of the night stand.  isnt it?  not that i would read it but it's the knowing its there. like you and I.  it makes me feel safe somehow. like it was worth it to drive all this way to make this mistake. - and it is a mistake as much as its not. It's something we know better than but do anyway. life is short and painful. all those excuses make it better and worse. Us. the flaw in us. in all of us who haven't overcome the attraction. 

When i finish, i immediately feel us slip away. I fall between that space of  anxiety and calm. the desire that drove me all those miles begins to rapidly fade. I put it all inside her. she has it now.. all my good words,  she has the books and maps and she has me...inside her. my life. and i have....nothing.  i turn on my side and give a thumbs up to the darkness. my small victory. i had her. I smile into an imaginary camera filming the movie of my life. I think this might be the last time and I wonder upon this grand closure. never enough, never satisfying. there is a candy on the night stand which i pick up and put in my mouth. It's ever so sweet. she left this to remind me of her. i light the match and watch the words burn.

whereabouts unknown

there was one halloween i put on a cape and mask, i was batman. another halloween a pirate, a cowboy, a biker, the grim reaper. there was one,  a long time later where we carved pumpkins in the back yard, sitting on the deck next to the swimming pool. pumpkin guts and seeds, she made a mess of things. i made a mess of things. we fucked on the sofa and in my bed and she got up in the night and told me she just couldnt be there anymore. she left and went to him. 3:03 A.M.  I didnt know it at the time, but i thnk she saved my life.
 
another halloween a different girl and we were married that evening, at midnight we drove into the night. she asked me not to stop until we saw snow or at least changing colors of  leaves. I kept the music loud, i kept my foot on the gas and my heart was anywhere we ended up and called home. october soiled in blood and birthday candles. littered with memories and the veins of fallen leaves. sometimes I fall hard for the think-back and want back and take back. here we are, here I go again.

41 drops of blood

    Forty-one today. how the fuck?!  that's a  few candles on the cake. that's having my cake and eating it too. 41- I cant believe it myself and it's me. It's Hum to Lolita, It's 20 is half my age. it's the professor, It' call the runner, It's the confessor, it's the dirty ol man. 
At least its a prime, at least a prime number. fate is based on primes.
Here i am slower to get out of bed and here i go working harder and longer just to add up days.  saving a sudden car crash or heart failure or some major catastrophe, aren't we all destined to live past our mortality rate. slow, slow, slow . to many pills and tubes and miracle cures. to much medicine.there are zombies among us. 
   Im an alchemist in many ways, starting off creating a potion for one thing and ending up with something else entirely. I never meant to write any of this down. this was supposed to be words and numbers for only me to read. but your eyes have pried on the stories i tell.  I have bled and made you bleed. i never meant to hurt you. Here is some truth.- I still think about you. .
But, Im not the kind that wants to go back. I know more now, though i don't know any better or i do know better but now i can see the fall ahead.
 How many more of these, who knows?  I remember nothing of the town where i was born. was there sun or snow? It was the beginning of fall, there were pumpkins and dried leaves, and the sky...oh the sky i bet it was a hazy orange hue.
Im still mixing potions. discovering your poisons and drinking her cures.  I have stumbled upon the best things in life by accident and there are no accidents.

Stars in the Ceiling

she's getting her hair-cut. I hate passing the time…hate waiting. Im not good at it. nothing good comes of it - car crashes, drug deals, craigs-list, bank robberies, fast food, road trips, bad vibes, internet re-connections, a strangers touch. it always looks like im doing something bad but im not, its just passing the time, doing what you want me to do - to wait. this is how most of us wait.

Im restless, my head hurts, there are out-of-date magazines displayed on a table in the area meant for waiting. I sit on a hip mid-century reproduction sofa, it instantly makes my back hurt. everything in this place has a junk yard future. the bottles of chemicals, the furniture, the lights, the silly ass speakers painted black to match the ceiling and seemingly every stylists wardrobe, in here. but, we all look good in black. even me.

there is coffee free for the taking. coffee, magazines, uncomfortable chairs. these things seem to go hand and hand with waiting. the doctors office, emergency rooms, getting the oil changed in your car.waiting areas. mind numbing silence, hopelessness mixed with sweat and the breath of anti-depression medication. Magazines and coffee while waiting at the airport are not free, but its available and its mostly what people choose to do, even when mixed drinks, beer and warm cookies are totally an option.

Its morning, did i tell you that? im hungry thats probably why my head is hurting. I didnt eat breakfast. i didnt sleep very well either. Its morning but techno music is blasting from the ceiling speakers. I stare at sugar crystals someone spilled on the floor. someone should wipe the counter, sweep the floor. Isn’t someone always sweeping the floor in a hair-salon? i like when the shampoo girl massages my head. why cant i just get that? i almost drift to sleep, maybe i did.

i dont feel right. i havent been feeling right. Im here, waiting - I'm along for the ride. im outside myself looking-in. presence is poison and all i know is to retreat from it.
a women with smokey eye shadow walks over from behind a large greeting counter.
she asks if im okay. “im reading this magazine”, i shake it forcefully in-front of my face.
okay, but …
“It’s okay, Im waiting for her”
She looks in the general direction im looking for what seems like a long time, shrugs and walks away. No one comes to sweep.



I leaf through a Food And Wine magazine, there is a recipe for a spicy Sicilian sauce, i tear the page out- quickly fold it and place it in my front pocket. then, an article listing the Best Rustic Retreats to visit on a budget, I take that page too. Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Canyon,Texas or Devil's Den State Park in Arkansas are the most appealing. I have to remember to tell her later. this is where we should go, this is something we might like to do. pack the truck, take the dogs. rough it. she likes it rough.

lady in black comes back and asks if im okay. Of course im Okay.
"would you like a hair-cut" she asks. "you'd look good with your hair cut... hmmmmm, shorter- brushed to the front"
I say.. "like everyone else?" and then i stand up and tell her to let's cut my hair.

Im staring at the ceiling, resting back over the shampoo tank or bowl or sink, whatever it is....she sprays my head, testing the temperature of the water. " is okay?" I shut my eyes. shampoo smell, she begins rubbing, massaging. there are stars on the ceiling. I could fall asleep.
"who do you wait for? I see nothing"
I am shaken awake by what i perceive as an eastern block accent i hadn’t previously noticed. She has root-beer colored eyes, sprinkled with green. her voice is like someone you know or want to know. ” you say you wait?”
I am in front of a mirror sitting at the witches station and she is behind me with her snake eyes and scissors. I gaze into the mirror, slick wet pieces of black hair fall and stick to the cold white floor. the opposite of snow fall snip. snip. snip.

the reflection is me, but not me. It’s never really me. I look around the salon and it is empty beyond the low growl of techno beats. The witch and I, the witch and I and sugar granules spilled on the floor. snip.snip. Boom-Thump- hump- Boom. snip. snip.

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.

the boat was sinking

never liked much of the back break, okay. im a libra and a little lazy. I’ll start by telling you about his girl again. she knew how to keep herself busy at night but during the day all she ever wanted to do was.... sleep. despite this she’d call me in the morning, sleepy and hungover. she’d call me to say hello and break my heart. she’d call like i was her only friend, then call someone else who was her only friend. another guy who might come save her, who might invite her her over to visit the next town, the next state, the next distraction. she didnt have any intention on loving the one she was with. im not sure any of us have those good intentions for long. i mean, we do, but there are other things, other places, other dreams…...two people hardly fit inside there. from time to time shed come over and we’d fuck. we’d smoke cigarettes on my back porch. grill hamburgers, drink beers. it could be that simple, i guess, but it isnt. it could be that safe. it could be home.

I work, sun up, sun down. I drive past big square boxes with windows, i work in one, go home to one. I wonder like everyone else.....is there anything else? but maybe its because i wasnt looking long enough out the windows to see the flowers and trees, the flag pole. american? southern? i didnt take the time to breathe in the salt of the sea air, merely blocks away. I didnt mediate enough, read the right books, listen to the best songs. my taste in art and movies and blogs is suspect compared to the refined and low-brow hipster friends i associate with. i like young girls with old souls and older women with young hearts. I like pretty eyes more than a sunset. I like books that have previously been read, i like real books over touch pad reading. I dont like touching screens, media hype, multi-tasking, video games, car horns.


on a clear night above my house, you can see the stars. i never paid enough attention in school to learn the constellations. so ive made them up; pirate, horse, tits, big dipper, little dipper, circle, square, half ass cross-bow. the shiniest one i just call ....Star.

ive begun to notice things more. i write everything down. numbered like a list. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. I saw a bird today that had bright blue feathers and i meant to look it up on the internet when i got back home. i forgot and wrote this instead. i think its a blue-jay , some kind of blue bird. there isnt always space enough for the two of us. but mother- fuck im happy you're with me.