math
teachers.
they confuse
me.
i think,
"what would
possess someone
to pursue a career
in math?"
then i think
of the many
brilliant men,
the mathematicians,
and it's not
so strange.
but then again,
anyone that doesn't
pursue their art,
is fucking mad
to me.
11.18.11 (give/take)
i can't say i'm sad
though i do feel a bit empty
but these things often happen
and we'll both soon forget
i leave you quietly
in parting with a gift
a momento of the love i stole
sealed in the cracks of your chapped lips
i can't help what i have done
taken a piece of yours for my own
bit off more than you could chew
now your nights they have grown cold
and with this i take my leave
though i've lost equal what i've gained
i know i'll likely miss you
the next time that it rains
12.24.11 (the trip)
The trip home was a strange one. I had every intention of taking advantage of every opportunity with a woman that would be presented to me. I had planned one out a week before. She was neither the most attractive, nor the most interesting, but she was a good fuck. I arrived at home and invited her over the next night.
With the pulses of liquor running through me, she looked as she had made herself in my memory. She smelled of cigarettes and a perfume to try and cover that smell, was still just as uninteresting, and had maintained her poor sense of composure. She feigned an awful attitude of detest that was barely tolerable. I endured this for three nights with thinning patience and no reward. On the night of the premier however, the awful pangs of nostalgia would sear old scars back to fresh wounds: the price of love.
The day had began as the days preceeding had. I awoke in the afternoon haze of a hangover and rolled over to check the time: 2 pm, Dec. 22. A film my friends had composed was set to premier that night. I rolled back over until I had the courage to face the day.
Later on, I found myself in the basement of one of those friend's. With a crowd of others, scattered beers, and a bottle of scotch, we sat waiting. A few swigs in and my phone tells me I have a message: a past love is also in town, and she is on her way to join us. Some beers and a few more slugs later, and we are all together in the basement. Some conversation and drinks later and we were ready to disembark. We piled into a friend's van; fourteen people in a ten seater. Many drinks and shouts later, and we arrived at the theater.
On our arrival to the theater, we quickly found our way upstairs to the bar that was located there. Two tequilas and vodka. I had my flask with scotch in my pocket as well. We shuffle back downstairs to the theater of the premier, and found seating after greeting many old friends and acquaintances. In the back corner of the theater, we sat close, and for the next six hours, we were as old lovers.
The next morning I awoke with a headache more persistent than the one from the morning past. I turned and took a long drink of water, then turned and curled back into the ball I had awoken from. I closed my eyes to recall the details of the night that I could still taste on my lips: her.
I recalled our goodbye. She led me outside to the front of the house, held close, kissed. We exchanged some words, both desiring to continue our night, but knowing the futility of the desire. A quick kiss again, this time interrupted by footsteps approaching. A pest had weaseled his way into her giving him a ride home. She was drunk, but not too drunk, I didn't think. I wished her good luck, bade her to stay safe, and kissed her one long last time.
As the day rolled on, I continued our communication, sending messages of desire, telling her to come spend the day in my arms once more. Plans she already had stood in the way of that. I found my way to the couch and opened a beer in an attempt to feel normal again. I continued my work, trying to lure her in, but this love was preoccupied--distant. I reluctantly feigned patience as long as I could; 10 pm. Now it was time for a drink... Lots.
A few shots of tequila and some whiskey later, and I felt as I had upon my initial arrival: a jaded ex-lover. The bar we had ventured to was a fifty-something bar on karaoke night. On any other night this would have sounded like a circus, but tonight it was more like a funeral. Things with her were still looking bleak, but she began to tease toward my interest, though my better judgement told me otherwise. In this discouraged mood, I look up in time to see an acquaintance spill a bit of his drink on my head. More dodging from her and I decided to let the night drive on until I found myself back in the shitty bed that I had emerged from. A couple more drinks and then I woke up next morning.
As I got on the plane that afternoon, I thought, "Shoulda known..."
I ordered a whiskey and slipped back into a dream.
12.15.11 (short story)
Another night in bed earlier than my usual 4 a.m. bed time... Work. Another "slave to the wage," or so they say. Having trouble sleeping (also not too out of the ordinary), as my mind can't calm itself due to the anxiety of my coming trip home for the holidays. Two more nights. As I lay there as I normally do, cocooned in a mass of blanket, my mind wanders further. My heart races as I contemplate the girls I have seduced, the girls I am seducing, and the girls I plan on seducing on the impending trip back to frigid Chicago. I get excited, picturing the faces, graceful young nudes that will temporarily warm the other side of my bed. The taste of distant flesh, dancing on my tongue. I roll over and curl with my blankets, as a smile momentarily shines in the darkness.
My joy is cut short by a shriek, cutting through the night. I hear wild sobs, swiftly scurry into the street outside my window.
"You lied to me!" she screams, in between gasping breaths and sobs.
I hear more anguished moans and muffled voices in the dark, as I now stare wide-eyed at the ceiling above. I can still faintly hear her sadness; his regret. I look at the clock: 2:30. I have to be up at 7:30. Could be worse.
12.15.11 (another love song to no one)
since you came around
and i find it hard
and i find it hard
i have turned a new light
i have righted all my wrongs
to be the best that i might
to be worthy of your love
a man worthy in your eyes
now that you're here
don't you ever leave my side
and i find it hard
for me to breathe
without your love
without you next to me
whenever you're gone
you are still on my mind
i think of you constantly
count clouds to pass the time
but when you are here
everything is right in my life
believe me when i say
you make everything shine
and i find it hard
for me to breathe
without your love
without you next to me
other girls will come
but you are all that i see
you make everything better
you are all that i need
12.14.11 (the finish line)
how can i believe?
i'm not quite sure,
but i do.
not in this, but that.
and maybe that.
i'm not really sure about a lot of stuff.
about life and jobs
about girls and love
always a struggle
full of distractions
hiding in my bedroom, i think
where to next?
beautiful girls to distract me?
another story to get lost in?
maybe another drink?
always the same.
running from now,
later and before.
i don't want to keep running,
but i've got to get out of bed.
12.5.11 (rant)
i am:
a failure
a bad writer
a bad friend
a lazy youth
a young adolescent
a stupid adult
a bad-decision-maker
a hermit
a hole
a blind bat
an anxious rat
a chatty cat
and a dumb motherfucker to boot...
i'm a slave to the wage
a slave to my age
a child in my brain
a loser in this state
a believer of love
a doubter of above
a hypocrite at heart
unlucky from the start
a fool for a break
a careful mistake
a clumsy kid
the pest you would rid
i have loved and i have lost
i have tasted freedom at no cost
i am running up that hill
i am going in for the kill
i am losing everything
i am too afraid sing
i am afraid of the world
i have lost it all because of one girl
i lost track of what's real
i've gotten stuck in some wheel
i am waiting to depart
because
sometimes
life is hard
12.3.11 (of worldly troubles)
in the cave
the darkest place
gilgamesh trembles...
i follow
our loss is all
possession is everywhere...
we are not us,
but all.
the one is lost
in the thicket of many,
always...
we exist this way,
for we will,
for we must.
12.3.11 (prose?)
bleed.
wither up.
become the desert you always were.
everyone expects something,
you expect everything.
fill with what you have,
not with what you expect.
expect not what you have,
but what you are...
a friend came to me,
while I was in a drunken stupor,
he told me just this,
"some things are worth trying more than once,"
but as many times i tell myself that,
it changes nothing.
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