choices

Just a snapshot taken at a club of her and me. It is an impromptu “just fucking around” photograph taken on a whim… or so it would seem.

My cousin calls it “the picture that launched a thousand ships.”

She’s married, happily unmarried, but married. He cheats. She’s cheated. He’s an abuser. She loves to toy with his mind. A very miserable relationship. And I have been told by her sister that she wants me so bad she can taste the desire in her mouth like pennies. Tonight was the first time I have ever met her or spoken to her. She is pretty. She is Bosnian but she has stark white skin, blonde hair, and cold eyes… she looks Russian. An ice-princess. Although we’ve never met apparently she knew who I was and has lusted after me for some time now. In her mind it would be so perfect, my cousin and his girl, who is her sister, and she and I. We’d be one large, dysfunctional, fucked-up family. In her mind she “deserves” better… she deserves a man like me, and she obviously doesn’t know the real me, or else she wouldn’t mistakenly think she needs me.

But she is stuck in a dead-end marriage with a stupid dumb-fuck whom doesn’t appreciate her.

We all hit the club as a group to have some drinks, laughs, and unwind. Her husband distrusts me and is slightly intimidated by my cousin and I. He sees me as a threat and perhaps he should. I would never fool around with a married woman as I was married once and I would not want to be on the receiving end of infidelity. It’s just not right. But I will however flirt. I will have a good time. I feel-out my boundaries and then walk that imaginary line. As I did tonight. A light brush on her arm. When no one was looking a lingering look in her eyes. An innocuous hug. A smile. Several smiles. My cousin asks me to pose in a picture with her. We grin and look at the camera. We look so happy. We are total strangers but we are so dangerously on the verge of sharing each others bed. The air crackles with electricity. We both know what could “be.” We “could” blow each others mind if the stars would only align right. Or if we should happen to be at the right place at the right time, just her and I. There are so many factors, so many scenarios, and we both know this and we also know it might behoove us to avoid these scenarios like the fucking plague.

I walk the line.

She tells her sister that she wants me. Several times throughout the night. She tells her she hates her husband, as tears well up in her glassy blue eyes, she says she wishes he’d fucking die. That she could see herself with me. That she should be there , at the club, with me, not with him. That this is a mistake.

Her and her husband leave early. The situation reached a boiling point and none of us even noticed. He swears he caught me flirting with her yet he quietly slips out without saying a word to me. He was too afraid to have a conversation with me. She runs back in the club, tears now flowing down her ivory cheeks, and tells her sister they are leaving.

The next day I find out she moved out and they are getting divorced. I know it is not my fault, I was simply a catalyst. There are deeper issues that have nothing to do with me.

When I hear this I get a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. Butterflies. I have always gotten this feeling in that moment of certainty when I KNOW I am about to sleep with somebody. The cold shiver in on my neck when I pull down her panties, when I have overcome those final resistances. When I am about to become one with another person. It is a prophetic feeling and it has always foretold events that will in fact come to pass. It is always right.

But is this the right choice?

bleak

The distance between loneliness and loved is so minute, so uncertain, and indefinable. It is a line we waiver between numerous times every single day. It is the immeasurable distance between sanity and madness. The slow-plodding eternity in-between cigarettes. The awkward silence on the telephone. The nauseous feeling of disgust after sex. The irritable sense of discomfort when the coke wears off. It is the suicidal nuances we run through our brains as we sit alone in our cars commuting to work on a cold snowy Monday. It is the heart sickness we feel after the buzz and empowerment wears off and uncontrollable dizziness and puking sets in. The sine curve wave we all ride, eyes locked on a white sandy beach, never arriving to our destination.

Loneliness is pain and we all find ways to numb this pain.

I wander. When the higher then high wears off and I crash back down to earth in a heap of feathers - I wander. I turn off the phone and refuse to take calls. I shut down my heart. I become fearful of the world in these moments so I seek refuge in my dive-bar panic room. I close my eyes and refuse to let anything in except the dull bass drone of the jukebox which belts out sad songs over and over. A perpetual motion machine it is one of the things that shall always remain static in my life, the jukebox, my son, and the bottle. I close my eyes and try to make out the neon tracings in the back of my head and I miss my kid. Slamming shot after shot of the hard shit I hope I can find my way home. I hope I may be able to find the path, crumbling and overgrown with brush, that leads to Elysium.

That leads to you.

It is said the world may end in the year 2012. The Mayan calendar stops in 2012. It is understood something catastrophic will happen be it a heavenly body colliding with the Earth or the swift progression of a horrible virus or perhaps all-out nuclear war. The world will undeniably end. I hope I may shake this loneliness and learn to live in this world again and make the most of the precious little time we have left… I certainly try. But there are those moments of weakness where I must escape and hide. Life is the time I am with him. The time in between I am fucking dead – a zombie.

In the end of days I pray I am with him so I may comfort him and be his strength.

And after that when we all turn to dust I will be quietly waiting for you.

dive pick-up

“ So why do you paint your nails black and wear mascara?” She’s testing me. Gauging me. Seeing how secure, or how insecure, I am.

I smile at her with big, brown, wet bedroom eyes, take a sip of my Corona and respond. “ Why do you do your hair that way? Hey why do you scrunch your nose when you smile? You look like a mouse…it’s cute though.”

She flinches and predictably laughs and pulls her hand up to her face to hide her nose. “ A mouse? That’s mean!”

I turn and point at her not-so-cute, overweight friend, whom is scowling at me like she wants to tear my balls off. “ Yeah I think YOU could take some lessons from your friend here, she has style. You need some work. Fuck, MY nails are better manicured then yours.”

I accomplish my goal and the friend’s face softens. Her eyes light up and her demeanor changes by approximately 180 degrees. She has been pulled into the conversation and her social value has been raised by a tiny amount, but it is enough.

“ Do you guys know each other from somewhere?” Her friend leans in and asks.

The cute one opens her mouth to answer and I quickly cut her off…. “ Yeah we know each other unfortunately….” I glare at my target… “ She’s my ex-girlfriend and she’s a bitch… And she still has like 6 of my cd’s and my Poison t-shirt.”

They both look at each other and break out in laughter

She plays along. “ Yeah and you’re not getting your cd’s back… but maybe I’ll give you your smelly t-shirt though.”

I smile and put my arm around her… “ I have an idea.. maybe…. maybe we should sleep together again, for old times sake. What do you think?” I wink. “ You realize I still have those naughty pics of you on my computer right?”

She pulls back, her face reddening and her smile widening. “ Ya right dick! I don’t think so.” But her hand lingers on mine.

Yeah, this girl is mine.

together we are beautiful

It’s strange but I think I’ve met you all over again. A very young you - a twenty-year old version of you to be exact. She is untouched and undefiled by time, drugs, heartbreak, pain. She has the same crooked smile as you and the same stubbornness. She lovingly gazes at me with large serene black eyes filled with curiosity. I look at her in the setting half-light as we lie alone in her room – I examine every inch of her, my Lolita… my Delores Haze - and all I see is you reclining with one arm raised looking back at me. She is the surviving embodiment of you. She is a living, breathing ghost.

I showed her picture to several friends of mine and they all agree it is you. Albeit a younger version of you… age twenty to be exact. My newest sweetheart. The likeness is striking – olive skin, black hair, big black eyes, an exotic nose. I told my friend J_____ that I saved a brush filled with your hair and I had you cloned like the Dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. So that would, in essence, make her a living fossil from my distant past… that I have barely met. And I’m sure that makes no sense. But in my warped world it makes perfect sense.

I’m not sure if this can work as I have erected walls and I refuse to let anyone in… but she’s certainly making a bid. And she’s helping me rid myself of the remaining demons that reside here in my head. I don’t know if it’s worth mentioning but last week she saw a picture of my small son and I and she fell instantly in love. However I know if I were to run into you you’d embrace my son as yours too. I know if you were to look at him you would see the child we were always meant to have. And I know your eyes would fill up with tears, and then inevitably so would mine.

But we didn’t make it did we R_____?

Maybe in the next life we may start all over again as I am starting all over again now.

Game

The dance floor Mecca spreads it’s wings and welcomes me back into it’s loving embrace. Bathed in waves of sound – drum and bass, melodic vocal trance, house, psychedelic trance – I love it all as I love old friends or better yet, old flames. There was a time I lived for this and this alone. The high, the camaraderie, the love, the roll.

Although it was not easy getting here. It was not easy finding my way back.

God it’s so familiar and yet… at the same time… so wrong. I described this feeling to a friend of mine as “visiting my parent’s house.” What once was home is no longer mine. I am so different now. Finally clean and no going back to those dark days long left behind . Armed to the teeth with looks, renewed vigor, but more-so armed with experience… and this experience is what gives me a greater edge then I could have ever had when I was young.

I see beautiful faces, none of them familiar, dart in and out of the shadows and I greet each one with a smile and disingenuous dancing eyes. I tell them what they want to hear. The pretty ones I playfully tease, the average ones I build up with heartfelt compliments. And I walk away from each interaction being “the life of the party” and with a new number in my phone or sometimes, when I get lucky, a new companion to share my bed with.

I am a predator again but with teeth sharper then before, honed to a razor edge. And I hunt now for sport not for food.

“ Why do you hate women?” My cousin Angel sets the shot glass down and bites into the lime.

I raise an amused eyebrow, “ Hate? I love women. Everything about them. Every single fucking nuance.”

“ So why do you fuck with them the way you do?”

“ That’s a bullshit statement and you know it. I tell each and every woman I meet they are not my type and that I am incapable of love. It’s up to them whether they decide to throw me into the briar patch.”

He gives me a puzzled look. " Well either way cabron, it's good to have you back. We all missed you."

Black Box

There are things you should know
The distance between us seems to grow
But you're holding on strong
And oh, how hard it is to let go
Oh, so hard to let go

I am losing control. My resolve is cracking like a block of ice left under the noonday sun in slow creaks and groans. The pain is becoming insufferable. Old habits return in battalions and I cannot keep up.

I have picked up smoking again.

The other night I burned through a bag of blow with a girl-friend of mine in an all night lose-yourself-in-someone-else drug/sex binge. And I did not enjoy it one bit but I needed it to soothe the pain just a little bit.

I think about you daily although I swore to myself I wouldn’t. I am still angry at you although I am falling into the same patterns you did. I would take you back in an instant although I shouldn’t.

I’m losing my faith in you.
But you don’t want it to be true.
But there’s nothing you can do.
There’s nothing you can do.
Yes, I’ve lost my faith in you.

I swore I would remain strong. I would be the strong one for our son. I would be the responsible one. But it turns out I'm not.

I visit you in rehab and encourage you every time and we celebrate each month of your sobriety and I wear a false smile. I am continuously sick to my stomach though because here on the other side, out here in the real world, I am fucking losing it. So many lies. So many lies.

You mistakenly think we will be getting back together when you leave, for some strange reason, and I haven’t had the balls to tell you it’s too late. I have fucked. I am getting high now. I have done horrible things out of anger and spite and because I was lost.

But then again, we were no longer together... and you were in jail. And you threw away our life.

Funny, I thought about the needle last night.

I want to let go of the wheel now and have someone else drive because I am tired and regretfully, because I am weak. I am desperately trying to figure out a way to shake this but my resolve deteriorates and falls to my feet chunk by chunk like discarded armor. Perhaps this is a phase and this shit will pass, perhaps not. Regardless, it is starting to frighten me.

Right here in this heart.
I know it’s too late for us.

Ascend

The forest throbs with unseen movement: darting shadows disappearing in the canopy above, the light rustling of leaves as the wind gently kisses the trees, the absence of light as the moon struggles to touch the underbrush… or perhaps all of this is a figment of his heightened senses. His veins burn as the drug works its way up his arm into his heart... into his brain, jumpstarting the dead ganglions and dormant nerve clusters, coaxing the visions and memories to the surface, and then systematically erasing them, sponging away a lost world of regret and loss.

He is reawakened. He is the night.

I am the night

At last at last we are one. As we reach out to each other, bathed in sweat, struggling to catch our breath. We are lost in the moment, so surreal and new… as though we have been reborn.

He quietly shakes his head, a pang of regret and disbelief, as he contemplates the parting words the shaman spoke through from behind a thick veil of smoke in a black, thatched hut as the rain drummed and thumped outside. Words cutting through the dry stillness like venom in blood. Ancient words spoken in a lost tongue last heard in Eden – or perhaps in the whisperings of King Nimrod as he dreamed of a colossal tower spiraling into heaven. Incomprehensible words, but at the same time lucent and crystal clear as a mountain spring.

He arrived to this jungle seeking redemption - either sanctification in death or the purgatory of rebirth - the burden and curse of eternal life. He came prepared. This biblical tree he sought without fear fully vested to open this long-forgotten Pandora ’s Box and unleash hope upon a spiteful world. He knew the tale as he knew each wrinkle on his face or gray hair in his head. A blur of memories, an eternity of preparation - before he ascended the broken trail up into the misty highlands, he would sit around the crackling fire with rapt attention listening to the natives each give their own version, their own generational testimonial, of “the myth” with twinkling eyes and well rehearsed gestures. He would quietly listen, thoughtfully nod, and quickly jot precise notes into his old leather-bound book.

He came prepared…. An eternity of preparation.

As I am now prepared.

Prepared to finally face a future without “her.” I am reborn and you were the catalyst. And you are the drug that systematically erases my world of pain and loss.

Cyclic

Despite our brief history of ups and downs, trials and tribulations, we continue to come back to one another. We were both betrayed by someone close, we have both dealt with loss, subjugated to death, resigned to a life of solitude and distrust. We have so much in common it is truly frightening. Yes, we continue to come back to one another and we always manage to pull away, a perpetual sad song which harkens me to a night long ago listening to black waves crash on a desolate beach.

I have now met your mother and your father and your brother and your sisters. I am the only man you have ever brought around your son… and you are the only woman who has been around mine. One dreamy surreal night we professed our love for one another. We confessed we have always wanted to be with one another, even when we were both trapped in our doomed relationships, we would find ourselves thinking about the other and what they were doing at that moment. There was always that glimmer of hope. There was always that fleeting fantasy we would both obsessively toy with in our heads over and over like an unsolvable rubik’s cube while we went about our daily lives – the elusive “what if?”

And now we are both free. Yet there is hesitation. We are free to let go and lose ourselves in one another and escape this horrible fucking place and we cannot, we are frozen with fear, emasculated by mistrust. We have both erected walls. Impenetrable barriers. Yet little do we know these barriers could crumble away like a heap of dry leaves would we allow them to.

We are unable to just. Let. Go.

And here I am, a bottle of whiskey in hand, dousing these flames and dumbing this pain. And you have told me you drink alone as well after you put your little one to bed.

We want each other so badly we can both taste it in our mouths like rotten pennies. We have both imagined the possibilities. We are each other’s saviors. We are each other’s Messiahs. And perhaps… just maybe… we are each other’s soul mates.

But we will never know will we?

So I pull another drink from this bottle and listen to the ringing nothingness I have chosen to shroud myself in.

her

I inhale a sharp puff of the cigarette, hold it in as I feel it softly tickle the inside of my lungs with delicate feathery fingers, then I exhale through my nose two long dragon streams of white smoke. We both stare across the parking lot at some construction. We watch the workers idle about – the slow, limitless progress of ants. It’s hot. The sun causes steam to sweat out of the cracked concrete. The day is long and arduous and I am thirsty and I can imagine drinking in this mirage as I was told to do when I was little, when we’d spend long days in Brooklyn by the river.

“So I had that dream again.” I tap my cigarette with a soft snap. An inch of ash tumbles off the end, gets caught in the breeze, and is carried away.

“The girl again.” You take a drag. “Yeah, who is this girl you keep dreaming about?”

I start to speak but I’m cut off by the rumble of an approaching dump truck. I wait to respond, using this distraction to pull a deep drag off my cigarette. I exhale.

“ I don’t know who she is at all but all I know is it is ‘she.’ She… has always been there for me and she always shall be. Together we will live together and after we die we will meet each other under the branches of Yaxche and together we will slowly ascend into Xibalba, a nebulous star on the fringe of destruction or creation or … nothing….”

You are silent, patiently waiting to see if I continue. You are motionless, except a nod of quiet agreement. You choose your words, mindful not to hurt me.

“ Your story continues and it continues to break my heart. I wish there was something I could do to kill this pain… I wish there was something you’d be willing to take. You carry this burden - and you continue to choose such a difficult path and it…..”

I cut you off mid-sentence, the slightest hint of urgency and defiance in my voice.

"If I take another path then we will never find each other! Do you understand that? And – and I cannot allow that to happen by any costs or I will die.... I will fucking die.”

You hand me the soft pack. “We have time, let’s smoke another.”

beginning of an end

She looks up at me with blue eyes, so brilliantly striking, and with unflinching certainty in her voice tells me she can trust me. She tells me she can be “herself” around me and that I bring out the best things in her as the sun gently coerces the flowers from the ground or a butterfly from a cocoon. She is beautiful, and clever, and in another world… and I have always said this about her… we would be soul-mates.

I kiss her lips and close my eyes and my thoughts inevitably wander to another bed to another place in someone else’s embrace but this bittersweet memory is corrupted - tarnished by plodding, merciless time. Crackling static and shadowy flashes projected on a crumbling wall which rests at the edge of the world and….

I no longer hear the whispers.

It is silent in my world. I am numb..

I told her recently that “I am incapable of love” and it is the truth. The past, which I once wore like rusty armor… the past, which brought me solace, which I wrapped around quivering shoulders like an old blanket… is now, and perhaps indefinitely…. the past. I am gebbeth. I wander the world with a lovely smile and dead eyes.

I kiss her lips and feel nothing but dry uncomfortable friction - like rock rubbing metal. Although outwardly we look so happy and perfect together – so beautiful and perfect. And they see my smile. Perhaps a glint in my eye. I am an illusionist pulling off a magnificent trick, playing to their hopes and dreams, and what people do not see is the aged, ghastly painting I keep stored away – a painting of me dying day by day – and every breath I take I add a stroke of black, red or gray.

Tears and rain as I look to the sky and I have reached a point in my life where all I can do is simply…. laugh.

The works

" So where have you been? You haven't called or nothing. What's going on?"

" Nothing... or, er... everything... or I don't know. It's been weird."

" Weird how? Did you and her get back together?"

" It's funny, I swore we would. Either we would or I would drink myself to death. Neither happened. I have moved on. I have let go."

" Good or bad thing?"

" A good thing. Very good. I met someone you know. Well, actually, I've met two someone's and I can't decide whom I want to spend my time with. They are both amazing and smart and ... together... In fact that's where I was tonight, with K____."

" That is one of the girls?"

" Yes, she is one of the girls. And we're going out again on Thursday. Brilliant, beautiful girl. Maybe too brilliant and too beautiful for someone like me."

" Maybe she's thinking the exact same thing as you are."

" Maybe."

" So what's the game plan."

" I'm not forcing this. I'm letting the chips fall where they may."

" The chips fall where they may huh....? Well, if you walk away with greasy hands, don't wipe them on your new pants."

Elysium

The other night at the bar I ran into a friend of a friend, someone I haven’t seen for a very long time, a forgotten face from a distant past which races closer and closer each day - and I approach this past with determination, hands locked tightly on the steering wheel, eyes forward, unable or unwilling to move.

We spoke of life, it’s ups and downs. Small talk. Then she brought up you.

I haven’t seen you in over 5 years. I sternly thought I would never see you again, or speak of you even, until perhaps the day we die - when we are reunited…. and there she was telling me you never moved on. You waited. You ask about me often, evidently, with a great sadness, and a dash of hope, in your voice.

I spoke to this friend about you.

The booze coaxed words out of me I normally only reserve for the anonymous written page. I told her things, not much, but “just enough.” How I miss you. How I hope you are doing well and that you are happy. Just enough but not as much as I certainly could have. We exchanged numbers, another strategic move on my part, and I was sure to give her a ring several days later… “just calling to say hi.”

I close my eyes and I see you. When I run, and the runner’s high creeps over me in a cold shiver I see your face. I smell your hair. I long for your smile. I feel your breath on my neck. I have clothes I swear I can still smell you in.

I do not know if things could be the same between us... or if I am setting myself up for failure or disappointment. Reunited or perhaps ruination, whatever this may be, it steadily approaches.

In front of me I see a barren land. In the far-off distance stands a crumbling, ancient wall. And the whispers I hear, that I have always heard, grow louder.

Dawn

My head is finally starting to straighten out. Driving home yesterday I had an epiphany, a quiet personal victory, a moment where I didn’t think about the present but instead, looked forward to the future. The pain was gone. I was fully numb. I have moved on and there is no more “us.” I am no longer responsible for you, nor do I care what you do or where you go. I am Atlas and I have set down this preposterous burden I have bourn for countless years.

And I am smiling.

I was unsure if this “high” would last but it has. I woke up this morning with a clear head.

Yesterday, when you were over at your moms, out on bail and a day before you checked in for rehab, I had the opportunity to finally speak to you, your mom asked me if I wanted to, and it was very easy for me to tell her “no, I'm not really interested.” I do not need to speak to you or hear your "explanation." Because, and this is the truth, I really don’t care anymore about the details of what transpired.

The fact is these things happened - and it’s my “get out of jail” card.

I knew it would take something drastic for us both to finally have the guts to do what was right, and that is to go our separate ways. Our marriage sucked. We were together for him and only him. Let me rephrase that, I was there for him, you were there because I enabled you to do what it is you did. I was one of many "enablers."

We were together because it was convenient and I was just too damn lazy to break things off sooner. In addition, when all this finally went down I was devastated not because I had lost you, but because I wasn’t able to end things on my terms and it is this stubborn, macho pride that I think affected me the most.

Now a new world lies ahead of me. Unlike break-ups of the past, I do not dwell on you. I do not obsess over you because our relationship was always more of a friendship then a romance or a love affair. You were not my soul mate. And I think you have a pretty clear idea who was... and I probably wasn’t yours either.

You know, one thing that keeps things in perspective for me is this: while I was moving out, boxing my things, I came across our wedding photos down in Vegas. I looked at my face in the pictures and remembered the doubt, fear…. no not fear, but sheer terror, I was experiencing that week. I always thought I'd be with someone different. I always knew in my heart marrying you was the wrong move. It was the expected move because Presley was on his way. And it was my “duty” to marry you so I could oversee Presley's birth and his rearing.

So, I have moved on. The grieving is over. The sense of betrayal and anger has been replaced with a numb hope you may eventually get through your rehab and shake your demons, as I have, and one day become a good mom to our son, because he really does adore you. He will come and see you provided this visitation is supervised and you are continuing to be tested daily. I realize you will always be a part of his life and I will try to make the best of it. I hope he is your motivation to shake this disease you have.

But I will forever be cautious and untrusting of you.

When we speak it will be polite, to-the-point conversation about him and his well being and nothing more. I do not want to hear excuses, or apologies, or anything else from you because I don’t care anymore.

I truly do not give a flying fuck.

You go do your own thing, I already am.

Away

We push on. Even though the skies are a gray, drab curtain of menacing storm-clouds barreling closer to us... closer to the earth, we push on. For we must.

Quiet, except for the shrill whistle of the wind weaving through dead, dry branches of dead, dry trees and long ago the birds went away from this place leaving only a barren ash field stretching as far as the eye can see... perhaps forever.

I look at you, a slightly older you, and you point up at the sky and in a hoarse little voice say "Daddy I felt rain." I quietly nod, and pull the tarp over us, and we walk on. We cannot get caught out here when hell breaks loose, we must find cover and rest or we too shall die as this land has.

And you whisper in my ear "Daddy I'm scared." I kiss your cheek and assure you we will make it through. "And where is Mommy?" You ask and all I can tell you is "She is away." I turn my head and avert my eyes so you do not see my tears, I do not want to upset you. Although I know you will be all right as long as we are together.

You are the strong one.

Waste

We have moved on, Presley and I, and you now rot in jail.

I told you that this is not the path you should choose... I told you life is different for us both now... and you didn't heed a fucking word I said. Your vicious game you continued to play, queen of lies, and then you got caught you selfish pig.

Such delicious irony. YOU got caught.

Now it's YOUR house of cards that has come crashing down, whore, because we have moved on and you continue to rot in a barren cell, I hope this forced detox is extremely painful. I can't imagine the pain and hurt and emptiness you are feeling right now....

actually I can...

Because I have been there.

And the past 8 months have been pain, hurt, and emptiness as I watched you slip away. And every day I grew more and more numb. Unlike you, unlike myself once upon a time, I chose not to self-medicate. I took it like a man. Yes, I am angry and hurt, but not for myself, but for our son. It pains me he was not your first priority as he is mine. You are and always were a pitiful mother.

Now, I am all he has. We are "each the other's world entire." And you are no longer a part of the equation. You will never be. I will not allow you near him.

Unlike you, I would never smoke Heroin in the same car I pick him up in, or in the house right next to the spot he likes to play. Unlike you I am here to protect him.

I am thankful this happened. I wanted an out but my sense of "duty" kept me in. I felt obligated to play house with you and wear a happy face and pretend the world is peachy so he would be happier. I do not regret meeting you, however. You served your purpose, I have what I always wanted, I have my immortality. The center of my universe, my beautiful, beautiful boy. You are/were a mere egg donor.

You were my greatest drug buddy, the thrill of the flesh bonded us, fused us together, but then he came, unexpectedly... I changed, but you couldn't.

I don't really give a fuck where you go from here. You are now a felon, you can never be a professional or lead a normal life. You are a hopeless addict, you will relapse again and again and again, I know you will, I know you are exceptionally weak. Perhaps you will strip or suck or fuck to get what you need... I couldn't care less really as long as you stay the fuck away from him.

Perhaps you will get busted again and spend countless years locked away and forgotten, yes forgotten, because no one will come see you. You have alienated your family. You fucked them over. Presley and I will definitely not come see you. These so-called "friends" of yours whom convinced you to use, your drug buddies, will not come and see you. You will become a memory. When people speak of you they will shake their heads and say: " Such a waste. Such a waste."

Or.... Perhaps you will go to sleep and never wake up again. Oh my god, I'm crossing my fingers you do. I know you will relapse with a fucking vengeance. Try shooting your smack. Try a line of coke with that Heroin, fuck how about some meth? lol, I promise you'll like the way you feel bitch... I promise-- and I promise I will never speak ill of you to Presley, I will tell him the good things you did, which are few. But your memory will be honored. Not for your sake, but his.

Be'trayael

And so it ends. My house of cards comes tumbling down around me. I've lost yet another person I love to drug addiction, this time someone close, and I cannot find it in my heart to forgive such selfishness.

Or my own hypocrisy for doing so. Such irony.

And deep within the Kraken stirs, he has awaken from a deep slumber.

Us

It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dyin breath of
this love that we've been workin on.

You know I was struck the other day by the thought we’ve seen our best days, and here we are, in our last days, fighting so hard to delay what will inevitably come. I hear you in the other room, the soft clink of a plate or the dull drone of the TV, another world, as I sit here in mine. We pass each other by like ships in the night in the fog and all I can see is the dull, dead light in your eyes as we try and try and fail and fail to put on the happy face we should for our little one. And he knows something’s wrong, he definitely knows, in his godly wisdom, he so fucking knows and it breaks my heart.

I still care, I do. You are my best friend. You are the greatest lover I’ve ever had. But the domestic stillness is destroying us fast. And maybe it’s me, I have my problems, God knows, I have my problems, and you have yours and maybe we need to fix ourselves before we can fix our love. But we do not have a lot of time, every day he learns a bunch of new words and he’s growing up so fast and if we don’t get our shit together he will continue to fade completely away into his own little world of dogs and trains.

He flinched the other day when I went to hug him.

If we were friends, if that is possible, friends like when we first met… then maybe Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t yell at each other anymore.

Kid

What if it all should end and come tumbling down like the walls of Jericho? What will happen when the inevitable day comes where I find myself inexpressibly left with nothing?

They say when you lose everything are you able to truly do anything.

Freedom to fly away, with no reservations, away with the wind. Freedom to self-destruct. Freedom to die.

I knew an old man once, he seemed so wise. We’d spend hours together, I remember, and it always rained… always raining. He’d tell me stories about his days in the war. Amazing tales, larger then life, more life in those tales then I could every possibly imaging living… even now. To this day.

If I lost you I’d have nothing left, little man. Because of you I get out of bed, and eat, and try to dream. I have to dream, for us. For you and me. And sometimes I hate myself for being so selfish. I know it’s not about me anymore, but I cling to the past like toilet paper to a shoe.

I continue to live because of you and even then it’s hard to do so, but I promise you I’ll try.

Fragment

“ Have you ever reached that point in your life when you’d swear you’re dying?”

He pauses - crackling silence on the other end, like an old black and white movie. “Dying?”

“ I mean these dreams I keep having. Every one of them… it’s the same thing… I’ve died and I am a ghost…. Or I die and I wake up resurrected and it’s a younger me from 6 years ago… and it’s so sad and so heartbreaking because I haven't even met my wife and my son hasn't been born, and probably never will be... I'm so sad because it's as though they've both died... erased from existence. And I know I could never recreate the life I had led… it could never be the same. I have this dream, it’s a recurring dream, and every time I wake up racked with chills and convulsive sobs.”

“ So you think you’re dying because of this?”

“ My health is fading fast. I get dizzy all the time. My mind won't stay focused on one thing. I just… I know I’m dying. And it keeps raining, it's always raining. Why won't it stop?”

" I don't know what to say. I can only advise you try and stay strong."

Memories crumble and fade and drift away into the night sky like a trillion fireflies. Deep rumbling breakdown of rolling storm clouds outside and the world is so wet and gray. Burning arm bathed in gangrene sepia tones and the crackling creak of countless roach feet scuttling in between the walls and inside numb toes. Can't differentiate between this happy life I made and the one I barely escaped.

Time after time

Flashback to moments left behind. Rewind to a happier time, sunshine down on carefree days of carefree play. A careful daze in tearful waves I recall the walk, the bittersweet road leading to a dead end cluster-fuck traffic jam of un-kept promises and deceit and of course if you’re lost and you look you won’t find me.

Chickenshit coward I’ve lost myself, hope and joy turned to gray, time after time you fell and in my hubris I looked the other way and pretended nothing happened. So you left, and went so far away, and all you left behind I stuffed in a pipe and burned as my eyes roll back fighting fears and fighting tears - I catch myself from falling down.

Death claimed you when you were so very young and I never had the chance to tell you that… I cared. I really do give a fuck and I fight the urge to drink and drink and drink, I fight it and I lose, because I do… I really do… don’t know what to do without you. This pain is nothing new since you left so far... so far...

Proud Titania

He takes a long drag and all I see are embers and red eyes. Hold, then exhales, two streams of magic dragon-breath through his nostrils as he lifts the cold can of Pabst to dry lips in one fluid motion. The growing dusk blankets us like fog but we keep chilling, unwilling to take the party indoors.

My mind races and reels, torrents of flickering distortions fed into my skull. I’m thinkin’ maybe I shouldn’t have taken two tabs of acid. Perhaps I’m thinkin’ I may be too old for hallucinogenic mind fucks… after all I’ve always said acid is a young man’s drug, but I dropped anyway against my better judgment. Cool breeze, a midsummer night’s dream. Old Door’s tape in the boom box filling the night air and I can see the music swirl about, drifting higher and higher into the sky, and I reach out my hand to try and hold the organ and the guitar and the thick purple crayon bass lines, but the elusive ripples dissipate to my touch.

I remember seeing you there sitting by the fire, dark eyes gazing out to the ocean. I remember asking you what you were thinking about, hypnotized by your black hair… watching your skin breathe, careful not to fall into a pore. “ Tuzik, why are you so sad?” And I remember you turned to me and smiled, “Not sad sweetie, just thinking about home.” And I answered: “but I’m right here.”

“I wish it were that easy,” you sigh… and I feel a great melancholy fill my heart, which is now sealed in glass and tossed about haplessly in the waves. Like some Dutch boy popped his finger out of the dyke with a defiant snarl and now I’m drowning, the waves smother me as I claw at the surface unable to breathe for I know the future holds absolutely nothing for us except tragedy.

I turn and stumble, reaching out my hands to catch myself, and walk back to my circle of friends who toss about the footbag, the “sipa,” transfixed by the tracers following the intricate flight patterns… I smile and hum Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov’s Flight of the Bumblebee.

High relief in stained glass

I can’t help but wonder how a cow feels as it stands in line waiting for its turn to be slaughtered. I heard somewhere once that unlike the slaughterhouses of old, where helpless cows would be mercilessly clubbed to death in some filthy Sinclairian hell, today’s slaughterhouses employ more humane techniques. The procedure is quite efficient. The livestock is led single file thru a series of winding tunnels, they have no notion of what lies ahead, they can only focus on the rear quarters of the animal directly in front. Upon reaching their destination they are rendered unconscious by a high- powered metal bolt. Their limp body is then suspended upside down by one of their hind-legs, of course this breaks the leg and connecting hip immediately. The cow’s throat is quickly slit and the unconscious animal bleeds to death, never awakening. It's a very efficient process, it really is. Very efficient. And that’s how I sit in this throbbing, ungodly morning traffic – confused eyes locked on the car in front of me, willing it to go faster, as I patiently wait for what could be MY turn in the slaughtering pen. My thoughts wander to happier times, old yellowing memories. My glazed eyes glance to the side of the road and for a moment I am taken back to the ocean. Languid days shore-fishing with Grandpa. The million shards of crunchy glass, a collection of countless fender-benders, countless fragments of windshields, small snippets of death and trauma and white blankets swathed over an inert husband or father or lover or son who won't be coming home tonight… some accident gone horribly awry, black ties and long faces, and a million shards of crunchy glass take me back to the sea and it’s shiny shells and brilliant black rocks. Far, far away from the slaughterhouse but not far enough from the dull ache in my arm and the biting fire in my veins.