visited *loading* times
fiction.
i come to meet christian. we are on our way. signed the papers today. inside it smells of smoke and spilled talent. make my way toward the bar. pass lost faces. i find a stool and sit. bench sets my pint on the shiny, dull textured metal.
i glance at my phone. christian is late. i look for my favorite waitress, but don't see her.
christian comes to the bar. what's up kid? i say. he wears a plaid dress shirt, looks like a suburban asshole, but he's all right. he orders a guinness. i light a cigarette. he asks when we're going to be ready. i tell him i'm thinking 3 months. i visit the architect tomorrow. i ask christian what he thinks the ceilings are in this place. he says 20 feet, i tell him i'm thinking 18. something warm and familiar enters.
soft brown curls, more like waves. she is pale and dark and gloomy and lovely. my toes curl around the bar stool. i lean back slightly.
christian makes plans and sets the agenda. i drift. he asks if i think we're going to have enough money to make it. i tell him i'm nervous too, but we're going to be fine. we have to be, i say, we have no other choice.
she walks by and smells like the edge of heaven. spring and honey and flowers. tall, not too thin. she doesn't smile.
i tell christian not to worry, everything will work out. he says one of us has to. he then says it'll be pretty cool.
she walks by again. unravel. her hair twists softly in back, her legs pale. she looks soft. yeah, i say, it's going to be great. i can't wait. we're going to open a fucking restaurant.
the sun goes down. i see a girl who looks tremendous. she talks to an ape of a man then eavesdrops as the bartender rambles. i listen. absorb. bench tells me he plays out a lot and has gigs booked through april. i tell him cool. he says he is thinking of quitting this place. i tell him he can't leave. another hefe-weizen, then settle the tab and leave.
light from the window. the expansive hardwoods glisten in the darkness. mazzy star spins dreamily. a flower waits to bloom outside.
mist drifts down to shiny, cold pavement. damp air presses against my skin. inside i meet a guy from seattle. good natured and a little seedy. radar. nothing, then a blip. i take a hard look and look away. i also see a girl i think i know from cameroun. she wears an audi windbreaker and has super skinny legs and an insatiable appetite for drugs. warm blood flows. wait the wait as workers work.
i spot a discarded o'charley's hat in the parking lot. crumpled and dirty. i step across.
we were just walking around. no smile, a wrinkle in mine. tethered to eyes as your hesitation draws me closer. i lean into you. bring me into your fold like origami.
the sink is cold against my leg in the pitch. cool tile underfoot followed by hardwoods. stumble toward the monitor's white glow. it burns my retinas while coffee thrusts life into pillowy synapses. outside light silently crashes through darkness. a small miracle. no space ship lands during the night and i'm not surprised, only disappointed. warmth awash as life returns. a slow awakening. morning beats a different drum.
love is a bastard. a distraction that makes my blood feel warm. golden lights blind.
in the shower water rushes over me, droplets and spray pound my face. stand there and take it. it's cool at first then warm and finally hot. steam fills the room, the door shut almost all the way. wash and rinse and stand there just letting water rush over me. i should get out, go to work. i will not leave this place, i will not leave.
the water is colder now. i get out. dress, work, drive home. i call, get voice mail, leave message. hang up.
the old building fills with young people. silent cool. gaze into the cloudy liquid. vaguely alive, a drinker of life. glasses line up. fill. reduce. dry, then overflow and begin again. the pace steady, but not frenetic. the chair beneath me solid but impermanent.
i soar. i wrestle with swirling identity and ambition. it's red and makes my eyes burn.
blink. everything becomes clear. dilate. calm focus. the time is now. fluid. she stands before you. fear removed. break the heart first, she says.
guarded. sound elevates then dies. chilled, i put on my favorite hoody. the furnace trips and hums. the blower relunctantly kicks in. the old building creaks, but solid. the apartment begins to warm now. control, i'm here. ultrasuede.
i put on music. it soothes. liberates. transports. those that i know, those that i associate with and those whom i've never met. on the road of life, i'm a peculiar intersection. strange and wonderful things happen on these corners late at night. after dark it's like another time zone where all the cool things happen, like vampires and red wine and steak dinners. i'm comfortable here.
escape mud. sketched in stone. a new year in the distance. follow an excursion. a monument to self importance.
the saucer is packed. trivia night. i drink czech not german. meet christian and his amigos. he tells me my girl works tonight. christian goes to turn in our answer for trivia. i ask the amigos what they do when they are not here to drink. they tell me they do nothing. both are recent grads. a crap job market and no motivation.
christian gets a movie question. a friend hits hamlet dead on. a girl i recognize, missy. i arrange introductions. christian is enamored. i miss roman numerals and nail the st. valentine's day massacre. later, i notice the waitress from last week looks regularly to our table. i mention this casually. christian is skeptical and questions if she has a boyfriend.
hannibal crosses the alps on elephants. i look up. her hair is short, brown and gently curls. pouty lips, a cute wrinkle. she tugs gently on her shirt as she walks by. i, the accelerant. she, the arsonist. a breath. devil's night.
it is cold and i feel restless. everything is as it should be.
chase and i meet at mcguinness', the new irish pub. wind slices my bones as i cross the street, climbing the hill toward music row. inside, brown concrete floor. everything's brown and tan here, except the staff who all wear black. i order a guinness and the bartender, an irish fellow, delivers it with a shamrock in the head. good work mate! i exclaim, but not out loud.
chase and i sit at the bar. he drinks a bass and is stoned again. he tells me the kid who owns this place is like 26. there are at least 3 redheads who work here and not a blonde in sight. i like this place already. death cab for cutie runs through my head. i smile while chase complains about his boss. a girl with long red sleeves underneath a black shirt waits for beers for her table. she has long dark hair and is on edge unsure whether she is a hippie or a punk rock girl. pale with identity crisis. i tell chase that this is some damn good beer. another guinness, i light up.
a guy from new york who bartends at sunset introduces himself. he wears a yankee jersey and tells me about when he took a friend from alabama to new york. he says his friend thought all of the orthodox jews were rabbis and refused to be persuaded otherwise. they share a cab with one and the fare was $20 apiece. the orthodox jew got out first and paid $10. he says for the rest of their trip everytime his friend encountered an orthodox jew, he would step up next to them, all 6 foot something, 230 pounds of him, look them up and down and say, no, you're not him. about this time, new york's friends show up. one is a half drunk neanderthal. i like him best of all.
the bartender is too skinny and not a redhead delivers another guinness. chase gets a harp. we see a guy who used to work with us. he's a bartender somewhere now. we leave too early and on the way i give a bum 5 bucks.
early.
foggy alcohol nights interlace morning moments of clarity. pretentious, pretending to be someone you're not. but what if you are who you pretend to be? what is that? drifting, falling, like the songs says. the exciting part of life is the dream, the change, the transition, to push the envelope and then cross and punch through its opposite crease. nothing absorbs like youth. one day you wake up and you are who you are. narcissus could only see himself and was therefore destined to be alone.
it fills me with wonder. are you real if you're not on tv?
i drink coffee and watch 2 light grey purple birds on the neighbor's roof. a male and female dance back and forth, tease and charge and parry. the female flies to the back and the male gazes then departs headed west.
late.
voices to drown out my own. to silence the deafening from within. the human touch.
the kid worked 2 jobs just to survive. a good looking kid, could've been a model. sharp, chiseled features, even though he's small. he hit both ways even though he was assured of any girl in the place. he invited me home once when we were both very drunk. flattered, but declined. he ends up going home with a gorgeous dark redhead who's too loud. the kid moved to new orleans this weekend. i'm going to miss him.
singular focus sometimes detracts. katie goes to new mexico. stephanie goes to san diego. amy is missing. singular focus detracts from the human touch. regret is a fucking bitter pill.
change makes me feel alive. immerse myself and then withdraw.
smooth and rough. the human touch. it's warm and soft and gives off energy and life and it's a vitamin for the soul. there is beauty and there's the touch and there's beauty in the touch. damaged goods. she is shiny and not too skinny. lavish. destroyed, but i can rebuild. food and sugar and chocolate. chemicals and chemistry. what do you like? i long for something beautiful to fill the binding emptiness. shiny, a natural luminescence, no oil slick this one. beaten and bitten and tired and high. exhaustion on top of exhaustion. we stick. you don't resist my command. i watch you turn to look back as you fly west.
i blend. i stick out. press glass to mouth. a sore thumb goes numb. the bartender has short black hair and is juicy like citrus. she delivers and i'm wreckless. far and not nearly far enough. close to mouth, i smile and smoke and sift through memories. it is dark and frequent and here and now. smoke rises and silence speaks.
i blink. a girl named sadie. tiny, an abnormal attraction. brown hair, beautiful teeth, vaguely bohemian. says she's into country and 80's and in a band. christian talks about east german, a waitress who could bust cinderblocks with her triceps. i tell christian she was the bouncer the other night. he laughs maniacally and drinks. that being said, east german looks dynamite in a pair of jeans. christian has friends here and they are young and look like their wardrobes were picked out by their mothers. i think i kind of piss them off.
girl is not here tonight. she charges with uber electricity. i crave the surge. i try to remain open like flux, a state that does not come naturally. there are demons and there is everyone else. girl is a demon. she haunts. love life.
morning pain and the belief in relief. i get up, shower. encompass steam and dreams and wonder. the day begins and so it begins.
at the grocery store a girl with blonde brown red hair and a venom piercing through her lip is my cashier. there is beauty in the way it punctures her porcelain pink skin. a china doll, i want to pull and tug at it ever so gently. we exchange small talk and money and i leave armed with juice out into the sunny frosty day. i smile. a grateful distraction.
brown hair waves and i struggle to think of anything else. out of focus as you work surly. euphoria and there is only fear and redemption. bells ring and you measure everything carefully. i am a throw away garbage boy and that's ok.
i fall and soar and it's better than never to leave the ground at all. heat hot heat and you're so warm i burn. vintage jeans never look so good. i feel slipped. the encounter will be rough and gentle and i'll probably just be quiet, too quiet. and alone. fate smiles, but i look the other way.
sooner.
you turn and walk away. i reach out, my palm almost turned up. i worry that you might hurt yourself, but the morning is here, the bottle is empty and it resounds a hollow feeling that now permeates the room. i'm going to hold on.
later.
the buses make a final pass around the city before the drivers go home for the night. the clouds are low and grey. it's dark and cold and rain falls softly. i pass the park where a shape camps on a bench under a blanket, condensed exhaled moisture escapes irregularly. desertion. broken.
i drive but don't feel motion and everything is sort of colorless and i am in tune to what's going on and it genuinely disturbs. a girl from work got her tooth pulled yesterday and she told me how she woke up with drool running down her pillow and it was unclear and vaguely bloody. i try to picture it as i navigate late night traffic and it makes me smile. chase follows behind and tries to keep up and i am euphoric off the music and 4th gear. we pull in and get primo parking because it's cold as hell and no one with any damn sense is out to try to get a drink now.
we capture seats at the bar and the bartender sets me up and leaves the lemon out and i'm grateful. another bartender wears a shirt that on the front reads 'diggity dank'. i scan the room to find my favorite tartan clad girl. i don't see her and i gulp beer to improve the situation. chase tells me he likes the asian girl sitting at a table in the 5 o'clock postion to us at the bar. i agree that she's attractive and then turn around and chase tells me he sees a waitress he really likes. i look up hopefully, but it is not the one. i continue to drink and light a cigarette and it helps to take the edge off, if only momentarily.
it is not crowded. chase and i argue over politics. he is knowledgeable and sensible and capable of reason, and so it goes. he says there's the one you like and i look up and warmth washes over me. true beauty comes along once every 7 years. she is the one.
chase tells me about going to a country show last week while he was on vacation and how he scored the weed. i turn and gaze and only pay half attention. she's pale and offbeat with kind of short wavy brown hair. she's never happy and that makes me like her even more. i fall in and out of conversation until she stops directly behind me. my mind goes blank, my chest gets heavy, i can feel my blood coursing through every vein and i lean and lean and lean...
lips drip honey, your eyes sparkle frosty as i head toward my destination. the distance is more than physical. i reach and grab and grasp for the safe womb. crawl, no end in sight. the pounding continues, the lights grow bright and my pupils constrict. i squint, the bridge of my nose wrinkles. blinds and windows are open and cool air rushes in. the stereo kicks on incidentally and we twirl and spin and dance.
there is chocolate and it's everywhere and it's candy and the walls are red and orange and brown. you are warm and soft in all the right places and your hair smells brilliant. wool and cotton fall to the ground and cashmere drops off and the lads are outside and voices deafen and you get up to shut the window. there is pain and it's cruel but smooth like brandy in the snow. my legs tingle and you whisper 'i don't mind if you forget me.' i feel certain.
today.
nights at the bar bookend humdrum days. i slice a path through the crisp night air. i have not recovered from last night and i am in the express lane toward the same fate this evening. i open the sun roof and accelerate to 45 down west end in a vain attempt to feel a connection with reality i'm not certain exists. chase calls me about 2 o'clock from a new irish pub just off music row. i had the good sense not to pick up the phone. another less inhibited more slurry voicemail a couple hours later which also goes ignored.
tomorrow.
i drive to see the parents. the steep hills of tennessee give way to the rolling crests and valleys of kentucky. later marshlands in illinois succumb to ozark hills. jagged barren branches rise up from the land. everything is grey, overcast, dead. i listen to the smiths and joy division. a weekend with parents is a weekend in elba. there is a gap and no escape. parents talk about things. i don't give a fuck about things. i still love them though.
a smell of peppers and fresh bread transports me back to the old house and youth. simpler times gone by.
one day dad and i drive to st. louis to pick up italian groceries. he drives like a fucking maniac. while we're in town he refuses to go over 30, cars queue up behind us. on the freeway, he drives 60 then speeds up to 80 and then slows down again. we follow a truck from the aurora casket company for about 20 miles. once we get to the city, he wants to go to a bookstore. in the parking lot, he punches the accelerator and a guy in a dark green mustang nearly sideswipes us.
afterward we go to the hill to pick up italian groceries. at the checkout counter a surly italian girl takes my money. we go around the corner to get sandwiches on bread fresh from the oven, the kind of sandwiches you can only get on the hill. the woman in front of us in line asks about every item on the menu. on the drive back we get about 20 minutes from the exit when my father discovers cruise control.
on my drive back to nashville, i pass a billboard for jj's adult boutique and right next to it another that reads 'pornography destroys lives!' i stop in u city and go to the bakery then cross the street for coffee and it's cold here too. the wind blows as i walk around and there are lots of young people. it's dirty and i miss it. i get in the car to head home and as i cross the mississippi i think of the pale brunette putting her hand on my shoulder a few short nights ago. i smile and wonder.
today
August 2006
July 2006
May 2006
March 2006
January 2006
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
October 2004
August 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
Template by motime.com