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Monday, February 11, 2013

An uneasy confession


Attempt #34

Last Thursday morning I made myself a cocktail consisting of vodka, tequila and coke which I chased with ten hydrocodone and an ambien. I set out all the prepared notes and instructions. I set my MP3 player to the playlist of all my favorite songs. I then laid in my bed and waited. Nothing happened.

Several hours later I greeted my mother when she got home and made small talk about her day after making us each a cup of coffee. It was during my third sip when I was rocked with a wave of nausea so severe it sent me sprinting for the bathroom; barely making it to the toilet in time before vomiting a little into the toilet. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and excused myself to bed for the evening.
The next day I received a text from mom asking for the whereabouts of the missing pills and I told her the truth. After I assured her she didn’t have to send someone out to the house and would be there when she got home; she had me call my stepfather to tell him what I had done. It went better than I expected. Then, I spent the longest day in isolation yet as I awaited the conversation I knew was soon to come.

Mom came home early Friday afternoon and the first thing she said upon seeing me was, 

“There’s a reason you got sick. It’s a sign from God that it’s not your time to go yet.”

I tried to assure her that not only had I not vomited enough to make an impact, but also my years of taking pills medicinally, recreationally as well as several similar attempts have given me a tolerance much greater than most. But we believe what we want.

Some of the topics covered in the ensuing conversation:

I broke a promise to her and she expressed her anger and disappointment.

She said she knows I just want to be loved and looking for it online was only proving detrimental, because it’s easy for women to feed me lines to rope me in before severing the ties and thus leaving me adrift.

The idea of me getting back on meds seemed stupid to me, since pills are my choice tool of self destruction they might as well prescribe me a loaded gun.

I don’t like myself much.

She thinks it’s selfish to want to leave everyone behind to pick up the pieces; while I maintained the selfish thing is to want someone to stick around when they’re suffering just to appease others.

It then just all dissolved to me crying my eyes out.

I still wasn’t feeling well from the abundance of opiates in my system and excused myself to bed before my stepdad got home. I woke up at ten to find a missed call from V and when I returned it we spoke for about a minute which was the most in about a week. I promptly passed out again.

I awoke at 5 am Saturday morning with a few select images from a particularly vivid and nasty dream seared into my brain; nightmares being a side effect of hydrocodone. I spent the next few hours hidden away in my room until my stepdad left for work, because I was still reticent to face him. After he left I came downstairs to smoke and have a cup of coffee with mom. She asked if I was feeling any better and I was honest. She said she needed to run some errands in a few hours and wanted me to go with her. I hid myself away again until it was time to go.

The first part of our drive was in relative silence until I mentioned how much I wished I had been able to go to school in California. She said she didn’t even know I had been accepted.

A side note: this is one of my biggest issues with people and my mother is particularly bad with this. I’ll tell them things about me and the information is rarely retained for more than a day. She should have known about what happened in regards to the school, but instead I had to tell the entire story to her for the fifth time. Also? I remember every personal story anyone has ever told me; I’m a sponge when it comes to pain and I’ve yet to find a way to successfully wring myself out.

She then told me about the opportunities she could have pursued a higher education had her father not hindered her. 

After we picked up my stepdad’s dry cleaning we swung over to the Hallmark store in order to pick up a card for my sister’s birthday. There’s a Hasting’s next to it and she suggested I go in and look around while she picked out her items.

Right inside the entrance was a table at which sat a guy about my age, a few copies of his book placed before him, but no lines or patrons even remotely interested. I wanted to approach him; to talk about his book, what roads he took to get published and maybe try to make a general connection with a fellow writer, but I didn’t have any money to purchase his book and the sight of him sitting alone with his words hit far too close to home that the most I could manage was a pained smile as I slinked past. 

I wandered the store aimlessly and could feel the anxiety build inside the deeper I got. I found and aisle filled with action figures and other types of memorabilia which I’d only previously seen pictures of online and felt a little better. Once I’d reached the end, however, the panic set in with a fury and I made my way to the exit as quickly as I could without making a scene and avoided eye contact. 
I met back up with mom next door and she asked if I’d found anything I might have wanted. I told her I appreciated the gesture, but I was fine. We made our purchases and went to the Dollar store, the last stop of our journey. This store greeted us with a display of assorted Valentine’s Day gifts and I pondered which was more depressing; a dollar store Valentine or none at all. After some shopping we came to a rack filled with gift cards and she asked if I would like one for iTunes, which I graciously accepted.

Back in the car I told her I was going to download the rest of the chapters to The Walking Dead game, because I was dying to see where the story went. This led to me telling her about the differences between the show and comic before a dissection of comic book adaptations on general. I know she wasn’t interested, but we both enjoyed a car ride in which I talked openly. 

It was a good moment and one on which I would like to end this story.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Screenshots from my site

Want something unique, groundbreaking and with true artistic merit? Check it
 
The Homepage

 
The Notebook

and yes


you actually get




to scroll through the pages.
 
 


One of the easter eggs




Thursday, October 18, 2012

How I came to fall for a jellyfish

Signal Fire-Snow Patrol

I was on tumblr for less than two weeks when I found her blog by searching tags for a word I still hate to say aloud. I read her story and was taken aback by the dignity, poise and utter fucking bravery with which she tackled the subject. I submitted a piece which spoke a little of my experience and she posted it shortly thereafter. She even wrote an extra P.S. which ended with, "just imagine I'm holding you real tight, yeah?"

I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but instantly I was smitten.

I followed it along with her personal blog and every time her face graced my dashboard the infatuation dug in a little bit deeper. At the time I was wrapped up in an exceedingly unhealthy relationship, so I just creepily admired her from afar. Thankfully, before long it ended and almost immediately after I struck up another courtship which, while short lived, was nowhere near as tragic.

It was about this time I discovered she had started seeing a guy and, while I was happy for her, I couldn't help but fill a bitter sting of jealousy. A few months later I was perusing her blog only to discover it had ended with him. I'd wanted to try and contact her, offer some sort of commiseration, but I didn't think it seemed right. I barely knew her and didn't want to seem like I was just trying to capitalize on her vulnerability.

A few weeks ago things got bad for me and my blog was filled with morose pieces. It was during this time she sent a message asking if everything was alright. I was not in a very positive place, so I opted not to respond because I didn't want to bitch about my problems or let the girl I'd been crushing on for so long to see me at my worst. Soon after I was on a plane back for Texas in order to try and get myself right.

So it goes.

The next week and change was spent seeing family and dealing with this through intense writing sessions. Last Saturday after I'd gotten back from volunteering at the nursing home I sat down with my mic and recorded a piece I'd been planning for almost a year. Once it was posted I felt revitalized in a way only creating some truly worthwhile can bring.  Bolstered by this sudden onset of confidence I decided to finally respond to her message.  We talked longer than we had before, but tumblr's mail system is frustrating and took our conversation to gchat.  I was up for over forty hours by the time we sent our hellos, but I'd have been damned if I was going to let something like sleep deprivation keep me from getting to know this lovely young woman.

The conversation came easy and went from light to more serious affairs.  She told me about immigrating to the US as well as her childhood, all the while I hung on every word.  I then went into details about my life I don't offer so readily through conversations.  Then the amazing happened; she listened and understood.  Toward the end things got flirtatious, but I tried to keep my cool and not take it too seriously.  When we said goodnight I was left with a smile and sleep came easily.

After I awoke and waited the time necessary to not come off quite as anxious to talk to her as was the case; I signed on, said hello and conversation picked right back up where we left off.  Over the next several hours we spoke about relationships, family, dreams, passion, religion and everything in between.  I again showed more courage than I thought myself capable of and gave her my number.

She called it instantly.

The sound of her voice caused my breath to catch in my throat and I still haven't gotten it back.  The conversation lasted eight hours and I was astonished by just how wonderful this woman is.  She was patient and I spoke and always kept me laughing.  I'd admitted to the long standing crush I'd had on her and in a surprising turn of events she reciprocated.  Towards the end of the night the conversation took a turn towards the hot and heavy, but she stopped it so as to not rush things too much.  I understood, told her as much and didn't bring it up again.  It finally reached the point where she could no longer fight back the sleep which weighed heavy on her lids and had to retire.  I layed in bed with my mind reeling with every word spoken between us and sleep did not call me as it did her.

It was before the sun rose when she called me and recanted the withdrawal she'd made the night before and the which passed her lips lit this fire within I'd thought had long been snuffed out.  The breathiness of her vocables, mixed with the moans and the exuberance with which she came formed the sweetest symphony I'd ever heard. 

The next several days were filled with more conversations, revelations and early morning passions.  I've gotten to know her in more ways than I'd ever dreamed possible and I like everything I see.  She's not perfect, but it's becoming apparent the flaws either mirror my own, or compliment them in some strange fashion.  She claims she's a hot mess, I maintain she's only half right.  I've spent my dating life trying to find what it is I was in a partner.  At most they'd have two or three qualities and the negatives never outweighed them.  She's different.  All the important checks have been marked and the cons never even come close to making me look twice.


I can even pin point the exact moment where I fell into another four letter word which I know I shouldn't bring myself to say and it really doesn't matter, because it wouldn't convey the true depths of it anyway. It was during one of our late night phone sessions and I just sat in relative silence as she shared her writings with me. Then, one particularly heartbreaking one past through the headset and that was all it took. It also didn't hurt that the talent with which she told it made me feel like an amateur by comparison.

It's not, however, easy at times; what with the distance and no idea how to close it with the current situation in which I find myself.  Sometimes after we hang up for the night I'll find myself  riddled with the doubts which tell me there's no way someone so beautiful, amazing, funny, sweet and smart will ever find anything in me worth sticking it out for, but I'm tired of listening to that voice.  I've learned by now it doesn't have my best intentions at heart.

And now I'm sitting here while talking with her on gchat.  I'm not sure what the future is going to hold and at times this does make me feel uneasy.  However, I'm tired of doubts holding me back from trying to go after things I want in this life.  And I want to see where this takes me, no matter where the road may lead.  I'm in.

So it goes.

Anything for you-Ludo

Carry the stone

 

I enter the bar and uncerimoniuosly take my usual booth. To call this place a dive would suggest it had some sort of charm which keeps bringing me here day after day. It doesn’t.

The tables are all coated so thick with grease that if you were to run your finger across their surface you’d pull it back black. It’s been decades since the windows had glass in their frames. They’re boarded up so tight that, even though it’s just before noon, they let in no sunlight. The other patrons plant themselves in stools held together with duct tape and a prayer. When they do get up and move around the air is so thick with dust and smoke it’s more akin to walking through mud than an open room. The jukebox is broken and only plays Hey You by Pink Floyd, but no one ever has the energy to walk over and unplug the damn thing.

Yes, there are other places for us to go; ones filled with celebrations, laughter and long anticipated reunions. Sometimes a particular crowd will get so loud their jovial songs are able to permeate these molding walls. But, no, those aren’t the types of environments for people like me. You could say it’s this bar’s utter desolation which beckons me.

After a few minutes the waitress walks over, sets my drink before me and slinks away without a word. I chug it down with purpose and return it to the table empty. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look at my fellow patrons. Occasionally you’ll have a guy or one of the more adventurous parties pop in for awhile, but it doesn’t take them long to realize they don’t belong here; not like us regulars. We’re all of us looking for something. You can tell by our constant glances at the door; searching for an arrival which never shows. For as long as I’ve been coming here none of us have uttered a single word; more content to try and drown away our demons in silence.

The waitress brings my second round and, as always, I try with futility to get drunk. The drinks must be more water than ale, because every day I hammer them back from open to close and never achieve so much as a buzz. But I keep trying, because anymore it’s all I know how to do.

Hours pass, though time really is just as meaningless as the alcohol I consume. One of the gentleman at the bar begins to wail loudly and I busy myself with my newly filled glass. The bell above the entrance chimes and after forty long years my wait is over.

There she is standing in the doorway.

Her eyes scan the crowd and when they meet mine she gasps with enough force to cause the dust to dance around her. Her smile causes my eyes to leak and, suddenly, she’s sitting across from me.

“I…” her voice breaks. She looks away and takes a deep breath and begins chewing on her thumbnail. After several moments she clasps her hands on the table in front of her and returns her gaze to me before trying again. “I was hoping I might find you here.”

“Yeah…I figured I’d have ended up in the really bad one too.” She nods and blinks away a tear. “My God, you’re so beautiful.” is the only thing I can bring myself to say.

“Really? I’d asked them to make me look like you’d remember.” She says through the sheepish smile which makes me melt every time.

“Not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, but why are you here?” I ask.

“Isn’t it obvious? I was looking for you.”

“But why? I figured you moved on a long time ago.”

“I got married. Had two kids.” I’m unable to hide a pained expression at the last revelation. “I lived a long life, though that wasn’t something one can simply move on from.”

I nod before saying, “Tell me about your kids.”

“They’re wonderful.” She beams. “A boy and a girl. He became a pharmicist and she teaches fifth grade. They even blessed me with the most amazing grandchildren.”

“And your husband? Did he treat you right?”

“Yes. He was a good, kind man. We were happy.”

“That’s great.” I tell her with as much sincerity as I can muster. “I’m so very happy for you.” Then I look down at my hands. She reaches over and takes them in hers. After a beat she turns them over so my palms face the ceiling and begins to stroke my wrists. “I’m so sorry.” This is when I break.

“Shh…, it’s okay, baby.” She tells me as she places her right hand under my chin and lifts it until my eyes meet hers. She swallows hard before saying, “I was upset with you for a long time. Then I was just so angry.”

“I understand.” I tell her and try to look away, but she grabs me and pulls me back.

“You owe me this.”

I nod and don’t avert my eyes again.

“I know now it didn’t have anything to do with me, but it fucked me up for a long time. No matter who I was with, even my husband, I still thought about you and wondered ‘what if’. We never even got a chance and I felt cheated. I couldn’t believe you just…” This time it’s her eyes which wander and they stop at the open wounds running up my wrists.

I get up and sit down in the booth beside her. For the first time ever I take her in my arms and hold her tight. We weep together until neither of us have any tears left.

“How did you…” I start to ask as I hand her a napkin.

“Cancer.” She takes it and wipes her eyes. “I battled it for two years until one night I went to sleep and was just gone.”

“I’m glad it was peaceful and you’re not hurting anymore.” I tell her.

“You’re still the same.” She says as she touches my cheek another time. “I came here to tell you two things. One: I forgive you.” She leans in and presses her lips against mine, filling my body with a warmth I’ve been lacking since I first came to this place. She breaks the kiss and leans in closer until she’s right against my ear and whispers, “Two: I’ve got a room nearby and we have so much catching up to do.”

We don’t say another word as we exit the booth and make our way to the exit. As I open the door and hold it for her I notice the cuts which once marred my wrists and forearms have vanished without so much as a scar. Before I cross the threshold I glance back at the regulars. I hope some day soon this door opens for them to find their angel which will lead them out of the Purgatorio and grant them peace.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Davlin/Brand New Mash Up

You may have noticed many of my works feature their own soundtrack.  I've created audio for Maudlin intercut with Noro by Brand New.  It's a good representation of how it all sounds in my head while I'm writing it all out.  Since Blogger won't allow me to place the track here, follow this link to check it out.  It's pretty damned impressive if I do say so myself.