wrangled and wrinkled.

Friday, November 26, 2010

'Ana

I always said I hated you. Or that you weren't good enough. Although, tellingly enough...I was the first to admit and admire your beauty. And I'm not saying I'm in a sad state of mind, but would it be too much to ask for you to come to me again? In the beginning: there were days where we both woke up together in the blazing sun. Our first summer together, I was altogether lost. I didn't know where my hands belonged, or if they had worth. I remember, though that they were put to work each day. I never knew what a blessing you were then. But each day began with the sun, and waking up in a room with a squeaky couch, and wondering if I'd need a sweatshirt for the morning. After a few days in May, I didn't. It turned out to be one of the hottest summers I've ever experienced. Two things stand out from that summer: heated bike rides from home to work at 6:50am, and scorched pavement to and from my house to my friends house.

I don't think I'll ever be one of those guys who screams "take me back to that place!" but I can admit I was a confused person during our tenure. But give me a chance to say my peace here. I cursed you so many times for all those freezing nights. When I thought I was living a tough life in my one bed room apartment. That was the time everybody called me a hermit, but they didn't know all I wanted was some visitors. I used to get home at 11:45pm, take a shower, drink a beer and watch a movie until 12:30am. Then I'd freeze on that couch until morning and go to another day of work. Was I so hell bent on leading that life that I closed my heart to you? Why did I always think those thoughts alone in the dark? What once was red and beating for some reason changed to bruised and stunted.

Yes, there were times I found solace in you. Mostly down south where your beauty shown in obvious fashion. I valued the clean streets, the valleys and peaks of you, and of course your sunsets. Your sunsets are the best I will ever see. Must be something about the lay of the land, but I can see it for miles, and I always-always-always stopped to admire them. You flooded me in once and it was an adventure. The next few days I saw what Noah saw, I traversed waterfalls, and drank in the light shining through your leafy trees.

Why-why-why do I always want to be somewhere else? So I left you alone. I blamed you for my problems, and I didn't get involved. I always thought you were a one night stand, but in reality you were 8 years of living. When everyone moved on I lost a lot of hope in you. So eventually I decided to leave too. Oh I know if I were to return right now all my ill will would come swimming back through my mind. But it's my goal to remember you fondly. Like every other ex, with each new hardship I regress in my mind and see you as the illuminating-angel-saviour-ghost breathing sweet breath blessings on me. Waiting to swoop in, and take care of me. And since it has always been my habit to remember only good times I now dedicate all memories of you in the highest regard. Even though most of the time I was surrounded by my own doubt...but I suppose it was only doubt in myself.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Do you want to become an American? I'll only paint your fingernails for you if they can be painted black. I'm happy to get silver in my mouth to look like a pirate. I have greedy teeth.

Saturday, November 06, 2010

Go to New York you young ones. Go to the city which is larger than a city and is so large no one sleeps. "The city": it rears the sun for us. Listen to you, complaining and with nothing at all to do. In New York, the fun finds you, and the fun you'll find is the kind to write home about. Write home to forgotten friends, and ill motivated countrymen. Tell them of the tales. Those tales of money spent in low lit clubs. In New York young ones try to impress the girls. Provided in New York: a clever hat, a top coat and walking cane. Oh how the girls go wild for men with a clever hat and a neat hair cut. It can only be achieved in New York!

The newspaper men will write about you. They'll say: "Look at that man in his top coat. He had 88 women in one night" All of New York will read the headline. In taxis, in trains, in torrential downpours...when they use the paper as a makeshift umbrella...they will all read the headline. Later in life, the man or woman who runs the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. (District of Columbia) will gild that hat and with what will it will be gilded.

It's a life well lived in N.Y.C. It's not like in the wilderness, in the forrest, in the outback or on the sea. You'll do no chopping, no foraging, no fishing, you'll see. When you retire, honored with hat gilded may your silk slippers warm your city feet. Prop them high atop the Empire State building's observation deck, and shut your eyes. Sleep off life's hang over.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Lord God Almighty I wanted to be as noble as an Indian chief
But with an ear to the ground...
I hear the white man's feet

Saturday, July 17, 2010

I saw you and my mind raced to visions of courting and beach time. Outdoor cafes and the like. I'll convince you to move to Philadelphia, and we'll check out the Liberty Bell. That was my first thought? I couldn't come up with anything more than Philly? I can confess to you that I don't have a clue where I am, and I'm just taking up your time. Ever hear of Thomas Edison? He was an inventor of many things. You can thank him for light bulbs (right?) You know...those little things that pop up over a cartoon's head when they get ideas? What about Ben Franklin? Want to tie a key to a kite and fly it in a thunderstorm?

Monday, May 31, 2010

Letter to C

It is the holiday after the day you left. I'm still recovering from what I first thought was an allergy attack, but on second thought is probably a cold. Getting a cold in the middle of a May heat wave is pure torture. I think the last time that had happened to me was July 2007. To top it all off, it was my birthday weekend, I was in Ohio, with my girlfriend. I made her miserable. I didn't do it on purpose, but my throat was so sore and swollen I could barely eat solid foods. Medicine wasn't helping and I was in denial. Kind of like this weekend. Another time that I had this exact same thing happen to me was Jason and Kristi's wedding. I drove 3 and a half hours by myself all the way down to Dayton, Ohio. I arrived and all my friends where in the wedding so I was by myself in my pew and at the reception at my table. It was a pretty lonely wedding experience and I was sick just like in July 2007 and now May 2010.

This wedding was entirely different. I was going to be driving down by myself, but I would have company on the way back and all the way to Michigan. I had made many plans before hand. Then you appeared. You found a way to be able to come to the wedding and you needed a ride. It was a great idea, because it was probably the most fun I have ever had on a road trip. It wasn't the fact that I wasn't lonely, either. You were/are more than that. It's most likely because you remind me of my sister in a good way. It's also because you have been so steadily similar since I have known you. You're always the same great person through it all and I admire that greatly.

So today, the holiday after I spent doing nothing. I don't have any family in close proximity so usually Memorial day is spent alone. I had one full day to reflect on the 2 days we spent in Kentucky with our friends. When I finally shook off the cluster cuss that are my symptoms I went out to get some lunch. When I got in the car I thought I smelled your perfume. I think I did, for a second! But the familiar aroma of basement incense burning over took the subtlety of what lingered from you. It was like a quick flash back to a distant memory, although it was only hours since we were on the road together.

It started raining a short time after that, so since I was doing nothing I thought I would go for a drive as kind of a pre-wash to get all the bugs off of my car. It may rain all week, so I am not sure I will get to washing it before I leave for Ohio. So many things stick out to me from this weekend. And after the 4th or so Eddie Harris track I listened to I came up with the rest of this.

The ease of conversation, the ease of...well everything. I've always felt that ease around you since we were 19 or 20. In fact I have thought that to be a strong suit for you. Your feet could not touch the hotel room carpet, you found us packing tips, you laughed when I said I really loved our hotel, I hope you know that I love going out of my way for you and I have loved that since we met.

As we talked in the car and as subject matter flowed and flowed I was consumed by only good thoughts about you. I didn't want to just shower you with them. I thought you might think that would have been over the top or patronizing. Or maybe I should have just said them. I believed that our history as being "just" friends would have been compromised if I had just poured my heart out to you. I'm not even going to say them all here. Save for one: Anyone, male, female, beast, extraterrestrial, robot, cyborg, inanimate object, plant or otherwise will have won the sweepstakes if they win you.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Letter to J (with plot embellishment)

This is what I'm doing: I'm walking around on a path in a wooded area. I'm not talking the black forests of Europe, or a National Park full of red wood trees. It's not a nature preserve in the Dakotas or anything. To make this clear and concise and short and sweet I will just tell you. I'll tell you because this is a letter that's supposed to get you started. To get you started well on your way to loving me from afar. And while I am not writing this from the woods, it's a setting that will frame the letter. If I were writing from the woods this late in the night I would have surely been eaten by any or all number of the creatures that call this inhabitance a home. "Kill the invader!" they will scream in unison and in nature speak. I'm letting my imagination get carried away with me but I'm a desperate alien in this unknown land. I'm still thinking of the ant parade numbering in the 1,000's crawling in and around all orifice my body owns. Then plants growing at a rate which is extreme tying me in knots not unlike a killing in the film Evil Dead.

All that to say, that's how desperate I am to write this letter to you. I've expatriated to the dark wilderness of my childhood to wander and collect my thoughts. You've never seen this place before but if you start at my parents back door off the back porch and head straight west you'll meet my high school alma mater. From there head to the north of the school to an overgrown patch of land meant for scientific observation by teens and teachers. Another slight right and you will find the area of second generation growth forest that was laid aside for small hikes and cross country running practice. When I was 18 I was suckered into running here. By the promises of another friend of good times on school bus trips and runs just her and I. Well, that never happened and I was suckered good.

However, now this is the woods I chose to gather all my gumption and outline and draft and throw away several and several more letters just to say goodbye. I have every manner of good luck charm in my coat pockets and on my person. I have dyed rabbit's feet from the county fair on keychains. I have a wish bone from Thanksgiving. I have a shiny new penny, my lucky socks, my favorite watch, my lucky hat, a necklace made of garlic, and what seems like 3 lbs of gold plated or cheap metal crosses and crucifixes in my back pocket. That could be another reason I did not write this letter in the actual forest. No way to actually sit on a log! Too many crosses in my back pocket! I'd like to paint a picture for you that's as grandiose as the nose on your face or the bones in your cheeks, but the mood is closely guarded by her shroud of solitary cloud cover. But I will say the woods is chilly for it being summer.

Baby, I just realized that in my description I may have lost the perfect words for this letter. But the dramatic framing of this letter and the dramatic flair by which I charged into this place should be enough to really let you know the meaningfulness that you are in my life. Somehow the trees remind me of how you would bend but never break in front of me. The way they continually sway with the summer wind remind me of that. Broken limbs and tree branches on the ground remind me of a theory I had about how you may break behind close doors. When absolutely no one was around to hear these trees fall. Since I was never around to hear them fall, I don't know if they ever made a sound. Similarly I was never around when your branches fell. Or when you let your beautiful leaves down, darling.

If anyone else should read this some day they should know one or a few things. This isn't a classic love 'em and leave 'em tale. Honey, if you show this letter to anyone else I hope you'll explain that. Explain that we never loved, but just the same the death of love in our friendship is just as deafening as sobs from a broken lover. My hope, baby is that you can tell the tale of a period of your life where we never fully expressed ourselves to each other. Just like a transplanted bloom of bush we stayed the same and we only grew as much as our plot allowed. Call it natural self control, call it what you will.

Honey, here's a bad analogy for us, but we were gold fish in a small bowl in this small town. Our bodies grew as much as the tank could handle. Then for some reason we stopped. We stopped after the night we sat on the floor in the kitchen and had those beers. Now, all I can really do is write down in this letter that I don't necessarily regret not expressing myself. I probably know perfectly well that all my to-do would have been taken in your perfect stride and not echoed. You did so much for this dud. I feel like I did nothing of equal value for you. That's what I really regret. I don't really have any palpable skill or grown up love to give you. I'm sorry. I truly am sorry for never quite repaying you for all that you did for me. If I had money and if you would except my money I would pay you payments like I pay my student loans. Each month I would dutifully send you a check (and not a minimum payment like the payments I pay to my loans).

I don't know. I guess my painful obsession will be to have never really said this to you. Instead of being a man or taking it on the chin I chickened out, ran into the woods and imagined every outcome possible if we had ever had this conversation. Letters are good though, it's better than saying nothing at all. Maybe I will just buy one of those blinking arrow signs on the side of the road. I will take it over to your garden and sink it in the mud. Then when it's good and anchored I'll get those little black plastic letters and spell out what's in my heart. Just something blaring and obvious, quick and to the point. A slogan won't do it justice. Only talking to you face to face would have really left me satisfied. I don't think I can now. You're leaving in 7 days and those days I know have plans. You always have plans, so I know you do. Don't say you don't. But you would.

I'll leave you with this haunting quote from Emily Dickinson: "Dwell in possibility". Sometimes it rings in my ears and in my brain. I will probably always feel that way about this. Not telling you any of this. I know that quote is meant as something positive, but it has continually seemed to fill me with dread. If you always dwell in possibility you will never be happy where you are or happy with who/what you are. You'll always see reason to change. Don't get me wrong, baby. I don't dislike self improvement and sharpening of the mind. But "my" possibility the one of me actually confessing...exists no longer. So when I look this situation in the future, and the possibility that has turned into a short coming I might feel a pain. Acceptance of destiny is hard, and I don't blame either of us. This was just the way it was supposed to be. If you want, you should give me your address and I'll send you a rabbit's foot. We all need a little luck now and again.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

You have the prettiest hair, and I mean the prettiest hair in the world. In the world. In your world. There's a lot of reasons why we exist in two different worlds. And I know yours is filled with a great light. While my world is filled with murky shadows. The light I see when I see it is through trees and leaves. It's through dusty blinds, it's through rotten garage windows. But sometimes I see light like I want to see and the way it's meant to be seen. When I drive down Washington and I take a left. Around 7:30 or 8 in the evening in the summer. Past the 324 and in the distance I see the kind of clouds I love. The clouds shaped like only an imagination can conceive. But all I am is imagination and that's why I am writing this. You wore black flats, a gray and pleated skirt and a white sweater. It was 80 degrees out! Your hair was so beautiful and you had one ring on one finger on a hand I can't remember. One thing I can remember is when we washed dishes and you asked me so many leading questions. I talked and talked and talked and remembered to remain positive. Because YOU were positive, and I wanted to be a servant too. And when you introduced yourself you had a first and a last name. One-two one went the syllables from your lips and your voice. Your name reminded me of a song today, so I spent a good portion of the day today listening to the songs that reminded me of it. For no reason at all, but that it reminded me of one-two one. Your name is like a mic check, an audio test and it drives me to wonder if I am even a smudge on your beautiful mind. Sit down the pew from me anytime, and you can be "that person" anytime, 1-2 1. The prettiest, prettiest, the prettiest prettiest hair. The prettiest of the prettiest.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The cutest fat girl I ever seen works at a gas station and keeps it clean. Sometimes she works the register and rings me out. 1 dollar here another there 50 cents to end it all. As I piss my checking account away. I don't know if she really notices that. Don't get me wrong, I'm no big spender. But she isn't into money. If she was, she wouldn't be working at a gas station, right? Today she had a hole in her shirt. I don't think the gas station tends to really fulfill all uniform requests on the dime. Most likely there is a box in the back. Behind the refrigerated drinks to the right of the candy. Or maybe that's her lucky shirt. Maybe on the days she wears the shirt with the hole in it customers act cheerier, gas pumps flow faster, the ready made hot foods cook themselves. Maybe with extreme luck little birds fly in from the out doors land on her shoulder and tweet along to the light rock 90's songs which play daily all day. That'd be a site.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Electric Ode

Be my girlfriend. I ask and ask and ask in my head. It's only because you are in my head that I ask. It's a bit like "Across the Sea" by Rivers. I only know you a little bit, the little bit you know someone from connections only made electronically. Maybe we could be the first to electronic synapses to fall in love. We have only really known each other from posts made, and emails made or pictures tagged from friends neither of us know. My computer sends a bit to my internet which sends it to the web and you read it and smile. I smile all the time when I read you. I wonder if you smile when you read me...We're across the web and I wonder how you do you hair. I wonder what you say with your voice and how you choose your glasses. I wonder how you ride your bike and where you put your keys. And you have the only cat I've ever loved upon first site. How do you fall in love with an animal with only meeting it on a picture on a screen?

I've looked at you a thousand times. But please don't read me wrong, I'm not obsessed. I'm just curious. My thoughts always exist in possibility and I know you aren't a real one. You live all the way on the east coast. I'm going to Australia to ride my bike and eat Vegemite sandwiches like Men Without Hats. You're going home to eat pizza that's defined by location. Which city has the best pizza? Which ever city you live in. I'll live in that city by the lake. If you'll let me when I come back from living in the Asian capital of the world outside of Asia it's self. Let's ride bikes and I'll by you gifts from 25 cent machines and you can love them for awhile and throw them away. I'll buy you groceries and candy bars and fatty meals at popular restaurants. We can share an onion bowl from somewhere.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

God breaks day break on me like an egg breaks on the side of a skillet. The cloudy egg white moves back and forth over the sunny yoke. They combine to make the morning sky and set a new day. I'll lie there unaware for seconds more. Until the eggy sky becomes brighter and I'm forced to make my way to the next room. When the light flicks on I'll brush my teeth. Pieces and parts each in different places complete a uniform for the day. Hat on the hook on the door in the room. Pants underneath my bed across from drawers where my shirts are found. I'll do everything but put on my shoes. When I walk I try to make my walk my prayer. I can't always promise when I say I will be better that I will be better. Diagonally through the wet grass, over the gritty pavement, past the bird poop canoes, and finally I walk beside the stocked shelves of the discount store. I see soaps, body wash, sunglasses, milk, cash registers, isles and isles of the unopened store. Security lights still dimmed, and doors still locked. Afterwards I'll approach the blossomed bushes and the tulips which highlight my final path. The smell is always the last encouragement towards work. The smell is also the last smell of freedom when I get out. Then I'll walk past the window with the soaps, past all the overpriced bikes, diagonally through the lot and grass, and up the street where my door greets me.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

From a dream V:

The setting was a Catholic church. We went together and with friends to a music festival there. Another car ride and we were alone in the back seat in an old 70's sedan. Three people sat up front in the large bench seat. Or maybe it was four, but I only knew one. Jesse peeked back at us and after laugher and mutual adoration we held hands. He caught us when he peeked and then whispered it to the others up front. I wasn't ashamed though, because to me in that moment it felt right. "It just felt right." Isn't that the explanation people give to others when they speak of love? Well this was just a dream, but as far as I can tell the dream me was as slow to feel as the real me. So we'll call it like for now.

There were many pews in the church. I don't remember walking in, only feeling excited for the bands that were playing. For some reason, I was very excited to see the Suicide Machines. The first band I can recall was the Sex Pistols. Although long broken up with their bassist dead, they still performed that night. Sans the guitarist and the drummer Johnny Rotten sang and the deceased Sid Vicious played drums. I was really into it. I was so into it I climbed up on the stage and was bobbing along to the beat with Sid. I was so into it that they became annoyed and removed me from the stage. When I came back to our seats I asked if you had seen me up there and I don't remember you replying, but I don't think you were as pumped to see the two member (one deceased, but apparently available to play the Catholic church festival) Sex Pistols.

We got up and wandered to a side hallway. I was excited to have you alone and not in a group. We soon noticed a very ornate door. We then went inside to discover more doors. Each door was labeled as an office or a study for either the head priest or others who helped to run the church. Looking around we discovered a red button. Decidedly we agreed that this was the emergency Pope button. Every Catholic church has one. Just in case they need the Pope's immediate attention or advice. How novel, how useful.

The wall at our backs then changed into a woods scene. We saw the head priest of the church and a bishop riding bikes together in the wilderness. This was a total normal occurrence and we thought nothing of it. The head priest was in front with the bishop behind and kind of keeping an eye on the priest. Sort of how a bridesmaid carries the train on a wedding dress as to not let it dirty on the ground. After watching them ride by the wall turned two dimensional again. Four to five men dressed in black Puritan type clothes approached us. Some had long hair, some had facial hair, some had unsightly moles on their cheeks. None of them were particularly good looking. Although none struck us as ugly. Just somewhere in between, with the old time settler type look in their eyes. I don't remember if they spoke to us.

You were thirsty so we decided to go out and get a drink at a restaurant. Before we left while walking through the side hallway we saw through a number of doors and Tears for Fears was performing at the church. The song? "Head Over Heels". After exiting we found a restaurant quickly and it was almost as if we were beamed there. It was a dimly lit, semi crowded, semi formal atmosphere. I believe we were both enjoying the dinner and each other's company. Maybe you have been the girl from my dreams this whole time. The nameless, faceless one who is neither judgmental or completely taken by me. At least, though, I know who you are.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

From a dream: IV

I dunno why, but you're always there. I'm always coaxing you to do something. You're a phantom, woman...but you're always there. In a non specific sense, and with no identity you are always my partner in crime. I always feel a sense of devotion from you, but there is also something incomplete about it. And you most always have your reservations about our adventures. The most recent being the walk down the long hallway. You and I heard that Espo was giving away old pieces of his work for free. So we had to go check it out. I felt indebted to him, so I took a piece to trade. It's dominant color was yellow, and it was a good piece. It was a good sacrifice. On we walked down the long hallway. Woody, earthy sounds complimented our food steps and echoed like they always do. I with my piece, you walking beside me. We got to the last room on the right side of the hallway. It was emanating light into the dimly lit path we has just taken. We turned, and you went in first. We saw Espo himself handing out pieces. Though there were others in the room, it was not crowded. His space wasn't neat, but it was not messy. I told him I had a piece to trade and he was grateful. And he liked it.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

From a dream III:

Opening the front door of my childhood home I stepped outside into an icy, snowy, wintery neighborhood. The street it's self was covered in a thick translucent coating of ice. Undaunted I climbed on my bike. My bike was rusty and the tires were not pumped. I was determined to ride it. On the snow, on the ice, come what may. The first troublesome sign that this was not going to be a good ride was that my front tire rolled over the rim. A sign that there was little to no air in the tube. I rode on. I made it no further than the neighbor to the right. He was in his indoor front porch and called me over. I got off my bike. When I did this the handle bars came cleanly off from there affixed position. They had rusted enough for the tube of steel to be eaten through and rendered useless. When I went to move my bike from the street, the seat and seat post (both rusted) similarly came dislodged. I was then on the front step of my neighbor's house. There, he and his blind son sat. My neighbor (George) wanted to know if I knew who was placing B.M.'s on cardboard and sitting them on his steps. I told him I had no clue. George then informed me that his blind son was conversing on a computer specifically built for those who could not see. His blind son had made a friend through a network on the internet. George was so proud and happy for his son and continued to explain his adoration until I woke.

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

From a dream II

....And last night, especially last night was a vivid one. A scene set in a dusty desert, and a car the same color. Early 90's Chrysler or Dodge in it's appearance. While the wind blew I tried to convince you. I told you to get into the beige junker and to take a ride with me. You would not. So I circled the car in an effort to present to you a noble chariot. It had it's normal 4 wheels. One wheel with the black highway grit rubbed on it's face with no hub cap. Another wheel had a white walled tire. The left front wheel had a plain hub cap. The 4th, the back left wheel shone our reflection so brightly it can hardly recall what was seen. It was a multi spoked 1970's luxury Cadillac hub cap. You were not impressed. I then showed you that the heap was also a convertible. I had never done this before, but I began to open the top. The convertible top was made of horse blanket wool and was scratchy but warm. The pattern was an exact replication of the flannel blanket on my bed with frills and all. Imagine my surprise when I noticed that the pattern that I love, the one on my blanket was now the top to this automobile. I remember you stood nonplussed. But what I remember most was the dust, the sun and the wind blowing.

I was in the garage of my father and on the wall hung it's normal adornments. A general assortment of cords, signs, golf clubs, train boards, a radio and more. One pair of shoes also hung from the wall. Knowing, but without knowing I knew they were his shoes. Beside that pair was a well worn sandal. I searched and searched for the other sandal. All through the garage I dug and I did not find it.

Friday, January 01, 2010

From a dream I:

I had a dream that there was a fire and a tornado at the same time in the old school building where my art was stored. It was the building across from the pond behind the old pool. They weren't using that room it was in, and I was going to ask them if I could use it as a studio. I had just taken down some pieces which I had entrusted them to hang and store. When I got there they were only attached to the wall with tape placed across the corners of each drawing. One was partially covered with what seemed to be gesso or white house paint. Out of the people who were with me no one cared. So I stored my supplies and what had hung in the building in the room that they weren't using, the room I was going to ask to use as my studio.

That night at the same time, there was a fire and a tornado. It destroyed the old school building completely. No one seemed to care. But one lady did. It was miss lonely hearts from Rear Window. She came to tell me about the fire and tornado. She then took me over to what remained of the school.

As we walked over, the starting power forward for the Miami Heat, Michael Beasley walked with us. He and I talked about the Rose Bowl and the Florida State Seminals. We were both positive that the last name of their starting quarterback was Wenger (This is untrue, although Notre Dame does have a starting offensive lineman named Dan Wenger). He walked off as I sifted through the rubble. I don't remember if I found anything, but miss lonely hearts from Rear Window cared. And I encouraged her to tell the men upstairs that music saved her life.