Fleeting sites of vanity. Used lip-balm, and those little breath strips.
Like garage cooled cola, it never quite achieves it's full flavor.
These are the things I have come to know in my youth.
These are the things I have to come to know in my mouth.
They still exist now, as my years pass by.
Although, sometimes in a fleeting moment alone...
I can - but - barely see past the feral, untrimmed hedges of my own clouded vision.
Into something deeper, and a love that is sung...
only in unison.
As the chords drift by on thin, wispy, visceral memories...
We don't see our future, but a past we have toppled.
As the toddling tower fell, you looked at me and smiled something...
That I had never felt before:
More than those fresh sticks of gum the beauties gracefully placed in their mouths.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
I had one terrific dream last night.
Well I remember one part. I was in the city of Cleveland and I was walking around. I know I was with a friend, but now I don't remember who. We stopped into this record store and the guys in MxPx worked and owned it. And I walked in and they said "Hey Jeff!" like we had known each other for a long time. After they said that I "remembered" we used to hang out. They told me that they now lived above the record store and they run it. They had terribly designed business cards and flyers so I thought I could re-design them. Then I took a shower there and the room flooded and I began mopping it up. Some other customers came in and they were dressed in rags but looking for something and one of them had a beard. Crazy.
Well I remember one part. I was in the city of Cleveland and I was walking around. I know I was with a friend, but now I don't remember who. We stopped into this record store and the guys in MxPx worked and owned it. And I walked in and they said "Hey Jeff!" like we had known each other for a long time. After they said that I "remembered" we used to hang out. They told me that they now lived above the record store and they run it. They had terribly designed business cards and flyers so I thought I could re-design them. Then I took a shower there and the room flooded and I began mopping it up. Some other customers came in and they were dressed in rags but looking for something and one of them had a beard. Crazy.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
He went on for another couple of minutes about the lecture. I didn’t really follow all of it, I was half looking at the hippies and half not comprehending what exactly he was saying. He usually spoke to me over my head. Not on purpose, but he was vague in a philosophical way. If you asked him if there was an apple on the table when there blatantly was, he would reply with some sort of drawn out conclusion about the being of the apple, and no matter where it was there it was. Not many people disliked him, but sometimes he could get confusing.
Just then Tim and Con’s banter came to an abrupt halt. Sort of like if you are talking in class and the teacher sneaks up behind you when you are talking a friend. The friend sees him and you don’t but your friend stops talking and you get caught at the tail end of a sentence. "blah blah blah – so and so Mr. Heslen is a terrible professor."
"Did you see that?" Constance asked it total shock.
Having not paid attention, I did not see anything. I tend to be pretty observant, but sometimes people see things I don’t. Walking up to our table was Andrice. Maybe I forgot to mention this, but there happened to be a band playing at the shop tonight. Just your run of the mill white noise brought to you by some college sophomores. I hated bands that were technically good, but really didn’t have good influences. Most of their influence came from the top 40 or whatever. Throw in a few obscure or not so obscure Brit. pop bands.
Andrice was a nice girl. She exemplified a daddy’s little girl if I ever saw one. She dressed like a pro, and had a pretty good sense of color schemes. Pretty much all the girls that were in my circle of friends dressed like that. They used the modern fashionable colors, but not the clothes. Making it in style, but maybe not at the same time. At any rate, it worked.
She walked up behind Red covering his eyes. This was the typical juvenile game she played. It charmed everyone. Asking Red "Do you know who I am?" she stepped back a bit and waited before leaning in and whispering something intelligible into his ear. Red was no dummy, he gripped her hands like a man searching in the dark. He felt her specific jewelry and came to his conclusion.
"Andrice?" Red said questioningly but knowingly. He really was no dummy.
"How’d you guess?" She replied.
"Well, you know, I guess I am just good like that."
With a sly smile on his face, he pulled out a chair for her. She sat between Red and I, with Tim sitting directly to my left, and Con completing the circle. Red leaned on the back of the chair, Andrice leaned forward with her attention to Red, I slouched, Tim sat straight forward, and Con, slid back easy on her chair.
I tapped my foot due to my over stimulated blood stream. Coffee could and would effect me like that. Con got back to what she had noticed before: "I cannot believe she was holding his hand!" Con was too good for contractions.
"Who held who’s hand?" 2 or 3 of us said in shock.
"Oh this boy I see here who was dating that girl who read that poem last night. I saw her crying after her shift and now he is holding that other girl’s hand."
"Could it be his sister, cousin or niece?" Red asked.
"No I don’t think so…" "They seemed awfully flirty."
Constance frequently put her nose in other people’s business. We all did. We put our collective noses in other people’s business. In the shop we would sit. We would notice footwear, headwear, and pants. We were always looking for a good pair of pants. Cool jeans were hard to come by, and we weren’t loyal to ours.
To the left of me, like I said, was Tim. Tim, on this night, wore a plain pale green sweater. He was very particular about his sweaters. No print, little pattern, and non-restrictive. You would think he was OCD. But he’s not. He usually wears some nice pants, or some nice jeans, but he is more concerned about his sweaters. If there is pattern on the sweater, than it can’t distract from the hue of the sweater. He would wear sweaters in warm, cool, hot, and cold temperatures. He had a book with him, and the author was one of those intermediates between a great but over rated writer and an unfamiliar but under rated writer. He wasn’t really into literature, but he was if you talked to him about it.
Constance was in her athletic sweats. She was relatively active and played a few leisurely sports. She mostly jogged or walked, because sports can become too competitive. They aren’t to most people, but were with Con. She wanted everyone to get along. Her black running pants weren’t of the nylon persuasion. They make too much noise when she walked. They were some sort of poly-cotton blend. They stretched with her legs as she walked and were pretty fit.
Usually on rainy days, or nights that were too cold to go out and do something I would head to the library to read. On those days where my friends didn’t call me I just stayed in my room. Really, I know, I could have made the effort to call, but I didn’t. I am a bad friend like that, but usually, people don’t notice you are being aloof. They just think you are busy with work, or maybe out visiting your folks, or out with other people. So, for that reason, my friends don’t bother calling. They simply assume I am not pent up in this one dank, dingy, and dimly lit room.
Certain friends were different. Constance always wanted to know what was going on.
She was one of those busy bodies. Who was with whom, where are they going, what happened last night. The list goes on and on. Mostly though, I find all women are busy bodies. Well more so that they like to engage people and long for knowledge of every little detail. This is what I hoped, anyway. Con, wouldn’t let me call her (or anyone for that matter) Connie. For some reason, the juvenile connotation was a bit much. And since "Stance" wasn’t much of a nick name, I called her Con.
She always wanted to get what she had earned. This is evident in how she lives each part of her life. She works hard, she plays hard, and she has a good time. This is a very good quality (hard worker), but it wouldn’t kill her to be a little apathetic about something’s from time to time. Sometimes, she’d pretend to be apathetic. Though it would come off, obvious to everyone but her: that she was actually worrying more than she should. She liked to fool herself, and rarely fooled others. She was good at this.
Drinking a drink, overpriced and extremely bitter, Con once approached me. It was one of those rainy days I had just told about. She had also bought a drink. I think it was an orange tea of some sort. It was with three sugars and as sweet as her personality. At the shop where we sat, they were playing "Overture" by the Who. Quite a song for a rainy day, but I think it was to zap the works out of the weekday haze more than anything. Actually I think they were playing the whole Tommy record, a feat in it’s self.
She sat down quietly and didn’t say anything. I was reading a paper and depressing myself in the world’s current state. I can’t read papers, or internet news much. I get depressed about the world, it gets me down. If only we could settle every worldly dispute with a game of checkers. I would like to think there would be no more Israeli-Palestinian violence, no more religious persecution or, dare I say it…plastic and over played pop stars. Now, these aren’t the only problems in the world today, but without these, there would be a lot less. I guess it all comes down to putting down the guns, putting down the Bibles and burning the current pop stars at the stake.
But really, witch burning is what got us in this mess, right? Ok, Enough with the cryptic and confusing thoughts. I peered up from my paper at Constance. She was reading as well. Though it was light reading and only the text on her teacup. It was one of those tea cups that has a bunch of inspiration phrases that some fat man in an office came up with. As in: "I can’t get started in the morning without my coffee." Or something like "Today is better than yesterday, yesterday was Monday." They kind of make sense, but in the same light they don’t. They do, however generate and entice you into getting a refill.
Being that she was drinking tea, these phrases must have confused her and she stared off into the blank space that was the coffee shop’s ceiling. She sighed three times and finally spouted out, right in the middle of me reading about another massacre of the Tigers, that she was leaving.
Just then Tim and Con’s banter came to an abrupt halt. Sort of like if you are talking in class and the teacher sneaks up behind you when you are talking a friend. The friend sees him and you don’t but your friend stops talking and you get caught at the tail end of a sentence. "blah blah blah – so and so Mr. Heslen is a terrible professor."
"Did you see that?" Constance asked it total shock.
Having not paid attention, I did not see anything. I tend to be pretty observant, but sometimes people see things I don’t. Walking up to our table was Andrice. Maybe I forgot to mention this, but there happened to be a band playing at the shop tonight. Just your run of the mill white noise brought to you by some college sophomores. I hated bands that were technically good, but really didn’t have good influences. Most of their influence came from the top 40 or whatever. Throw in a few obscure or not so obscure Brit. pop bands.
Andrice was a nice girl. She exemplified a daddy’s little girl if I ever saw one. She dressed like a pro, and had a pretty good sense of color schemes. Pretty much all the girls that were in my circle of friends dressed like that. They used the modern fashionable colors, but not the clothes. Making it in style, but maybe not at the same time. At any rate, it worked.
She walked up behind Red covering his eyes. This was the typical juvenile game she played. It charmed everyone. Asking Red "Do you know who I am?" she stepped back a bit and waited before leaning in and whispering something intelligible into his ear. Red was no dummy, he gripped her hands like a man searching in the dark. He felt her specific jewelry and came to his conclusion.
"Andrice?" Red said questioningly but knowingly. He really was no dummy.
"How’d you guess?" She replied.
"Well, you know, I guess I am just good like that."
With a sly smile on his face, he pulled out a chair for her. She sat between Red and I, with Tim sitting directly to my left, and Con completing the circle. Red leaned on the back of the chair, Andrice leaned forward with her attention to Red, I slouched, Tim sat straight forward, and Con, slid back easy on her chair.
I tapped my foot due to my over stimulated blood stream. Coffee could and would effect me like that. Con got back to what she had noticed before: "I cannot believe she was holding his hand!" Con was too good for contractions.
"Who held who’s hand?" 2 or 3 of us said in shock.
"Oh this boy I see here who was dating that girl who read that poem last night. I saw her crying after her shift and now he is holding that other girl’s hand."
"Could it be his sister, cousin or niece?" Red asked.
"No I don’t think so…" "They seemed awfully flirty."
Constance frequently put her nose in other people’s business. We all did. We put our collective noses in other people’s business. In the shop we would sit. We would notice footwear, headwear, and pants. We were always looking for a good pair of pants. Cool jeans were hard to come by, and we weren’t loyal to ours.
To the left of me, like I said, was Tim. Tim, on this night, wore a plain pale green sweater. He was very particular about his sweaters. No print, little pattern, and non-restrictive. You would think he was OCD. But he’s not. He usually wears some nice pants, or some nice jeans, but he is more concerned about his sweaters. If there is pattern on the sweater, than it can’t distract from the hue of the sweater. He would wear sweaters in warm, cool, hot, and cold temperatures. He had a book with him, and the author was one of those intermediates between a great but over rated writer and an unfamiliar but under rated writer. He wasn’t really into literature, but he was if you talked to him about it.
Constance was in her athletic sweats. She was relatively active and played a few leisurely sports. She mostly jogged or walked, because sports can become too competitive. They aren’t to most people, but were with Con. She wanted everyone to get along. Her black running pants weren’t of the nylon persuasion. They make too much noise when she walked. They were some sort of poly-cotton blend. They stretched with her legs as she walked and were pretty fit.
Usually on rainy days, or nights that were too cold to go out and do something I would head to the library to read. On those days where my friends didn’t call me I just stayed in my room. Really, I know, I could have made the effort to call, but I didn’t. I am a bad friend like that, but usually, people don’t notice you are being aloof. They just think you are busy with work, or maybe out visiting your folks, or out with other people. So, for that reason, my friends don’t bother calling. They simply assume I am not pent up in this one dank, dingy, and dimly lit room.
Certain friends were different. Constance always wanted to know what was going on.
She was one of those busy bodies. Who was with whom, where are they going, what happened last night. The list goes on and on. Mostly though, I find all women are busy bodies. Well more so that they like to engage people and long for knowledge of every little detail. This is what I hoped, anyway. Con, wouldn’t let me call her (or anyone for that matter) Connie. For some reason, the juvenile connotation was a bit much. And since "Stance" wasn’t much of a nick name, I called her Con.
She always wanted to get what she had earned. This is evident in how she lives each part of her life. She works hard, she plays hard, and she has a good time. This is a very good quality (hard worker), but it wouldn’t kill her to be a little apathetic about something’s from time to time. Sometimes, she’d pretend to be apathetic. Though it would come off, obvious to everyone but her: that she was actually worrying more than she should. She liked to fool herself, and rarely fooled others. She was good at this.
Drinking a drink, overpriced and extremely bitter, Con once approached me. It was one of those rainy days I had just told about. She had also bought a drink. I think it was an orange tea of some sort. It was with three sugars and as sweet as her personality. At the shop where we sat, they were playing "Overture" by the Who. Quite a song for a rainy day, but I think it was to zap the works out of the weekday haze more than anything. Actually I think they were playing the whole Tommy record, a feat in it’s self.
She sat down quietly and didn’t say anything. I was reading a paper and depressing myself in the world’s current state. I can’t read papers, or internet news much. I get depressed about the world, it gets me down. If only we could settle every worldly dispute with a game of checkers. I would like to think there would be no more Israeli-Palestinian violence, no more religious persecution or, dare I say it…plastic and over played pop stars. Now, these aren’t the only problems in the world today, but without these, there would be a lot less. I guess it all comes down to putting down the guns, putting down the Bibles and burning the current pop stars at the stake.
But really, witch burning is what got us in this mess, right? Ok, Enough with the cryptic and confusing thoughts. I peered up from my paper at Constance. She was reading as well. Though it was light reading and only the text on her teacup. It was one of those tea cups that has a bunch of inspiration phrases that some fat man in an office came up with. As in: "I can’t get started in the morning without my coffee." Or something like "Today is better than yesterday, yesterday was Monday." They kind of make sense, but in the same light they don’t. They do, however generate and entice you into getting a refill.
Being that she was drinking tea, these phrases must have confused her and she stared off into the blank space that was the coffee shop’s ceiling. She sighed three times and finally spouted out, right in the middle of me reading about another massacre of the Tigers, that she was leaving.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Now don’t get me wrong. All these people are my friends. We have had many good times, we have shared a lot and been there for each other. I am being hypercritical in my analysis. I tend to do that sometimes. I also fashion myself as a closet introvert. I mean, look at these writings, don’t you think I am a tad pensive? Or am I thoughtless, heartless and selfish. I am hard on my friends, but it’s all honesty.
So I have another one for you. His name is Red. Red got his name, or at least from me for being the exact opposite. He is very black and white in his thinking. You are either right or wrong, and you always have 2 choices. To Red, there is no gray.
Thursday night, Red joined us in the usual spot at the coffee shop. Now as a group we are being very stereotypical of 20 something’s. We sit in a shop, which sells these terrible tasting drinks. In this shop we confer, we adhere, and we encourage each other. These talks are a big pat on the back to our collective ego(s). We sat a round table. We being Tim, Con, Red and I. Con and Tim were already up to their usual banter. They are both creatively inclined. It’s nice to eavesdrop sometimes, on their creative conversations, but other times, it’s such a burden. I wish that for once we could not talk about these such issues: art, politics, music, and gossip.
Red sat down, slowly in his hard-backed chair. The shop had bad drinks, hard backed chairs, and loud music. Hardly a place for geriatrics, I know, but that’s probably the exact reason we conversed there. Red usually brought his own drink, which was most likely against house rules, but these neo-beatniks cared nothing about it. To them, this was a means to get their poetry careers started.
One time, at an open mic, I heard one of them:
"Air so thin, I can hardly breathe
I’m filled with such angst, and with no re-reprieve
You desert me again.
Now I wander with no purpose
I shop with no purses
And I’m stuck in the cereal isle."
Red had respect for the arts, and loved debates. He hated that poem, but the one who read this atrocity was kind on cute, in a neo-beatnik way. I respected her for giving it a go, but she needed to list in a few more literature courses. She probably ain’t even read Poe.
Turning his chair backwards, Red announced his arrival. "Hey guys." Red’s greetings were often short, but always polite. I loved this guy. Red never bothered telling you all his stories, he was never interested in boosting his own myth, but he was always interested in ours. Ours being Tim, Con and Mine. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak it was always well said. Tim and Con ignored Red, save for a nice "Hi" and a quick nod. Then back to the action of the debate of the night.
"Hey, Red, how are you? Anything interesting going on?" I replied.
"Oh, well I just got back from that lecture I told you about. It was pretty interesting." Red didn’t coat his sentences in superfluous adjectives or action verbs. He was strictly a get to the point type of person. He was Red, and he was black and white.
So I have another one for you. His name is Red. Red got his name, or at least from me for being the exact opposite. He is very black and white in his thinking. You are either right or wrong, and you always have 2 choices. To Red, there is no gray.
Thursday night, Red joined us in the usual spot at the coffee shop. Now as a group we are being very stereotypical of 20 something’s. We sit in a shop, which sells these terrible tasting drinks. In this shop we confer, we adhere, and we encourage each other. These talks are a big pat on the back to our collective ego(s). We sat a round table. We being Tim, Con, Red and I. Con and Tim were already up to their usual banter. They are both creatively inclined. It’s nice to eavesdrop sometimes, on their creative conversations, but other times, it’s such a burden. I wish that for once we could not talk about these such issues: art, politics, music, and gossip.
Red sat down, slowly in his hard-backed chair. The shop had bad drinks, hard backed chairs, and loud music. Hardly a place for geriatrics, I know, but that’s probably the exact reason we conversed there. Red usually brought his own drink, which was most likely against house rules, but these neo-beatniks cared nothing about it. To them, this was a means to get their poetry careers started.
One time, at an open mic, I heard one of them:
"Air so thin, I can hardly breathe
I’m filled with such angst, and with no re-reprieve
You desert me again.
Now I wander with no purpose
I shop with no purses
And I’m stuck in the cereal isle."
Red had respect for the arts, and loved debates. He hated that poem, but the one who read this atrocity was kind on cute, in a neo-beatnik way. I respected her for giving it a go, but she needed to list in a few more literature courses. She probably ain’t even read Poe.
Turning his chair backwards, Red announced his arrival. "Hey guys." Red’s greetings were often short, but always polite. I loved this guy. Red never bothered telling you all his stories, he was never interested in boosting his own myth, but he was always interested in ours. Ours being Tim, Con and Mine. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak it was always well said. Tim and Con ignored Red, save for a nice "Hi" and a quick nod. Then back to the action of the debate of the night.
"Hey, Red, how are you? Anything interesting going on?" I replied.
"Oh, well I just got back from that lecture I told you about. It was pretty interesting." Red didn’t coat his sentences in superfluous adjectives or action verbs. He was strictly a get to the point type of person. He was Red, and he was black and white.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
…I didn't give anyone permission to see inside of my head. "Well that's your problem, anyway" If you were a friend, you would grant me grace and realize everyone needs their secrets. Without secrets, nothing would eat you alive.
Tim was always saying dick things like that. Tim was just one of them. If you could ask him to be gentle with a baby lamb, he'd slay it and burn its ashes to make a milkshake. In short, he was insensitive. Or, to say the least, a tad destructive. He'd like to pretend he was actually being bluntly honest but what he was really doing was unconsciously tearing your self-esteem into little pieces of confetti.But he always a celebration anyway. It was fine by me, I let him live. My other friends couldn't handle it as well. Either I'm thick skinned or a pushover. Or maybe I am just as insensitive and brash.
Secrets though, lend themselves to be strange bedfellows. One moment you're glad to have kept yourself so pure. Not tainting them with a stranger's opinion and heresy. I'd be a good cowboy. It would be easy not to talk to anyone. All you have is cattle and they listen to you in silence.
Not Constance. In fact, just the name Constance leads you to believe, and this just by hearing the name: That she is better than you. Or she can do something better than you. Like in first grade, if you and her we in those reading groups, she'd be a blue bird reading at 3rd grade level and you were still trying to pronounce simple words. She'd play it off, though. Demeaning herself if ever she got a better grade than you.
"Gosh, I really thought I was going to fail this test. Geez. So how did you do?"
"I got a 62."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, but really, I didn't study at all. It must be some fluke."
This heavenly girl could also be conniving. Not in the usual woman head game thing, but because she could think 4 moves ahead, she'd get you. Just then, she barged in on Tim and I.
"Oh, how are you doing?"
This greeting wasn't directed to anyone in general. It was to show us she didn't favor one over the other. Evading all conflict, she gave us a "cover-all" hello, and it was just subtle enough for us to accept it as a kind gesture. She often wore herself thin being everything to everyone. People loved and adored her though. Every single time she saw you it was like you had been locked away for a quarter of a century.
"So what are you doing tonight?"
Addressing the two of us, not making eye contact, but focusing her gaze upon the single poster in my room: One of the latest pop star, of course hung in jest, but none the less a guilty pleasure of mine.
"I will probably bum around." Tim explained, as if Constance and I or his other friends weren't good enough to make some sort of commitment or arrangement to hang out.
"I've been pretty tired lately, and really diving into my work. I can't imagine me being anyone's idea of good company."
Cutting him off in mid-stream she gave some encouragement. "Tim, you know no one thinks that!"This is what made his and hers relationship a special one.
Tim needed affirmation frequently, and Constance, the patron saint of everything good and nice was more than welcome to buffer his fragile ego. I'd like to think Con had a heart of gold, but even her words seemed light on sincerity. She, like Tim hated any sort of commitment. "So anyway, can I have those pictures of Sara?" Tim asked. "What do you mean?" "Well, it’s just, you guys are broken up and seeing how I am friends with her too, I would like to remember her in…""In what, Tim?" By now, I was becoming to realize what he was going to lay on me next…"Well, you know, when she was happy."
"No, I don’t care if you date her. We are still friends and I love her to death, and I can accept that she wants to be happy."
Far be it from my friends to also realize I was still grasping, very fledgingly towards some sort of happiness too. She wasn’t the only martyr in this relationship. If she was a martyr, I’d like to know what exactly she died for.
"Come on man, I would never do that to you. – What kind of creep do you take me for?""The creepiest." Constance and I said in unison.
I think she was starting to see a glimmer of trying to understand how I feel. She was really trying to be a friend, no matter her motives. I can accept that. I will take what I can get, most of the time.
Tim was always saying dick things like that. Tim was just one of them. If you could ask him to be gentle with a baby lamb, he'd slay it and burn its ashes to make a milkshake. In short, he was insensitive. Or, to say the least, a tad destructive. He'd like to pretend he was actually being bluntly honest but what he was really doing was unconsciously tearing your self-esteem into little pieces of confetti.But he always a celebration anyway. It was fine by me, I let him live. My other friends couldn't handle it as well. Either I'm thick skinned or a pushover. Or maybe I am just as insensitive and brash.
Secrets though, lend themselves to be strange bedfellows. One moment you're glad to have kept yourself so pure. Not tainting them with a stranger's opinion and heresy. I'd be a good cowboy. It would be easy not to talk to anyone. All you have is cattle and they listen to you in silence.
Not Constance. In fact, just the name Constance leads you to believe, and this just by hearing the name: That she is better than you. Or she can do something better than you. Like in first grade, if you and her we in those reading groups, she'd be a blue bird reading at 3rd grade level and you were still trying to pronounce simple words. She'd play it off, though. Demeaning herself if ever she got a better grade than you.
"Gosh, I really thought I was going to fail this test. Geez. So how did you do?"
"I got a 62."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, but really, I didn't study at all. It must be some fluke."
This heavenly girl could also be conniving. Not in the usual woman head game thing, but because she could think 4 moves ahead, she'd get you. Just then, she barged in on Tim and I.
"Oh, how are you doing?"
This greeting wasn't directed to anyone in general. It was to show us she didn't favor one over the other. Evading all conflict, she gave us a "cover-all" hello, and it was just subtle enough for us to accept it as a kind gesture. She often wore herself thin being everything to everyone. People loved and adored her though. Every single time she saw you it was like you had been locked away for a quarter of a century.
"So what are you doing tonight?"
Addressing the two of us, not making eye contact, but focusing her gaze upon the single poster in my room: One of the latest pop star, of course hung in jest, but none the less a guilty pleasure of mine.
"I will probably bum around." Tim explained, as if Constance and I or his other friends weren't good enough to make some sort of commitment or arrangement to hang out.
"I've been pretty tired lately, and really diving into my work. I can't imagine me being anyone's idea of good company."
Cutting him off in mid-stream she gave some encouragement. "Tim, you know no one thinks that!"This is what made his and hers relationship a special one.
Tim needed affirmation frequently, and Constance, the patron saint of everything good and nice was more than welcome to buffer his fragile ego. I'd like to think Con had a heart of gold, but even her words seemed light on sincerity. She, like Tim hated any sort of commitment. "So anyway, can I have those pictures of Sara?" Tim asked. "What do you mean?" "Well, it’s just, you guys are broken up and seeing how I am friends with her too, I would like to remember her in…""In what, Tim?" By now, I was becoming to realize what he was going to lay on me next…"Well, you know, when she was happy."
"No, I don’t care if you date her. We are still friends and I love her to death, and I can accept that she wants to be happy."
Far be it from my friends to also realize I was still grasping, very fledgingly towards some sort of happiness too. She wasn’t the only martyr in this relationship. If she was a martyr, I’d like to know what exactly she died for.
"Come on man, I would never do that to you. – What kind of creep do you take me for?""The creepiest." Constance and I said in unison.
I think she was starting to see a glimmer of trying to understand how I feel. She was really trying to be a friend, no matter her motives. I can accept that. I will take what I can get, most of the time.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Secrets though, lend themselves to be strange bed fellows. One moment you're glad to have kept yourself so pure. Not tainting them with a stranger's opinion and heresy. I'd be a good cowboy. It's was not to talk to anyone. All you have is cattle and they listen to you in silence. Not Constance.
In fact, just the name Constance leads you to believe, and this just by hearing the name: That she is better than you. Or she can do something better than you. Like in first grade, if you and her we in those reading groups, she'd be a blue bird reading at 3rd grade level and you were still trying to pronounce simple words. She'd play it off, though. Demeaning herself if ever she got a better grade than you.
"Gosh, I really thought I was going to fail this test. Geez. So how did you do?"
"I got a 62."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, but really, I didn't study at all. It must be some fluke."
This heavenly girl could also be conniving. Not in the usual woman head game thing, but because she could think 4 moves ahead, she'd get you.
Just then, she barged in on Tim and I.
"Oh, how are you doing?" This greeting wasn't directed to anyone in general. It was to show us she didn't favor one over the other. Evading all conflict, she gave us a "cover-all" hello, and it was just subtle enough for us to accept it as a kind gesture. She often wore herself thin being everything to everyone. People loved and adored her though. Every single time she saw you it was like you had been locked away for a quarter of a century.
"So what are you doing tonight?" Addressing the two of us, not making eye contact, but focusing her gaze upon the single poster in my room: One of the latest pop star, of course hung in jest, but none the less a guilty pleasure of mine.
"I will probably bum around." Tim explained, as if Constance and I or his other friends weren't good enough to make some sort of commitment or arrangement to hang out. "I've been pretty tired lately, and really diving into my work. I can't imagine me being anyone's idea of good company."
Cutting him off in mid-stream she gave some encouragement. "Tim, you know no one thinks that!"
This is what made his and hers relationship a special one. Tim needed affirmation frequently, and Constance, the patron saint of everything good and nice was more than welcome to buffer his fragile ego. I'd like to think Con had a heart of gold, but even her words seemed light on sincerity. She, like Tim hated any sort of commitment.
In fact, just the name Constance leads you to believe, and this just by hearing the name: That she is better than you. Or she can do something better than you. Like in first grade, if you and her we in those reading groups, she'd be a blue bird reading at 3rd grade level and you were still trying to pronounce simple words. She'd play it off, though. Demeaning herself if ever she got a better grade than you.
"Gosh, I really thought I was going to fail this test. Geez. So how did you do?"
"I got a 62."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, but really, I didn't study at all. It must be some fluke."
This heavenly girl could also be conniving. Not in the usual woman head game thing, but because she could think 4 moves ahead, she'd get you.
Just then, she barged in on Tim and I.
"Oh, how are you doing?" This greeting wasn't directed to anyone in general. It was to show us she didn't favor one over the other. Evading all conflict, she gave us a "cover-all" hello, and it was just subtle enough for us to accept it as a kind gesture. She often wore herself thin being everything to everyone. People loved and adored her though. Every single time she saw you it was like you had been locked away for a quarter of a century.
"So what are you doing tonight?" Addressing the two of us, not making eye contact, but focusing her gaze upon the single poster in my room: One of the latest pop star, of course hung in jest, but none the less a guilty pleasure of mine.
"I will probably bum around." Tim explained, as if Constance and I or his other friends weren't good enough to make some sort of commitment or arrangement to hang out. "I've been pretty tired lately, and really diving into my work. I can't imagine me being anyone's idea of good company."
Cutting him off in mid-stream she gave some encouragement. "Tim, you know no one thinks that!"
This is what made his and hers relationship a special one. Tim needed affirmation frequently, and Constance, the patron saint of everything good and nice was more than welcome to buffer his fragile ego. I'd like to think Con had a heart of gold, but even her words seemed light on sincerity. She, like Tim hated any sort of commitment.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Tim was always saying dick things like that. Tim was just one of them. If you could ask him to be gentle with a baby lamb, he'd slay it and burn it's ashes to make a milkshake. In short, he was insensitive. Or, to say the least a tad destructive. He'd like to pretend he was actually being bluntly honest but what he was really doing was unconsciously tearing your self esteem into little pieces of confety.
But he always a celebration anyway. It was fine by me, I let him live. My other friends couldn't handle it as well. Either I'm thick skinned or a pushover. Or maybe I am just as insensitive and brash.
But he always a celebration anyway. It was fine by me, I let him live. My other friends couldn't handle it as well. Either I'm thick skinned or a pushover. Or maybe I am just as insensitive and brash.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Life has been crazy lately. I can't even begin to explain it.
Things I once held as common currency are being turned upside down. My views have all seemed skewed. All this within a few weeks of school. Why can nothing be simple. It sounds so funny, but now that those days are over, those days which I thought were so hard, I want them back. Like pieces of silver I traded for scraps of food.
Most of this sounds a lot more dramatic than it is, and I have so much I should feel blessed to have. There seems like there is some kind of monumental change around the bend and I keep turning, but the road never straightens. It's the long anticipation that keeps me on edge.
Things I once held as common currency are being turned upside down. My views have all seemed skewed. All this within a few weeks of school. Why can nothing be simple. It sounds so funny, but now that those days are over, those days which I thought were so hard, I want them back. Like pieces of silver I traded for scraps of food.
Most of this sounds a lot more dramatic than it is, and I have so much I should feel blessed to have. There seems like there is some kind of monumental change around the bend and I keep turning, but the road never straightens. It's the long anticipation that keeps me on edge.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Thursday, September 30, 2004
I dressed for my PE class today and did 3 stretches and left. So it was very fulfilling. Speaking of fulfilling...Well yeah.
I have another big Art History test today, very exciting. I am studied out, so that's why I ain't studying now. I wish I could go to the AWV show tonight, but I have to go listen to Paul Copernoperirgototpo speak.
I have another big Art History test today, very exciting. I am studied out, so that's why I ain't studying now. I wish I could go to the AWV show tonight, but I have to go listen to Paul Copernoperirgototpo speak.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Yesterday was a busy day. IWU played Spalding University in soccer and the FC Reds were out in full force. IWU one in golden goal fashion, scoring the winning goal with 3 mins left in overtime. We had some really good cheers, even though there were more people who could have cheered. They were there for the girls game afterwards. Shea and I agree that they only cheer for the girls because they want to get some "tail". (They are all guys).
I also did about 7 test prints for my first printmaking project. I did printer's proofs on Japanese newsprint, pages from atlas', phonebook paper, etc. I did one on regular paper too, which I will turn in Monday.
This weekend I am going home to see Amanda and go to a Columbus Crew game. Andrew will be there and this guy is playing:
(Freddie Adu). I am going to make a poster which reads "Much ADU about nothing!" It's nerdy, so what.
I also did about 7 test prints for my first printmaking project. I did printer's proofs on Japanese newsprint, pages from atlas', phonebook paper, etc. I did one on regular paper too, which I will turn in Monday.
This weekend I am going home to see Amanda and go to a Columbus Crew game. Andrew will be there and this guy is playing:
(Freddie Adu). I am going to make a poster which reads "Much ADU about nothing!" It's nerdy, so what.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Last night I got my first ever IM from an anonymous blog reader. I think her name was Chokerose or something. I felt like a celebrity.
I had the opprotunity to go sit outside and read my American Government HW. It was really interesting to read in depth on how our Constitution was formed and organized. I would probably have been an Antifederalist. They were the ones who wanted a bill of rights. So thanks to them, we can't be pushed around by those who govern us. Well, for the most part.
It was so nice out, I considered taking a nap in the grass. I didn't though, I drank a Wild Cherry Pepsi instead. I hate regular Pepsi, but Cherry Coke is too acidic. That's right, I said it. It's too acidic.
I had the opprotunity to go sit outside and read my American Government HW. It was really interesting to read in depth on how our Constitution was formed and organized. I would probably have been an Antifederalist. They were the ones who wanted a bill of rights. So thanks to them, we can't be pushed around by those who govern us. Well, for the most part.
It was so nice out, I considered taking a nap in the grass. I didn't though, I drank a Wild Cherry Pepsi instead. I hate regular Pepsi, but Cherry Coke is too acidic. That's right, I said it. It's too acidic.
Who has the better life? The bum, the brat, the esteemed? The one with the credit or the one who deserves the credit? Can someone really make a difference? Or does someone choose to be impacted.
If you get a car for free, or if you have a big house, or if you are the CEO of a big business, or if you pray in church, or if you burn a church...We all ultimately have an end to our lives. It doesn't matter, because it all ends.
The free rides, the business luncheons, and the lonely nights asleep on a park bench.
They all end.
Can I come in? Because I don't want to leave you. Is it the twinkle in your eye or the pause inbetween your breaths? Can I come in? This night is too long to go without seeing you pulse.
Eventually.
If you get a car for free, or if you have a big house, or if you are the CEO of a big business, or if you pray in church, or if you burn a church...We all ultimately have an end to our lives. It doesn't matter, because it all ends.
The free rides, the business luncheons, and the lonely nights asleep on a park bench.
They all end.
Can I come in? Because I don't want to leave you. Is it the twinkle in your eye or the pause inbetween your breaths? Can I come in? This night is too long to go without seeing you pulse.
Eventually.
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