I should have called you with the first thought of her but look at me now, being used by her thinking of you.
My loss troubles us in opposing manners. You climb higher and I lower, both at the same speed we equally run away from our center but twice as fast from each other.
My shrinking realms of thought lead me right back into the spiraling fields of beauty that I ascribe to every face that you shoot and that I am so fortunate as to be to be the one shot at.
You are the circle that crops my heart into little pieces.
You puzzle my pieces by placing yours into the corners I have already built.
I am sorry for the boarders of yours that I may have crossed.
Mine will always be open, Less I am too lazy to roll my eyes away from you!
You make my eyes Google in so many different directions at one time that I am so cross eyed within the beauty of you being at least a part of the contact I may need in order to see the sea absolutely clearly!
The following was written while in jail staring at the wall. It seemed like a good opener to a novel or chapter of my life. I hear it as being read like the opening of “Stand By Me” I was twenty two before the spilt bottle of ink reached the end of my desk and started dropping calligraphic footprints onto the floor. It had taken that long for my seemingly lavatic life to make its way towards the unleveled leg of my missing climax and erupt. The next three years would take me on a walkabout into the desolate outback of my draining heart. Leaving inky impressions along the way to eventually be gathered and poured back into my empty vessel. Thus filling me with life and becoming the body of my story.
July 24, 2008
I have had the idea of myfirst novel for around four years now but being an experiential writer I haven’t been able to write or even start writing the end even in my head, and unfortunately I believe that is where I would start.
I think the title of it would be “My Greatest Experience was My Biggest Experiment.”
I first got the idea when I first tried to seriously get sober. All of the other chapters have pretty much been written with myself being my own antagonist.
The outline for the intro and conclusion are well formed but can not be written less it be completely fiction. I see the entire story being very much as a memoir of my personal struggles with drugs and alcohol in the “Stand By Me” flashback style.
I am once again at the point that I would like and more so need to start this “experiment” of mine up again less I want to keep writing about fictional dreams of the should have beens while sitting alone within my self sorrow.
I am either a fantastic artist or such a complete professional at self sabotage, because In my head I have already gone through the happy sober years with wife, kids and family in my head but am still considering a real tear jerker of an ending. I want to show the circling effects of addiction by taking the reader through its many cyclones that rain hellish hail on everything and then toss you back up into the clouds for another ride.
This is to be the biggest work of my life and my biggest challenge is to jump through the dirty devils and use them to catapult me into the air just as if I were Mario with a cape.
I am very afraid of this chapter of my life and maybe that is why I have continually postponed its fruition. I am so afraid of letting everyone down again including myself seeing as how I am my own biggest critic.
It is very humbling to have so many people love you and want to help regardless of the hurt you have caused them I know that it is true that the change has to come from me and for me but it is very hard when you care little about yourself. I also consider my loved ones a part of me, so I am either using my skewed alcoholic state of mind to put my burden more firmly on my loved ones or further it into my past. Either way I am going to continue to use you guys, until the day that you can count on me to be your safety net.
Your stepping stone, your rock, your son, your brother, your friend.
For dramatic effect I should have ended it there but I need all of you to know that I want to change and I cant do it by myself, so I thank you for sticking by my side through all of this. I am very lucky to have such a large support group and I hope that I use all of you as yo want me to.
I guess that you could say it begun on Friday afternoon after having a productive day at work and heading to the office to pick up my check with a work buddy. We arrived at the office in Tribeca with our fingers crossed in hope of the boss being in a good mood. Low and behold he was a rarity on pay day. After waiting around bullshitting with the other technicians we finally got our checks but still needed to stick around for the formality of our completely informal Kiddush. After the prayer and a shot of red wine my work buddy and I were out the door with our bleak checks and on our way back to the A, C, E Subway station at Canal Street. He invited me to go see a movie with him his girlfriend and some of her friends, I thanked him for the invite but declined the offer non the less. He retorted in broken English,
“I don’t understand Tom.”
I did the best I could to skirt around the fact by saying
“Cuz I am a looser man…”
He said:
“Nah!…”
So I had to let him know that it was because I was an Alcoholic and had already devoted my night to my disease by simple stating.
“Cuz I am a drunk man!”
His persistence stopped then and there because even though I said it in a joking manner he knew that I was serious. We took the A train together and enjoyed each others company until I exited at 125th street to catch the C.
I said: “Later Buddy have a good weekend.”
He nodded
I exited the C local at 155th as I often do and made my way up the three flights of stairs with a hop in my step that is often felt on Fridays less I have to work Saturday. Upon hitting the street I light my post train ride Parliament Light and make my uptown towards the corner of 158th and Saint Nick. The door bell sounds nightly (Bing Bong) as I walk through the door of my beer deli. I walk strait to the empty Corona boxes that sit on top of their Corona refrigerator in the back of the store, sometimes saying “Whats up” to the early twenties kid that keeps all of the other coolers stalked with various types of beer. Tonight being a weekend I grab three of the empty six pack boxes and return to my sliding glass door that is situated somewhere in the middle of the narrow isle. I begin to load the boxes up with Natural Light carefully counting by twos and questioning if the total of 18 will be enough. So having reached the conclusion that I can come back if needed I take my three carrying boxes to the counter where nightly I go through the same pointless conversation in Spanish.
“Hey pana, Como esta? Todo Bien?!”
“Bien Gracias, y tu?”
“Bien”
“And Two packs of Parliament Lights Please.”
“Thirty Three 95”
“Gracias mi amigo Buenos Noches”
“De nada, Buenos Noches” and with that I am out the door with my tree black grocery bags. (Bing Bong)
So I walked the short block to 159th crossed the street and hung my right down towards Edgecombe meanwhile speaking to my self in my head “Hey Mamacita!” or “what the fuck is your problem?!” things to that effect, depending upon the people about.
This past Friday night proved be somewhat different for as I hooked my left onto Edgecombe there was a white guy my age that seemed suspicious only because of his face. It was like I just caught him stealing football cards form Wall-Mart. He was obviously a little rattle and as I held the door for him to follow me into my building he quietly asked if I live here. I responded in the positive and he informed me that He had just been mugged. I not fully paying attention said:
“No Shit Who a guy or girl?’
He replied: “a Couple of Guys but there were a couple more around.”
It took me more than twenty seconds to realize that it was him who had been mugged and not someone else. He seemed pretty cool and collected for just having been jumped other than he kept looking down at the giant rip on the right leg of his Jeans. As soon as I realized it was him who had just been robbed I asked if he was okay and thanked him for telling me to be care full but that was pretty much it and I took the elevator up while he went for the stairs. The minuet I entered the safety of my apartment I realized I had not done my part at helping this peer of mine out. I should have asked him if he needed to use my phone or anything for that matter! I just assumed he lived here and that I had been doing him a favor by letting him in. The kid was probably scared shitless and more than likely went to the staircase and began to ball. That’s what I would have done…
He told me that they had taken his Jacket, Laptop and Wallet. He was very collected and maybe that is why I didn’t jump into helper mode. I know now that he was a guy just like me in need of help but was too strong enough to break down and cry.
Fuck I should have seen it!
So that was the start of my Friday night.
I being overly selfish was able to put that incident behind me with a little help from my “friends” I wrote a beautiful stanza on love and ignoring my own advice as well as his misfortune I hit the dark streets of Washington Heights. From here on there is very little detailed descriptions of my weekend less the periods I woke up still drunk and then stupidly continued to drink. Thank god that I was safe within my home every time I woke from my growing Stupor. I am not going to share my less than glamorous foggy memories on this media for they would only hurt my loved ones. I will save them for the counselor that I so need and then maybe I can begin to once again
atone with all of you.
This weekend was obviously not enough of a wake up call for I am drinking tonight but even after being sober yesterday and early evening tonight I am becoming afraid of my surroundings.
I miss being surrounded in the comfort of all of your physical love.
As much as I like this place that I am living now I hate how far away I have become from all of you
What is love but a total releasing of the parts of yourself that are hard for even it to share with you.
The complete vulnerability of having your heart whisked away in the middle of the darkest of nights only to be laid into a bed made of the softest of flowers that you yourself unfortunately surround with the sharpest of thorns is all to real.
We fortify our hearts so heavily that they in turn become heavy. All of us are so afraid of being hurt that we seem to put ourselves before the true fruition of love. Heart break is as much as a part of love as its counterpart. That being of the racing horses that happen when the other appears. Weather it be in thought, reality, or past. Our hearts still race.
I must admit that I have only been truly in love three times, the first was my first and it being my puppy was adopted by some other dude… The second I didn’t start loving until after I took her off the bed of flowers that was the base of our relationship and placed her back on the other side of my thorns, so that she could be free of my fortress, I love her now more than I never said while we were “together”
The third I am still in love with but it being myself I find it more difficult to deal with any kind of break up that I probably need to go through.
I surround myself with images of all of the sharpest of cacti. So that I may sit in my bed of flowers in love with myself but in reality I am pacing back and forth amongst the prongs that hurt only my feet. For as much as I share my vulnerability I have built a fort that is ten times as strong as I and it is completely effective at keeping all well away from my heart including myself.
It has become easy for me to express what I am missing personally as to what I want in a girl. The other half stuff works really well at tricking both yourself and someone else but love is even tougher than life and if you want to get through it than you need a partner in crime….
I retract my thorns and open my bed of freshly picked cactus flowers to those “That may not be Smart but know what love is”
My lazy eyes google around your façade and quickly make judgments, The Seeing Eye dog in my heart draws me near to you. I sniff and pretend that I can’t see you through the darkness but your sound and smell make it hard for me to not paint the images of you into my mind.
I kiss you and as your eyes open you begin to see me through the blue of my moving sea.
The churning thoughts of falling into the white washing make me excitedly sick.
I am drowning in my own thoughts of what love really is…
The snow flakes float gently to the ground as the windows of my homes play their frames of my life in different locations. Each flake stunningly the same and eerily different. They pile up amongst my stance in the perfection that only nature can achieve. I am warmed by the hot water hitting my back as I look at the snow capped mountains from the comfort of my mountain shower. That is probably my favorite window. For it holds me when I am coldly excited for what is to come next from the sunshine that I am holding in my hand. And in the other a sliver of sappy soap that I use as my last effort to purify my soul. Each passing car in my foggy window entices all of my excitements. I maximize the time spent in the shower so that I go from prone to the pruned down version of me that is resonating its sound with your thoughts.
I admit that I have never had one of the many supper powers that I may have wanted to but I do posses many superfluous powers that I leave to lead me out and into control. I am weaving across all of the lines in my head, crossing the T’s and dilating my eyes before they run circles around me…
I have the ability to consume too much of everything! Less it be sea food…
I will take everything that is given to me even Shit, just not sea food…
I will admit that I am robbing myself of the real life. I now party with the rocks that used to Fragle.
I am a buoy at the mercy of the high and low tides. I also have to deal with myself all day everyday! it’s a battle, You Know!
Especially if you are the only one beating yourself down. All of the ladies holding signs of days past, I am Friday Six November! Got to start some where huh?
Down I fall with gravity taking over my moving parts as I release the breaks on my life that provide the hesitation from living her with life. My breaks fail as fast as my heart. For once I am on a track I am a runaway. I fall too quickly and run with her too freely. The love remains as a caboose. I search for the engine that is traveling the same track as I but in the opposite direction. The one that won’t slow down, the one that travels on her tracks and by some unforeseen force crosses the same tracks that I travel upwards at that critical moment of collision
The collision of passion is the one that I search for the one that takes a hit and then realizes what she was hitting.
I tap my heart for feelings of bliss but I can only come up with opportunities missed. So As I Kareem down the tracks of this round about I think about the bliss of a new set of tracks. Some where without the round about, somewhere around or there about her tracks is where I want to run a-way.
My Ideal first date is the one of pure chance. That random bumping into on the street or accidental stepping on toes in the train that forces eye contact and an apology, then the continuing eye contact. That leads to a conversation that drowns out the rumbling sounds of everything else but our two hearts. If not that then it would have to be a casual meeting with no set plans or destination, just time spent wandering each others souls to see if they enjoy each others company.
The cold gusts of a Sunday evening give way to the warming thoughts of you. The fire begins to roar fed by your prevailing winds. The sap pops as the thin planked door slams open in the midst of your strongest gust. I smile from under my blanket on the couch and wine “I’m hungry honey”
Your eyes roll as you shoulders shrug off the heavy coat and close the door. I am now behind you sharing my warmth. I surround you with my blanket and walk you to the fire. I build a tent by opening my arms and we relish the moment until once again I tease “I’m hungry honey!” You being used to our routine go to the kitchen and open the fridge to see what you can whip up but this time you open the refrigerator and find only an envelope on the top shelf. It reads Please meet me in the Bedroom, you close the light on the fridge walk past the flickering fire and into the candle light of our room witch I have turned into our dining place for tonight. I pull a seat out for you and reclaim mine. I fill your glass with white and watch your cheeks turn flush. We toast to this Sunday night as our feet reaffirm how we are feeling. Cold…
“So what did I do to deserve this? You seductively ask
“Uh, You don’t remember!?” I retort in a pouting manner.
Your face goes blank as I pull up the black plastic bag from the floor. Your eyes well up as I place the greasy ass bred sticks onto the fine linen napkin held by a basket in the middle of our table.
“It’s only the anniversary of probably our best date ever!’’
I prove to have out done my self by bringing extra bags of plastic-ware and even refills on Diet Coke.
We eat our now cool fast Italian food and poke fun at to who is at fault for this whole having fallen into love thing. What ever it is. mmmmm
Ships carve my corked screwed eyes into the cyclones of your swirl.
I burry my thoughts of you into the coals, huge un-written scrolls waiting to be dampened by the very best of fighters for my flame, the water falls slow.
I silently kiss your hand before I fall
You begin to crys-two-light up my life. I scan your icy peaks and take mental notes as to what tools I will need on my accent to your ice cubed eyes. I untangle and re-tie the knot on the back of my boot. I take a real deep smokers’ breath and put my first forward forward. I fall deeply into this climb as my heart passes my gut that is quickly rising.
It is a strange feeling this love, you Know? It is the umbrella of all other feelings. Either you have it and you are happily dry or you don’t in witch case you are drenched to the bone cold and miserable. At least I think? For I have never been without it but I have been drenched cold and in a miserable state relishing those that I love, my many umbrellas, all of you fill my giant margarita glass with color, it is me that takes negatives of myself.
“Anyone who claims that sunshine is the only way to happiness obviously has never danced in the rain.”
The storm passes those that wait for the sun and dances with those that create rainbows with it. So I dance in the rain and I feel the sun as our beauty creates both ends of it. The colors strike others as beauty but to me they are just the steps of our growing dance.
The pot of gold has been lost to the sun.
Color meets the rain drops that cleanse my tears and begins to create the colors of yours. The mere sheen of your eyes in a puddle sends tingles down my spine as though you had just struck me with your lightning. My full body shiver is more than enough thunder to make me feel as though you were here.
I watch the rain drops hit the oil filled puddles that I equate to your eyes. The ripples of rain disturb your eyes in an unnatural way. Your blood colors my eyes with shots of clarity as if the rain that falls tonight was that of Visine. So with my sight unfortunately cleared I dance.
I once again forget about all others and loose myself in the rainbows of your oily eyes.
I was twenty two before the spilt bottle of ink reached the end of my desk and started dropping calligraphic footprints onto the floor. It had taken that long for my seemingly lavatic life to make its way towards the unleveled leg of my missing climax and erupt. The next three years would take me on a walkabout into the desolate outback of my draining heart. Leaving inky impressions along the way to eventually be gathered and poured back into my empty vessel. Thus filling me with life and becoming the body of my story.
My Ideal first date is the one of pure chance. That random bumping into on the street or accidental stepping on toes in the train that forces eye contact and an apology, then the continuing eye contact. That leads to a conversation that drowns out the rumbling sounds of everything else but our two hearts. If not that then it would have to be a casual meeting with no set plans or destination, just time spent wandering each others souls to see if they enjoy each others company.
Color meets the rain drops that cleanse my tears and begins to create the colors of yours. The mere sheen of your eyes in a puddle sends tingles down my spine as though you had just struck me with your lightning. My full body shiver is more than enough thunder to make me feel as though you were here.