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Bad choices made, constantly

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Seasons

Nine Short Stories About Being Buried Alive

“Leave Us Alone We are Working on Blueprints”
Try this we are walking into the bar you and I and I turn to you and tell you I am scared to go in I am scared to be in there with them all I am scared to go outside now I don’t want to feel the aggravation and anger like I felt today I listen to this cd and I have to fucking shut it because I don’t give a fuck who broke this guys fucking heart I don’t give a fuck who broke anyone’s heart for that matter.

“John Travolta’s Facial Hair in the Film ‘Swordfish’”
I pissed out what seemed like a gallon and a half of beer, and then got in my car. The drive home was intense and dangerous. Art Bell telling me that people spontaneously go invisible. I took the barrel of the 9mm and pointed it at the woman and her son driving by me in the mini-van and lit another Kool.

“Oh, I Didn’t Realize Your Parents Molested You”
So when we arrived at the apartment of Timmy and Jenni I initially thought we were going to be surrounded by thieves and men with insurance plans; instead, we were surrounded by good drugs, and good jazz music from the late 70’s. One wants to believe that Timmy would not have good music, but for the remainder of the night we discussed how great the tone of Pat Metheney was in this particular year.

“A Visibly Drunk Liza Minneli Being Eaten by a Giant Orange Scorpion with Wings”
The first time one hears the song “the Magic Power” by “the other famous trio from Canada”, Triumph, one is filled with such a feeling of hope, you literally feel like Rik Emmett is going to jump through the speakers and give you a big hug. Hi, my name is Christian, and I am addicted to rock and roll music.

“The Drive Home to Your Wife After You Pay For Sex the First Time”
Oh how I enjoy that crisp wind that blows brown and bright blue air all over the world in the fall here in New England. Right now, the tail end of a winter I didn’t experience and it feels fresh and nice outside. I need to move myself somewhere good. Yeah I said this and did this already. Wait what?

“Adults Who Think Vampire Stuff is Cool”
I love fucking cole slaw, love it, absolutely love it. All of the cold “pre-made” salads are great too. My wife made this wonderful potato salad last week. I ate it all week at work. Her sister makes a great macaroni salad. I once knew a man from Ohio who made some pretty intense bean salad that was just delicious! Fuck I love it all! Fuck!

“The Ticket to the Jethro Tull Concert in Your Wallet While You Get Arrested”
I remember going to this day camp when I was a little kid. One weekend, they had a sleep over. I didn’t want to sleep over. I don’t like sleeping outside to this fucking day. I was supposed to meet a couple of friends in the middle of the night to get in trouble or whatever. The next day when I showed up, this big kid Kevin, his Kiss belt buckle glimmering in the hot summer of 78’ sun says to me “where were you last night?”. He was going to beat me up for not showing up to do whatever we were going to do. One day I fell on the trampoline and hurt my head crying and yelling, I felt paralyzed and freaked out. I think this is why I have problems in general now.

“Last Friday, When We Quit Smoking Cocaine”
Last night I dreamt that I was swimming in the ocean with a German Shepard, I was worried that my wallet was going to get wet so I asked him what to do, he said we couldn’t do anything, and to worry about it later. Great, talking German Shepards in my dreams now. He was cute. I have no idea what we were doing in the ocean, as I steadfastly refuse to swim as soon as someone suggests it.

“The Guy Doug Your Wife Fucked When She Was Nineteen”
The other night at dinner a friend asked if I was going to get a cat when I moved into my new place. I replied, “I can’t because I don’t want to deal with the inevitable death of the pet, the same reason I don’t want to get another girlfriend. I don’t feel like dealing with the eventual end of a relationship” I guess it’s part self-deprecation “humor” and partly true. I barely get attached to anything, people, places, opinions. This kind of rampant unsettling train of thought happening 27 hours a day. I guess everyone is like this right?

Missing New England

(Note: While living in Southern California I fell for that tired cliche “I miss the seasons of New England” I would often write little blurbs about the seasons. As with all photos on this blog, I took them.)

“Spring”

I stepped out on the porch with a mouth full of beaches, and a head full of air and water. I made my way down the stairs. The ground felt a tad bit different, the soil was hard, yet it was early spring. I wonder sometimes where these moments of clarity come from. I wondered out loud, but the folks around me didn’t get it. They kick dirt around me, and make certain noises that one doesn’t normally hear. Stabbing motion to my back, yet I don’t even know you. What’s with that anyway? If I had had my real, true escape vehicles, my guitar, my typewriter, I would have created something. Instead, I destroyed. I turned myself into a baby boy. No diaper can hold the crap that comes out of me unfortunately.

“Summer”

I just got in from a day of pinball and coffee. I love the old video games and the pinball machines. I sneak around and spend a quarter here, spend a quarter there. I don’t win no gifts for girls. I ain’t carryin’ around no stinking big stuffed animals. I’m playing, it’s just me. ice cream soda and little kids biting at my ankles with their screams and fangs. I haven’t been down the road in a long time. I haven’t taken this route in so long. I like this route here. I like how this winds around and get’s me to where I think I need to be. Poetry and horrible letters are no longer needed, poetry and flowers and jackets across puddles. Karaoke on Friday night get’s canceled for a random trip to the moon. John Holmes and every teenage weed dealer I’ve ever known driving a station wagon to the ocean for conversation about ecstasy and Mick Jagger lips. Rug burn from sitting on the floor statuesque for far too long through scary movies and rock videos. Park the car by the side of the road, park it across the street so no one sees us. They all start rumors, they all fill themselves with lies about the moon and lies about the way my car runs. The motor runs great, it needs a tune up, it needs to take different drives, silently through beaches and neon lit strips of Elvis Presley videos. Like a man not even with himself anymore. Like a ninja. Like someone in the deep blue sea swimming. I don’t know, sort of like if you took one part reality and one part whatever you feel you need to think you would sort of feel this like this.

“Autumn”

The streets of downtown are covered with sausage wrappers and dried up footsteps. Footsteps soaked in whiskey and bad breath from the night before. Not deep footprints, as the people walking were weak. Looking for some sort of escape from the norm. They wanted a Sunday afternoon of headaches and vomit. They wanted to miss the snow I saw at seven this morning. They wanted to miss the cool brisk air this morning I felt standing on the porch watching the beauty of autumn with bloodless eyeballs. Like a shot in the arm the autumn is. It’s like a wake up call. All the fools come out to celebrate something they don’t really understand in the first place. Maybe catch a glimpse of a woman flying around on a broom or something cool like that. Maybe the front bumper of my car will catch their khakis. Maybe their tan khakis will be stained with blood by the end of the week. Maybe their stomachs will have to be pumped. Maybe this afternoon’s melancholy mood will force them all to see the beauty of a clear eyeball on a Sunday morning. The sky looks so great in the morning when your head is on straight, and there is not a drop of blood in your eyes. Your teeth are clean. The autumn feels good to me right now, cold and sort of lonely. Content. This sort of calm confidence one gets from time to time. This sort of feeling that comes around once a year. You know it. The unknown. Fear of the unknown. What’s going to happen to me this winter? You ask yourself that every year around this time. It’s always a different answer for everyone though.

“Winter”

(the heat in that car would be up so high our wet crunchy salt covered shoes would turn into little ovens covering our feet. Filthy floor mats in my car covered in little puddles with ice cubes in them like little spilled mixed drinks. Remember how many times I had my heart and brain destroyed by whatever haircut in a nice pair of shoes I was carting around New England staring at bare trees and salty sidewalks. Out here in sunny California, we don’t wear shoes in the car man and we say shit like “it’s all good man, don’t worry about it”)

 

 

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