I'm going to start the Church of the Cautiously Observant.
See, we believe that the Almighty is:
A) Real.
B) Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient.
C) Up to something, possibly no good.
It is, therefore, our mission and goal to continually be on the lookout for Divine Mischief, as this could be happening at literally any time or place. If we are actively keeping an eye out, the potential for Divine Mischief diminishes, and we make the world a safer place. But we MUST be vigilant! Our adherents must spread to all corners of the globe, have eyes in every den and back alley, and they must never cease moving or watching. We must traverse plains, forge our way through jungles, climb mountains, seek crumbling vacant buildings.
We must have members of all faiths, for all deities are equally Mischievous, and must be watching accordingly on their own terms. We do not profess to know the identity of the Creator; indeed, the fact that his name, face, and motives remain obscured serves only as further proof of his potential for Deviousness. We further acknowledge that some pantheons include Gods of Mischief, and, again, extend open arms to any with such knowledge. But most of all, we invite those to whom the miraculous has never shown itself, for it is them especially whom the Divine Mischief chiefly avoids; their active presence can only aid our cause.
Cast your accusing eyes heavenward and join us today!
1.25.2014
9.23.2013
0143am.09.22.2013
the problem is unidentified
but you're a smart guy
i'm sure you can find a vice
that will make it go away
some sort of smoke
to obscure impending obstacles
or a gnawing addiction
to chew round the edges of modern life
or, sorry,
if you're sick of the smell
then maybe try not
to shit the bed so often
because, oh look,
here's another day,
sunlight pouring across concrete
illuminating another chance for you
to go double or nothing on life
and maybe you've come up empty handed
and maybe it was on my quiet watch
and maybe i'm not doing much better over here
but, yes,
all debts will be repaid,
whether we're alive or not to receive them,
and we'll collect the lots
we spent a lifetime casting;
the moment will come...
the great blow off...
the great thank you...
the great payout...
the great fuck off...
the great thank you...
the great blowout...
0136pm.
the problem is unidentified
but you're a smart guy
i'm sure you can find a vice
that will make it go away
some sort of smoke
to obscure impending obstacles
or a gnawing addiction
to chew round the edges of modern life
or, sorry,
if you're sick of the smell
then maybe try not
to shit the bed so often
because, oh look,
here's another day,
sunlight pouring across concrete
illuminating another chance for you
to go double or nothing on life
and maybe you've come up empty handed
and maybe it was on my quiet watch
and maybe i'm not doing much better over here
but, yes,
all debts will be repaid,
whether we're alive or not to receive them,
and we'll collect the lots
we spent a lifetime casting;
the moment will come...
the great blow off...
the great thank you...
the great payout...
the great fuck off...
the great thank you...
the great blowout...
0136pm.
6.28.2013
0248pm.06.26.2013
If I've said it once
I guess the words didn't transmit
My warnings unheeded
But you're not digging MY pit
Seems no sense in stopping
Until you've had your fill
Which is why I'm at your door
Cheering on this debacle
Not my head served up
Nor me behind the grassy knoll
No, that's me outside the morgue
Cheering on your funeral
Not me past the finish line
Not me leaving with words unsaid
But I am outside the cemetary
Cheering on the dead
1250am.06.28.2013
6.24.2013
i heard you on the radio tonight
0202p.06.24.2013
i know that you're a warrior
so hear that this burden i bear
is a new war to fill your days
i bring enemies and obstacles
and the death of apathy
...what next?
your peace misread as boredom
all follies surely by the grace of god
were meant to play out their own way
and with no regard for our pleas
the days march by unchecked
...what's left?
voices replace older voices
as tones and timbres are forgot
beaneath the ashes of all else burned
and though i would not dare to guess at her sound
i could swear i heard her on the radio just now
...what's that?
0212p.
i know that you're a warrior
so hear that this burden i bear
is a new war to fill your days
i bring enemies and obstacles
and the death of apathy
...what next?
your peace misread as boredom
all follies surely by the grace of god
were meant to play out their own way
and with no regard for our pleas
the days march by unchecked
...what's left?
voices replace older voices
as tones and timbres are forgot
beaneath the ashes of all else burned
and though i would not dare to guess at her sound
i could swear i heard her on the radio just now
...what's that?
0212p.
3.31.2013
Forgetting, and remembering to forget to remember
Sometimes I don't know where I am or where I've been, but when the cider rinses off ten years of ash I can still taste you underneath, I feel like I could still wish you were here, like we could still hide under a blanketing electric lullabye until the stars themselves wink out in respect for... Whatever it is we have, or had, or wish for. You cried for the future, I cried for the past, and together we flooded any sort of present, yeah deep deluge with no outlet, a filled compartment forbidding so much as communication... How to send a message to one whose heart breaks with each syllable uttered? Why do I feel so burdened with something unsaid, when I don't even know the words to this song I hope to sing? And, must I walk this road a year for each drop of sweet liquid history that passes my lips? I must, I must, I wish 'twere otherwise, but such is this life we never chose, full of heartache and despair to temper the good moments into gleaming diamonds, shining gemstones to cling to when all light fails, and night has grown deep.
1.16.2013
1.13.2013
...come here
i found this in an old drawer, a half-remembered page torn from a notebook that lasted me through parts of 2007-2010. i don't think it ever made it's way into a collection, so i'm transcribing it here to ensure it makes it into the 2013 book.
there is a date in the top left, but it is covered by the one small water stain on the page. the juliet in question is a statue on navy pier, meaning i probably wrote this on break at work one day. unfortunately, this does not narrow down when this was.
---
i don't know how but i managed to escape
with a half a stolen sandwich
that compulsive paranoia made me drop
and a borrowed cigarette
which was used to spark an emotional hardburn
jealous bitter desire and longing
which in juliet's shadow makes me as cold as her
as she tries to stare east
across the lake at the rising sun
a theater cruelly, ironically blocks her gaze
eternally awaiting the return of her lover
but never able to look more than a hundred yards
straight east
meanwhile he rises on the sun each day
to look at the earth in search of her
and he has seen her from above and behind
but never her face.
i shrug hard to dodge a memory
wings flutter in response
shake off ethereal dust
don't remember, don't remember...
smile and conversate
...don't remember, don't remember
i'm sorry my mouth doesn't quite work
i believe one of my vocal cords is reserved
the line from my tongue to my brain goes two ways
and my hands are damned
but my lips are blessed
so come here
there is a date in the top left, but it is covered by the one small water stain on the page. the juliet in question is a statue on navy pier, meaning i probably wrote this on break at work one day. unfortunately, this does not narrow down when this was.
---
i don't know how but i managed to escape
with a half a stolen sandwich
that compulsive paranoia made me drop
and a borrowed cigarette
which was used to spark an emotional hardburn
jealous bitter desire and longing
which in juliet's shadow makes me as cold as her
as she tries to stare east
across the lake at the rising sun
a theater cruelly, ironically blocks her gaze
eternally awaiting the return of her lover
but never able to look more than a hundred yards
straight east
meanwhile he rises on the sun each day
to look at the earth in search of her
and he has seen her from above and behind
but never her face.
i shrug hard to dodge a memory
wings flutter in response
shake off ethereal dust
don't remember, don't remember...
smile and conversate
...don't remember, don't remember
i'm sorry my mouth doesn't quite work
i believe one of my vocal cords is reserved
the line from my tongue to my brain goes two ways
and my hands are damned
but my lips are blessed
so come here
12.25.2012
the unsent portion
i wish i didn't feel obligated to do this, and i wish i knew if i was picking at old wounds by doing so. do you read them? delete them on sight? or maybe you just ignore that email account altogether, and there's six or seven years of christmas emails from me sitting in there, unread, unnoticed. i hope it doesn't hurt, if you read them. but i think it bothers you more that i hope and wish for things related to you, i imagine you just want me to move on completely, to forget about you entirely, to stop stop stop all this nonsense. i imagine us both with this same gaping hole in our lives, this great inner sadness that lurks and lingers and occasionally wells up to swallow us whole; i picture our mutual searches for love, as we try to forget what could never be. and i see you, unable to let go because i cannot let go. i imagine us both caught in a web; when i move, it hurts you, and when i don't move, it hurts me. it feels as though i've doomed us both, and that is the guilt i will never live down. i loved too much, i loved too hard, i smothered and crushed and drained the life from you, all in the name of love, love, love.
if i could do it all again, i wouldn't do it at all, except i'd do it all the same, because i'd get just as caught up, and feel just as unstoppable, like a movie where you know the ending but try to scream at the actors, no, don't, stop... this is torture, and i do it to myself, just me, me and no one else. i would stop doing this to us every year, just stop sending the letters, but i need it. i don't know why, but i need it.
everything reminds me of something about you, i'm sorry if that hurts to hear, i'm sorry for being sorry, i'm sorry...
if i could do it all again, i wouldn't do it at all, except i'd do it all the same, because i'd get just as caught up, and feel just as unstoppable, like a movie where you know the ending but try to scream at the actors, no, don't, stop... this is torture, and i do it to myself, just me, me and no one else. i would stop doing this to us every year, just stop sending the letters, but i need it. i don't know why, but i need it.
everything reminds me of something about you, i'm sorry if that hurts to hear, i'm sorry for being sorry, i'm sorry...
12.20.2012
recurring themes
so i had this dream last night, and while a lot of the setting was familiar, things didn't happen the way i'm used to. call it what you will, but i felt like there was a hand on my shoulder while i explored the same old ground, guiding my steps along a path i already knew but refusing to allow hesitation or deviation. driving north as always, nearing canada, but this time it's not me behind the wheel - it's dad, or something with enough authority over my psyche to translate as "dad" in dreamland. dad and i are going somewhere, brushing the canadian border, when he mentions Her. "she lives right near here, doesn't she?" he says. "yeah," i say, "couple hours away." "do you wanna go? we can spare the time, and i know you really miss this girl." suddenly i freeze, an unreasonable terror slowly creeping over me, at the thought of actually seeing her again. it was the sort of fear i've known few times in my life, a fulfillment of the worst paranoias, the ultimate in "getting caught". before i knew it we were on our way, "dad" taking no further role but to inexorably take me there. it is important that he was driving - in my dreams, i always drive. if i find myself going somewhere i don't want to, i turn the wheel. when the mind has conjured such glorious landscapes and impossible features as to boggle itself, i slow down. dad never did either of these things.
so we got there, at some point. the town had a four letter name that started with O and may have been "Omaj", a rather strange misspelling of "Homage". i didn't get to wander and enjoy it, suddenly street maps were forming and even though the town was wrong and she's not even there anymore it was the same as i wasn't sure i remembered it anymore - down that last long stretch, left on vega, second house on the left. she didn't meet me in the yard like back then, and there was none of that amazing movie-style running-leap-hug in the middle of the airport like i am so fond of remembering. i didn't even get a slap in the face. she answered the door and our eyes met and we couldn't say anything. she looked dead, like something had sucked all the life out of her - not in a cartoony way, or a literal way, but the same way you might say a coworker looks dead after an 80 hour work week. the door was open, and her face didn't change its expression, and i felt a deep seated sadness relax, just a little, as some of it came to the surface. at this point in the dream, emotion trumps reason enough that everything just fades.
there isn't much left to recall, after that. just dad, dragging me to see my "long lost love", only to find that the years have taken their toll, and reality never lives up to dreams. kinda meta, don't you think, my dreams referencing other dreams? not just referencing them, but correcting them, and kind of maybe mocking them a little bit? i dunno.
the mayan long count ends at 7:15am tomorrow. that's about ten hours away. i'll be at work, taking a carefully timed smoke break, facing east.
so we got there, at some point. the town had a four letter name that started with O and may have been "Omaj", a rather strange misspelling of "Homage". i didn't get to wander and enjoy it, suddenly street maps were forming and even though the town was wrong and she's not even there anymore it was the same as i wasn't sure i remembered it anymore - down that last long stretch, left on vega, second house on the left. she didn't meet me in the yard like back then, and there was none of that amazing movie-style running-leap-hug in the middle of the airport like i am so fond of remembering. i didn't even get a slap in the face. she answered the door and our eyes met and we couldn't say anything. she looked dead, like something had sucked all the life out of her - not in a cartoony way, or a literal way, but the same way you might say a coworker looks dead after an 80 hour work week. the door was open, and her face didn't change its expression, and i felt a deep seated sadness relax, just a little, as some of it came to the surface. at this point in the dream, emotion trumps reason enough that everything just fades.
there isn't much left to recall, after that. just dad, dragging me to see my "long lost love", only to find that the years have taken their toll, and reality never lives up to dreams. kinda meta, don't you think, my dreams referencing other dreams? not just referencing them, but correcting them, and kind of maybe mocking them a little bit? i dunno.
the mayan long count ends at 7:15am tomorrow. that's about ten hours away. i'll be at work, taking a carefully timed smoke break, facing east.
12.13.2012
long unloved window
where did my ghost go?
she's not in the attic,
there's nothing up there
but boxes of static.
the trapdoor she slept in
is covered in rust,
the window she gazed through
all moldy with dust.
i came here to listen,
i came here by choice,
and by god i've forgotten
the sound of her voice.
with a sigh so loud
it would frighten the cattle,
there's no reason to linger,
so, come now, to battle.
she's not in the attic,
there's nothing up there
but boxes of static.
the trapdoor she slept in
is covered in rust,
the window she gazed through
all moldy with dust.
i came here to listen,
i came here by choice,
and by god i've forgotten
the sound of her voice.
with a sigh so loud
it would frighten the cattle,
there's no reason to linger,
so, come now, to battle.
11.25.2012
magic is hard
i rose early
to be the one to spark the flame
to guide you in
to brighten your future
i rose early
to shake free dust in the sunrise
to create a cloud
to mark my passing forever
as the morning creeps across my walk
i double check my rings
meant to open the seals ahead
then in empty halls alive with wind
i trace anew my glyphs
meant to keep all stomachs fed
someone had to cast the spell
to make your evening soothing
someone had to speak the words
to get your fingers moving
someone had to cast the spell
to keep away the panic
it's not easy being a wizard
when no one believes in magic
to be the one to spark the flame
to guide you in
to brighten your future
i rose early
to shake free dust in the sunrise
to create a cloud
to mark my passing forever
as the morning creeps across my walk
i double check my rings
meant to open the seals ahead
then in empty halls alive with wind
i trace anew my glyphs
meant to keep all stomachs fed
someone had to cast the spell
to make your evening soothing
someone had to speak the words
to get your fingers moving
someone had to cast the spell
to keep away the panic
it's not easy being a wizard
when no one believes in magic
11.06.2012
hold
the fabric grows thin
day emulsified with dreams
sherbet melting slowly
but nineties kids smile
so quickly it seems
while a toe in the eighties
broke the rest of our hearts
with a fervor i've long forgotten
hold the line, dear lovers,
i swear the day will break
day emulsified with dreams
sherbet melting slowly
but nineties kids smile
so quickly it seems
while a toe in the eighties
broke the rest of our hearts
with a fervor i've long forgotten
hold the line, dear lovers,
i swear the day will break
11.05.2012
novemblues
xenogears and radiohead. yeah, it's a late 90s sort of morning, with the obvious anachronistic bits scattered about to drag me back to reality (xenogears on an emulator played with an xbox controller, in rainbows material)... i feel like i've gotten to know somebody better, in their absence. it's unhealthy, because i no longer have any business knowing them so well. still, it helps frame my own past, to put some things better into perspective. these two things effected my life a surprising amount back around the (sigh) "turn of the millenium". would we have laughed together about that, then held hands as we realized we were really growing old together? whatever the answer, i shouldn't care. i shouldn't! but thom is singing,
I'll drown my beliefs
To have your babies
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet
Just don't leave
Don't leave
I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile
Just don't leave
Don't leave
And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps
Just don't leave
Don't leave
Just don't leave
Don't leave,
while fei insists,
In those dreams,
I loved one woman...
No matter the day,
no matter the era...
That did not change...
Nor did her name...
perhaps i'm doomed. perhaps this is what i came here to learn, of unrequited love with no obvious shelf life, of spiraling outward with a clear view of the only one i'd drag along, just out of reach, just beyond hearing. you know, you wouldn't think so, but i really do go out and live, when i can. she submerges, beneath the waves of my subconscious, and arm in arm i can step out into the night with brothers and sisters and would-be lovers, and my smiles feel genuine, and the laughs aren't forced - though, that's probably the liquor laughing.
but when, eventually, relentlessly, these quiet moments arrive, and momentum ceases, and i stop to look through the window, there is always a chill - a queer chill, cheek against the glass, wind seeking passage along unprotected spine. it is not unwelcome; it can only remind me of tenderness, of cold fingers seeking warmth, of snow reflected in wide eyes.
i am proud of the life i have built in your absence, and i am aware that i should have long ago stopped wishing that things could have happened differently. but there is an honesty within me that will not be denied, and i miss you.
oh, excuse me. for a minute there, i lost myself, i lost myself...
I'll drown my beliefs
To have your babies
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet
Just don't leave
Don't leave
I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile
Just don't leave
Don't leave
And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps
Just don't leave
Don't leave
Just don't leave
Don't leave,
while fei insists,
In those dreams,
I loved one woman...
No matter the day,
no matter the era...
That did not change...
Nor did her name...
perhaps i'm doomed. perhaps this is what i came here to learn, of unrequited love with no obvious shelf life, of spiraling outward with a clear view of the only one i'd drag along, just out of reach, just beyond hearing. you know, you wouldn't think so, but i really do go out and live, when i can. she submerges, beneath the waves of my subconscious, and arm in arm i can step out into the night with brothers and sisters and would-be lovers, and my smiles feel genuine, and the laughs aren't forced - though, that's probably the liquor laughing.
but when, eventually, relentlessly, these quiet moments arrive, and momentum ceases, and i stop to look through the window, there is always a chill - a queer chill, cheek against the glass, wind seeking passage along unprotected spine. it is not unwelcome; it can only remind me of tenderness, of cold fingers seeking warmth, of snow reflected in wide eyes.
i am proud of the life i have built in your absence, and i am aware that i should have long ago stopped wishing that things could have happened differently. but there is an honesty within me that will not be denied, and i miss you.
oh, excuse me. for a minute there, i lost myself, i lost myself...
10.22.2012
dusty muses
fall has arrived!
and as i raise myself up
to greet the brightest
kaleidoscope of days
this worn-down city
can muster,
i coax blood
back into timid joints.
for i must scurry about
this worried mess,
this monument to absence,
in search of history -
yeah, in search of that
aging, neglected motivation;
by god,
i know she's here somewhere,
lovely muse,
lonely muse,
a girl all covered in dust...
soon, it is the pens creaking to life,
the gears greased with promises of
whatever it is that gears desire.
i hover somewhere
between the living and dead
and open my heart
(though not as wide as my eyes)
to attempt once more
to retain something
from the ghosts
who float
here.
and as i raise myself up
to greet the brightest
kaleidoscope of days
this worn-down city
can muster,
i coax blood
back into timid joints.
for i must scurry about
this worried mess,
this monument to absence,
in search of history -
yeah, in search of that
aging, neglected motivation;
by god,
i know she's here somewhere,
lovely muse,
lonely muse,
a girl all covered in dust...
soon, it is the pens creaking to life,
the gears greased with promises of
whatever it is that gears desire.
i hover somewhere
between the living and dead
and open my heart
(though not as wide as my eyes)
to attempt once more
to retain something
from the ghosts
who float
here.
10.11.2012
method for living
deep within a late-night lullabye, your crybaby rampage unveils ramparts left stagnant in the dust. in the key of ill, forgotten tripwire alarms spit chaos into the silence of the night. why can't we all just be left alone? why can't we all know the loving embrace of another? beneath the trapdoor is defeat, the trigger is doubt, and the bypass is a carefully guarded secret home within our hearts. lay deep into silence, and prepare to be the champion of the dawn - because no day deserves to be treated like any other day.
8.15.2012
perfect ten
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
i was somewhere i'd never been
drinking something bitter and brown
when she was suddenly there
asking for the time -
i told her i had a few hours to spare,
she said i was sweet
then played me out the door
with a well-practiced melody,
so effortless and subtle
i would have sworn
it was i who sang
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
the clouds that evening
hung low grey and bright
all around her head
the stars took up
residence in her eyes
and their glare stole my sight
but not before i saw her home
above an old church
with "KARMA" etched above the door
in place of a cross
blind as i was,
she took my hand
and led me along
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
it was not yet dawn
when her sheets were stained
and it was soon after that
when i never knew her name
i never had a chance
like the dozens that came before
but don't get me wrong
she's anything but a whore
she sucked out my life
with our hair all awry
and dragged me out back
for the rodents to find
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
she found worth in my heart
and i supplied for her demand
i left a mess when i left
and we made no amends
oh god this night
will never end
no metaphorical heartbreak here
just blood on the linens
and alleyway scavengers
shuffling home
with bellies full
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
i was somewhere i'd never been
drinking something bitter and brown
when she was suddenly there
asking for the time -
i told her i had a few hours to spare,
she said i was sweet
then played me out the door
with a well-practiced melody,
so effortless and subtle
i would have sworn
it was i who sang
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
the clouds that evening
hung low grey and bright
all around her head
the stars took up
residence in her eyes
and their glare stole my sight
but not before i saw her home
above an old church
with "KARMA" etched above the door
in place of a cross
blind as i was,
she took my hand
and led me along
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
that's one night i'm sure
will never ever end
it was not yet dawn
when her sheets were stained
and it was soon after that
when i never knew her name
i never had a chance
like the dozens that came before
but don't get me wrong
she's anything but a whore
she sucked out my life
with our hair all awry
and dragged me out back
for the rodents to find
oh god she was a perfect ten
she took me home
but not to be her friend
she found worth in my heart
and i supplied for her demand
i left a mess when i left
and we made no amends
oh god this night
will never end
no metaphorical heartbreak here
just blood on the linens
and alleyway scavengers
shuffling home
with bellies full
everything matters
oh mother,
i've been away in the world
so long, so long -
what has become of your son?
no more a child to feed,
just a distant wandering worry.
everything matters.
oh father,
i've been fighting the war
so long, so long -
what has become of your son?
no more scraped knees,
just bloodstained shirt cuffs.
everything matters.
oh brother,
we've chosen these separate paths
so long, so long -
what has become of our home?
no more bunk beds,
just miles of lone silence.
everything matters.
oh lover,
i'll remember one night
so long, so long -
what has become of your heart?
no more soft landings,
just gravity and a beautiful view.
everything matters.
it's hard to remember
we will be remembered,
or at least i will remember you.
everything matters.
i've been away in the world
so long, so long -
what has become of your son?
no more a child to feed,
just a distant wandering worry.
everything matters.
oh father,
i've been fighting the war
so long, so long -
what has become of your son?
no more scraped knees,
just bloodstained shirt cuffs.
everything matters.
oh brother,
we've chosen these separate paths
so long, so long -
what has become of our home?
no more bunk beds,
just miles of lone silence.
everything matters.
oh lover,
i'll remember one night
so long, so long -
what has become of your heart?
no more soft landings,
just gravity and a beautiful view.
everything matters.
it's hard to remember
we will be remembered,
or at least i will remember you.
everything matters.
7.26.2012
admissions
you know what i hate? what i *really* hate? when somebody is really wrong about something, and you call them out on it, and they refuse to A) realize that they were wrong, B) admit their mistake, C) listen to constructive criticism about said mistake, and D) learn a single goddamned thing from the experience. no, please, practice being a stubborn bullheaded fuck. it's made you a lot of friends so far.
unfortunately these are the people who will probably grow to be much more successful than i could ever be.
unfortunately these are the people who will probably grow to be much more successful than i could ever be.
7.25.2012
aside
(1:49am, wed27jun)
i'm stepping back.
the sunlight hurts my eyes.
i'm headed for the trees.
come see me when you like.
in the mornings,
the fog makes
this place eternal.
i am a child and an old man;
scars healed, fresh,
open, and not yet there.
you've long since forgiven me,
and i've still never hurt you.
when you call me,
i'll be here.
i know you won't.
but you
might.
i never knew
that i could feel
so far from home,
so near my bed,
under the same moon
we all share.
a numbness creeps in;
shades of grey
sweep through our lives,
lead us away.
i'm stepping back.
tomorrow's a new day
to sleep through.
but i'll rise for a minute,
in the morning,
for the moment when
three words
can still always
make you
smile.
(2:01am)
7.24.2012
some clarity
let's talk about some stuff. things are changing, and i am tired of being vague, except about the things i feel obligated to be vague about - identities and such. you know.
let's back up a bit. a month ago, a coworker told me he was going to need a place to stay for two months. i said sure. i've since reconsidered my position a few times, in a few ways, but he helped me pick out a pretty goddamn nice suit so he's somewhat earned his keep so far. the suit will come in later. but through all of this, he has been an added distraction and annoyance in the house above all else and goddammit what was i thinking. oh well. like certain other things, it shouldn't last past august.
at around 5:30pm, saturday june 30th, my boss came into my store. when i say my boss, i mean the guy whose name is on the awning out front, on my paycheck, and on a fair handful of the stuff for sale in the store. he went to my manager, who had put in her one-month notice a week before. i'd made it known around the store that i wanted her job, and it seemed pretty well assured that i'd get it. it's something i'd wanted for a while, to get out of kitchens and more into a "making sure shit's getting done right" position; i'd still have had to learn an awful lot about food, but from a *tasting* aspect for a change. the word "salary" kept ringing in my ears too, let me tell you.
anyway. chef makes his way over to me. "i wanted the family," that's what we are, family, not staff - it's not the only mob-esque thing about his little empire - "i wanted the family to know first, we're closing the store."
well, shit. mind you this wasn't entirely unexpected - i'd been employed there since october, and i'd started seeing the signs around january. when head chefs and managers started leaving in the winter and spring, and the replacement staff was - like, at times, myself - somewhat unsuited to the task at hand, i could feel it in the air.
"i can't say i'm surprised, chef. when, may i ask?"
"closing time tonight."
i just expected more warning than that, that's all. i looked at the clock - two and a half hours til close - then at the crab cakes i was most of the way through making. it was a big batch, and the raw mix had real promise. crab cakes were somehow my thing, there. don't ask. i'd formed four of them, and had the makings ready for about twenty more.
"guess i can stop working on this, then, huh?"
he laughed a bit, i think - moreso it would've been his impression of a laugh, for as far as i can see the man lacks the ability to feel mirth - then offered me a job at the restaurant. there were appealing things about it - it would look fantastic on a resume, for starters. there were unappealing thing about it, which mostly centered around the crushed spirits of everyone who has spent any real time in close proximity to him, god bless their weary souls. i hadn't felt this effect as yet, but i had yet to spend extended amounts of time around the man.
i told him i had to think about it, and he asked if i wanted to help pack up the store, which i agreed to. the next few days, packing up and all, are better left out of this - for space and time, let's say the days were spent working hard between bursts of weird emotion at seeing a place i'd grown to love get dismantled before my eyes, my own hands taking apart countertops i'd scrubbed to a shine just nights before. there was no closure, no goodbye to the community, no sign left in the window to appease passersby. when july 4th dawned, we were already drunk, and the store was empty, and we'd all accepted jobs at the restaurant. for some it was a step up, for some a step down.
i skipped out july fifth. i couldn't do it. i'd told one of the other workers there, a hired hand i'd seen around the store more than once, that i'd help him with a construction job. it seemed more appealing than charlie trotter's, a good way to make some honest money, and maybe get a good workout in the process. i didn't go to that. i was hungover as hell, because i'd never had off work on the 4th of july since moving into the city. we climbed onto our roof, where we found most everyone else in our apartment building (despite the rather treacherous climb over a locked gate at the third story required to get up there), and enjoyed a panorama of fireworks. with a girl at my side it would've been magical; there were five, but they were lesbians. i managed.
but when i say i couldn't do it, i mean i couldn't do it. what i knew about the restaurant suggested that it was nothing like what i'd been trained for, nothing i'd ever wanted to be trained for, and not a direction i wanted my career path to go. it seemed like an undue amount of stress for minimal payoff - there was no pay increase, as such a prestigious position may have offered, but it was two more months of somewhat-less-than-guarenteed-employment. for, as i have not mentioned, the restaurant is closing at the end of august. this was announced back around new year's. so, beginning of july through end of august. two months.
the anxiety attacks the first night were incredible. i needed to borrow suit, dress shirt, slacks, tie, dress shoes. within the first hour i'd started to recognize the flow, but my own cycle of things i felt confident doing seemed rather small - and mind you this is not normal confidence - it should not take a man any amount of confidence to do something like place a plate at a table. however, this is fine dining we are talking about, and as i have come to learn, that is synonymous with codified madness. one does not simply place the plate at the table - one does it right. the first time. or get the fuck out. if this seems like an exaggeration, you have not met my boss. or worked in a fine dining establishment, which is apparently more about choreographed ballet than actual customer service, more about food as a sensory experience than as sustenance. but i found the cycle, and i can run it, but many of the steps ring hypocritical and/or counterproductive, designed to produce punishable missteps. though these, too, have a place in the dance.
the second week got easier than the first, and the third easier still, but here i am on the cusp of the new week, work 5p-1a tuesday thru saturday, and i know by the end of it i'll be running the treadmill like a champ. but the treadmill is ridiculous, and i am better than a piece of conveyor belt disguised as a rockette. it was last weekend when we found the suit, after hours of searching through the racks of various marshall's looking for that perfect slim-fit number that wouldn't break my nearly empty wallet, and that has made a difference; between that and the haircut, i'm starting to look goddamned respectable.
and it was with that in mind that i walked into an interview this morning - i should say monday morning, it's tuesday now. the interview was for a line cook job in what turned out to be a quiet little neighborhood cafe; however, during the hour of conversation, we began to talk more about management positions, and she sent me off saying i'd get a call for a second interview later that week. that call came later in the afternoon, and now on wednesday i get to go hammer out the details on what i apparently wanted all along.
but... in the meantime, i'm still at the restaurant. i'm getting edgy right now, thinking about going in there, and it's thirteen and a half hours away. coworkers insist i should stick it out, to say i was there at the end, that there's phenomenal experience to be had there and that we really do provide a once-in-a-lifetime experience for people. and we do. that's all true. there's been talk of not letting the madness win, to suffer through it to come out a better person afterwards. i don't know how i feel about all that. i've been in the fire for a while, and if i'm offered water, i'm not going to say, "no, i need these scars to prove i'm hardcore." i'm going to take that water and douse the flames. if i'm offered a management job on wednesday, then i'll finish out the week at trotter's, call it quits at exactly one month instead of two, and walk away without regrets.
i look forward to the three or four days off i'm going to give myself between jobs, no matter what. i have a story i want to write, and it's been there for long enough that one good long sit should let me flush out most of it. there are plenty of other things from the past few weeks that i have left out, but i need sleep.
be well.
let's back up a bit. a month ago, a coworker told me he was going to need a place to stay for two months. i said sure. i've since reconsidered my position a few times, in a few ways, but he helped me pick out a pretty goddamn nice suit so he's somewhat earned his keep so far. the suit will come in later. but through all of this, he has been an added distraction and annoyance in the house above all else and goddammit what was i thinking. oh well. like certain other things, it shouldn't last past august.
at around 5:30pm, saturday june 30th, my boss came into my store. when i say my boss, i mean the guy whose name is on the awning out front, on my paycheck, and on a fair handful of the stuff for sale in the store. he went to my manager, who had put in her one-month notice a week before. i'd made it known around the store that i wanted her job, and it seemed pretty well assured that i'd get it. it's something i'd wanted for a while, to get out of kitchens and more into a "making sure shit's getting done right" position; i'd still have had to learn an awful lot about food, but from a *tasting* aspect for a change. the word "salary" kept ringing in my ears too, let me tell you.
anyway. chef makes his way over to me. "i wanted the family," that's what we are, family, not staff - it's not the only mob-esque thing about his little empire - "i wanted the family to know first, we're closing the store."
well, shit. mind you this wasn't entirely unexpected - i'd been employed there since october, and i'd started seeing the signs around january. when head chefs and managers started leaving in the winter and spring, and the replacement staff was - like, at times, myself - somewhat unsuited to the task at hand, i could feel it in the air.
"i can't say i'm surprised, chef. when, may i ask?"
"closing time tonight."
i just expected more warning than that, that's all. i looked at the clock - two and a half hours til close - then at the crab cakes i was most of the way through making. it was a big batch, and the raw mix had real promise. crab cakes were somehow my thing, there. don't ask. i'd formed four of them, and had the makings ready for about twenty more.
"guess i can stop working on this, then, huh?"
he laughed a bit, i think - moreso it would've been his impression of a laugh, for as far as i can see the man lacks the ability to feel mirth - then offered me a job at the restaurant. there were appealing things about it - it would look fantastic on a resume, for starters. there were unappealing thing about it, which mostly centered around the crushed spirits of everyone who has spent any real time in close proximity to him, god bless their weary souls. i hadn't felt this effect as yet, but i had yet to spend extended amounts of time around the man.
i told him i had to think about it, and he asked if i wanted to help pack up the store, which i agreed to. the next few days, packing up and all, are better left out of this - for space and time, let's say the days were spent working hard between bursts of weird emotion at seeing a place i'd grown to love get dismantled before my eyes, my own hands taking apart countertops i'd scrubbed to a shine just nights before. there was no closure, no goodbye to the community, no sign left in the window to appease passersby. when july 4th dawned, we were already drunk, and the store was empty, and we'd all accepted jobs at the restaurant. for some it was a step up, for some a step down.
i skipped out july fifth. i couldn't do it. i'd told one of the other workers there, a hired hand i'd seen around the store more than once, that i'd help him with a construction job. it seemed more appealing than charlie trotter's, a good way to make some honest money, and maybe get a good workout in the process. i didn't go to that. i was hungover as hell, because i'd never had off work on the 4th of july since moving into the city. we climbed onto our roof, where we found most everyone else in our apartment building (despite the rather treacherous climb over a locked gate at the third story required to get up there), and enjoyed a panorama of fireworks. with a girl at my side it would've been magical; there were five, but they were lesbians. i managed.
but when i say i couldn't do it, i mean i couldn't do it. what i knew about the restaurant suggested that it was nothing like what i'd been trained for, nothing i'd ever wanted to be trained for, and not a direction i wanted my career path to go. it seemed like an undue amount of stress for minimal payoff - there was no pay increase, as such a prestigious position may have offered, but it was two more months of somewhat-less-than-guarenteed-employment. for, as i have not mentioned, the restaurant is closing at the end of august. this was announced back around new year's. so, beginning of july through end of august. two months.
the anxiety attacks the first night were incredible. i needed to borrow suit, dress shirt, slacks, tie, dress shoes. within the first hour i'd started to recognize the flow, but my own cycle of things i felt confident doing seemed rather small - and mind you this is not normal confidence - it should not take a man any amount of confidence to do something like place a plate at a table. however, this is fine dining we are talking about, and as i have come to learn, that is synonymous with codified madness. one does not simply place the plate at the table - one does it right. the first time. or get the fuck out. if this seems like an exaggeration, you have not met my boss. or worked in a fine dining establishment, which is apparently more about choreographed ballet than actual customer service, more about food as a sensory experience than as sustenance. but i found the cycle, and i can run it, but many of the steps ring hypocritical and/or counterproductive, designed to produce punishable missteps. though these, too, have a place in the dance.
the second week got easier than the first, and the third easier still, but here i am on the cusp of the new week, work 5p-1a tuesday thru saturday, and i know by the end of it i'll be running the treadmill like a champ. but the treadmill is ridiculous, and i am better than a piece of conveyor belt disguised as a rockette. it was last weekend when we found the suit, after hours of searching through the racks of various marshall's looking for that perfect slim-fit number that wouldn't break my nearly empty wallet, and that has made a difference; between that and the haircut, i'm starting to look goddamned respectable.
and it was with that in mind that i walked into an interview this morning - i should say monday morning, it's tuesday now. the interview was for a line cook job in what turned out to be a quiet little neighborhood cafe; however, during the hour of conversation, we began to talk more about management positions, and she sent me off saying i'd get a call for a second interview later that week. that call came later in the afternoon, and now on wednesday i get to go hammer out the details on what i apparently wanted all along.
but... in the meantime, i'm still at the restaurant. i'm getting edgy right now, thinking about going in there, and it's thirteen and a half hours away. coworkers insist i should stick it out, to say i was there at the end, that there's phenomenal experience to be had there and that we really do provide a once-in-a-lifetime experience for people. and we do. that's all true. there's been talk of not letting the madness win, to suffer through it to come out a better person afterwards. i don't know how i feel about all that. i've been in the fire for a while, and if i'm offered water, i'm not going to say, "no, i need these scars to prove i'm hardcore." i'm going to take that water and douse the flames. if i'm offered a management job on wednesday, then i'll finish out the week at trotter's, call it quits at exactly one month instead of two, and walk away without regrets.
i look forward to the three or four days off i'm going to give myself between jobs, no matter what. i have a story i want to write, and it's been there for long enough that one good long sit should let me flush out most of it. there are plenty of other things from the past few weeks that i have left out, but i need sleep.
be well.
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