4/22/2013

These streets are awfully duplicitous. Richmond, the strumpet. The fungus, tall and tame; with pennies to its tarnished name.

She's just as likely to seduce you into the alley and show you what a real woman can do, as she is to rob you blind at the edge of a blade. But that's what keeps us here, isn't it? The unpredictability of the mad lover. The eternal Beatrice to the temporal Dante; steam-powered hearts belching pollutants, lusting for Empyrean and purgatory in equal measure.

I've missed writing this blog. Maybe because it gave me the opportunity to shout from the digital rooftops a message I never could cry out in the street. Maybe because I have a subconscious Freudian desire to strap together some cardboard and etch "THE END IS NEER" in messy lettering. Or maybe because this is the only form of social interaction my selfish mind cannot sabotage. But I hope you are doing well, reader.

I just wrote a few jots of rambling poetry in a fit of terrifyingly indifferent artistic passion this morning; inspired by whoever decides to read them, I guess. I like to think prose is my preferred medium, but it's much more humbling to write in a form you aren't very good with.

So if you enjoy them, that's good. And if you don't, that's good too. I hope that me reviving this little blog will pique minds somewhere and somehow, for better or for worse, or at least incite a few people to put down their iPhones for 30 seconds or so. Hey, Gandhi started in a court in South Africa; maybe I can start at the corner of Broad and Belvidere.

-

We blessed with warmer climes know
Where the frost gives way to sea.
And how each sunset Charon ferries
Thousands more to shore,
In chains, to freeze.

-

The endless ever reaching ever scraping
Countless faceless time
Covers our roots in lichen. Callused mastoids
Are we, dessicated;
Intravenous lifeblood from the lesser gods
That stains our leaves with jaundice
Gives us life, by definition.
(If you'd like to call it such)

the effects of affect

"Not every self-destructive tendency is the same. Some people tread the border between recklessness and destruction simply to find the one who will "save" them from themselves.

They utilize actions and emotions as beacons - lighthouses, if you will - in hopes that they will attract at least a marginal amount of attention.

These individuals are not truly indifferent, or even truly foolhardy. They are needy: Driven by a supposed loneliness or discontent, they act out just as children do. These people are easy to spot, often adopting characteristics that, however contrived, will garner some amount of compassion or sympathy. These people are common.

But there are others. These individuals are not common, although it seems they follow the same modus operandi of attention-seekers. They are almost impossible to help, for they have no interest in eliciting any response from others. And herein lies the dilemma: To put it bluntly, they do not seek rescue or sympathy or even acknowledgement from their own personal terrestrial Christ. They want someone to watch them die."

I don't write with much at stake: only everything.

I needed to write a quick story.

No amount of 'Hey-I-was-a-dancer-once-in-high-school' could salvage her wobbled approach to the counter. "And you're going to walk that way now" - a jabbing motion towards the garage - "and I'll just walk this way." She pointed inaccurately at either the back door or the pantry, then shuffled straight to the bathroom, bourbon in hand.

"Well, sure. Awfully dichotomizes our choices, but..."

"You just..? You did. You used dichotomized in a sentence. Dichotomized. Jeezus *hic* Christ. You're more queer than your stupid fucking haircut."

"Okay. Um, yeah. Well, I suppose I could give you a ride. I mean, if that's okay."

A sarcastic chuckle came from behind the half-closed bathroom door.

"You know *hic* what? I'm gonna be alright. Yup. I'm gonna, uh, I'll be fine. You... Just fucking go home or something."

"Are you sure you don't need anyone to walk you to your house? I mean, it's late, you know?" In her drunken stupor, she mustered up her most balanced stance and swung the nearly empty bottle of Wild Turkey in what her blurred sense of perception thought was my face.

"Holy sh- what the fuck!?"

"Well, David, do YOU know? Huh, do ya? Do ya know? Do ya fucking know? That's all you *hic* do, you just fucking know. You spend all your time with your "grand" ideas and your, uh, artistic stuff and whatever. You're so full of shit you can't even recognize it anymore. Go back to your room and *hic* play your Tom Waits and masturbate." The bathroom door slammed shut.

I didn't bother to take note of the weather or the time or the moonlight or even the muffled music coming from the unattended stereo in the living room, which had inevitably cycled to the obscure basement of my music library.

But I did take note of the sound of her boots kicking open the back door, and the slipshod screen door rattling soon after. I did take note of the several drunken expletives she hurled at me as she grasped what was left of the whiskey and dragged it across the cheap kitchen counter. I took note of the oddly graceful way she moved when she carried it; a perfect silhouette in the harsh, flickering fluorescent light. I took note of my desperate lunge to the back door in an effort to change a night that had already been bled to death.

"Enjoy your evening with your cat", she sneered. Turning the alley corner, she mustered a final hateful swing with the newly-emptied bottle and shattered it into a thousand alcoholic glass slivers; I took note. Just as I always do, I took note. Oblivion was in the last bottle, and I took note.

She gradually faded into the dimly lit alleyway, leaving only the eerily visible fluorescent red in her hair as a memorial of her passing. "I miss you."...of all the things I could have said, I said "I miss you." Fuck.

I didn't have any more comebacks; not even a vapid movie line to shout triumphantly and pierce the indifferent night. I didn't even have a quick serenade. I had a a fistful of her impossibly patched jean jacket and a bloodied ego. And in perfect fatalistic fashion, as she was swallowed back into the night, I caught her last mumbled response:

"Yeah, I know."

"I saw a building high as heaven

But the door was so small, door was so small"

I apologize for the brevity of this post, but this song has been plucking my heart strings.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAjiS578Cuc

It's Time For Me To Write Again

It's been a while, friends.

I'm not going to apologize for my absence. All artists forge their crafts from their hearts, and the machinery is oiled from time to time with fresh blood. And thus all artists bleed out. You can see it in their eyes. Dessicated. Vestigial.

Somehow, I'm glad I've spent such time away. I've had time to resanguinate. Painfully resanguinate. And so I ask you, reader, to assist my feeble Muse as I return.

I have much to write. Some introspection, a bit of prose, maybe a dash of vitriol, and poetry added to taste. But I think it may help me to ignore my own maelstrom of emotional ammunition, for a bit, and simply create. Here is your cue, reader. Feed my famished mind with ideas. Anything you wish me to address in my blog, any rant your choose for me to incite, any style of poetry you wish, and so on. Additionally, I will post a bit of music in each entry for you, reader. I welcome your ideas: I am an open book.

Be well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXlzci1rKNM

no subject

"Heart? I have filled my heart with hate."

.

Well, it's summertime. I'm thoroughly alone, my dog is dying, my academic scholarship has been cancelled due to a clause in my contract, I didn't make the audition for the acapella ensemble at Pepperdine, and to top it all off, my car door is broken. Regular day.

Oh, and the market posted a 1000 point intraday loss. That's a record, in case you were wondering.

It's good to see how well everyone is doing, though. At least, that's what I assume. BUT you know what they say about assumptions: They cause failures in communication that damage healthy human relationships irrevocably. I think that's how it goes.

I had the chance to attend the Iron & Wine concert on Tuesday. It truly was magical. Downtown Charlottesville was quite charming as well. Who knows, since I probably won't have the money to afford Pepperdine in the Fall, I can always transfer to the University of Virginia. No, I'll end up absorbing a $40,000 loan for Pepperdine every year and paying it off for the rest of my life. But that's assuming I live past 30 to do so.

I really don't have much to say. I want to yell at things sometimes. I have to sleep with some kind of movie on to drown out my thoughts or I will not be able to sleep. I never look at mirrors, because I hate what I see in them. I can't finish my story; it's starting to sound too familiar and personal, and that won't do the story justice.

I'm sure you're expecting me to rant about something that perturbs me, but honestly, would that help? Probably not. It might give you a reason to think, which is a noble goal in itself. But I don't feel so noble right now; I think I'll pass.

I apologize for the shoddy syntax of this entry, I'm really not in the mood to write anything profound. Maybe soon, I will again. Or maybe I never will. Who knows?