..and the world still turns when you're not around.
It’s been a while since I’ve said anything
So much is different
But it’s so much the same
Story of my life
Or at least the last four years
I’ve been writing differently
Sentences instead of fragments
Press-releases instead of sound bytes
I think politics is like a big high school election
Name calling and smear campaigns
It won’t get fixed until it’s not about that anymore
I feel so disconnected from anything that major
One vote in a sea of millions
One pebble on the side of the campaign trail
I elect to ignore it all for a while
You’re not ready
I’m ill prepared
We could start the clock on a real deadline and not know it
Neither of us could set aside the time
It’s so easy to disconnect from rationality
I can pride myself on being logical
But where is logic when it really counts?
I boast intelligence
But what good is it when it’s not put to use?
Simple words escape
They define me instead of the other way around
You don’t even know
I’m here waiting
Looking in on your words like a voyeur
If I stare long enough maybe I’ll become a part of it
Invite me in and I might come
You can trace my veins like highways and see where they lead
I carry lies in my jacket to sell like watches
And you’re a repeat customer
Curl up under your blankets tonight
It’s going to get cold again.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Fireworks
I felt somewhat inspired today and I wrote a short story. It's quite short, don't worry. Let me know what you think, this is just the first version.
***********************
All I could taste was the metallic flavor of my own blood as it dripped through my teeth onto my tongue. It turns out seeing stars is a real thing, but it’s more like fireworks. The instant before you feel the impact your vision goes black and you’re at a Fourth of July picnic with the explosions of yellow, blue and red lighting up the dark sky of your eyes. Just for an instant. Then the pain registers in your face. There’s a special type of pain involved when someone’s knuckles connect with your face on a frigid winter day in Chicago. It’s like the crack of a wooden baseball bat firing a fastball back to the stands. Everyone can hear it and even more, they can feel it.
I could feel the pebbles on the sidewalk slide under my hands as I tried to keep myself from hitting too hard. Then the inevitable smack of the back of my head on concrete. It made a dull thud but I could hear the echo ringing in my ears. Once my eyes started working again, I turned my head to see feet shuffling away. Just muttering voices and muffled laughter over the scratch of Chuck Taylor’s in the gravel.
I just lay there for a while, staring up at the gray sky. The lower, darker clouds moved faster than the ones above them. It felt almost tranquil. Once I mustered the will to get up, I started to feel the pain again. My head started throbbing and I almost fell back down. I brushed the dirt off my hoodie, summoning an intense stinging to my palms. I held them just inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt as I walked, trying not to move them at all, lest the intense sting of cold on concrete-scraped hands return.
I had a long walk ahead of me, but it felt cathartic in a way. Even though it just happened, I felt that I could reflect on what had happened and why. I knew this moment was coming before I even left school today. I knew and I almost welcomed it.
It all began during second period. I had Advanced English, which was normally reserved for seniors, but they let me in as a sophomore because of my high test scores. I’m something of a geek, in that I read a lot and enjoy doing math problems for fun. I get made fun of sometimes, but I have some friends in this school. I like to think one of them is Amanda Pearlman. She is a senior and sits in front of me in Advanced English.
Amanda came into class looking strange today, so I asked her what was wrong. She began crying almost immediately, telling me that her boyfriend had cheated on her again. It’s true that it happened before but they had since made up and were still together. Being her friend, as well as someone with a huge crush on her, I felt that I should do something. She got sad while I got angry. I could hear her stifled sobs and watched from the seat behind while she wiped her eyes for the rest of class. I had to do something.
The entirety of my Gym and History classes were spent devising a plan. I must have gone through about fifteen while watching a documentary about the Holocaust. I thought he deserved to go to a concentration camp to tell you the truth. Maybe I was being a little melodramatic, but I was really pissed at the guy. I decided burning him alive was neither warranted nor possible on such short notice and I moved on to my next idea.
By the time school got out, I knew what I was going to do. I knew that Josh, Amanda’s boyfriend, hung out by the water fountains talking to his jock buddies until most people had left after school. They would walk down Lombard Street to the deli on their way home. I crossed the street and waited next to a tree where I could see them talking between the line of buses. I knew they’d be coming soon and I would be ready for them.
I watched as my bus drove off without me, followed by the last two buses in the line. After the loud diesel rumbles of the school buses were gone, a familiar quiet fell over the schoolyard. It’s a strange experience to be somewhere that you know should be loud when it’s not. Like standing in the middle of an empty football stadium. Just the waning conversations of a few cheerleaders walking toward the field for practice and the distant, deep voices of the group of jocks that had just begun their walk away from the water fountains. The silence was telling. This was it.
I had my back against the tree, facing away from them, but I could hear them joking and shoving each other as they got closer. I dug my fingernails into the tree and closed my eyes for a moment before I turned and came face to face with them. They looked stunned. After exchanging glances, Josh spoke up. “What the hell do you want, kid?”
I opened my mouth, but all of the words I planned to say were gone. All that came out was, “You!…” And then I trailed off.
“You want me? You faggot, get the hell out of my way.”
I suddenly found some courage, “No, you need to stop treating Amanda like shit!” I surprised myself with that exclamation. “Stop cheating on her,” I finished up. This was not the plan. I was not seeming tough at all. More like a scared orphan asking for more porridge from the headmaster.
Josh just laughed with his friends, “You’re kidding right? That’s cute, someone’s got a crush.” He smiled his biggest smile, pushing me aside and walking past me. I couldn’t let him leave like this. I called upon what little confidence I had.
“You don’t deserve her. You should appreciate what you have! You’re just a piece of shit jock that thinks he’s better than everyone else and you’re not!” I could hardly believe I was saying these things. He gave his friends each a look, then walked slowly over to me. He stopped about a foot away, looking me right in the eyes, smirking slightly. I didn’t blink. He shook his head like he was going to say something, then-- CRACK! Fireworks. And you know the rest.
So here I am, walking the ten miles to my house along Lake Michigan. The cold air feels great. I feel great. I feel like I stood up for someone I really care about, even if she doesn’t care about me the same way. It was like the fireworks weren’t because of head trauma, but in celebration of my victory. It has something to do with the subtleties of unrequited love. Everything seems more intense. Like a punch in the face on a cold day. Or a long walk home with a bloody smile and a clear conscience.
.dm.
***********************
All I could taste was the metallic flavor of my own blood as it dripped through my teeth onto my tongue. It turns out seeing stars is a real thing, but it’s more like fireworks. The instant before you feel the impact your vision goes black and you’re at a Fourth of July picnic with the explosions of yellow, blue and red lighting up the dark sky of your eyes. Just for an instant. Then the pain registers in your face. There’s a special type of pain involved when someone’s knuckles connect with your face on a frigid winter day in Chicago. It’s like the crack of a wooden baseball bat firing a fastball back to the stands. Everyone can hear it and even more, they can feel it.
I could feel the pebbles on the sidewalk slide under my hands as I tried to keep myself from hitting too hard. Then the inevitable smack of the back of my head on concrete. It made a dull thud but I could hear the echo ringing in my ears. Once my eyes started working again, I turned my head to see feet shuffling away. Just muttering voices and muffled laughter over the scratch of Chuck Taylor’s in the gravel.
I just lay there for a while, staring up at the gray sky. The lower, darker clouds moved faster than the ones above them. It felt almost tranquil. Once I mustered the will to get up, I started to feel the pain again. My head started throbbing and I almost fell back down. I brushed the dirt off my hoodie, summoning an intense stinging to my palms. I held them just inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt as I walked, trying not to move them at all, lest the intense sting of cold on concrete-scraped hands return.
I had a long walk ahead of me, but it felt cathartic in a way. Even though it just happened, I felt that I could reflect on what had happened and why. I knew this moment was coming before I even left school today. I knew and I almost welcomed it.
It all began during second period. I had Advanced English, which was normally reserved for seniors, but they let me in as a sophomore because of my high test scores. I’m something of a geek, in that I read a lot and enjoy doing math problems for fun. I get made fun of sometimes, but I have some friends in this school. I like to think one of them is Amanda Pearlman. She is a senior and sits in front of me in Advanced English.
Amanda came into class looking strange today, so I asked her what was wrong. She began crying almost immediately, telling me that her boyfriend had cheated on her again. It’s true that it happened before but they had since made up and were still together. Being her friend, as well as someone with a huge crush on her, I felt that I should do something. She got sad while I got angry. I could hear her stifled sobs and watched from the seat behind while she wiped her eyes for the rest of class. I had to do something.
The entirety of my Gym and History classes were spent devising a plan. I must have gone through about fifteen while watching a documentary about the Holocaust. I thought he deserved to go to a concentration camp to tell you the truth. Maybe I was being a little melodramatic, but I was really pissed at the guy. I decided burning him alive was neither warranted nor possible on such short notice and I moved on to my next idea.
By the time school got out, I knew what I was going to do. I knew that Josh, Amanda’s boyfriend, hung out by the water fountains talking to his jock buddies until most people had left after school. They would walk down Lombard Street to the deli on their way home. I crossed the street and waited next to a tree where I could see them talking between the line of buses. I knew they’d be coming soon and I would be ready for them.
I watched as my bus drove off without me, followed by the last two buses in the line. After the loud diesel rumbles of the school buses were gone, a familiar quiet fell over the schoolyard. It’s a strange experience to be somewhere that you know should be loud when it’s not. Like standing in the middle of an empty football stadium. Just the waning conversations of a few cheerleaders walking toward the field for practice and the distant, deep voices of the group of jocks that had just begun their walk away from the water fountains. The silence was telling. This was it.
I had my back against the tree, facing away from them, but I could hear them joking and shoving each other as they got closer. I dug my fingernails into the tree and closed my eyes for a moment before I turned and came face to face with them. They looked stunned. After exchanging glances, Josh spoke up. “What the hell do you want, kid?”
I opened my mouth, but all of the words I planned to say were gone. All that came out was, “You!…” And then I trailed off.
“You want me? You faggot, get the hell out of my way.”
I suddenly found some courage, “No, you need to stop treating Amanda like shit!” I surprised myself with that exclamation. “Stop cheating on her,” I finished up. This was not the plan. I was not seeming tough at all. More like a scared orphan asking for more porridge from the headmaster.
Josh just laughed with his friends, “You’re kidding right? That’s cute, someone’s got a crush.” He smiled his biggest smile, pushing me aside and walking past me. I couldn’t let him leave like this. I called upon what little confidence I had.
“You don’t deserve her. You should appreciate what you have! You’re just a piece of shit jock that thinks he’s better than everyone else and you’re not!” I could hardly believe I was saying these things. He gave his friends each a look, then walked slowly over to me. He stopped about a foot away, looking me right in the eyes, smirking slightly. I didn’t blink. He shook his head like he was going to say something, then-- CRACK! Fireworks. And you know the rest.
So here I am, walking the ten miles to my house along Lake Michigan. The cold air feels great. I feel great. I feel like I stood up for someone I really care about, even if she doesn’t care about me the same way. It was like the fireworks weren’t because of head trauma, but in celebration of my victory. It has something to do with the subtleties of unrequited love. Everything seems more intense. Like a punch in the face on a cold day. Or a long walk home with a bloody smile and a clear conscience.
.dm.
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