Just One Of Those Days

It's one of those days when the sun starts to set early and the cold settles in.

I drop the needle on the record that's been spinning over night and grasp an open bottle of wine that hasn't been finished yet.

I light a cigarette and sway alone near the lit Christmas tree.

I spot a ceramic bear ornament with a picture of me when I was a kid on it.

I'm not sure why but I start to cry and drink heavily.

I sober up once "Sweet Painted Lady" by Elton John comes on.

When I close my eyes, I'm transported to that night at the school dance, when Danny Flynn asked me to dance, but I nervously declined.

I see the youthful me, standing along the sidelines of the snowflake themed dance floor.

I'm staring directly at Jim Morris, a high school senior known for taking freshman girls virginity's.

Somehow he looks magical tonight.

I don't usually pay much attention to him, but as he whirls his date through the sea of serious dancers.

I wonder what my night would have been like if I had come here with him.

I see me in his arms, laughing and ignorantly going along with his rouse.

After the dance he would drive me into the woods and play a mix tape with plenty of classic pantie dropping hits.

Instead I stood lifelessly watching, like a sick goldfish in a polluted fish bowl.

The waves crashing against the rocks from the record bring me back to present day.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

I remove it and snap it in half.

The cat slinks into the room stretching its back and front legs.

I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.

For a moment I pretend she's Jim, until the bitch digs her claws into my back.

I let her drop to the floor and collapse to the ground.

My head is positioned on the tree skirt.

"Roy Rogers" by Elton begins.

I look up at the twinkling lights and take a deep breath, before another drag.

I inhale so deep I feel like my lungs are on fire.

As I exhale I erupt into a coughing fit that makes me laugh.

I take the ornament with my picture off the tree and kick it over.

I drop the cigarette and begin tearing the tree apart.

Some of the glass ornaments cut up my hands, but I can't feel it.

I can't feel anything anymore.

I wonder why it wasn't me.

Why he had to go first, but that only pisses me off more.

I continue to destroy any and everything decorated in the room until I lose my balance and fall into the record player.

It begins to skip, and scratch.

I pull my knees into the chest and wipe the tears from my eyes, but somehow they never dry.

I'm Not A Boy

Most nights were always the same:

I heat up a Swanson microwavable chicken dinner in my closet of a studio apartment and watch Bridget Jones or Pretty in Pink in a pair of oversized sweat pants and a torn up sweatshirt.

I fiddle with the built in radiator in the wall, but the heat seeps out minimally.

I throw an afghan my grandma made me around my shoulders and push play.

Tonight was an exception.

I had faced my fears of stepping out of my comfort zone again and decided to meet up with one my co-workers at this grungy bar located in the corner of town for one of their mutual friends birthday parties.

I sit in my car trying to talk myself out of it, but finally decide to exit.

I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket to verify the address, but can't seem to find the bars entrance, just the faded neon sign reading "King and I."

Two guys limp toward me, shouting.

I hesitate and duck down a flight of stone steps.

In front of me is a door with tinted glass.

The men proceed to follow, so I duck inside.

It's the bar I was looking for.

Inside there's a red tint and loud New Wave playing.

It's rather sophisticated for being in such a shitty part of town.

The walls are decorated in cheap gold wall paper that's faded and peeling.

I step further into the bar, half expecting to see the men enter.

Behind me a hand takes hold of my left shoulder.

It's Brinn, my co-worker.

I anxiously spill some of her martini.

She tells me to "relax" and leads me to two large tables filled with hipsters.

She sits me next to a Siouxsie Sioux rip off and a guy with blonde hair and a mean gleam.

My chair gets caught on some guys jacket from the table next to ours.

He stares at me which produces a spout of apologies.

Siouxsie manages to fake a smile as Brinn introduces me, but blondie continues to look away.

A waiter asks our table if we want anything else.

Blondie slides a low ball glass toward him and holds two fingers up, gesturing to the glass.

Siouxsie lights up a cigarette and blows it in my direction.

I try and order, but the bartender is already gone.

Brinn has disappeared.

I roll the bottom button to my jacket between my fingers waiting for Siouxsie or blondie to say something to me, but they continue shouting over the music.

I consider leaving now, before I get in too deep.

The antique Asian décor catches my attention.

I follow it all around the bar and catch a glimpse of the other table, laughing, drinking and passing cigarettes back and forth.

I suddenly feel like I'm back home banished to the kids table during a holiday, while the grown ups drink and engage in adult conversations.

When I turn my attention back to my table, I notice Siouxsie and blondie staring at me.

"Well?" blondie snarks.

"I'm sorry?" I mutter.

"How do you know Drea?" He sputters.

"Who?"

A waitress interrupts us sliding blondies two drinks toward him. She drops a beer down in front of me and scurries away before I can interject.

Brinn reappears and pounces on my lap.

"Drink up!" She slurs as she laps up the rest of her drink.

"Oh, I'm driving" I start to say but instantly shut up the longer blondie glares at me.

"So how do you two know each other?" blondie asks her.

"Bleck, I promised Drea I wouldn't bitch about work tonight."

Blondie guzzles his drink.

"Why won't that asshole play my song?!"Siouxsie barks.

"You should probably fuck him" blondie sneers.

Brinn jumps to her feet. "I got this, what do you want? Wait, scratch that. I got it!" She slinks toward the DJ booth and mildly flirts with the lumberjack wearing headphones. She points in our direction. They both look directly at me before she kisses him and returns.

"What did you request?" I ask her.

"Like we care" Blondie replies polishing off his drink.

"Maybe you should have another drink!" Brinn shouts at him.

"Great idea" he says downing his second. He motions to Siouxsie.

They leave the table.

Brinn takes his seat.

"What's wrong with them?" I ask her.

"I think they're on valium" she tells me before getting in my face.

"So?" she asks.

"What?"

"Do you like him?" Brinn presses.

It all suddenly clicks.

"Is that why you invited me?" I ask her.

"Maybe. C'mon, he's cute" she expresses.

"He's okay looking" I start to spill.

"but would you fuck him?" she asks.

"Jesus, I don't know. Probably not" I tell her.

"Why not?" she asks.

"Well, for starters, he's a little pretentious" I tell her.

"but you've barely said one word" she says.

I spot blondie and Siouxsie exiting the bathroom together.

"Shhh, he's coming back" I say to her gesturing in their direction. Brinn looks at them and then at me erupting into laughter.

I wait for her to stop, but she nearly falls to the ground. She takes a sip from my beer and kisses me on the cheek.

"I wasn't setting you up with Tyler" Brinn explains. Her laughter dissipates as they return to the table.

"What's so fucking funny?" blondie asks.

"My boy Bobby thought I was trying to set you two up" she tells him.

I feel the blood rushing out of my face and avoid eye contact as he glares at me.

"And why is that so god damn funny?" he barks.

"Because I brought him here for Beaux" she tells him.

Boy by Book of Love plays.

"Yes!" Brinn yells as she pulls me to my feet. "Let's dance."

"I don't know this song" I tell her.

"Listen and learn baby, if you're gonna be gay, then you better play the part. Dance with me!" She screams leading me to an open area. 

Others from the next table over cheer us on as she starts to shimmy and shake.

I feel the eyes of the bar on my back as she shakes my arms. "C'mon Bobby! Dream as if you'll live forever."

A feeling of deja vu washes over me as Brinn shimmies and kicks her feet. 

I close my eyes.

I see that inexperienced boy, too scared to make the leap.

A girl with long dark hair wearing a pink light up happy birthday headband joins us. A cigarette dangles from her lips as she tries dancing with a drink in hand.

Brinn hugs her and whispers in her ear. 

They turn to me.

"Bobby, this is Drea, the birthday girl" Brinn yells.

"As if you couldn't tell" Drea mumbles, cigarette still in tact.

I hold out a hand for her to shake.

They both laugh at me.

 Drea takes hold and spins me.

"Let's not waste this song" she says handing Brinn her drink.

"Beaux!" Drea screams across the bar.

The guy who's coat I mangled, turns from the table. She wiggles her finger for him to come.

He follows her command, as she spins me once more.

"You look like you could use a drink" he says sarcastically to her.

"This is Bobby" she says pushing us together "now dance!"

I pull away.

"It's okay" I tell him.

He leans in so I can hear him better "Then you don't know Drea."

He takes my hand and dances along to the music.

I look back at Brinn wearing a shit eating grin and mouth to her "you owe me."

She shakes her head and mouths "no, you owe me."

As the song plays on more and more people join us.

The fear dissipates as we blend into the large crowd.

I'm no longer on the outside looking in.

I'm living in this moment.

Adieu

The wind blows
while we all know
what's a head and what we lose.

The jackets come out
the fires blown out
the cold over takes us.

While we prepare for the best
and accept the rest
the season says adieu.

Another one gone
a year more prolonged
as the sun sets upon its final hours.

You've been great
can't wait for the day
the sun finds our little town once again.

Duranne

Duranne,
                 It's days like today that reminds me why we are alive.
I started my morning with a brisk walk through the neighborhood with Arthur. He sniffed around while I watched the leave littered sidewalks blow a multitude of reds, oranges and yellows across my path.

More and more fell like a ticker tape parade.

Life's ultimate beauty.

Even in death.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I was scared, but honestly it's for the best.

Since I was a child I used to pray to God, or whoever was listening, to end my misery.

Even in my prime I was longing for an end.

I was a foolish child then, with little respect for the kindness and love one could receive.

I fear these negative thoughts are part of my slow demise.

The doctors and family keep urging me to seek treatment, but I don't want to prolong the inevitable.

I find it quite ironic that one doesn't truly feel until everything is taken away.

Yes, the days will soon be shorter, and these natural beauties will soon wither and die, but I am comforted in the notion that they will be reborn, and flourish more beautiful than before.

Until then, I can only appreciate what's in front of me, and try and keep my mind off the idea that we are human.

That each of us have a weakness.

And an unknown finality is ahead.

My biggest fear of all.

All The Best,

-Nan

True

In the back seat, I crack the cab window.

The wind blows, as I breathe in the cool air.

My eyes feel like they're spinning in my head.

I can barely focus as the lights from the downtown high rises rush past the vehicle.

Kaithan is laughing with Alex about something stupid but I'm too out of my head to focus on what.

He reaches over me and closes the window.

He asks me what the fuck I'm thinking and yells for the cabbie to turn the heat up.

The driver follows suit.

The heat feels like sun stroke.

I begin to cough uncontrollably.

Kaithan and Alex continue laughing as he hands me a water bottle.

I take a swig, but it burns.

He whispers that we're almost there.

I smell cigarettes and a hint of man on him.

The cab stops outside a dark nightclub in a run down part of town.

I can feel the thumping from the music even before we exit the car.

Kaithan reaches over me to open the passengers side door and climbs over me.

His black cut off jean vest brushes my face.

This sends a shiver down my back.

Alex exits her side of the car and meets up with Kaithan.

They both reach into the car and pull me to my feet.

I feel as if I'm on a rocking ship, but they prop me up to pass as sober.

At the door Alex removes her faux fur mini jacket and shakes her tits at the bouncer.

She slaps him across the face, followed by a lick along his thick side burn.

He grabs her ass and winks at Kaithan before letting us pass.

The club door swings open and deafens me instantly.

I look back at the bouncer who motions to me, but Kaithan puts his arm around my waist and leads me inside.

"What did I take?" I ask him, but he demonically grins and rushes to the bar.

Alex props me against the grungy wall so she can use the bathroom.

Inside, the club house music shakes the abstract art frames littered throughout the club.

Above the entrance is an upside down cross.

The paint throughout the building is chipped and spray painted over with various graffiti.

A majority of the bar patrons are leather punks.

Men on men.

Women on Women.

Zipper suits on Furries.

Latex on suicide girls.

A sexual utopia for the deranged and misplaced.

Even though the sites are somewhat terrifying and new, I'm not instantly turned off by their unity.

Everyone dances and grinds to the DJ, who spins vinyl records at a booth that sporadically ignites flames.

My knees nearly buckle as Kaithan returns.

Luckily the soles of my shoes stick to the club floor.

He hands me a beer and scans the crowd.

He yells something to me, but I can't make it out.

I spot Alex across the room inserting money into a glass box that houses a transgendered guy dancing underneath a running shower head.

"True" by Morel comes on.

Kaithan takes me by the hand and yells to Alex.

She rushes over and takes my other hand.

Suddenly we are on the dance floor.

The smell of body odor, sweat, and sex overtakes me.

All around us are bodies grinding and swaying to the beat.

My head falls backwards as Alex puts her arms around my neck.

There are skulls and bones glued to the ceiling of the dance floor.

Kaithan passes Alex the water bottle and dances behind me.

She guzzles it and hands it back.

He finishes it, throwing it across the dance floor and leans in to her.

They pin me between their bodies and kiss.

Something about their touch makes me weak.

They pull away and smile at me.

Kaithan spins me around to face him and pulls me closer.

He presses his body against me while Alex presses herself up against my spine.

Strobe lights and flashing lights blind me.

All I can do is go limp.

The drugs have left me defenseless.

The last thing I see is Kaithan placing a white pill with a red heart sketched across it on the end of his tongue.

He leans in, as if he were moving in slow motion and places it in my mouth.

His kiss blinds me as I swallow.

Everything else goes dark.


 

Inside Job

I think most people try and find a reason behind a killers motivations, so they can humanize him or her and feel safer once the mystery is solved.

I'm here to put all that to bed.

While some are motivated by the sins of their fathers and mothers, I am truly inspired by the madness of my own making.

Ever since I was a child I found these dark thoughts particularly haunting.

I was never struck as a child.

My parents showed me boundless love.

It was never a conscious act to rebel or a boredom that comes from having a perfect life.

I had my struggles same as everyone else.

I first noticed it when I was in Kindergarten.

You might say kids will be kids, but I believe we are fully aware of the actions we project, and some of these personality traits come from our home environment.

While I was playing games with some of the other boys, one of them asked me why my eyes were so big?

The rest of the kids laughed and began to play.

From that instance a fire was ignited and I felt blackness oozing through my veins.

I had learned from school and home that one should never respond to such evil, but I couldn't stop thinking about hurting that child.

This went on the rest of the year.

I had learned to smile and behave, but couldn't forget what that child had done.

Later in life this child had developed asthma and had a violent attack on the playground.

I was the first one aware of his outbreak.

I made sure he suffered a while before notifying the teacher.

By then, it had been too late to save him.

After his death I had hoped to be affected by it, but life resumed per usual.

I learned to lose myself in writing.

When something terrible would happen in my life, I suppressed the darkness with words.

My parents hadn't taken an active interest in my creative talent, only the class mandatory projects.

Those were never as raw as the journal entries.

I made sure to keep these private and hidden from the world.

They say the older you are, the wiser.

I felt with each year, the older, the more cynical.

My family was a devote Christian family who believed in an after life.

These beliefs were passed along to my brother and I, until we single handedly realized how cruel and cold the world was.

Neither of us had carried our traditional beliefs with us when we moved out from our childhood home.

It was the first time either had stepped out of the religious bubble and seen the world for the very first time.

I had become afraid of dying, thus had begun to live.

I now firmly believed in no life after death, but possible re-incarnation or a repeat of life with no knowledge of the previous life until death.

Earth had become an overpopulated planet plagued with people making up for the mistakes they had made previously.

These thoughts diluted my writing.

I had become another insect trying to survive a hostile rat race.

My self awareness had shifted from happiness with ones self to proving your happier than others.

Somewhat of a contemporary realness.

This is when the killing began again.

I do not make it my personal mission to rid myself of the human race, nor personally get off on violence.

I found the inconsideration of others should be dealt with intelligently.

I began to meddle with forces that were out of my hands.

The darkness took over.

Intelligently, I would confront any issues, when they arose, should they be an intelligent reaction to someone screaming in your face.

Ultimately, that person was way to jacked to speak reasonably and was disposed of.

Like my inner youth, I never forgot those conflicts.

Some have stewed for years, until the perfect moment arose to end life.

Don't get me wrong, the events were very tragic and traumatic, but ultimately necessary for the good of man kind.

I don't particularly care for violence.

Nor do I condone it.

I have a strong love for animals and take animal abuse very personal.

I treat them, or any other subjects the same I would humans.

I rationally try and reason the issue, but should they disobey and react negatively, they are removed.

Call me psychologically damaged, a monster or a killer, and maybe I am, but the one thing this world is lacking is compassion.

I firmly believe that 95% of humanity feels the same ways I do, but that 5% prevents the world from becoming vigilantes.

We should not treat the darkness with pills or extreme violence, but try and reason with the internal struggle.

The devils hands are never idle.

There is some truth to this.

Famer Joe

I recall the smiling trees
the summer breeze
the green palpations
surging through my heart
racing in my mind
telling to my soul
twinkling across my face.

These realizations are the facets upon life.

A glass of lemonade on the porch
while farmer Joe works on his tractor.

The sweat wiped from his brow,
touched by the blue handkerchief from his back pocket.

Lying in the barn hay
kissing and rolling amongst the baby goats.

We are just animals in a barn
no different from those that decide each mammals fate.

Some live
but most die.

Die for their recourses.

Die for survival.

A past memory
reborn to start a new.

Recycled youth is some of the best learning tools.

At times I feel I was put on this earth to make up for past mistakes,
but how can I atone when I continuously live out the same life repeatedly.

Is this purgatory?

Pool Boy

July 31, 1991

I was eight years old.

 It was one of those blistering summers, and school was just around the corner.

I loved summer.

Most days I would be at the park, across the street from my house.

They had a summer program which was basically like camp but without the sleepover appeal.

Summer was a time I got to hang out with all the neighborhood kids and just be myself.

No discrimination, or bad opinions were formed, because they were just like me, latchkey kids.

There were multiple activities and games the leaders would plan.

Each month had an activities calendar which were handwritten and printed on colored paper.

Every once in a while they would plan a field trip to the movies, or to a rival park via city bus to find out who the inferior one was.

I really took pride in these activities.

Later on in life it helped me become more of an independent adult at a young age.

I would take the bus to the mall when I was bored.

To the movies by myself.

Or even to a friends.

This particular morning we got to ride to the local pool.

The place was called Buchner.

It had it's usual suspects.

The kiddie pool, a heated shallow place for parents to dip their kids in.

Most older kids avoided it, since it was definitely plagued with urine.

A lap pool, another place kids avoided, for fear of getting jack knifed by serious swimmers.

A general swimming pool with one end shallow and the other deep.

And finally, the deep, deep end.

This was off limits to swimmers because it was meant for the hard core kids.

On each end lied a diving board meant for kids to show off tricks and get reactions to the swimmers who watched from the general area.

I was always an out going kid, but there was something about the diving boards that intimidated me.

I took swim lessons at a very young age and could swim circles around most kids, but when it came to diving, I sucked.

Diving was the particular reason I had quit swimming all together.

While my fellow classmates would dive in perfectly and lead in swim class, I would plop in the water and become extremely disoriented.

The impact of my head into the water always felt like a blunt object striking me.

I never understood it's appeal.

At this age I was semi-asthmatic too.

My parents refused to believe me, because my dad was a firm believer that these kind of things were in a persons head.

The more serious the swimming got, the less interested I was.

I always enjoyed goofing around, doing turtle floats or pencil dives.

Nobody told me the next level was plunging off a diving board, knocking your head so hard against the water that it takes you a second to emerge from the water.

It was very claustrophobic.

So I quit swimming lessons.

I figured I'd enjoy the little things and continue turtle floating.

As if these small diving boards weren't scary enough, Buchner was notorious for one reason and one reason only.

It was the only pool around town with the infamous high dive.

In all its glory, the high dive stood  33 feet in the air, towering over the entire aquatic center.

Everyone would watch in amazement as some crazy fool would climb the ladder and jump off.

Without fail each person would crash into the water in a way that you'd almost think they'd never be seen again.

Slowly, but surely they would emerge, gasping for air and swim to safety.

You could always tell who these kids were because of the red marks on their stomach or backs from landing wrong.

No matter how stupid, jumping off the high dive established seniority.

If you were dumb enough to try, you would gain respect, regardless of the follow through.

That morning, our camp arrived at the pool.

Most of the kids arrived in their swimsuits, but there was nothing worse than riding home in a wet suit.

I had brought a duffel bag that I could keep in the men's locker room.

The camp leader had paid our entrance fee and let us loose.

My friends had gunned it for the pool, but I had learned respect from my swimming lessons.

I had showered before hitting the pool, making sure to get used to the water before jumping in blindly.

Next to me was an older guy, mid thirties doing the same.

He smiled and said hello.

Always the polite one, I reciprocated and head for the pool.

The rest of my park pals were already lining up to show off at the small diving boards.

I had decided to swim and hang out with some of the girls, splashing near the shallow end of the pool.

It was a particularly busy, and hot day at the pool.

The girls had a system of swimming, then laying out near the diving board to tan.

They would giggle and whisper to each other, while the guys would splash, scream, and cannonball.

After a while the guys gave me a hard time because I wasn't diving with them.

Since I was hanging with the girls mostly, they had started calling me one.

I knew I had to dive, to shut them up.

Standing in line to jump off this ridiculous diving board, I started to feel the sun on my back.

I was definitely going to be burnt.

The girl in front of me had climbed the ladder and walked to the edge.

She plugged her nose and jumped, screaming into the water.

The viewers swimming in the general area laughed and pointed.

I was up.

The lifeguard nodded to me.

I shuffled to the end of the board and made sure my friends were accounted for.

I began to bounce on the edge of the board, fearing for my life.

I leaped, feeling the edge of the board on the soles of my feet and splashed, head first into the water.

When I came up for air, the boys booed and continued ignoring me.

I knew I would have to up my game.

The only thing to prove my worthiness was to brave the high dive.

Most kids weren't allowed up there due to their size, but I was always a tall kid.

I had contemplated ignoring them, but I kept hearing their voices in my head calling me a girl.

I got in line for the high dive.

One after one I watched kids plummet to their death.

No matter how they jumped they would be crawling out of the pool with huge red water marks across them.

I was about to get out of line, but I had realized it was too late.

My friends had spotted me.

The line was diminishing.

Behind me I heard someone ooh and aw.

It was the man from the locker room.

He was now completely drenched.

His hair was a light brown that was tightly curled to his head.

He had a shark tattoo on his upper arm and a few red marks across his body.

He asked me if I had ever done this before.

I shook my head no.

He said he liked to put on a show for the kids because most of them were too afraid to do it on their own.

He had started to make me feel more comfortable, but I was still a mess.

There was now, one person in front of me.

I looked up at the insanely tall ladder as they climbed it.

My legs began to shake.

The older man had told me, whatever I do, not to belly flop.

He said it hurt like hell.

With the typical crash, I heard the lifeguard whistle me in.

I gripped the wet medal ladder and begun to climb.

It wasn't so bad.

Mostly because I couldn't see how high I was.

Until I reached the top.

As soon as I stood, I felt like my knees begin to buckle.

I could see the entire park.

The people below seemed like ants.

Not only could I see the entire center, but I watched as cars drove down the suburban streets, surrounding the center.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

All I knew was that I had to walk in a straight line.

I gripped the guard rails until they disappeared behind me.

I stood at the edge of the high dive, praying in my head that I wouldn't die.

Suddenly I had my legs locked together and my arms tightly to my side.

I figured the best alternative was a pencil dive.

Like a knife through butter my body plunged into the water so deep I almost thought I was going to drown.

My legs were on fire and my lungs were maxed out.

I swam until I reached the surface and gargled more chlorine than I had hoped to ever do again.

I found the ladder and climbed out of the pool.

I looked for my friends, but they had missed the entire thing.

They were too busy splashing around.

In front of me, I watched a body smack stomach first against the water.

It was the shark guy.

He climbed out of the water laughing and gripping his side.

"Told you" he said, "hurts like hell. Wanna go again?"

I'm not sure why I had done it, but I followed him back to the line.

All over I was feeling a mix of adrenaline and fear.

It was coursing through my body as he wiped his eyes.

He pulled up his swimsuit, covering the little bit of white that was showing.

His entire front was beet red.

He continued to chat with me, commenting on each sucker that splattered into the water.

Something about him felt safe.

Suddenly it was my turn again.

This time, I knew what to expect.

I had almost dried off as I reached the top.

The wind had sent chills down my spine as I reached the edge.

This time I knew my friends were watching.

I had bounced once and jumped, forming turtle float pose.

My knees had cracked against the water sending a jolt up my spine as I sunk into the water.

That time, it had hurt.

Luckily, I stayed in formation and floated toward the top.

I swam to safety and joined my friends who tried brushing it off like it was no big thing.

I had now gained seniority over them.

This should have been my best gloating moment, but for some reason I couldn't stop thinking of shark man.

We would be leaving soon and I didn't see his jump.

After a long sun drenched day, our camp was packing up.

We were all dehydrated, pruned and starving.

The counselors had promised us treats on the bus, if we had hurried.

While everyone else hustled out of the locker room, I still had to shower.

At this age I wasn't ashamed of being naked, because I had no reason to.

I had done it a number of times after swim class, so I had took off my swim suit and washed the chlorine off.

After playing a scavenger hunt with my locker, I removed my clothes and started to dress.

I'm not sure why, but I always loved the way it felt to put on your clothes after swimming.

As I slipped on my slip on shoes, I realized I had forgotten my swimsuit on the railing in the shower.

In the shower area was my lone swim suit next to shark man who was soaping up.

He had noticed me and asked why I had my shoes on in the shower.

I pointed to my suit, but couldn't stop staring at his body.

Again, something about him felt safe, but that sudden feeling of adrenaline had coursed through my body.

He had asked me if I needed a ride home, but my counselor was screaming for me at the entrance of the locker room.

"I got to go" I told him.

"Too bad" he said. "Hope to see you around"

He tossed me my wet suit and turned around showing me everything.

I raced for the exit joining my friends.

Everyone asked me why I had been so quiet, but I told them I was tired from swimming.

After that day, I never went to the pool again.

Summertime Sadness

I exhausted myself to the porch swing out front.

The grass had just begun to turn from that dirty winter brown to a lush green.

Soon I would be able to skim my feet across its blades.

I poured myself a glass of iced tea into that old mason jar you used to love drinking out of.

I never really cared for it, until now.

The grounds would need cleaning up soon.

Before I knew it, the hot summer heat would hit.

The neighbors bikes would litter the front yard.

The tree swing would sway in the wind from the light breezes from off the lake.

July was always my favorite month.

Something about the humidity, the brandy slushes we'd drink at night and the fireworks that lit up the sky around the water.

Summer won't be the same without you.

I won't be the same.

Even now, I'm cursed with anxiety just thinking of keeping up with this house.

How excited we were twelve years ago, when we first purchased it.

We'd promise to take care of it together.

The rooms would be filled with children.

The dog would play in the back.

We'd create a lush garden.

The smell of the freshly watered plants always made my knees week.

Something you took advantage of often.

The picnics under the stars.

The vacations across country in your beat up station wagon.

My tight shorts and long blonde locks.

You shirtless, with a pair of ratty cut off jean shorts.

The smell of coconut from the tanning oil.

I always loved to watch you work.

One of my favorite things.

You, always so intricate.

Lost in your own world.

The laid back parties.

Bottles of wine and cases of beer.

Sylvester and ABBA records while we hand rolled our cigarettes and joints.

This....

These are the memories of this house.

And as I gaze at the For Sale sign staked on the front lawn, I cringe a little.

I cringe, because this house will now make new memories.

And our lives together before the accident were happy.

Because we were going to spend our last days together.

Even the bad ones.

Like everything else, you've gone and followed through on that promise.

But this time we can't scream and shout like we always did.

And make up apologizing with passionate love.

I love you my dear.

And while I don't believe in heaven or hell.

Or the after life.

I truly believe, that one day we'll meet again.

In another life.

Maybe even as particles.

Until then, I want you to know that I feel you every day.

Through this house.

Always in my heart.

Cyber-Raga

Sometimes the thoughts we think, sting more than the words thrown in insult.

Sometimes the songs we sing, are more pleasant than the actual song.

No matter how we misinterpret these things, one things certain.

Our hopes and dreams.

We will continue to fight for until we're alone.

The world around will change.

Friends will fall from the face of the earth.

Our bodies will become shriveled vessels.

And in all that, we will be strong.

Greater challenges lie ahead.

And modern technology will not help calm those fears.

Do not put your faith in man made religion.

Because you are the only one who can swim through the river of misfits.

And the cotton candy sky will rain down acid, washing away the exterior shell.

The soul will be snatched from inside you.

And we will watch the floating orb arise to become part of the bigger picture.

Heaven, nor hell, exists.

But it's up to you to decide which level you ascend to.

For the lower houses the diseased and infected.

The higher is the ultimate supreme.

Higher than God,

Only the prized and blessed who have lived in this virtual reality are invited.

I have lived many lives over again not quite understanding its meaning.

This time I will become one of the supreme.

This time I will not give up.

I will ride out this meaningless existence to the best of my abilities, silently praying, that one day I will be rewarded.

Forget Me Not

Little Girl,
          
                  I'm writing to you from the end of the world, because I wanted you to know I am okay.

I shouldn't have run out on you like I did, but when you're older you'll begin to understand.

See, I've only just begun to live my life, for me. 

My two greatest fears are behind me and life is blissful.

I'm afraid I'm guilty on two accounts.

For never telling you "I Love You," and for never giving you the advice I feel every young woman needs to hear.

Never, ever, trust those around you, when it comes to love.

See when you get older you'll begin to notice certain obligations and pressures from your peers.

Whatever you do, never lose that light inside you.

Love is not something to toy with or settle on.

Even if you find your closest relationships and family falling prey to the joining of marriage, know that you'll find your true love when the heart wants you to.

So many times I've watched the destruction and conquer of young women throughout the world becoming slave to the first person who gives them any respect.

Promise me you'll never stop chasing around that old willow tree.

Youth is the beauty of life.

It gives you the opportunity to dream and hope.

This is something that was robbed from me at a young age.

My hope is that the person you are meant to find, will be the one that will also round that old tree and never look at it as a burden or oddity.

Remember, little girl, you are beautiful.

Never let anyone sell you anything less.

The boldest act a person can accomplish is choosing their own path.

I Love You.

Always and Forever.

Cecil.

-To love is to dream, but when those dreams are gone, what's left of love?

The Secret Room

To Whom It May Concern Or Matter,
                    
Even now, as I pen this memory, I find it difficult to recall my most painfully beautiful memory involving love and inevitable loss.

See, I never used to think twice about it, or imagine great love because I was much too young to understand it.

All around me, people were falling in love.

And all around me, people were just as easily falling out.

I was fifteen and a half in nineteen-sixty-two.

I had successfully finished junior high and ninth grade and was entering my first year of actual high school.

Since the town was so small, we had our ninth grade year at the same school as the junior high kids.

The local high school started at tenth grade which was unwelcomed by the returning high school kids.

It had become tradition for the older kids to single out and destroy an individuals reputation while schooling with them.

Lucky me, I was one of them.

The brunt of the bullying was a pack of greasers called The Dukes.

You might think a bunch of guys with a smoking problem and dirty hair with matching jackets was something imagined by Hollywood, but  I can assure you it wasn't.

These guys were for real.

A colorful bunch who clowned around and carved their grungy names into every surface around school.

Like most kids I was in class with, I had grown to fear and hate them.

They seemed to get away with everything.

At night I would pour out all my rage to my mother while she passively sipped on her second martini and smoked.

She seemed to live in a different world.

My father worked long hours at the plant, sun down to sun up.

Both my mother and I rarely saw him, save for the morning when I left for school.

He often reeked of brandy and nicotine as he stumbled into the house.

Father had grown accustomed to sleeping in his car.

Whenever I would find him, I wasn't sure if he was dead or alive.

For a while, it scared me.

I would go to school imagining what I would find when I returned home.

A weeping widow?

A roaring ambulance?

Once I arrived to a policeman leading father away in handcuffs.

Some dishes were broken on the floor and my mother had bruises around her neck.

She looked like a scared raccoon as she lifted a shaking cigarette to her lips.

Father came home later that night but neither talked to me for weeks.

The most communication I got during this time was when pop gave me a fifty dollar bill and told me to take care of myself.

After that, he stopped showing up at the house.

Mother was often comatose on the floral print couch, staring out the window.

I started to wonder what she did while I was at school, since she never moved from that spot.

She always had the same clothes on from when I woke up to when I went to bed.

After a while she had become a mannequin in the room, that I had learned to completely ignore.

The highlight of my days was getting out of that house and distracting myself with school.

I had thought tenth grade was going to be increasingly difficult, yet it hadn't.

Most of my peers had sounded like they struggled, but while they were out at malt shops and cruising, or so I've heard, I was studying.

On the bus ride to and from, kids would be singing, goofing off and gossiping, but I learned to drown out the noise with a good book.

One that I had often heard much criticism from my teachers was Jack Kerouac's "On The Road."

I had checked it out at the library, with much disapproving looks by the librarian, and found that it spoke to me.

The sensory details and emotional thoughts by the author were so rich.

I had grown intrigued and enamored.

I must have read it three or four times.

Kerouac had touched on thoughts I imagined I only had.

One that stood out was "why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?” 

Through all of the wretched things in my life, it had somehow kept me afloat.

Composition was the subject I had excelled in.

While I was more interested in authors like Kerouac, my teacher seemed to fawn over relics like Shakespeare and the tales of Beowulf.

No matter the literature, the subject of love and loss always seemed to come up.

All around me kids were falling in love, while never truly understanding the subject themselves.

One week a couple would neck in the halls.

The next they'd be fighting.

I never quite understood the appeal.

As the year went on, I felt I had started to slip under The Dukes radar.

Us loners, learned tricks to avoid our tormentors.

Lunches were often spent reading and eating over a toilet in a locked stall in the men's room.

One particular afternoon, I was reading Howl and Other Poems an Allen Ginsberg novel, which I had first heard about in conversation at the library.

A housewife was returning it and demanded it be burned.

Of course, this only peaked my interest more.

In the midst of reading about "angel-headed hipsters burning," The Dukes bursted into the bathroom.

I knew it was them because they always raised hell wherever they were.

Through the crack, I watched as they overturned the garbage can and plugged the sinks with paper towel.

The ringleader Davy was cussing out the principal while the others lit up a smoke or shared a flask.

They cracked jokes, and talked explicitly about some of the girls, eventually turning on all the sinks, causing them to flood.

I learned to drown them out, no pun intended, by reading on.

Eventually I hadn't heard them anymore, so I exited the stall.

To my surprise, the only blond one of the bunch, Jesse was standing in the entry way alone.

He stared at me as I dropped my book.

It splashed into some of the excess water, until it was completely destroyed.

He asked me if I liked eating in here like a loser?

I just nodded.

As he approached me I flinched, hoping he wasn't going to hit me, but he picked up my book and glared at it.

Lucky for me, the janitor burst in looking at the overflowing sinks and water logged floor.

He began to curse at us and demand who was responsible.

Jesse balled his fist.

Now, I'm not sure what compelled me to do so, but I stepped up and took the blame.

Perhaps, I had hoped it would get me my book back, but it didn't.

The janitor grabbed me by my collar and hauled me to the principals office.

There, I had received my first detention.

I served it after school, missing my bus.

It took me three hours to walk home. 

The sun had already been down, when I walked through the door.

The mannequin hadn't moved.

The fridge was nearly empty, so I emptied mothers purse and collected her last twenty.

On my walk to the grocery store, I had passed Jesse's house.

I only knew this from my bus rides.

The bus picked the neighborhood kids up across the street from Jesse's.

Often times, The Dukes were parked outside harassing us.

Since it was night, I could see inside the front window.

Jesse was arguing with his father.

I couldn't help myself but watch.

His mother tried standing between them, but was slapped by the father.

The father then, struck Jesse in the face.

Jesse turned away from his father, facing the window.

As soon as he saw me, he exited the front door and came after me.

I knew if I ran it would be worse, but I tried my luck anyway.

I figured since he was such a heavy smoker, that he couldn't catch me but the adrenaline must have gave him extra speed because he tackled me to the ground.

He pinned me down and screamed that I was a bastard.

He balled his fist and raised it over me, but began to cry, punching at the grass beside me.

He got up and stormed back into his house.

I must have been in shock because I just lied on the grass, staring at the stars in a trance until the growling of my stomach awoke me.

The next day at school I had avoided The Dukes.

I didn't want to trigger any PTSD.

Since my stall in the bathroom had been discovered, I took to exploring the school.

At first I found a cozy corner of an old stairwell to keep me hidden, but soon learned it was the main make out spot for most students.

I was determined not to step one foot into the school cafeteria.

One afternoon, I noticed a key in the lock of the boiler room door.

I had assumed it was an accident, left by the school janitor.

At that moment, familiar voices had begun to fill the hallways.

It was The Dukes.

Out of desperation, I had slipped into the boiler room, removing the key.

To my surprise, it wasn't a room but an entry way to the basement.

In the basement, I found a small room behind the boiler, with a musty couch and a dusty record player that sat on a cheap folding table.

On the player was a 45 of The Skyliners "Since I Don't Have You."

It wasn't much, but to me it was a fortress.

Something out of a Kerouac novel.

I dusted off the record the tested the player.

With a few cracks and pops the record began to sing out.

Since the boiler was bit noisy, and the room was underground, I knew the noise from the player wouldn't give me away.

I had to make this room mine.

A place to escape.

 From then on, I had developed a routine.

The bell would ring for lunch.

As the halls filled with students, I would wander aimlessly, until they were clear.

Only then, would I slip into the boiler room and enjoy my limited freedom.

I always left five minutes before the bell, to allow me ample time to slip back in the halls, unnoticed.

Things had started looking up.

I had managed to avoid The Dukes for the rest of the semester and I coasted through my classes with invisibility.

Homecoming came and went.

Mother had started to move again.

Father sent money every month, that I kept track of.

I had begun to sneak some of my mothers 45's to school and store them in my secret room.

All was well.

Until, after Christmas break.

It was my first day back.

I inserted the key into the lock but it did not fit.

I tried to reverse its position, but it wouldn't work.

Over break, they must have changed the locks.

I was determined to get back to the only place that made me happy.

The problem, was how?

I wasn't going to steal a key from the janitor.

He always kept it on a giant key ring and would never let me get close enough after the bathroom flooding.

My only other hope was that he would slip up and leave it in the lock again.

I was much too impatient to wait.

I visited the library, and read up on picking locks.

Since I had such a heavy penalty for the missing Howl book, I couldn't check it out.

I made notes and practiced at home.

Many times, unsuccessfully.

Until one day it just clicked.

I had been using cheap paper clips until it dawned on me to use my mothers old hair pins.

Naturally, the density of the pin helped make it much smoother.

The next day at school I tried out my new skill flawlessly.

My secret room had gone untouched.

Save for a little dust on the vinyl, everything was as it was.

I reacquainted myself by dropping the needle on The Skyliners 45.

As I settled in and began to read, I was over taken by fear.

In front of me stood Jesse.

He had a split lip, that was scabbed over and bruised knuckles.

My heart was in the bowels of my stomach.

He didn't say a word, just simply stared.

At that moment, I felt a part of me die.

My secret was out and was likely to become the new make out spot.

Or a place for The Dukes to overturn and over run.

I waited for a reaction, but Jesse remained silent.

He looked over my collection of 45's as The Skyliners ended.

Jesse asked if these were mine.

I nodded.

He told me that I left the door unlocked and that I should be more careful next time.

Then he left.

I felt myself go into that comatose state mother had found herself in when father left.

Hours must have gone by before I left that room.

The hallways were empty and dark.

When I got home, I saw the water damaged copy of Howl and Other Poems sitting on the front step of the house.

Inside were phrases underlined.

The most puzzling "I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the creator. ”

The next day during lunch, I watched the boiler room from a distance.

I wanted to see The Dukes take it over.

My dreams destroyed.

Another disappointment.

To my surprise, they didn't.

The door was still unlocked, so I entered, listening for their voices.

As I got closer, I could hear The Skyliners playing over the boiler.

Inside the room was Jesse, lying on the couch.

I didn't know if I was to leave or join.

He opened his eyes and sat up.

Before I could leave, he asked me to join him.

I froze.

He took my bag and told me to sit.

I followed.

He asked if I got the book he left.

I nodded.

He told me he wasn't going to hit me.

I asked if he told his friends about this place.

He told me he needed a place to get away from everything.

We then, looked each other in the eye.

It was the first time I had looked anyone in the eye, especially him.

I had noticed his eyes were hazel but glanced away before I could recognize any more details.

Something had startled him, forcing him to his feet.

He told me he wouldn't tell anyone about the room as long as he avoided me at all cost.

I agreed, and he left me in peace.

From then on, I was left alone.

A month had passed before he had returned.

Mostly he sat in a corner of the room listening to records as I read silently.

At first I found it hard to focus.

I mostly read the same line over again, trying to figure out what he was doing.

I always arrived before him and he stayed there after I left.

Curious, I started to leave my books.

I knew he had been reading them because each day a new chapter had a fold in the corner of the page.

One day he had asked me why I picked such sad stories.

The only thing I could think of was to tell him I was sick of unrealistic love stories.

It became fairly routine for us to meet.

I had begun to read the stories aloud, as he reclined on the couch.

We had run out of records to play, so he began to buy new ones.

We successfully avoided each other outside the secret room.

Jesse had managed to keep me off The Dukes radar.

Spring had set it.

Everyone was a twitter, because the spring formal was coming up.

Jesse had began to open up to me to a degree.

He would tell me how he wanted to travel  and wished he was like Dean from "On The Road."

How high school was not for him.

And that there are days he wishes he could drill a tap into his head to let out all his bad thoughts.

I had begun to read "A Single Man" by Christopher Isherwood.

My next door neighbor had died that year, so his family came to clear out the house.

They had a rummage sale of all his stuff.

"A Single Man" was of some of the books I bought there.

Had I known the content I would have been more careful.

Jesse didn't seem to understand the material.

Even thought he was bright, he only saw what he wanted to.

Never had a book been so raw and painful to read through.

Jesse found it the most depressing of all my books.

Something about it scared me.

Something I didn't quite understand.

Until the spring formal.

Dances never intrigued me, but now that mother was taking more of an interest in me, she insisted I go.

She dressed me in my fathers old suit and dropped me off at school.

I had hoped to slip away to the public library and read until they closed, but she would not leave until she saw me enter the front doors.

Inside, students gushed and snapped pictures of one another, while teachers miserably chaperoned.

I kept my eye on the door, until mother pulled away.

The Dukes to make their grand entrance delaying my escape.

I hid behind some decorations as I watched them stumble through the doors with cheap dates, slinked under their arms.

Jesse followed them with an equally tasteless date.

The teachers told them to keep their hands to themselves, which only riled them up more.

The coast was clear but I couldn't help but be intrigued.

The gymnasium was blasting My Guy by Mary Wells.

I had already come this far, I might as well checked it out.

The gym was littered with tacky hearts and streamers.

The theme was cliche "Love Is In The Air."

I watched as kids twisted and shook to top forty.

Girls lined the walls, depressed and dateless.

Some even seemed hopeful as I got close, but I wasn't looking for them.

The floor was a smorgasbord of students, making it hard to distinguish any single person.

Eventually I spotted Jesse, nestled in his dates neck.

They slow danced to "Dancing In The Street" by Martha and the Vandellas, while everyone else jumped around.

Martha and the Vandellas ended, queuing "Since I Don't Have You."

Jesse snapped to spotting me from across the dance floor.

He gave me a look before pulling away from his date.

The look in his eyes was fearful.

I realized this didn't look good for me, so I fled.

The exits were locked.

I knew he would be coming for me, so I took off for the boiler room.

I figured if I was to be beaten, it could be in privacy.

So I waited.

The room began to seem much smaller as his footsteps came closer.

I sat on the couch, staring at the floor.

His dress shoes were the only thing I could see as they came closer.

Jesse asked me what the hell I was doing, but I couldn't move.

All I kept thinking about was Christopher Isherwood's words from A Single Man "A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity. When for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. It’s as though it had all just come into existence.
I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be."

Jesse took hold of my fathers lapel and shook me.

He kept asking what I was thinking but it was all a blur.

The image of my father stumbling into the house, the mannequin on the couch, the constant put downs my class mates, students dancing, clutching one another.

Jack Kerouac and Christopher Isherwood.

I felt myself drown, until Jesse leaned in and kissed me.

He pushed me away and ran.

My lips still wet with a hint of bourbon.

I collapsed to the floor.

My mind a mush of memories and confusion.

I waited until the dance ended and walked home.

I stopped by the park and sat on the swing for a while.

The stars seemed to wink this night.

I kicked my legs until I swung high in the air.

I kept thinking of the kiss, until I jumped and broke my fall on the cold wet grass below.

I rolled over, retching in pain and hoped to die before I awoke.

In the morning I awoke in the park.

As I trampled in, my mother seemed concerned.

Somehow I had looked like my father trolling in the same fashion he used to before school.

She didn't speak, but resumed her old spot on the couch.

The next few weeks, Jesse avoided me, and school for that matter.

The boiler room began to feel empty without him.

Occasionally I would walk past his house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but the curtains were always drawn.

I thought about leaving a note, but didn't want to cause more conflict.

Eventually I had heard he was expelled from school and ran away from home after beating up his dad.

The Dukes continued to terrorize the halls which elevated my harassment.

I continued eating lunch in the secret room, occasionally underlining passages that reminded me of him.

One afternoon, I dropped a pencil that slipped between the couch cushions.

Upon retrieving it, I found a folded up letter addressed to no one.

It read:

I've often been plagued by my own thoughts and worst fears, hoping to leave this mundane town and life to experience that of the great Kerouac.  Until now, I've never truly experienced love. Not the sexual kind but the kindred kind that touches the soul.  For that I thank you, for I hope one day I can be as free as Dean or even Sal. Until then, remember what our friendship has meant, and keep playing our song.

"Life is life, and kind is kind"
-Jack


That afternoon, I played The Skyliners one last time, before packing up my mothers records and returning them home.

I left "Since I Don't Have You" in the room, in case Jesse would return, but deep down I knew he wouldn't.

I began eating in the lunch room, facing my tormentors.

Never returning to the secret room again.

Perish

As I reflect on my life I think of all the childhood memories that seem more prevalent and substantial than the ones I am living out as I get older.

Why is it that memories of our youth are more cherished than the elder ones?

When I was young I wanted nothing more than to grow up and live.

Age was something I compared to freedom.

An earned obstacle.

Back then I dreamed of what life would be like.

Now, I reflect on what life was.

The immature car rides to nowhere.

A concerned parent, waiting up.

Useless jobs, with an even more useless pay check.

A road to nowhere.

Now I am in my middle years.

Soon, death will begin claiming its first round of memories washing these thoughts of friends and family away, until it is time for me to perish.

When that time comes I imagine being surrounded by nothing more than my thoughts on paper and an empty heart, that refuses to quit beating.

Paradise Lost

How now, in the middle of paradise am I awakened in restless intervals?

Darkness coursing through my veins as the person I love, taunts me with their labored sleep.

The stench of booze washed away with Listerine and cigarette smoke covered up with body spray.

I can't stop thinking of how much I want to place a pillow over their face.

Every night previous, just like this.

Followed by layered anger that teeters insanity and places blame and hatred on the innocent.

What will it take to be happy in paradise?

Something I was looking forward to for months but can't wait to be over.