Jesus was a mistake
Rockstar trapped in madness
Keys swear not to break
While falling in the grate
I’ve dropped a tab of acid
Jesus was a mistake
I’ve completely run out of Scotch tape
While running bra and pantyless
Keys swear not to break
Think of what we could make
If we weren’t tucked off in classes
Jesus was a mistake
Lollipops, lizards and skates
I prayed for them just like a mantis
Keys swear not to break
I’ve decided to wipe off the slate
And throw a dart at an Atlas
Jesus was a mistake
Keys swear not to break
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Amazing Bud Powell
Alone with a lit bone the piano is his throne. Notes blow the ozone as tones of sound rain down. Bud’s mitts move with swiftness while the room fills. The piano moans as he slams the ebony and ivory. You feel the chi. His skin glistens freely.
“Hey Bud!” No response. Sweat pours down his face; he smiles distant.
“Uaagh!” comes from his throat, an ancient voice flows through him. The crowd knows there’s no one home now, so they let go.
“Who is he?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Bud Powell…? Blue Note records…?” Her Negro friend hangs his head in shame. On fire Bud burns the fans with his flame. “He’s only the hottest bopper in the world. Harlem is where the real heads hang.”
“Oh…”
“You hear the sounds of slaves sobbing in the fields. He weaves webs for the lost man when he blows. Whew!”
Miles rolls a joint and hands it to Monk. The sweet smell of marijuana floats through the room. No one seems to notice, or they know not to notice.
“No way we’re following Bud now.” Miles leans lightly on the wall. Monk mumbles, bumbling around to the sounds of the music.
“…then the police threw ammonia over his body. Mixed with water. Old remedy for “negro madness”. She opened her mouth in horror.
“Why would they?”
“They say he’s nuts. Whites never understand negroes.”
“That poor man.”
“Word is he’s moving to Paris.”
“When?”
“Soon.” He shushed his lady friend. Bud was bowing to the crowd while whistles and shouts shook Minton’s.
Moonlight lit Bud’s walk along 42nd street, a new tune filling his lips. Sweet like roses, the melody haunts his mind. Miles and Monk walk beside him.
“Hip man, hip!” Miles hums with Bud, his horn hanging in his hands. “Whatcha gonna name it?”
“Parisian Thoroughfare.”
“Hey Bud!” No response. Sweat pours down his face; he smiles distant.
“Uaagh!” comes from his throat, an ancient voice flows through him. The crowd knows there’s no one home now, so they let go.
“Who is he?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Bud Powell…? Blue Note records…?” Her Negro friend hangs his head in shame. On fire Bud burns the fans with his flame. “He’s only the hottest bopper in the world. Harlem is where the real heads hang.”
“Oh…”
“You hear the sounds of slaves sobbing in the fields. He weaves webs for the lost man when he blows. Whew!”
Miles rolls a joint and hands it to Monk. The sweet smell of marijuana floats through the room. No one seems to notice, or they know not to notice.
“No way we’re following Bud now.” Miles leans lightly on the wall. Monk mumbles, bumbling around to the sounds of the music.
“…then the police threw ammonia over his body. Mixed with water. Old remedy for “negro madness”. She opened her mouth in horror.
“Why would they?”
“They say he’s nuts. Whites never understand negroes.”
“That poor man.”
“Word is he’s moving to Paris.”
“When?”
“Soon.” He shushed his lady friend. Bud was bowing to the crowd while whistles and shouts shook Minton’s.
Moonlight lit Bud’s walk along 42nd street, a new tune filling his lips. Sweet like roses, the melody haunts his mind. Miles and Monk walk beside him.
“Hip man, hip!” Miles hums with Bud, his horn hanging in his hands. “Whatcha gonna name it?”
“Parisian Thoroughfare.”
All This Time...
“Has Harry called yet?”
“No word from him.”
“Jesus… Here…, Keith reached across his desk and scribbled on a Post-it. His secretary watched from across the room, her left hand lightly touching the faux gold buttons on her business suit.
“When he checks in tell him lunch lasts fifteen minutes. Not sixteen, not seventeen. Fifteen minutes. You got that?”
“Don’t you think he knows that?”
“What?”
“Don’t you think,” Sue said, picking up the Post-it and sticking to the pile of papers in her hands, “he knows that?”
“What’s your point?”
Sue shifted her weight to the tips of her feet. She always walked around the office with her shoes off. It was her way of bucking the system.
“My point is something you already know.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Do I look like Buddha?” Sue said, leaving the office.
____________________
Keith swirled his single malt scotch in his glass, looking aimlessly at the window. To his left the rest of the lounge spread out, mostly empty. He came here often enough that the waitstaff knew his favorite drink: Macallan 25, in a short glass fill with ice. He was usually here alone, although he was a social creature by habit. Rain fell against the window in droplets, turning the neon in Baltimore’s skyline into an abstract masterpiece. The waitress walked by, her tray loaded with drinks. Keith watched her hips sway as she walked, trying hard to enjoy his senses. It was a ridiculous attempt.
“Hey honey.” Silence. He could hear the T.V. in the background.
“Caroline.” More silence. He ran his hand along the length of his leg.
“Look, I’m sorry, O.K?” Not a peep from the other side of the phone. He felt anger rise in his throat like mercury. Why was this bitch so hard to deal with?
“You make me feel awful. Just awful.”, she said. Now it was Keith’s time to be silent. He stared out the window, following the streaks of rain as they raced each other to the bottom of the pane.
“I had to fire Harry today.”
“Who?”
“Harry… you know, the kid with the lisp.”
“Keith…”
“Yes?”
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!”
“I’m at Harborplace, I’m having a drink, I’m trying to relax. Today was…”
“I want you home.” Caroline’s voice was loaded, angry.
“Sure. I’ll be there in-“
“Now! NowNowNowNOWNOW!” She hung up the phone.
Keith looked around the bar, straightening his tie and trying to make sense of what was senseless. He felt trapped. Hopelessly trapped. What the hell just happened? The bar had begun to fill with people, most of them wearing lapel stickers with their names hand written across the front. They seemed tired, like they were playing a game that stopped being fun a half hour ago. Maybe it was just him.
“Keith.” The voice came from behind. Keith just stared out the window, trying hard to keep his hands from shaking. His entire life women had been treating him just like his wife. Just like his secretary. Do I look like the Buddha?
“Hello?...” The voice trailed off, lingering. Keith stayed in his angry little dream, thinking about his life, or what felt like a past life. How the hell did I wind up here?
“Hey!” Keith whipped his head in the voices’ direction, his eyes wide and startled. The waitress began to bend towards his table, laying down a cocktail napkin for a new drink.
“I’m sorry Sara, but I’m going to get out of here. You could just bring me a check.” Keith began to reach into his pocket for his wallet. “I know I usually have a second, but-“ The waitress giggled and handed Keith the new drink.
“This isn’t on your tab.” She winked and turned her head around. “This is compliments of the lady.” Keith stared in the same direction.
____________________
And where are you from…Cincinati…moved here but it didn’t work…look at her shoes…do you like those straps?...I used to be a painter, now I’m a banker…it’s funny how the streetlights in Baltimore hang overhead…I love this song…my mom was a jazz singer…that’s the Rusty Scupper… well I don’t know…one more Macallan…you shouldn’t drive…where?...hahhahhah…Sara thinks you should stay, don’t you Sara?...my room is so close…
_____________________
The light hit his brain like iron fists. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, which seemed a lot fluffier than normal. The sheets felt crisp. Caroline must have washed…He pushed his chest off of the bed in shock, his brain bouncing around like a cannonball in his skull. Caroline…Gingerly he slid his feet to the floor of the room, which he intuitively knew was empty. He stepped on one of his socks. Bending over to pick it up, he felt the fists pounding his brain again. God! How much did I drink?
______________________
He didn’t realize his wallet was gone until he walked into the hotel lobby. He paused, checking his pockets, checking them again and again and finding them empty as many times as he looked. He wandered around the lobby, back up to the lounge to see if he had left it there, anywhere. The bartender looked bored, polishing a snifter with a white dinner napkin. No, he said, he hadn’t seen a wallet. Maybe he should check with the front desk.
“What was her name?”, the clerk asked, ready to type into the terminal?
Keith froze, the cobwebs clearly visible in his eyes. “I don’t know?”
“Well what room was she staying in?”
“I-I don’t know that either.” The clerk gave a look that told the story in his mind.
“Well there’s nothing I can do to help you if you don’t know any details. The best I can say is we’ll keep our eyes open.
“She was here with a group of conventioneers who were in the lounge last night.”
“Sir, we have people from all over the world staying here to attend conferences, seminars… I’m afraid theirs nothing I can do. Would you like me to call the police?”
“No, no thank you. I can handle it myself.”
_________________
“So you slept with her? Sue pulled a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke to the sky. The Legg Mason building jutted up from the earth behind her, standing like a sentry in the center of downtown.
“Yes.”
“Holy shit.”
“Mmhhm.”
“And what did Caroline say?”
Keith stared hard at Sue, letting the space say the words.
“You haven’t told her?”
“No.”
“Weren’t you out all night?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I told her after she yelled at me I needed to disappear, which was true.” They paused, watching the cars flow up Charles St.
“So why are you telling me? Do I look like a priest?”
“I’m quitting.”
“What?”
“I’m quitting my job.”
Sue took another puff, staring at Keith in disbelief. What the hell had gotten into him?, she wondered.
“I realized something. I realized I don’t love my wife. I realized I gave up my freedom. This is what I always thought I wanted. Even when I was a painter, when I should have been grateful, I always thought I needed a job like this… a wife like Caroline. I don’t need those things. In the end I don’t care anymore.”
“You’re sick.”, Sue said, a wicked smile on her lips.
“No, I’m just doing what I should have done a long time ago. Give me one of those cigarettes.” Keith lit the cigarette, savoring the smoke. He hadn’t smoked in three years. Since his wife made him quit.
“So what now? You going to become a bum? Maybe eat out of trashcans?”
“Maybe.” Keith coughed, his throat burning with pleasure and pain.
“Or maybe I’ll start painting again. Lord knows I don’t need to make more money.”
Sue crushed her cigarette beneath her shoe. “Lets go back upstairs. You’re one crazy son of a bitch, you know that? And to think all this time I thought you didn’t have any balls.”
“No word from him.”
“Jesus… Here…, Keith reached across his desk and scribbled on a Post-it. His secretary watched from across the room, her left hand lightly touching the faux gold buttons on her business suit.
“When he checks in tell him lunch lasts fifteen minutes. Not sixteen, not seventeen. Fifteen minutes. You got that?”
“Don’t you think he knows that?”
“What?”
“Don’t you think,” Sue said, picking up the Post-it and sticking to the pile of papers in her hands, “he knows that?”
“What’s your point?”
Sue shifted her weight to the tips of her feet. She always walked around the office with her shoes off. It was her way of bucking the system.
“My point is something you already know.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Do I look like Buddha?” Sue said, leaving the office.
____________________
Keith swirled his single malt scotch in his glass, looking aimlessly at the window. To his left the rest of the lounge spread out, mostly empty. He came here often enough that the waitstaff knew his favorite drink: Macallan 25, in a short glass fill with ice. He was usually here alone, although he was a social creature by habit. Rain fell against the window in droplets, turning the neon in Baltimore’s skyline into an abstract masterpiece. The waitress walked by, her tray loaded with drinks. Keith watched her hips sway as she walked, trying hard to enjoy his senses. It was a ridiculous attempt.
“Hey honey.” Silence. He could hear the T.V. in the background.
“Caroline.” More silence. He ran his hand along the length of his leg.
“Look, I’m sorry, O.K?” Not a peep from the other side of the phone. He felt anger rise in his throat like mercury. Why was this bitch so hard to deal with?
“You make me feel awful. Just awful.”, she said. Now it was Keith’s time to be silent. He stared out the window, following the streaks of rain as they raced each other to the bottom of the pane.
“I had to fire Harry today.”
“Who?”
“Harry… you know, the kid with the lisp.”
“Keith…”
“Yes?”
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!”
“I’m at Harborplace, I’m having a drink, I’m trying to relax. Today was…”
“I want you home.” Caroline’s voice was loaded, angry.
“Sure. I’ll be there in-“
“Now! NowNowNowNOWNOW!” She hung up the phone.
Keith looked around the bar, straightening his tie and trying to make sense of what was senseless. He felt trapped. Hopelessly trapped. What the hell just happened? The bar had begun to fill with people, most of them wearing lapel stickers with their names hand written across the front. They seemed tired, like they were playing a game that stopped being fun a half hour ago. Maybe it was just him.
“Keith.” The voice came from behind. Keith just stared out the window, trying hard to keep his hands from shaking. His entire life women had been treating him just like his wife. Just like his secretary. Do I look like the Buddha?
“Hello?...” The voice trailed off, lingering. Keith stayed in his angry little dream, thinking about his life, or what felt like a past life. How the hell did I wind up here?
“Hey!” Keith whipped his head in the voices’ direction, his eyes wide and startled. The waitress began to bend towards his table, laying down a cocktail napkin for a new drink.
“I’m sorry Sara, but I’m going to get out of here. You could just bring me a check.” Keith began to reach into his pocket for his wallet. “I know I usually have a second, but-“ The waitress giggled and handed Keith the new drink.
“This isn’t on your tab.” She winked and turned her head around. “This is compliments of the lady.” Keith stared in the same direction.
____________________
And where are you from…Cincinati…moved here but it didn’t work…look at her shoes…do you like those straps?...I used to be a painter, now I’m a banker…it’s funny how the streetlights in Baltimore hang overhead…I love this song…my mom was a jazz singer…that’s the Rusty Scupper… well I don’t know…one more Macallan…you shouldn’t drive…where?...hahhahhah…Sara thinks you should stay, don’t you Sara?...my room is so close…
_____________________
The light hit his brain like iron fists. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, which seemed a lot fluffier than normal. The sheets felt crisp. Caroline must have washed…He pushed his chest off of the bed in shock, his brain bouncing around like a cannonball in his skull. Caroline…Gingerly he slid his feet to the floor of the room, which he intuitively knew was empty. He stepped on one of his socks. Bending over to pick it up, he felt the fists pounding his brain again. God! How much did I drink?
______________________
He didn’t realize his wallet was gone until he walked into the hotel lobby. He paused, checking his pockets, checking them again and again and finding them empty as many times as he looked. He wandered around the lobby, back up to the lounge to see if he had left it there, anywhere. The bartender looked bored, polishing a snifter with a white dinner napkin. No, he said, he hadn’t seen a wallet. Maybe he should check with the front desk.
“What was her name?”, the clerk asked, ready to type into the terminal?
Keith froze, the cobwebs clearly visible in his eyes. “I don’t know?”
“Well what room was she staying in?”
“I-I don’t know that either.” The clerk gave a look that told the story in his mind.
“Well there’s nothing I can do to help you if you don’t know any details. The best I can say is we’ll keep our eyes open.
“She was here with a group of conventioneers who were in the lounge last night.”
“Sir, we have people from all over the world staying here to attend conferences, seminars… I’m afraid theirs nothing I can do. Would you like me to call the police?”
“No, no thank you. I can handle it myself.”
_________________
“So you slept with her? Sue pulled a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke to the sky. The Legg Mason building jutted up from the earth behind her, standing like a sentry in the center of downtown.
“Yes.”
“Holy shit.”
“Mmhhm.”
“And what did Caroline say?”
Keith stared hard at Sue, letting the space say the words.
“You haven’t told her?”
“No.”
“Weren’t you out all night?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I told her after she yelled at me I needed to disappear, which was true.” They paused, watching the cars flow up Charles St.
“So why are you telling me? Do I look like a priest?”
“I’m quitting.”
“What?”
“I’m quitting my job.”
Sue took another puff, staring at Keith in disbelief. What the hell had gotten into him?, she wondered.
“I realized something. I realized I don’t love my wife. I realized I gave up my freedom. This is what I always thought I wanted. Even when I was a painter, when I should have been grateful, I always thought I needed a job like this… a wife like Caroline. I don’t need those things. In the end I don’t care anymore.”
“You’re sick.”, Sue said, a wicked smile on her lips.
“No, I’m just doing what I should have done a long time ago. Give me one of those cigarettes.” Keith lit the cigarette, savoring the smoke. He hadn’t smoked in three years. Since his wife made him quit.
“So what now? You going to become a bum? Maybe eat out of trashcans?”
“Maybe.” Keith coughed, his throat burning with pleasure and pain.
“Or maybe I’ll start painting again. Lord knows I don’t need to make more money.”
Sue crushed her cigarette beneath her shoe. “Lets go back upstairs. You’re one crazy son of a bitch, you know that? And to think all this time I thought you didn’t have any balls.”
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Amsterdam part 2
Time to cut the cord. I walk to the bar and order a beer. The a-hole kills the bong and walks over.
"Sell me a nickel."
"What..?" ...this is Amsterdam... you can buy a psychedelic shake at McDonald's for Christ sake... "...Uh no."
"No? Come on guy, a nickel."
"Why? Just go to a cafe... they sell it everywhere... you're creeping me out dude...
"Come on... you got a fat pouch, all I want is a nick..."
I give him a hard look. Snakeyes. He backs away but stares a little too long walking out. Free at last. I walk over to the pool table. There's a group of hipsters. White shoes, white belts, bullet belts, black pants, red shirts, spiked hair, white teeth, full stomachs, Spaniards. I work on my suds.
The night air holds secrets, often it's perfection gives chills. I light up and lean against the hostel. The street is made of shadows and echos, the yellow lights paint the stores and bricks. Can it be this simple? This quiet? The streets get busier, crowds of people. There's something about their faces... i feel their breath... i know they're alive. The wildness of Amsterdam would kill me in five years... too much pleasure for sale.
The walkways are bustling now, filled with bodies. Neon signs pour out the windows, selling pizza and tarot readings. Beautiful women in short skirts and sexual eyes seem to drip from the nightlife. I turn the corner and the buildings make way for the sky; a river runs through the street ahead. Trees jut like black hands against the nighttime purple. I step...
...and see a woman in a window framed by red neon. she is tall, her legs spread wide as she leans her breasts against the glass. her skin looks like strawberry milk. her palms are pressed flat, her lips almost touching the pane. her breath forms wet clouds. she's quivering in this room and staring at me... I step...
...and see a blond with black shades, black bra and panties. she's standing sideways, one foot in a chair. black boots to the knees. she traces a finger along the back of her thigh, along the curve of her ass. she's smoldering, all fire and control. she whips her hair back, it flies like a horse's mane. so rockstar. i feel my cock shift in my pants. this place is crazy!.. i step...
and see two women pressed into each other, looking out into the street. They are large, plump. The submissive is kneeling, playing with her mistresses body, her eyes locked onto mine. her eyes are glazed with sex. the dom yanks her ponytail and smacks her face... i step...
...and see a woman in a doorway...
her head tilts up as she looks into me. her body is an idol, a golden calf bathed in neon. i walk to the door, my tongue thick with lust. she smiles and turns, walking up the steps. her ass fills me with hunger... it is a perfect peach, a jewel of flesh and silk...
the night air feels smooth, like a lover's skin. i dip into the shadows and shove my hands in my pockets. an African with scars on his face is on the corner. his presence is like a punch in the gut. he has FORCE.
"Cocaine..." he whispers as i pass.
The hostel's lobby is dead, even the frat boys have clocked out for the night. I go to the back staircase. The lights are out but I see light eeking out around the first bend. I step...
...and see the a-hole. He's standing in the stairwell with icicles in his eyes. this guy is nuts... but there's no going backwards, this is the only way to my room. He has an empty Jack Daniels bottle and he's holding it like a club, never breaking eye contact. i imagine it swinging, glistening in the light before it becomes broken shards, blood and pain.
"Sell me a nick..." he slurs, wobbling on the steps.
I give him snake eyes again and brush past. I see his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He definitely don't like my face...
The room is dark, tranquil. I step out of my shoes and socks and climb into bed with my clothes on. the darkness climbs into my skin, into my mind...
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!... the room explodes with sound! Each kick of the door shakes it to the frame, you can see it jumping in the dark. I freeze in my bunk, my mind racing. it can't be the a-hole... i left him three flights downstairs...
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!...
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
Holy Christ! I think, creeping to the door, it's the a-hole...
(This doesn't surprise me, I've always attracted the crazy, the sick, the criminal...They are drawn to me like light to a black hole, it's an inescapable fact. I must be the most delicious plate of eggs and ham they've ever seen.)
"Sell me a nick." I start to close the door but he's pressing back just as firm.
"What's wrong with you?"
"This is my room."
"Bullshit."
"Seriously, this is my room.!"
"Where's your key?"
"I don't know, I don't have it." He shoves a foot between the door. "Wake up my brother."
"What?"
"My brother... wake him up." There's a guy knocked out on a bunk next to the door. I hadn't noticed him in the dark. How the hell is he still asleep?
"Dude, go get a key from front desk, otherwise your not getting in." I kick his foot out and shut the door.
Sleep is creeping steadily over me like moss on rocks. The door creaks and I see the a-hole standing in the light from the hallway. He looks gleeful, like he just ate a baby. Inescapable. He walks towards me and I think, here we go... he puts his boots on my bunk and leaps up the the bed above me. The mattress sinks in, creaky barbwire twists inches away from my face.
...this really might be the end... tonight i might be murdered...
In the middle of the night he swings his feet over the edge of his bed:
"DON'T ANYBODY TRY ANYTHING! I'M SERIOUS! I'LL KILL ALL YOU MUTHAFUCKS!
"shut up and go to sleep." his brother says from under his pillow.
i see the a-hole three days later. he doesn't recognize me at all, as if i were a complete stranger.
"Sell me a nickel."
"What..?" ...this is Amsterdam... you can buy a psychedelic shake at McDonald's for Christ sake... "...Uh no."
"No? Come on guy, a nickel."
"Why? Just go to a cafe... they sell it everywhere... you're creeping me out dude...
"Come on... you got a fat pouch, all I want is a nick..."
I give him a hard look. Snakeyes. He backs away but stares a little too long walking out. Free at last. I walk over to the pool table. There's a group of hipsters. White shoes, white belts, bullet belts, black pants, red shirts, spiked hair, white teeth, full stomachs, Spaniards. I work on my suds.
The night air holds secrets, often it's perfection gives chills. I light up and lean against the hostel. The street is made of shadows and echos, the yellow lights paint the stores and bricks. Can it be this simple? This quiet? The streets get busier, crowds of people. There's something about their faces... i feel their breath... i know they're alive. The wildness of Amsterdam would kill me in five years... too much pleasure for sale.
The walkways are bustling now, filled with bodies. Neon signs pour out the windows, selling pizza and tarot readings. Beautiful women in short skirts and sexual eyes seem to drip from the nightlife. I turn the corner and the buildings make way for the sky; a river runs through the street ahead. Trees jut like black hands against the nighttime purple. I step...
...and see a woman in a window framed by red neon. she is tall, her legs spread wide as she leans her breasts against the glass. her skin looks like strawberry milk. her palms are pressed flat, her lips almost touching the pane. her breath forms wet clouds. she's quivering in this room and staring at me... I step...
...and see a blond with black shades, black bra and panties. she's standing sideways, one foot in a chair. black boots to the knees. she traces a finger along the back of her thigh, along the curve of her ass. she's smoldering, all fire and control. she whips her hair back, it flies like a horse's mane. so rockstar. i feel my cock shift in my pants. this place is crazy!.. i step...
and see two women pressed into each other, looking out into the street. They are large, plump. The submissive is kneeling, playing with her mistresses body, her eyes locked onto mine. her eyes are glazed with sex. the dom yanks her ponytail and smacks her face... i step...
...and see a woman in a doorway...
her head tilts up as she looks into me. her body is an idol, a golden calf bathed in neon. i walk to the door, my tongue thick with lust. she smiles and turns, walking up the steps. her ass fills me with hunger... it is a perfect peach, a jewel of flesh and silk...
the night air feels smooth, like a lover's skin. i dip into the shadows and shove my hands in my pockets. an African with scars on his face is on the corner. his presence is like a punch in the gut. he has FORCE.
"Cocaine..." he whispers as i pass.
The hostel's lobby is dead, even the frat boys have clocked out for the night. I go to the back staircase. The lights are out but I see light eeking out around the first bend. I step...
...and see the a-hole. He's standing in the stairwell with icicles in his eyes. this guy is nuts... but there's no going backwards, this is the only way to my room. He has an empty Jack Daniels bottle and he's holding it like a club, never breaking eye contact. i imagine it swinging, glistening in the light before it becomes broken shards, blood and pain.
"Sell me a nick..." he slurs, wobbling on the steps.
I give him snake eyes again and brush past. I see his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He definitely don't like my face...
The room is dark, tranquil. I step out of my shoes and socks and climb into bed with my clothes on. the darkness climbs into my skin, into my mind...
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!... the room explodes with sound! Each kick of the door shakes it to the frame, you can see it jumping in the dark. I freeze in my bunk, my mind racing. it can't be the a-hole... i left him three flights downstairs...
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!...
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
Holy Christ! I think, creeping to the door, it's the a-hole...
(This doesn't surprise me, I've always attracted the crazy, the sick, the criminal...They are drawn to me like light to a black hole, it's an inescapable fact. I must be the most delicious plate of eggs and ham they've ever seen.)
"Sell me a nick." I start to close the door but he's pressing back just as firm.
"What's wrong with you?"
"This is my room."
"Bullshit."
"Seriously, this is my room.!"
"Where's your key?"
"I don't know, I don't have it." He shoves a foot between the door. "Wake up my brother."
"What?"
"My brother... wake him up." There's a guy knocked out on a bunk next to the door. I hadn't noticed him in the dark. How the hell is he still asleep?
"Dude, go get a key from front desk, otherwise your not getting in." I kick his foot out and shut the door.
Sleep is creeping steadily over me like moss on rocks. The door creaks and I see the a-hole standing in the light from the hallway. He looks gleeful, like he just ate a baby. Inescapable. He walks towards me and I think, here we go... he puts his boots on my bunk and leaps up the the bed above me. The mattress sinks in, creaky barbwire twists inches away from my face.
...this really might be the end... tonight i might be murdered...
In the middle of the night he swings his feet over the edge of his bed:
"DON'T ANYBODY TRY ANYTHING! I'M SERIOUS! I'LL KILL ALL YOU MUTHAFUCKS!
"shut up and go to sleep." his brother says from under his pillow.
i see the a-hole three days later. he doesn't recognize me at all, as if i were a complete stranger.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tracking down the soul, part 2
Should I have said that the seat of the soul is the 3rd eye? That from the position of Om all things are perceived? I do think that there is a window there, around the position of the face... and from the position of that window a world is perceived, but I think the feeling of "I" is more like a field that extends from this point through the heart and belly, then out into the limbs. I have a question for you... show me your head.
http://www.headless.org/experiments-video.htm
Ultimately I am what I see, since all things in the universe exist in my window. This is the space of the mirror that does not exist spoken of by Hui Neng, the Sixth Patriarch of Zen in China.
I used to wonder if all things were made of light why couldn't I see the light. Then I realized the light was everything, that everything is made of the light, so this world is the light.
Where is the soul, if it is able to see light? Behind the light? It must be separate from the light.
In my mind the soul is the witness of the light, it is the witness of life.
It is the witness of the sense of "I".
It is the witness of thought.
It is the witness of emotion.
It is the witness of sensation.
It is the witness of change, time and space.
As you get closer to the mirrorless window the sense of I grows. Think about the angriest conversation you've ever had. Were you "facing" the person? Or the most sexual moment of your life... Were you "face to face"? I suppose some of you were tied and gagged in a closet somewhere, but that's beside the point. The point is we start inside the mirrorless window, the place where our heads should be. But where does the field stop and the soul begin?
There were two students of Zen standing in the garden beside their teacher. It was a windy day and the temple flags twisted in the air.
Student One: Look at how beautiful the flags are! The way they dance in the wind...
Student Two: He is mistaken, isn't he Teacher? It is the wind that dances, the flags are still.
Teacher: You are both mistaken. Only Consciousness is moving.
Is the teacher right? I have my doubts. I think the light is changing, sensations are arising, the "I" is perceiving thoughts, but I'm not sure consciousness moves, can move, or has ever moved, It is the unchanging eternal, the witness of all things. It is the Self, pure being.
I would say the soul is the mirrorless window. It is located where you head should be but isn't... and to be honest your entire body is lost, floating in a multiverse without edges...
http://www.headless.org/experiments-video.htm
Ultimately I am what I see, since all things in the universe exist in my window. This is the space of the mirror that does not exist spoken of by Hui Neng, the Sixth Patriarch of Zen in China.
I used to wonder if all things were made of light why couldn't I see the light. Then I realized the light was everything, that everything is made of the light, so this world is the light.
Where is the soul, if it is able to see light? Behind the light? It must be separate from the light.
In my mind the soul is the witness of the light, it is the witness of life.
It is the witness of the sense of "I".
It is the witness of thought.
It is the witness of emotion.
It is the witness of sensation.
It is the witness of change, time and space.
As you get closer to the mirrorless window the sense of I grows. Think about the angriest conversation you've ever had. Were you "facing" the person? Or the most sexual moment of your life... Were you "face to face"? I suppose some of you were tied and gagged in a closet somewhere, but that's beside the point. The point is we start inside the mirrorless window, the place where our heads should be. But where does the field stop and the soul begin?
There were two students of Zen standing in the garden beside their teacher. It was a windy day and the temple flags twisted in the air.
Student One: Look at how beautiful the flags are! The way they dance in the wind...
Student Two: He is mistaken, isn't he Teacher? It is the wind that dances, the flags are still.
Teacher: You are both mistaken. Only Consciousness is moving.
Is the teacher right? I have my doubts. I think the light is changing, sensations are arising, the "I" is perceiving thoughts, but I'm not sure consciousness moves, can move, or has ever moved, It is the unchanging eternal, the witness of all things. It is the Self, pure being.
I would say the soul is the mirrorless window. It is located where you head should be but isn't... and to be honest your entire body is lost, floating in a multiverse without edges...
Friday, February 18, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Halloween
I remember my first Halloween as twisted, a gnarled trunk. I went to school and everyone was dressed like superheros and princesses. The room was covered in orange faces with burning eyes, and apparently this same ghoulish head was in the room with us right now... there were bats and witches and candy and cake, juice and soda and kids that stared at me as I walked in the room. I felt like a naked fool... why hadn't I been told about dressing up? I felt abandoned, betrayed. "What the hell was going on?" I was six so I didn't use those words but that's definitely what I felt.
I whispered to Batman: Psst! What the hell is going on?
Halloween! Your family must be poor..."
"my family ain't poor!"
Shh!
I stood in the bathroom, scared to leave and face the Spidermen and Michael Jacksons. I was burning under the gazes from my classmates. I needed to improvise. I pulled my sweater over the back of my head and gazed out the neckhole. I felt dirty, like a cheater, it would never work. I would just have to face the fact I was in for a long day. I never felt so let down by my family. What good were they for if they didn't protect you from embarrassment?
I remember looking up the white staircase banister and seeing my aunts sitting on the steps. My head reeled as Halloween's origins were explained to me... did I understand? i was never to celebrate, trick or treat, play pranks, eat candy, wear costumes, or watch movies with occult themes. Especially on oct 31st. That was double bad.
That was the day I realized my life wasn't normal, that I would always be outside.
first i can't listen to Michael Jackson, now this... this is outrageous! so all these kids that had cake today are getting free candy from everybody in every house everywhere... FREE CANDY!... and i can't have any... i can't believe this... this can't be happening...
But it was happening and I was traumatized...
The next day i watched the kids exchange contraband chocolate. a kid handed me a tootsie roll; it tasted like guilt and shame and tears...
I whispered to Batman: Psst! What the hell is going on?
Halloween! Your family must be poor..."
"my family ain't poor!"
Shh!
I stood in the bathroom, scared to leave and face the Spidermen and Michael Jacksons. I was burning under the gazes from my classmates. I needed to improvise. I pulled my sweater over the back of my head and gazed out the neckhole. I felt dirty, like a cheater, it would never work. I would just have to face the fact I was in for a long day. I never felt so let down by my family. What good were they for if they didn't protect you from embarrassment?
I remember looking up the white staircase banister and seeing my aunts sitting on the steps. My head reeled as Halloween's origins were explained to me... did I understand? i was never to celebrate, trick or treat, play pranks, eat candy, wear costumes, or watch movies with occult themes. Especially on oct 31st. That was double bad.
That was the day I realized my life wasn't normal, that I would always be outside.
first i can't listen to Michael Jackson, now this... this is outrageous! so all these kids that had cake today are getting free candy from everybody in every house everywhere... FREE CANDY!... and i can't have any... i can't believe this... this can't be happening...
But it was happening and I was traumatized...
The next day i watched the kids exchange contraband chocolate. a kid handed me a tootsie roll; it tasted like guilt and shame and tears...
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