Do you have the time?
Campfire
May 30, 1998
Peace comes with a yellow tint that serves as comfort to isolation on a star filled shore. Lovers embrace together, the quiet one looks on. My skin is stained by the sun. Tiny morsels stick like glue. No excuse is needed, I can change with the tide. Here I can confide. One piece of wood left behind to serve as support while the rest continue to smolder smoke that is carried off by the breeze. Fluorescent light reflects in my view casting a trance upon the third eye; the third wheel. My body is bruised from carelessness. Freedom heals.
Third Eye
June 6, 1998
It is happening again. Caught off guard as always, adolescent behavior does not go away with age. Amazing how insanely correct the “domino effect” seems to be. Irony gets the best of me sending waves of uncontrollable laughter frightening off any on-looker that accidently falls victim to becoming a witness. Such mockery! I am putting too much of myself into this competitive relationship. Too much has slipped through the cracks along with the mass amount of insects that hide in the shadows as well. There is nothing I can hold on to. All is meant to be lost, but it always seems too soon. Set aside time to dwell.
Freak
June 15, 1998
My thinking capability will not be polluted with girlie daydreams about falling in love. In my own crowd you make your place while gliding from room to room with a look of confidence. I can fall hard in one day. In the passenger’s seat I talk about being one with nature and my awareness of cruelty while you put out your cigarette by squeezing out the tobacco and stuffing it back into the box looking at me as I flick mine right out the window.
The afternoon sun was blistering and you offered me your sweater, but I had to dig in the trunk to find it. Old blue eyes himself is at it again, and while I’m sure that he has had plenty of experience, I am a stranger to this game. Words get stuck in my throat and my non-stop giggling annoys even me though I can’t seem to quit.
I keep waiting for you to make the first move but my patience wears thin and a hug at the end of the night is not what I had in mind. Tempted to pick up the phone and dial straight to your machine, but instead I wait in vain. It has been a day and a half and all has been silent.
This is why I keep to myself and avoid any potential future relationships. There is too much stress and sadness already occupying my time. How much am I willing to sacrifice? How much are you willing to give? How much longer can I go without a companion? In your presence I feel like a freak.
Animal Spirits
June 17, 1998
To my surprise the reading was dead on. The first image was revealed and from then on I realized that maybe there is something behind all this mumbo-jumbo. Each card that was delicately turned over spoke to me through a newfound interpreter, and I listened focusing all concentration on this experienced voice. Inner secrets were tapped into like a video camera was recording my every move. I need to plant my feet firmly on the ground. Fear is my worst enemy and my best friend. Transformation is my hidden ability, like a chameleon I can blend in when necessary. My defense mechanism is the act of playing dead just like the opossum. I seem to be balanced. There is perfection in defaults.
Egg Shell June 21, 1998 Layer upon layer, saturated, distance runs thick. Protected by familiarity, repetition, experience yields fear. Educated ignorance, vulnerable, stationed at defense.
Blind Date
June 22, 1998
I’m not quite sure if this is where I want to be. A new addition is not worth the loss of a life-long savior. Trust does not come easily as I question alternative intentions shadowing a stranger. It is too early to let loose and remove this mask that has so often been an inconvenience. Maybe this is good for me. Watching lovers stroll hand in hand would always tear me up inside because I wanted it so badly. I have forever been alone with no real companionship or somebody to call my lover, and now that I have found a partner, I realize I have wanted for the wrong reasons.
My heart is not with yours. You gently caress my body in a slow motion that sends me into a state of deep relaxation. I have yet to be turned on. We touch lips for the first time and from then on I have found myself wondering when it will end each time. We hold hands and hug, but it doesn’t feel natural, it feels forced. I am not won over by a couple of smooth moves. We have yet to make an actual connection. With all this in mind, I caution myself not to jump the gun. Fear can sometimes be disguised as instinct.
Magnolia Bend
June 26, 1998
Keeping my head held high. Saving face. Holding onto pride. Laughing in spite of sadness. Sometimes it is all too clear. I criticize what I cannot begin to understand, but this does not mean I am bitter. Irritated by tiny gestures put forth in an attempt to turn on the unattainable party.
You were in my dream helping me fight off an evil presence. It was a house occupied by my spirit in some lifetime, and once again I returned. This vision is reoccurring, but last night there was a clearness for the first time. Wood was rotting away from years of abandonment. All of our things were still in place as if this old memory was still our habitat.
Nostalgia filled the room as I climbed the last step to enter through a closed door that whispers to me even now when eyes are open and thoughts are aware. Relics placed in a perfect pattern. Zig zag. Horizontal. Parallel. Circular. It started to rain and all began to soil. The cage in the backyard fell victim to three lone shots set fire by a well-known face. All fell silent. I could feel the loss, the guilt, the death. From then on chaos possessed main theme and distinction was deceiving.
I knew it was a dream within a dream. Control was somewhat in my power but I couldn’t bring it to a halt.
Barricade
July 7, 1998
Life is beginning to seem like a conspiracy. That old saying “three strikes and you’re out” has been proven false. I was on my way to the far west until a barricade blocked off the highway that was my ticket to heaven. Here I am back at headquarters waiting around for my name to be called. I feel I have lost everything but the moment I speak these words aloud another catastrophe would take place. My mind has been occupied by the revelation of the end of the world, and I have come to the conclusion that if it does not take place in the near future, I will find peace with insanity.
Below the Belt
July 10, 1998
I need to get out of here. A phrase that is repeated over and over again in order to keep it fresh. When I pull into the driveway, everything comes rushing towards me in a tidal wave. My hate has climbed to its peak, and although I am ashamed of such intense bitterness, I relish in the idea that I am able to possess these morbid thoughts. My hands have the strength of a man’s, but it is not enough. I am losing ground that I thought to be solid. Friends are disguised as enemies and enemies as friends. Ignorance led me to believe that all has been lost and rock bottom has hit, but life once again proved me wrong. Some things are not meant to be forgiven. This is one of those things.
Drought
July 11, 1998
Sick of dreaming. Small talk is repeated on a daily basis and it feeds the hungry mind like an appetizer, but we are still left anticipating the main dish. This place sucks you in strangling you with a leash that is too tight to be broken. Between the likes of our spirits lies the potential to bust out, but even if given a free ride, the final decision would still remain undecided. It is not so much about running away for pain cannot be left behind. It is about finding new ground and experiencing something different. Finding inspiration. Thinking about the future. Accepting the past. Feeling alive.
Triangle
July 17, 1998
Sometimes the missing link has been there the whole time, it just takes a while to put into place. Beauty can be misleading, and although we know that outside appearances are shallow, it is the only thing we see for the eye of the beholder is often closed.
Square One
July 26, 1998
Love has been put on hold. I am able to function normal when sobriety has been swept away in a turbulence of fast-acting chemicals. On a night spent alone I bask in creativity brought on by a small blue pill that was found months earlier in the backseat of my recently wrecked car. I had been putting it on hold for I was not quite sure what it was. Twenty minutes after the intake my suspicions of it being a valium were correct.
I am at the start of another binge. The time has once again come to dwell in the past for the future is looking bleak and I haven’t the courage or the will to show face, move forward, and wish farewell. I know that depression is nothing more than self-pity, but this is my specialty. My number one talent. I don’t want to go back to school this fall semester but my conscious is getting the best of me. I am feeling too much like a slacker. Something has been holding me back for the past four years to do what I dream of doing and it comes as no surprise when I realize it was me the whole time.
1998 has been shit so far, and in spite of all that has happened, I have been reluctant to write. Last summer was beautiful. It was filled with life-changing experiences and long-needed inspiration. A year later I am back at the beginning with nothing but memories left to burden my spirit with nostalgia set deep in my heart. It is too much of an understatement to say that I have had a run of bad luck in the past four months. Hate occupies my thoughts and faith in an unseen God is forced. My best friend said I must be doing something right. She is who keeps me in line with grace, but that which can offer strength has backfired into weakness.
M.I.A.
July 27, 1998
My Loui Boy never came home. Gwen and I put signs up everywhere in Humble, checked the pound once a day, and even went door to door handing out flyers. We’d had him for seven years, and in one single breath he was gone. My house is empty. Not even a month later, I come home one night, and after an hour of watch T.V. (1998 MTV Movie Awards), I notice that my cat Jude is absent. Mom was sitting on the couch with me, and on commercial break, I ask her if she knows where Jude is. “Oh, she got out earlier today.” I never let Jude go outside, and upon hearing this information, I asked mom when she was planning on telling me this.
She’s been gone a month now. Just the other day, I was talking to Jena about how much I miss Jude, and by the look in her eye, I knew something wasn’t right. Jena told me the secret that Jayme had confessed to her earlier that day. My brother and Jayme’s boyfriend are close friends, and she was there when Kirk told Dave what had really happened to my cat. It was a known fact that he hated her, and I guess it got the best of him.
While I was out of the house, Kirk took Jude, threw her in the trunk of the car, and dropped her off somewhere in the woods. I had to promise Jena that I wouldn’t let on that I know for apparently Kirk threatened Jayme not to say anything. Betrayal as low as that can never be forgiven in my eyes. I am blown away by cruelty at its worst, and without exaggeration, I speak of my brother as I speak of the anti-Christ.
The Kenny Files
July 31 – August 2, 1998
I tripped on X for the first time last night. Kenny and I hung out in the back room playing video games and talking about nonsense the whole time. It was a blast. I love X. We didn’t fall asleep until about 8:00 in the morning, and we had to wake up at noon to bail his dog out of the pound before 5:30 or else he would be put to sleep. We had to spend the whole day trying to gather up $150, the price to get him out. At around 4:00 we finally made it to the pound with cash in hand. Blackie is free!
Kenny’s truck caught on fire today. We were cruising down the freeway jamming to the Chili Peppers and out of the blue Kenny screams, “Fire!” at the top of his lungs. I turned around to see the bed of the truck going up in flames. We pull over to the shoulder and Kenny jumps out of the truck, grabs a towel, and tries to put out the fire but it made it worse. I was still stuck inside the cab with Blackie waiting for the traffic to die down so we could get out. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I didn’t go out the other side.
About six people actually stopped to help us, usually people just stare and drive right by. This one guy came running up with a gallon of milk and a gallon of orange juice. It was a funny sight but it did the trick. Five minutes later the firetruck arrives and poor Blackie was so freaked out he bit one of the firemen on the leg. The guy started yelling obscenities and ran to the truck. He didn’t press charges, thank God. That’s the reason Blackie went to the pound in the first place.
*He was a nice strapping young punk with a mohawk. Always got a story to tell with priceless expressions that keep you rolling all night. Strong motherfucker. From Scottish descent, 100% in fact. Man, can this guy put back the booze.*
Letter to River Phoenix
August 4, 1998
You intoxicate my dreams with a divine presence that lingers on even after the curtains have been raised. My project feels as if it is going nowhere, but tiny little reminders rule space in my world which is where the point can always be found if ever lost. Friends cannot understand my obsession, but still, in every day conversation your name is mentioned despite loudmouth punks or judgmental eyes.
Once again, I am sick with nostalgia, and until I hear myself repeat a verse that has already been read, I will continue on with instinct serving as my creative master. Time is irrelevant. Five years or one day does not affect emotions that filter my blood. We are all nonsense, and even you, my friend, are not separated from this riddle, but this is what blows my mind. Among your very own race you had the strength to rest humility on your shoulders, carry morality in your arms, and walk along side mother nature until she could stand separation no longer. I am cast from the very same mold as yourself, yet I am smaller than an ant and you are glorified into a god.
Activist
August 11, 1998
There was a little girl who spoke wisdom beyond her years. Her mother is visiting heaven, she just recently left. A freeway runs fast. My pockets stay empty but I must find money to save the world. My stash is running dry and this time is the last for I can no longer afford to be tied down.
Last night my best friend caught a glimpse of the moon and said, “This is where we want to be. Someday these words will stand true.” She is chasing the same dream as I. “We shall arrive together,” she said before turning away.
I am looking for a suspension in time since my hands are filled with holes. I am hoping to save what little is left. In my own household I cannot find safety. These days are filled with hate, pain, sadness, and misery. The closing month of summer only makes room for September memories followed by a gray winter. I need to find the energy to prove that all goodness has not been in vain. I need to capture the world.
Shoulder
August 19, 1998
There is much to be said about each and every minute that passes through time, but it is not necessary to speak these words aloud. Negativity has been closing in on me and I have lost confidence needed to overcome tribulations. The hardest part is coming back from where the heart is and realizing it is no longer at home. For the time being I know what I want from life, I just can’t find the patience needed before arrival is possible. My Elder has taught me how to love, and it is this love that will endure even in my current summer drought.
Cruise
August 21, 1998
I have been moving slowly towards the starting line in an unknown direction. A green sign just up ahead informs me of how many miles I have left to travel, and every once in a while it gives me insurance that I am on the right path. The sun is setting just before me, but as it has not yet met the horizon I must still squint my eyes to see. Hypnotized by a steady flow of vibrations, I relax my body and mind. An artist has perfected the use of color. My sight is no longer shielded. A faint dim light catches raindrops that are gathered together in bondage. It feeds off reflection and although I seem to be getting closer, I can never make contact with it. It is always one step ahead. I am suddenly reminded of a glorious day that occurred. Even before my birth I still celebrate this anniversary of pure goodness. The moon hides behind his own shadow casting a warm glow upon the darkness of the earth. The Earth. How insignificant it seems to me now as I ponder the concept of the universe and heavens. All that has been lost still exists in another form or in some other dimension. A wonderful sense of freedom possesses my spirit with the very thought of immortality. The concept of flesh and blood is trivial.
Draft
August 30, 1998
A door has been left open. Sitting here alone yet among company is a harsh reality when confronted with such carelessness. My emotions are shot. Where pride and a discreet mannerism usually exist when such an event takes place has been transformed into bittersweet defeat. There was something to be said but the subject is off by a sentence. A shiver startles my body. Somewhere wind is gaining strength. It is my turn to answer.
Stage
September 5 – 7, 1998
We can be young at heart forever. We can play in a fantasy of our own for there is no limit to the imagination. I am living a life full of responsibilities but this does not mean I have to bid farewell to childlike innocence. My spirit does not grow wrinkles with the passing of each day.
As my days are becoming more productive, I am able to see what the fuss and the grind are all about. My defaults are greater than I imagined but this gives me the power to change. One week can seem like a year and in the long run this is a good thing.
Warning
September 7, 1998
I am watching you become a stranger. Time apart has taken its toll but it was on your terms that “we” are no longer alive. The sweet taste of freedom that used to rest on my lips has been replaced by a bitterness too stout to deny. I am living for the green and forgetting about my dream, but what happened to that shoulder I used to lean on? When there is trouble in paradise my presence is needed. A pacifist I may be but let it be known that underneath a shy smile and a weak demeanor usually exists strength that is not to be reckoned with.
Sorting Through
September 18, 1998
There is little time left in the day for me to waste. Creativity is becoming just another chore and what was once believed in becomes a hobby instead of a dream. This nonsense must come to an end. I realize that these times are the most crucial but without confidence and faith all will be in vain. My passage has been brilliant but what good is a mouthful of ideas if there is no one to share them with? I have a plethora of original projects that have been pre-labeled as “long-term” for much too long. My roadblock is technicalities that have to be conquered in a swift burst of energy brought on by a feeling of accomplishment. I refuse to accept the full effects of responsibility.
One morning, I awoke to a heavy burden resting on my shoulders and instead of fighting it off I kept it there expecting to gain strength. Tonight, it sits heavier than before whispering reminders that stand no chance of being forgotten. Ghosts from the past cannot be put to bed but why does this bring a smile to my lips? I know where I have been. This is temporary, a passing in time I shall not carry with me.
Numbers
September 19, 1998
My love is meant to be dissected. Across the table sits infatuation that I once believed in. Eye for an eye, it is simple, it is complicated. Today I played a fool in the presence of experienced slackers. Tears came out of nowhere and though I tried to stop the uninvited flow, more just seemed to follow. My weakness has been revealed but with the closing of a long-awaited night I feel no shame. There is such freedom when insecurities are pushed aside and true ignorance shines through calming a spirit in hiding. Unfortunately, my biggest accomplishment is ignoring the voice of reason and answering to the call of temptation. This is a generation full of trend-setting, attention-stealing, soul-numbing pupils of an older race of wisdom. We are repeating the past, and the worst part is, we have long ago come to this realization. Our excuses are lazy. It is in our nature to recycle, not only for the goodness of the earth, but for the appearance of a first impression. Fear of the truth has never been greater as our need for denial feeds off acceptance, but what does it matter if we are rejected? Why is there a need to clone?
Yield
September 20, 1998
I have come to find out that if we actually stop to think about our daily routine, it all suddenly seems like nonsense. Humbug, humdrum, hub bub, hullaballoo. Every day is a new day but it still repeats itself just like the day before. Languor, lag, larva, lash. I am too young to be tied down and too old to let go. This is no longer enjoyable and not yet worth the sacrifices. Frail, famish, fault, freedom.
Intermission
September 22, 1998
Today I realized how easy it is for memories to fade into pictures that have to be located on a dusty bookshelf in the corner of a room. I made you out of my own mold with such precision, but yet I still find it a challenge to express this unique character openly. The game felt like it had finally come to an end, but if there is still a breath left to breathe, the show will go on. Now is the time to use the bathroom, get a refill, stock up on popcorn and have a cigarette for the action is mild but it is due time for a climax.
Dirty Laundry
September 27, 1998
I am lost in responsibility. Above, below and all around reeks with soiled leftovers. Mold grows in patches, weeds climb the rooftops, dust clogs the starter.
My worst habit is paranoid thinking. It is way too simple to jump the gun in a matter of three minutes without even realizing where the course of thought is heading.
Strike
September 28, 1998
Before I take offense to a raised voice and orders from on duty authority, I must step back and look at the situation from afar. This hellhole you call heaven will never be my cup of tea. My future is temporarily out of order but I am making repairs right under your nose and soon enough I will be back on track. Inspiration is gained just by witnessing my surroundings. I now know how easy it is to fall into a trap, and through you I have the motivation needed to avoid it at all costs.
How the West Was Won
September 29, 1998
It all comes back riding on the crest of a wave. A reoccurring tidal wave. Fresh as memories made only seconds ago. Where was I from between then and now? So much was lost and so little was hung onto. I am putting as much back as possible. In my closet sits an oblong shoebox that will be overflowing with green paper by this time next year, before this time next year. That shoebox is my ticket out of here. Now is the time to be smart and preserve all extra earnings.
A sign was given to me about six months ago but the words written were foreign. The next few weeks were spent trying to learn a new language. My instructor was harsh, but at the end of each semester we thank them for steering us in the right direction. The sign was transformed into a familiar tongue. Symbols became letters and words formed sentences. I now understand what tasks need to be done, and although I might still be in training, I am nearer to the end than I am the beginning. My heart lies deep in the west where acres of freedom await.
Big Red
October 2, 1998
Today was one of those days that showed you how far you have come since the middle stages of adolescence. I made my peace with a mortal enemy and laughed at the fulfillment it gave me. How petty the past can seem. A seven year grudge is finally laid to rest in a matter of unsuspected seconds. One familiar face that ruined my innocence with obsession actually brightened my night. The things I have seen through my window.
Canvas
October 9, 1998
There is a shoebox that sits in my closet collecting as much worth as possible. Temptation comes and goes inspiring me to invest in a lock and hide the combination from myself. There is reason behind my madness. I have not lost sight of that fresh red glow that almost blinded me at first glimpse, but my dream does not stop here. A crystal clear vision of ocean blue captures my full attention. The dunes are never far and must never be blocked by neighboring land.
Prism October 13, 1998 Look to the imagination for inspiration, these days are closing in, old age haunts like an unseen ghost. Pleasant reminders fill with rage. Why is there a need to wait? What if all was not as seen? Half a decade recorded, nothing left to recall. On suspended clouds rests capability. Experience a fairytale, “today” actually finds meaning. Ignore the voice to the left. Take hold integrity as hostage, awake from your coma, grasp reflection.
Luggage
October 14, 1998
Surprise! My thoughts wander in your direction, but pride (being a well-known enemy) steps in the way. I have grown bored. The timing was wrong yet still I tried to explain what was real and react in a correct manner of discrete and utter enjoyment. Fear once again takes the lead but let it be known that an avalanche of hardships plagued life for almost half a year. A taste in my mouth has me craving the unknown. Clusters of trees line the pavement ahead but through paned glass I see an opening brought into sight by a beam of sunlight. All things loved that slipped through the cracks are gathered into a suitcase and follow behind rolling with the groove that carries the weight. I can’t remember a last goodbye ever taking place or a peaceful state of mind after physical contact was broken for chaos was the center of attention.
These days there is no time to be depressed, but along with good news, bad news is sure to follow. Happiness has also been forgotten along with every other feeling that brings me some kind of inspiration. Kodak is my new best friend.
Bea
October 21, 1998
Restless though we are, I am only here to leave for this is my sacrifice to paradise. There sits an old soul too weak to breathe the air, but patience holds her hand eternally. These days are passing but I’ve seen you before sharing stories that I now understand. Tonight my hands are tied for nothing is done. Morning haze has fallen upon my fingertips. This is the time to recollect through the years and what was had still claims importance. So does the wind that blows a storm from the west, we may enjoy the shade in summer’s day.
Chapter One
October 27, 1998
My sight has been blurred, and for the moment, I think I feel nothing. Who will be next? When will my guard be asleep? I have been deeply enthralled in fiction that has sadly found its last page, but a thin layer of intelligence has been gained.
What if paradise dreamed about by every living soul is nothing more than hell? With this in mind, the next immediate question is simple. How many will still seek paradise despite the inevitable? Philosophy before science, science before philosophy, which came first, the chicken or the egg, what is the meaning of life? I am grasping aimlessly into the air for something solid.
Clockwork
October 30, 1998
It’s four in the morning. Four candles sit still waiting for a breath of wind so they can dance. Listening to the Cowboy Junkies. Enjoying another serene night while twilight continues to sleep.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of a lost soul. Five years has it been? Another sun has kept you in my dreams. My shellshock was finally cured a short while ago, maybe a month. There is a heavy load I now carry. The most beautiful beach, enchanting forest, or highest mountain could not free me from all burdens. Some things are not meant to be forgotten but we are born again through pain.
Love vs Hate
November 1, 1998
Halloween was spent walking around Fright Night for six hours watching the one and only Eric Griebel walk hand in hand with his new girlfriend Candy. It was complete hell. All those old memories from high school were awakened from a six year slumber. I have seen Eric since high school, but never for a long amount of time. What pisses me off is the fact that I still couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. I couldn’t even mutter a simple “hello,” just like fucking high school. Jena said he was staring at me all night (just like high school), and although I was staring just as hard, a part of me didn’t know why. If I’d have met him just that night, I wouldn’t have even looked twice, but the fact that he is Eric Griebel changes everything. It’s difficult to explain and even more difficult to understand. I can’t talk yet I can’t keep quiet. I can’t stare yet I can’t look away. I can’t smile yet I can’t frown. More than anything, I would like to forget, but six years have proved useless. He’s no longer snorting coke. His new love is shooting up speed. Jena caught him doing it by candlelight. I guess love really is blind, but so is hate.
Swap Shop
November 8, 1998
Most of the time I have nothing to say. At least not aloud. A few days ago I tracked down inspiration just like “the old days.” It’s been a while since I’ve seen the likes of him, and when I finally did there was no time left to share and record my experiences.
It was fucking cold in Kerrville, just the way I like it. My breath could be seen in the outside air making puffs off my cigarette seem more like five being exhaled at the same time. Gwen and I chatted with an old hippie who owns this resale store. He had the same dream we have but he’s one up because he already acted on it. He showed us pictures of some old buses that he fixed up, put some bunk beds in them, built a kitchen, and even started his own catering business. This guy had been to fourteen different states in two months! Talking to this guy alone gave me enough inspiration to get off my ass and quit dreaming about it. The first thing I need is money, and I’ll have that covered in, well, I give myself a year. I start my new job tomorrow. Guess I better not fuck up.
The First Time
November 10, 1998
The night before I left for Kerrville, I tried heroin for the first time. I only sniffed a little tiny bit, but it was enough to get me off. About an hour after I snorted it, I threw up. It tasted like tomatoes because of my recent dinner. Nasty. Kirk and I just lounged on the couch the whole night watching The Basketball Diaries. Every time I stood up to go outside and have a cigarette, I got real dizzy and sick to my stomach. Other than that it was alright. It mainly felt like being really stoned from smoking too much weed. After three hours of staring at the television, I finally forced myself to get off the couch and chance puking again. Nasty.
The minute my head hit the pillow I was instantly in heaven. My body was warm inside and out, and the blankets covering me felt more like a mother’s cocoon rather than thin layers of knitted cotton. My mind went into a dreamlike state, but I was still somewhat aware for I wasn’t as vulnerable as one usually is when sleeping. It was kind of like that feeling you get right before falling into a deep sleep, completely suspended. The drive to Kerrville was a bitch. I felt worn out by the road only after an hour of driving and I usually love traveling.
Stems & Seeds
November 12, 1998
You haunt me on a daily basis. The other morning I awoke from a dream casting the most beautiful face I have ever seen. The future scares me. What if old age erases my passion? As I grow wrinkles and face the loss of youth, you will remain well-preserved and eternally young. A very sick part of me, a part of myself I keep well-hidden, twitches with an ounce of jealousy that is quickly replaced with guilt. Why does self-torture, self-destructiveness and self-alienation seem so fucking popular? I am a victim of society. We all are, and society is a victim of the so-called “mainstream.”
There is a place where truthfulness exists in the back of our heads, and it is here that we realize what the word “fake” means and how sick we really are. Am I alone in this concept? My focus was set on another entry in your honor, but on occasion, just on occasion mind you, my thoughts get sidetracked and I am never able to find the main topic until the end. Here’s the point: No matter how dim the sun becomes, or how late the hour seems, there shall always exist that beauty I fell in love with. For whatever reason, no matter how shallow it may appear, this is another verse for Old Man River.
Disturbance
November 17, 1998
I don’t know where to start. Today my eyes were heavy and constantly blurred by an unexpected tear. Although fever isn’t present, my body has been contaminated by walking pneumonia. I have the lungs of a fifty year old. The future suddenly looks dim. I have spent the last two days contemplating the importance of my life. Not in a universal sense, but rather the importance of my life to myself. I don’t want to die, that is, I’m not suicidal, but I can’t help but consider the peacefulness of death. I believe in the afterlife and in heaven and hell, but I don’t want to believe for the wrong reason. The thought of death being the final end, no spirit to free, no eternal life, just nothingness. This scares the shit out of me. I want to believe because of my faith. Because of my complete and total devotion to religion and to the Almighty God. Not because of fear.
In the midst of my thoughts of pre-determined endings, everyday responsibilities become unimportant and trivial. If youth is nothing more than a shadow of death, what is stopping me from dancing like a madman on the edge of a snowcapped mountain?
Surgeon General’s Warning
November 18, 1998
My new job is going okay. It’s a hell of a lot better than working at the bowling alley. For a vegetarian, making hamburgers in a snackbar for a bunch of drunk assholes starts to wear thin after a while. At this job, all I do is trace lines. Digitizing is what it’s called, for some petroleum company. I have the weekends off. It’s weird. I actually have a real job. There is actually money in my pocket.
The other night I went to the emergency room because I was having trouble breathing due to a nasty chest cold. I knew what was coming before the doctor even said anything. Basically, if I don’t quit smoking now, I will most likely have lung cancer in my early thirties. I started smoking when I was twelve, which means I have been smoking for half my life. So, this is the dilemma I’ve been dealing with for the past three days. By this time next week I will officially be a non-smoker. I’m thinking I’ll be thanking myself later, but for the time being, I am dreading the inevitable and waking up from denial, the conman himself. I hate change.
American Dream November 24, 1998 Western winds stand still, dust settles the sun, each moment has to be thorough, time is forced to wait. Starvation plagues my body, full on appetizers, hungry for much-needed nutrition, tomorrow holds a feast, give thanks to another year, when will be my day? Lines of tedious perfection, running together, my job is separation. Stay for the benefits, settle down in security, but my goal remains certain. Focus. Remember life as a passenger. Drive. Touch ground long enough, take flight. Blue sea mistaken as the skies, mountains mistaken as clouds, salt mistaken as snow. Mistakes meant to be dealt with. Why care about linear, active curves? All night diners, desert, sunset in rearview, open left field, distant peaks. Importance.
Fog Lights
November 26, 1998
Maybe I’m trying too hard. Last year was a time of greatness. My writing skills were at an all-time peak. Nowadays verses only come when forced, and in reading the finished product, it is evident that inspiration is lacking. I am feeling suffocated by responsibility. Could it possibly be downhill from here or is this just another pit stop? I just need to pull over for a bit since visibility has become difficult. I am only waiting for the fog to lift.
Weekends Off
December 2, 1998
I’m at work right now on lunch break. Three and a half more hours and then I will be able to go home, let down my hair and smoke a big fat joint. I am beginning to hate this place. It is better than the bowling alley, I’ll give it that, but man it’s boring. I have to play little games with myself just to make it through the day. Digitize up to five hundred and then you can take a drink of your Dr. Pepper. Two-hundred more and you can stretch for a minute or so. Life is starting to get to me again. I am crawling back into my shell once again forgetting how to socialize.
Later that night…
Another night spent smoking myself stupid. A “pat on the back” after another tedious eight hour work shift and tomorrow will inevitably repeat itself. I hate this feeling. No money left to put back, future paycheck already spent. Stuck. When all else fails, go back to college. I think I’m going to take a journalism course and a photography course. Fuck tracing lines for the rest of my life. It is money for the time being but certainly not a career. Big Difference. Guess I ought to be glad I’m not flipping hamburgers anymore. Did I mention I get weekends off?
China Town
December 4, 1998
Every day I’m reminded of how much I need to pursue the ideas I’ve been building up in my head for the better part of my life.
My eyes do not see in the same manner that the majority rules. I am not here to make friends, just money.
I have just entered the twilight zone. For the next eight hours life will be spent translating a foreign language that plagues the environment.
Reassurance
December 5, 1998
Night sky. Wind seeps in through cracked windows. The land outside is flat but I can see mountains in the distance. I can see snow in the clouds. Winter temperatures are still in the eighties but I feel a need to build a fire. Miles have been added. Vibrations. New territory is right around the corner and with this knowledge, I anticipate arrival. Slow down. Let it not be forgotten that getting there is actually more than half the fun. Once a destination has been reached, departure is not far behind. Vacation is no good. There must be a way where I can keep moving. Instinct tells me that my thoughts are on the right track. Now is the time for preparation and a careful examination of the situation as a whole. During these mental explorations is when I can feel the fear set in. So much to leave behind but don’t stay for the wrong reasons. Don’t leave just to run away for pain follows. Do what must be done. Listen to the heart but don’t forget the brain. All these things I know, but would it be possible to do alone? I want to take everybody with me. It’s just a matter of who will follow.
Pros and Cons
December 7, 1998
These last eight months have been unreal. Like a dream. A bad fucking dream. I haven’t even written about half the shit that has happened, for these are things that cut too deep, or are too boring and mind numbing even to think about let alone write about. I don’t even remember what I have mentioned. Lost my insurance the day I wrecked my car. Lost Loui Boy. Lost Jude Girl. Lost Mission Girl. Gwen moved five hours away, got a shitty job and lost it, got a better job but will probably end up losing it, found out I have the lungs of a fifty year old, gave the brush off to the guy who was most likely my soulmate, never made it out of Texas this last summer, still living in Humble, still single, still smoking (both), still dreaming. I did manage to get a new car, well, new to me, but the transmission is starting to slip and it has an oil leak. Here’s the plan as of now: go back to college, preferably in another state, take photo journalism, get some shit published and travel making money along the way. This summer I was thinking about taking a job up in Yellowstone like my brother did. I’m going to need to plan in full detail. It is going to work this time.
Verses December 8, 1998 I’m trying to keep my spirits high but every new day seems to laugh in my face and instead of laughing back I add another wrinkle to my brow. Candles are burning for Lennon. Today was the day his identity was confused with that of a madman. Secrets are still left to be discovered for this is how he wanted it. To those of you having a good day: kindness comes only by way of selfishness. Vanity does bring wealth and fame. Happiness is never long term. The good really do die young and we are born only to spend the rest of our lives preparing for our demise.
Verses December 8, 1998 These little irritations must be aftershocks from the big one. Have I not mentioned the shooting stars yet? They are spectacular! One right after another. The closer you get the more you see. The clouds are moving with the pace of the wind, or is it the other way around? Nights have grown clear with the cold front pounding at the windows. My mental anguish is beginning to seep through to the outside.
Role Play
December 9, 1998
I can only imagine what your life must be like or what you’re doing right now. This city is big, but it holds more people than it probably should. How can I know for sure it holds you?
(Ashley)
It has been colder than usual this winter but I have managed to keep warm. The mirror in this so-called “bathroom” is cracked which doesn’t seem to help my appearance. There are bruises on my arms but they cannot be seen on the other side. The drizzle outside has turned into a steady pour. I’ll keep shelter for the night.
(Timothy)
His presence sends me into shock. Never in my life have I ever been a witness to such mesmerizing beauty. Tonight in this late hour I sit painfully close to a foreign delicacy I have not yet given the permission to enjoy. Tonight I seek such pleasure.
(Paige)
Maybe it’s just wishful thinking but I could have sworn I saw that knowing look in his eye tonight.
(Ashley)
I see a serious connection in the makings. With a little luck, talent will be the only thing needed.
(Michael)
Not Laughing
December 10, 1998
Traces of white smoke hang heavily in the light of a halfway burned candle. A nuisance clings to the arm of my shirt and chews away at the pages of my life, my art. She destroys everything. Cobwebs can be seen in all four corners but only on occasion does a homeowner show face. The same old shit. It seems like it’s been ages since the last time I put my imagination into good use. The minute my eyes close the mind drifts off into separate directions and the body just lies there motionless. If I could stick to just one idea and actually develop something besides a question mark it would help a lot. Usually I just barely make it to the beginning. The past two weeks have been hell and I don’t even know why. I think I’m finally getting back to my old self now. Man, lately I’ve been acting like a total bitch. Life has been having fun with me.
Poster Child December 11, 1998 Tanned by the sun. Golden. Surfacing waves chase the shore, white foam left behind, seagulls flock to feed. Slender fingers barely touch tips, nervous habits. Night fall cast in the background, curtains hang low, painted frames survive. One arm carries a jacket, another bare. Perfection. Shadows play a part, the mood is heavy, a one-sided face. Pensive. Delicate features, defined muscles. Beauty. Remember the time. Too many secrets. Cover-up.
The Big Dipper
December 12, 1998
I feel it coming. It hits hard. It hits fast. Shooting stars keep falling in the same place and although I could watch till the sunrise despite mood swings, the air is too chilled for my thin layer of warmth. Sometimes willpower is not enough when the enemy is a lifelong friend. So much to do, so much to accomplish, but I can do anything, I can go anywhere, I can be anyone. After about an hour or two of this, reality begins to set in as the “enemy” shows his true colors. Conversations mean nothing. Television does no good. Food is unappetizing. Sleep is craved but impossible.
Today I hurt the feelings of a loved-one because of carelessness. I wasn’t thinking straight. I plead temporary insanity. Man, I feel like shit. The point is, I should have known better. It was just something planted in my head that upon confrontation makes absolutely no sense to me at all now. These little insecurities are invading my life more than I thought they could. More than they should.
Minute by Minute
December 13, 1998
Tomorrow there will be no more cheating. Grabbing for that old habit has become too easy. I hate the end of a weekend.
I have caught myself trying to make up for lost time. Has everything been for the wrong reason? Maybe it is time to step back once again.
One day at a time does not seem to be working for me. It goes by too fast and then it is wasted.
The heat is setting in. My stomach churns but food has become a turn off.
My mellow mood has been interrupted. It is four in the morning. If I sleep now I will sleep for eight hours. This is plenty for now.
An unexpected meteor storm still carries on outside. My breath can be seen in the night air. The last few days have been peaceful.
Losing It
December 14, 1998
I think I’ve reached the point where I just don’t care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. I’m tired of caring about it. There always seems to be something to worry over, but most of the time nothing ever surfaces. I am alienating myself from friends and family. For the past three weeks I have been a different person and I don’t like what I have become. I don’t know who I am. Today was one of those days that needed to be spent under the warmth of the sun enjoying the cool air instead of sitting bent over a computer inside closed walls. I am waiting for one single comment to set me off. Just another Monday.
Pay Close Attention…
December 15, 1998
I can feel it wearing off. Like a wonderful day spent riding in the backseat of a traveling car taking in the sights as they pass, but it fluctuates. What am I waiting for? My spirit is dying. All promises or goals have become somewhat humorous to me now. I miss the past. Comfort. Freedom. Friendship. Trust. Direction. Closeness. Familiarity. Confidence. Love. Laziness. The hour is early but late to those who have not seen sleep yet. I think I could go on for hours but responsibility steps in the way. Minor addictions worsen. Tomorrow, tonight will seem foreign and eventually forgotten.
Pure Pressure
December 15, 1998
Write down anything. Even if it’s shit at least it’s something. “Blah” is the only word I can use to describe my mood. It’s the after effects from the valium. I love that shit. They don’t make me sleepy at all. I just get extremely creative. I went on for hours last night. This weekend I did cocaine again. Most everybody I hang out with now is doing it but I had managed to hold out. I didn’t do all that much and although it was still being offered, I reluctantly declined. Amazingly, I somehow avoided coming down that hard.
Look, Don’t Touch
December 16, 1998
It is easy to love from a distance. I can feel the warmth of a body across the room or sitting alone by myself outside. To be forever alone closes in on my fate. I am holding out for perfection, or at least my interpretation of perfection. From a distance I have met what I have been holding out for. As of now I have experienced what it means to be in love, but who knows what real love is. Hell, if we knew, divorce wouldn’t exist. How do you stop loving? It makes no sense.
Employed
December 17, 1998
What would I care if I was let go? Freedom, right? I have come to the realization that money isn’t that hard to come by.
My chest is heavy. Tonight is a celebration for whatever might pop up. I am trying my best to stay positive but each morning is unwelcomed. Every day has become predictable. I am beginning to loath consistency as a whole.
When I am only able to enjoy two days out of the week, something isn’t right. Focus. This is not long term.
I know it’s not me, but the thoughts still enter my mind. Where the hell do they come from?
Taste of teal with a hollow glow. Chin in cheer surface with toe. Sand and sea with tide fall low.
Inside out, outside in, whichever comes first is how I describe my position. One short breath after another, reaching for the clouds, cursing the ground.
The Hit
December 17, 1998
If tomorrow goes the way today did, it will no doubt send me over the deep end. I’m standing on the edge as it is. When time is my own and I have the opportunity to let go of some of the rage and sadness I carry on my shoulder, it never comes. It’s kind of like the hit. When a toilet is non-accessible you think you’re going to shit your pants, but as soon as you make it to the porcelain throne (after the pain of getting your pants down), it’s nothing but a gust of air. Today was one of those days that I ended up shitting all over myself.
Just the Facts
December 19, 1998
Journal writing just doesn’t seem appeasing anymore, but since I have a goal, here’s the run down. Two days ago Joe got into a bad motorcycle accident. He flew off the bike going about 60mph with no helmet. He’s going to live, but he fucked himself up pretty bad. I went to see him at the hospital last night. His body is covered in road rash, both legs are smashed, his spleen is broken, took a chunk out of his eyelid, and there’s a hole in the back of his head.
Jena’s not doing so well. I want to be there for her, but these days I just don’t know how. My sensitivity is shot. I live each day by the minute waiting for nightfall to hit so I can get fucked up and then pass out. There is no time to get to know each other again. We never plan anymore. We never dream. It’s go, spend, work all around the clock.
It is four in the morning and I am forcing myself to fill each line with at least something. I enjoy being alone but my persistence frightens me. Am I better off this way? Pretending. Ignoring. Watching. A reluctance to let go of all that surrenders to strength will collapse with communism.
Whipped Cream
December 19, 1998
I can see how easy it can happen. Nobody realizes what’s going on until it’s too late.
For about thirty seconds, your whole body goes totally numb, including the brain. Words are heard just as they sound. The lips appear purple but they are camouflaged with a grin.
The plot fluctuates. Today it makes sense to go with the original plan, but tomorrow will lean towards the alternative. Depending.
Offerings
December 20, 1998
I was reading the new work of my favorite poet and it appears that he may stand to face the destruction of cancer.
(for Jim Carroll)
With a voice that I could only possess in my dreams, she sings the lyrics that my whole world revolves around.
(for Sarah McLachlan)
You did the right thing man. Just ignore the temptation of a free rush that sits waiting just beyond that very wall. Read between the white lines.
(for me)
Head Lice
December 20, 1998
The power of suggestion is remarkable. Never have I met a fool that is as foolish as yourself. The virus has been planted.
What appears to be correct, may, in any and all reality, stand to be completely wrong.
Upside down. Left to right. Last before first. Meet in the middle. Follow the numbers.
If they jump, we have a real problem on our hands.
Stills
December 26, 1998
Take it all in. Open eyes see instead of look. Taste the moment. Cherish the hour before a memory is born.
Such talent! “All we have to do is gather facts, put words in the correct order, polish them up, and make millions!”
Even at the fragile age of three, I could see that pensive gaze that has become somewhat of a trademark. For me, it started early.
Home Sweet Home
December 26, 1998
Sometimes the moment seems to last forever. The holidays have been enjoyed and much needed. I gave with a generous heart but it was for the right reasons, not because of obligation. One more year until the turn of the century. I can’t wait. Next year’s New Year’s Eve will be unforgettable. Just imagine all the hype about the end of the world. It’s going to be total insanity. I love it.
I don’t want to jinx myself but things seem to be getting better. I’m feeling happy again and excited about the future. Man, I have so many dreams and ideas, it’s just a matter of acting on them. Once again, the virus has been planted. I have reached the halfway point in a period of seven months, and hopefully after the next five months, a new book will be born. For the past year I have not been able to see the likes of those mountains that I speak so highly of. This will be corrected. Soon. The thought of being on the road forever is outrageous and tempting, but it is nice to have a place to call home. My home will be in the mountains by a beach that overlooks the desert that lies just beyond a tropical rainforest.
Big Brother
December 27, 1998
It doesn’t matter how much you give, share, or sacrifice. Good traits are never recognized by a self-absorbed person. Bite my tongue for an argument will only worsen the situation. Unfortunately, communication is impossible.
As it is not in my nature to fight, I surrender with a white flag. Call me names, yell, throw things, rant, rave, pitch a fit. I’m through.
If I handed you the world on a golden platter with matching silverware, it still would not be enough.
Pier
December 28, 1998
My summer love is coming back to haunt me. I am now feeling the full effects of regret. They have the saying all wrong, love is not blind, it is invisible.
It was a nice night for mingling for today was nothing but a sad song. Hands and feet are now tingling, these hours have become much too long.
The thing that pisses me off is that it was all my doing. I mean, let’s face it, I got scared. Simple as that. Nothing but fear.
Cold Feet
December 29, 1998
“Where do we go from here?” I was dumbfounded, and although my brain was saying one thing, my words spoke another.
Well, it’s four in the morning. Just like clockwork. Every time.
Signal the turn of the page, from day to night, another age. Signal the turn of the year, when will we listen as good as we hear?
Look upon me tonight and the next night following, for all is about to transform.
Just Passing Through
January 1, 1999
Tonight the moon is new and the year is young. My time off did not go as expected which is nothing out of the ordinary. A house full of people all sharing some kind of past, but I am left forgotten in the future. There is a craft used to deal with these unfortunate situations. If you experience enough, the level you need to occupy for this specific incident comes naturally. The thunder outside rolls off into the distance but keeps its presence known with the same kind of rumble a train possesses when passing by. Eventually they are both too far away to be heard.
Letter to River Phoenix
January 3, 1999
Sometimes you are too much for me to handle. One more time, from beginning to end and back to the beginning. I see a drastic difference in what is read and what is most likely the truth. Maybe I am as blind as the rest of them, but if that were true, how would I see the difference?
Pale Blue cast me an eye for the ground is not fit to behold your kind. Stale who cast back a lie for the earth is not fit to defend her bind.
January 4, 1999
I visited my favorite webpage about you tonight. It was wonderful to find people who are touched by you as much as I am. We shall forever mourn your presence in form, but you still exist here on earth until mother nature herself surrenders.
Letter to River Jude
January 5, 1999
If it could be arranged, I would like to see you again tonight. My God, it’s been too long. I imagine your eyebrows are still perfectly arched, your dimple, your careless hair, your breathless voice all still perfectly intact. Do you remember the last time we saw each other? We were at your house and for some reason the electricity was out. How many people were there that night? We ended up passing out in the back room, and the next morning when we awoke to find a “for sale” sign in the front yard, we strolled over to a nearby oak tree and waited for the sun to set again. Four more hours remain until the morning haze creeps in through the window. I’ll meet you there.
Bad Vibrations
January 6, 1999
I can feel it in the air again. Let it be a reminder that any news is bad news, and good intentions are nothing more than excuses in the larva stage.
I think I just had a panic attack. I was leaving Jena’s house, and on my way out to the car I thought I heard something in the woods, so I jumped in the car, locked the door, and raced off until I felt I was safe. On my way home I tried to shrug it off but the paranoia only worsened. My eyes kept shifting towards the backseat every five seconds. Every light I came upon turned red forcing me to stop and make myself vulnerable to a sudden act of violence that might be lurking in the shadows. As soon as I made the right into my neighborhood, an unseen fog all of the sudden blankets the environment. I opened the door to my house expecting to find a madman holding a butcher knife waiting to finish off the last living member of the household. I need a cigarette but I am too scared to open the window, still. I don’t know what happened. We always hear noises in the woods but I’ve never felt that bad of a vibe before.
So, as you might have noticed by the sudden change of the date that we have come to a new year. I definitely feel the difference this time. Something about those last three digits. I seriously think I’m losing my mind. Tonight when I went outside to take a cigarette break at work I saw the most bizarre thing in the night sky. I was gazing up at the stars just as I always do, and this red light appeared in the sky, kinda like a mini explosion, and I could actually hear it pop and then fizzle out and fall through space just as a shooting star would do, but the light was as big as a penny and it was fire red, not just some soft white glow. What the hell was that? It happened so quickly and it’s hard to put into full detail. I was the only one out there but I pointed at it as if to share the excitement with someone else. “Look! Did ya see that?”
Rear-view Mirror
January 7, 1999
The climate changes along with the boundaries. It’s a drastic difference right before your eyes.
We are on a steady incline. You see? Just listen to your ears, they’ll tell you about it.
Look back. Land rests faithfully behind us but up ahead nothing can be seen except for a yellow strip painted towards the sky.
Crossed Fingers
January 10, 1999
I guess I better start psyching myself up and get my butt in gear if this thing is actually going to happen. Another short weekend has passed, and as I look forward to yet another Sunday, I realize how much of an enemy procrastination really is. When all I really want to do is sleep the day away, I have a list of a million things that need to be done. I think I’m handling the adult world pretty well so far, though I must say that I have yet to grow a liking for it. I’m calling Yellowstone Park tomorrow so I can ask them to send me an application for a summer position. It’s now or never.
Mood Swings
January 13, 1999
Would it be too much out of character if I were to actually say what’s on my mind instead of keeping the peace and holding it all in? I think I could actually do it, but I wouldn’t know how to follow it up.
For eight hours out of the day I am a completely different person. I don’t know what it is. Talk about seeming standoffish. I am the queen of isolation.
Mad, Cheshire cat, sly grin. He told me all about the giants. “One was nine feet tall!” Talk about a conversation starter. The rest drags on.
Devil’s Domain
January 18, 1999
“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”
1999 is just a continuation of 98′. My New Year’s Resolution was simple: have a good year. God, where do I start?
Eric, the love of my life, has been diagnosed with spinal meningitis. I think he got it from the needle but I’m not sure. Hopefully, they caught it early enough, but I don’t even know if that matters. Last night I had a dream about him. It was pretty much the same as all the others. Surroundings might be different, as well as what is going on and what things are taking place, but the dilemma remains unchanged. We are either the best of friends or casual acquaintances. Throughout the whole dream sequence we both have a strong liking for each other, but for some reason, we can never get together, something unseen will not let us. I hate dreams like that. Instead of the ultimate fantasy coming true, it follows right along with reality. I don’t care if he’s shooting cocaine, smoking crack, or dying of some disease, till this day I would still take him in a heartbeat, and let it be known that I am not one for intimate relations and falling in love at least once a day. Hell, if truth be known, I’m still a virgin. Sure, I’ve lied about it simply because I don’t want people to know that I am 21 and still in the dark. Eric is the only one, besides theatrical figures, that I have ever wanted.
Kenny shot the shit this weekend. Gwen came down from Kerrville Friday and we decided to get a hotel so we would all have a place to hang out. As usual, Kenny had passed the limit of his alcohol intake level and just went off. Gwen took him in the bathroom to try and calm him down, but it only pissed him off. Kristine (his girlfriend) and I were left behind at the little round table making small talk, when, all of the sudden, Gwen comes storming out of the bathroom saying something like, “Fuck this! I don’t have to take his shit!” She slammed the hotel door behind her and took off in her car.
The next thing we know, Kenny comes crashing out of the bathroom cussing about Gwen to himself, and us, I came to find out. Hearing my best friend called “a fucking bitch” over and over again did not sit well with me, but I couldn’t tell Kenny that. He’s slobbering all over his chin and chest, and snot is dangling from his nose, but it never actually falls out, it just sits there. Kristine and I could only stay seated and watch Kenny as he yelled about things we didn’t understand, and cried about how shitty his life was. At one point, he threatened to put a gun to his head. This went on for about three hours. Finally, he decided he’s going to get in his truck and go home. Kenny is a dear friend of mine, but you must forgive me when I admit to letting him go. I grabbed Kristine by the arm preventing her from getting in the truck with him.
It is now ten in the morning, two hours till checkout time, and Kristine and I are stranded with no car and going on absolutely no sleep. An hour later, Kenny’s mom takes him up to our hotel to pick us up, but my head doesn’t leave the pillow. I hear promises from Kristine saying she will send someone to come get me at twelve, but I am no longer worried about it. The front desk gives me a wakeup call, and just as I start to get a little panicked about getting home (Kristine never came through), Gwen’s car is seen pulling up just as I glance out the window. She takes me out to eat, we discuss the whole ordeal, and sleep the rest of the afternoon, which is only for about three more hours.
Our evening is spent trying to find a locksmith because I locked Gwen’s keys in her car, and when we borrowed Jena’s car to make a trip to Sonic, we got pulled over by the cops for not coming to a complete stop at the stop sign. Plans for going out that night were cancelled by bad luck. Kristine called later that night to let us know that Kenny was in the emergency room being treated for alcohol poisoning and a broken thumb. When I talked to Kenny the next day, he apologized like a madman to both me and Gwen. We accepted. He promised to quit drinking. So far so good.
My favorite song is playing on the radio right now. I am performing the same nightly ritual. Scented candles are burning, a cold drink to my right, a packed bowl to my left, and a pen and paper right under my nose. The applications for Yellowstone arrived and I have a good feeling about future plans, that is not the problem. There is a vibe in the air that I can’t seem to shake. An evil one. It’s been with me for a few weeks now.
Explanation of the Third Eye
January 19 – 24, 1999
Between common sense and a free spirit exists the very root of all that seems twisted, and, to the conscious mind, truly ridiculous, but this is how the engine runs. I must repeat the phrase “take nothing for granted” for this becomes the only means of defense.
Picture yourself kicked back in your living room watching a good movie and then suddenly you see something out of the corner of your eye. Quickly you turn your head, but nothing is there. How many times a week does this happen to you? None? Okay. Whatever happened to that pen, or lighter, or bottle of aspirin that you left on the kitchen table? “Oh well, I guess I just didn’t leave it where I thought I did.” You begin to see clearly after you stop doubting yourself.
A few nights ago, a close friend and I were involved in a series of depth-filled conversations when the faint sound of a train grew closer in the distance. This would not be unusual except for we do not live near any train tracks. For the past five years the air has been polluted with the sound of incoming planes but never the howling of a train. Had the mood have been mellow, this might have gone unnoticed, but the timing was perfect for we had already reached that higher level, and this is where we shall find truth. Sadly, truth is more times out of none, bad news.
It is quoted in the Bible that demons will walk the earth in the forms of humans. I have reason to believe I have met, no, stared into the eyes of such an entity. My first conversation with this being was a short one, but he kept hanging around like a leech. No vibes, good or bad, could be felt in the presence of him, but something was off. His eyes were magnified by thick glasses that give me shivers up my spine just thinking of it. They would only stare! No glance to the side, or to the ground, just a blank, wide-eyed expression that observed and absorbed everything in its path. For months I could not get away from this curse, and even now, he haunts like a bad memory. I have never had one person envelope himself in my life as he has. It has been a good two weeks since I have looked into those stone cold eyes.
It was the night of the train that my good friend and I were discussing this matter. She has experienced him as I have, for she had no choice. He wanted to weasel his way into the circle. This was his plan. The puzzle began to come together as we looked back at the hidden facts that, up until now, we seemed to be blind to. It is too absurd to believe that what we experienced that night was purely coincidental. Let us not follow the wrong path, for nothing extraordinary happened, it was more of a knowing feeling, a vision, a realization.
A hand reaches from behind and taps you on the shoulder, but you are alone tonight, or at least as alone as you can be. A candle’s flame flickers but there is no movement in the room, your body is paralyzed, and breath still. At the risk of sounding like one of those freaks running about like a chicken with its head chopped off screaming revelations about the end of the world, I suppose it is time to shed some more light on the subject.
There is no greater power than the power of God, however, if that lesser power is used in the correct manner, it can become ten times more destructive. We may not see the end at the beginning of the turn of the new century, but the soldiers have long ago began training. They are prepared for war and we are failing in battle.
Conversations can run long in the early hours of morning, but the mind never sleeps. I listened attentively as my compadre spoke of religion and faith, and the loss of both. Each day is spent looking into the eyes of a stranger for both of us, for all of us. We have never been alone, and as the faces are raped of their masks, we can become true to form. The power of God is within us, and even if your god is not my god, or their god is not our god, there is still faith to be had. All is not well on the other side. Ask Edgar Allen Poe, he’ll tell you about it.
Forever and beyond we have been taught various definitions of insanity, and we have been informed of how not to become one of the sick. This is nothing more than the blind leading the blind. My body finds it a difficult task to leave the comfort of a live-in bed when the monotone sound of an alarm clock strikes on cue, but an unknown force wills it so. In mid-day, thoughts run wild, and I grow impatient with my current status. Come nightfall, an unexpected tear seeps through the cracks as if to remind me of allies who have been slain and false prophets who continue to rein. Look between the cat’s ears.
Hillcroft January 24, 1999 From only six stories high I can see the top of every roof in the city. Too many colored lights reflect off the glass side of a skyscraper. The sound of sirens sends pigeons into a frenzy. They too seek shelter. It is a Sunday afternoon but to the man standing under a bridge holding his resume in hand, this means nothing. I pretend not to notice although where I sit I am able to see all. Handicapped spaces occupy most of the parking lot but none have been put to good use. I look at my watch, it is time to join them.
Bleak
January 29, 1999
I don’t know whether to slow down or speed up. Either way will always end up the wrong way and the last exit has already been passed up.
A twinge of desperation hangs low with the night fog. Lights from the city are hidden. Concentrate on location. Close your eyes, open your sixth sense.
In my weakest hour I find myself beginning to fear freedom. Security cannot always be found in the arms of a vast sky.
Chameleon
(Letter to River Phoenix)
January 30, 1999
Infectious memorabilia grabs hold of my paycheck. Wisdom warns me to have patience, but this is over-ridden by anxiety. To actually hold in my hands a copy of this rare print, this special edition, is almost too much for me to digest. He has the most perfect of poses. Erotic yet innocent. Angry yet sad. So many faces to dissect. A cynical smile. A lazy eye. A chin with a dimple. A look of sweetness. A breathless voice. How were we to know the script had not yet been written? When did the play come to an end? When did it begin?
In My Day
January 31, 1999
Back then was a style all its own. A disc that was held onto replays the passion all over again. So few remain in the flesh for these days have outgrown us all. We are generations ahead but somewhere in between was frozen. Ah, my flannel still holds the smell of stale smoke and sweet cannabis. Art was unusually raw but this was used to get the point across. Tonight, at the end of another weekend, I have to ask myself, “What was the point? If this is where I am now, what was the point?”
Route 66
February 1, 1999
Ten-thousand street signs faithfully wait for a set of bored eyes to humor or inform, or better yet, conform. Surrounded by gas stations and fast food joints. Gift shops galore! Still, we wait, and five more miles down the road we are forced to turn around. Often times there is no warning until another dark stretch of smooth concrete is the only thing that can be seen. The hardest part is slowing down the car, preparing to stop, and actually getting out. Slip on your shoes, rub your eyes, get your thoughts together. Opening up the car door and stepping foot on foreign ground is sometimes a disturbing experience.
Holding Out
February 2 – 7, 1999
I set my goals after I accomplish them. It seems to work out better that way for me.
I heard that you might have hit the big time, that your ship has finally come in. So how has life treated you since high school? Mine sure as hell could be better. A close source said that you could be dying, and I heard that you don’t care. I’ve seen you a few times along the way. It has been almost seven years since I was a freshman in high school. Why do you still haunt my fantasy and linger in dreams that make more sense than reality does? Did you hear about my dear friend Tree? You remember her. She would listen to me go on and on about you. How foolish I am when the subject is in your honor. There is still that part of me that believes in fate or destiny or finding your soulmate. I know your weakness but I have yet to see your physique tarnished, your sweet smile erased, or your eyes blackened. Believe me, I would notice such things. Tonight, I feel like I am fourteen waiting to see your beautiful face walking down the hall.
Pep Talk
February 9, 1999
Another hope is thrown out the window with the rest of the litter. I was really counting on going to Yellowstone this summer, but time always seems to speed up at the wrong time. I need to do some serious planning. Have I been repeating myself for the past few months? Why do I feel so stuck? I have only been able to save up about $400, but this will at least get me somewhere. Maybe I should get back in school, but this would require going part-time or quitting altogether, and I need money. My car will be paid off in six months so that will help a lot. Then I can trade it in for a bus and hit the road. Ah yes, my one true dream, or calling. The road changes with each roll of the tire. It has been my experience that looking back can be healing, but upon leaving the worst thing you can do is stall. To leave a world of security for the world of the unknown makes no sense, but it is a feeling in the heart that can’t be ignored, and it is not meant to be questioned. Failure is probably my worst fear, but without a rocky terrain we do not get to experience the glory of accomplishment, and above all, triumph.
Exploited
(Letter to River Phoenix)
February 11, 1999
I feel guilty with my eyes gazing upon your picture admiring all that is to be admired. Long, slender legs stretched outward, probably past the point of pain. Your expression gives a hint of extreme sexual pleasure making it possible to actually hear a whimper or two. Why was there so much anger, or was it pain, or was it both? Keep them guessing. Lips of a liar always pouting as if such a lover needed to pull at those strings. Was it not enough chopping off your silky mane, that you had to blacken your golden tones?
Be My Valentine
February 14, 1999
I am beginning to doubt my own authenticity. How can I believe a world full of causes when I don’t understand my own? My materials come from structures that were recently built on land that once possessed oxygen, shade, trees, and it was free. Is there a need to apologize for the presence of my company? All has not been well. A bathroom mirror reflects my demeanor into a thousand fragments. All is scrambled. When among the real world, it is my preference to observe rather than participate.
Relocate
February 15, 1999
Before I make the big leap, I’d better test the water to see just how deep it actually is.
Does the word “boink” mean anything to you? Nevermind. Forget it.
I am allowing my mind to ponder and obsess over things that will surely drive me mad. What will I be like when I’m old? Will I even see old age? When will be my time to go and how?
Wouldn’t it be ironic for me to live under the roof of my lifelong enemy and enjoy total paradise? I think it might be a little too risky.
Smile and Nod
February 16, 1999
My coworkers eat dog. They told me so themselves. I was offered to try some but quickly I reminded them that I am in fact a vegetarian. I still don’t think they understand the concept of not eating meat. I am alone in my race on the second shift. Everyone else is from Thailand. They’re nice people but they don’t speak English very well. Most of them can’t even pronounce my name so they changed it to E-Joy which means skinny girl. My new goal is to make two car payments a month instead of one so I can have it paid off by June instead of September. This way I can travel this summer and not screw myself too bad by quitting my job.
Outdated
September 1997
There is expression in decoration and my inspiration comes from this.
Mutation grows as we speak, it is a way of life.
We are not alone. We are overpopulated.
I guess the biggest disappointment is realizing that you’re not a kid anymore.
There are too many lost verses that will never actually see the light of day. They were scribbled onto scraps of paper that have long since been trashed. 2/99
Nostalgia
February 18, 1999
I can still smell California on my clothes. New Mexico dirt still sticks to the soles of my boots. Nevada nightlife pumps like blood through my veins. The Arizona sun continues to warm my body. My eyes see through paned glass windows and the interior of the car has long ago been soaked deep into the pores of my skin. Yesterday seems like years ago. What do we care if tomorrow never comes? Just give us the rest of tonight to linger with stars that are riding on a breeze. So what if we lose our way? We can use the map as wallpaper and highlight as we go. We can plot the skyline and trace the scenery as it changes. We can attempt to capture the sunset.
Jellyfish Killers
February 19, 1999
Are you ready to feel the warmth of the sun caress your face as we stand with our feet planted in sandy water listening to nature’s symphony? I look to these days to come as some kind of reward to our current hardships. I miss our heart to heart talks, our debates, our secret obsessions, our affairs. I miss your smile, that knowing smile.
Every action I proceed to take is quickly criticized by someone somewhere. I prefer to stay away from the city for a while. Avoid the murmuring and chattering of crowded conversations piled much too high for these walls. I need to feel the sun on my back and inhale a breath of fresh air, but I need to feel it every day, not on somebody else’s time. So summer is on its way again but let us not forget the wonderful season of spring. I can’t wait for all the thunderstorms! Do you see what I mean? All of this will be missed for my eyes rarely see the light of day, and if they do, they shall never witness sleep.
I received my first raise today. Now I have a steady income of $7 an hour (laugh if need so). My dental insurance is about to kick in as well which makes me very happy. As soon as I pay off my car, get my teeth fixed, and put back a little more money, I swear to you I’m leaving!
Relating?
(Letter to River Phoenix)
February 20, 1999
I can see you in me, or me in you, whichever you choose. The music that once filled your ears with mellow tones of melancholy still plays on through mine. It’s a great feeling to dose yourself with the relaxation of valium, the creativity of marijuana, and the warm glow of a candle that rests on an old cassette player. There is nothing better than serene nights spent alone engulfed in personal expression and worldly echoes. Ancient ancestors whisper a family secret that is too well hidden to ever surface again. But this cannot be so, for those of us who have lived through secrets of the past know how prevalent they are.
Advice
February 21, 1999
Become something you love, and believe in whatever it is you do. Be true to yourself.
Never let yourself get pulled in. Don’t stand still for too long. It is too easy to get stuck. You don’t see it coming, and even if you do, you can’t stop it.
It is just a matter of finding your niche and holding onto it.
Reoccurring
February 21, 1999
I always have dreams about stars. The sky is lit up by colorful constellations that actually don’t exist in the real world. Every night there is a different show and everybody stands outside at the same time they do every night to witness what the next picture, or message, or cartoon, or whatever will be.
Sacrifices
February 22, 1999
I am irritated by everything these days. Everyone. The dog barks or licks me in the face. The phone rings when I don’t want it to. The light turns red. Somebody needs a favor or asks a question. I am trying to get better. Trust me, this is not how I want to be, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. One day, I just woke up and decided to do away with everything I believe in and become one of those tight-ass, don’t break the schedule yuppies. It’s not that I take my job that seriously, or even money for that matter, I just need to take care of responsibilities before I take the plunge. For all to go well, it is a good idea to plan and prepare in order for things to go as smoothly as possible. I know there are some who think I am all talk and that this “journey” or “trip” or “move” will never actually take place, but again, this will be done right. I am an overly obsessive person. I will admit that, but I also know what I want, and if I want it badly enough, I will get it eventually.
Besides, it’s not just me. Gwen, Jena, Lyle and Jaren are also in on the plan. A problem exists. Gwen, Lyle, and myself have decided on buying a bus or RV even, and traveling around the states. We’re already saving our money, and it won’t be too hard to make money along the way. Gwen’s a massage therapist, Lyle is a tattoo artist, and I, well, I’m a poet with great ideas and a gift for imagination. I was thinking maybe photojournalism. Anyway, that’s the plan. Just travel, stopping here and there for as long as needed, and then keep going until circumstances occur. Simple enough.
Unfortunately, I don’t think Jaren wants to live out of a bus for long periods at a time, and he has his business here in Houston that he has to stay for. I think he will have to meet us there. Jena wants to buy this popcorn franchise from her mom and travel from state to state selling it at carnivals. She said her mom made a buttload of money doing it. That would be great, but I don’t know where this plan leaves Gwen and Lyle yet. I also don’t want to leave Jaren behind, and my mom would be alone as well. I want to take everyone with me. I can’t stay, but I’m afraid of letting go. My spirit is at stake.
Role Play
February 23, 1999
Keep it pure. Keep it honest. Keep it true to form. So many new characters to develop and old characters to redevelop. A lot changes in ten years, but the script has an empty page for every full page.
Tree
February 23, 1999
She was the most loyal person I’ve ever known. My body shivers at the thought of distant memories. When did I pass that line? Recent memories of yesterday have been cheated by the creation of time. Julie’s death has become another part of life and it is this that disturbs me more than anything else.
Turtle
February 24, 1999
A house full of people, strangers mostly. Strangers that will forever remain strangers. I know how I must come off, but you must understand that this is not how I am. The spirit inside me is so lively and charming, but how could you ever know from my drab appearance and dead stare into nothing, my reluctance to talk or even show face? Although it is not evident, a personality does exist, just not openly.
Sometimes I would rather be anyone besides me. I don’t know what happened, I used to be able to make friends left and right. Nowadays, any new face sends me into a state of shell shock. I would love to be beautiful. I know physical appearances mean nothing but I’m sick of going unnoticed. In the midst of a crowd I am left behind as they mingle into the next room carrying VIP’s in hand. Conversation never includes me, and when I do speak up and throw in my two cents, it goes unnoticed anyway. When I do decide to follow the crowd, they’re already somewhere else as I make my arrival. Shit, it’s never been my thing anyway. What do I care about the latest local punk band, or raves, or clubs? Coffee houses, arenas, bars, body piercing, tattoos, 6th street, Westheimer, Montrose, Fitzgerald’s, Instant Karma, Numbers. I will find my own kind beyond the city.
Candy Cigarettes
March 11, 1999
I’ve been deathly ill with the flu for a week now. Hopefully I will still have a job Monday. The fever, I think, has subsided, but to avoid relapse, I’m taking tomorrow off (might as well) and will also have the weekend to recuperate. Reluctantly, I have cut down considerably with my smoking. Five days and only four cigarettes, we’ll see how this holds up. I really do want to quit but a big part of me enjoys it way too much. I think I’m over the nicotine addiction, it’s just the habit, you know, I need something to supplement. My mom is ecstatic about this which is why I would really like to succeed. Cold turkey is not for me, but my method will work.
That Gum You Like…
March 14, 1999
Well, it has been a full week and I haven’t had more than two cigarettes a day. I have fifteen left in this pack, and I really don’t want to buy another one. Tomorrow at work is going to be extremely difficult. What the hell am I going to do on break if I’m not smoking? I guess I’ll just go to the bathroom and freshen up, maybe get a candy bar or something. Shit, I don’t know, this is going to take a lot of willpower. I guess I’ll get by somehow.
It’s weird getting back into the swing of things after I’ve been out of it for what seemed like forever. Damn I was sick, though it was nice spending a full week at home visiting with my mom and my animals. I also managed to catch up on the latest television programs. My next paycheck is going to suck ass since I missed a week of work, but it’s okay because I’ll have extra money from not buying cigarettes, which now cost more than three dollars a pack. Enough about that, I’m making myself fiend. I still smoke weed which is bad enough on my lungs.
Jena and I just came to the end of our Twin Peaks marathon. Man, I hate the last episode. It’s such a let down. David Lynch is a genius of his own creation.
Minor Burdens
March 17, 1999
I’m back up to six cigarettes a day. My whole family thinks I’ve quit and I haven’t the guts to tell them otherwise. I will quit again this weekend as much as I don’t want to.
This morning I went to the dentist and got another tooth pulled. At this rate my diet will be nothing but liquids because I won’t be able to chew anything. Good thing I’m a vegetarian though I still have a tough time with carrots, celery, apples, things like that. My co-workers are always giving me slices of grapefruit, isn’t that weird? They don’t say anything, they just hand it to me, nod their heads and walk off. Much to my delight, Tina (not her real name, just her American given name) quit yesterday. Did I not mention her yet?
About a month ago the once empty desk across from mine was temporarily occupied by Tina. She did that, just moved from one desk to another sharing her fucked up conversations with anyone who will listen. She starts telling me that my hair looks ugly down, that I’m too skinny, my perfume smells bad and not to wear it tomorrow because it makes her sick. This woman tore me to shreds and when she was finished, I looked at her, told her not to talk to me again, and then went outside to smoke. I was almost in tears. Tina did that to everyone though, and then she would just laugh about it. Damn I’m happy she quit.
Closing In
March 23, 1999
I think time finally decided to slow down for a bit. Lost in nightly rituals where the radio goes along with my mood.
Two or three pages of a collector’s calendar will mark the beginning of a major shift in the habits of a habitant. The decision is near, what will it be?
Money is running low as well as spirits who have been deprived.
Heavy burdens have become over-bearing. There is an odd man out who doesn’t want to leave.
Limbo Diver
March 25, 1999
Minor addictions worsen, but I know I can beat them. I just don’t want to. In this case habit overpowers addiction. The patch will do no good, besides, my lungs are already stained. Sugar rots my teeth. Food is a turn off. I know exactly what I’m doing.
There is nothing worse than disappointing yourself. It’s in your power yet you fuck things up anyway. If I stay here any longer temptation will get the best of me leaving all in vain limbo. An overdosed diver.
Waterbeds are covered with dusty sheets that hide rusty nails as we drown in our sleep. Fixated in a lifestyle that is no better than the next but it doesn’t matter because it’s an image. It’s your image. It’s my image. Left-handed children are taught to use their right. The odd man out is forced to conform to familiarity as a precaution for paranoid sellouts. Television advertisements get stuck in a subconscious mind. Freeway billboards speak louder than the human voice will allow. Blame it on the company. The big corporate monster. The industry. The system. Society. Maybe we are forced into addiction and playing the victim.
Cobwebs can be found in almost any existing corner. Each spring they are swept away with a broom but spiders are far from being extinct.
In a Small Town Outside of Houston
March 29, 1999
I saw Julie’s lookalike again a couple of nights ago. We passed each other in the isle of a grocery store. Jayme, Jena and I stopped dead in our tracks. Jena and I have both seen her about six or seven times at various places in Humble, but this was Jayme’s first time. Her first reaction was the same as ours, shock. It’s amazing how two complete strangers can look to be identical twins. Julie had such a unique look and this girl fits her to a T. We’ve thought about talking to her but decided that what we had to say would most likely freak her out. I wouldn’t want to know that I looked like somebody’s dead best friend. That might be too weird for us as well.
I’m still smoking about four cigarettes a day which isn’t bad considering I was smoking about a pack and a half. I still need to quit. It’s easy not to smoke when I’m at work or at home even, but once I go hang out with everyone it’s all over. I start craving a cigarette. I’m over the addiction, now its habit. Nothing new has happened in my life for a while now. Repetition makes days go by a hundred times faster, and although I dislike my current position, the loss of time threatens me. The longer you stay the harder it is to leave.
~ Once again here I sit, imprisoned for another eight hours wondering what the hell happened to the weekend. ~
Blue Moon
April 1, 1999
Misty fog settles in deep and chases away the stars with intense suddenness. Night drivers take to the street steering into oblivion with nothing to count on but memory. It rolls in quick, but despite the blanket of cloud, light could be seen almost as if the sun was up late with insomnia. The second full moon shines blue on the last night of the third month.
April 3, 1999
The air is perfect for swimming tonight. Humidity is high so kick off your shoes and dive right in. It’s beautiful to watch the storm roll by. Wind picks up as thin clouds glide across the sky at an unusually fast speed. The night is old and morning young as we stand outside waiting for the rain.
Black Feet April 5, 1999 I caught a much needed glimpse of vast possibilities and lost debris. My bare feet were stained black by careless accidents and daily spills. Now I know where it comes from. Blinking red lights in the distance do not belong to that lonely house as I once thought they did. Searching the dunes I stumbled upon waste and toxic litter that was washed into the shallows. Flying fish and swimming birds lay motionless above and below the sky. There was much to be sad about, but despite destruction, I was glad to be back.
Journal Writings by E-Joy
(verses from work)
April 1999
Thirty more minutes and I will be able to throw my shoes in my backpack and smoke a fat one.
Use every bit of space.
This job is killing me.
Prolong until the crops are at their greenest.
I am parked, but the car next to me is in reverse and I can feel myself moving backwards along with it.
Okay, so last summer sucked guerilla ass.
With my headphones on it is difficult to tell if my bodily functions are silent outbursts or loud outbursts.
The clock changes its time when I look up. One second is as long as it is short.
I am made happy today by one conversation.
Waiting for the bathroom to clear out. How can I describe the smell in there?
Oh Vannette! I can only imagine what you would sound like if your voice worked, but I am left with misspelled words.
Find the integrity.
Good Night America
(verses from work)
April 20, 1999
Twenty-five students killed today at a high school in Denver. Today also marks the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing and Hitler’s birthday. Twenty-five kids killed at school? The world has gone mad. Clinton sending in ground troops after promising not to, selling our nuclear weapons to China? Maybe them freak were right about the end of the world. Hopefully we get a second chance.
A ticket for two to fly free wherever we want to go. I have twenty more minutes before my daily sentence comes to an end. What a way to waste my time. The curves have started to run together.
“This job pisses me off.”
If I sit here any longer my head is going to pop off! Sometimes I wish I was still squeezing fat out of hamburgers, but it never lasts long. I’m not stupid just restless. Wait a minute… who is that short, balding Asian man? Maybe he’s the head digitizer!
You have to have humor, depth, and everyday situations. You have to relate with the world and the world must relate with you.
“What did I just say? Of course we can go tonight! I’ll worry about tomorrow if it comes. Next time when I sputter out an excuse, just give me a good slap on the face.”
Incoming
April 21, 1999
I’m still looking for the words to explain what needs to be said, and written, and heard. But how can I release something that has yet to be grasped? It needs to be made simple and absolute. No fancy verses, no similes, no metaphors, no symbolism, no poetry. I have come to many conclusions about various situations that needed to be…concluded. There is peace of mind within these pages. Many a nights have been spent sitting Indian style on this scratchy carpet dwelling on fallen stars, forgotten relics, and back-stabbing storytellers who leave you on a cliffhanger. Oh shit, that’s symbolism isn’t it? Although it shall forever seem that I am frozen in some alternate chamber in time, I have actually come a long way maybe even in the right direction.
A few nights ago I read my first journal and it was then that I came to the realization that much has been accomplished in the last four years. First of all, I finally managed to graduate high school from my correspondence classes. Granted it was a year late, but who cares if I finish last? At least I finished. I tried my hand at college for two semesters and will be going back this fall, hopefully. My vision is not as blurred as it once was. Miles have been added on to my dream which can now be seen in the broad daylight and out of the dim shadows. I am still in the prime of my youth and with this on my side I am able to believe in the impossible, and with enough determination, make it a reality.
I put off getting a real job until I was twenty-one. Pretty good, huh? This was a hard task to accomplish, but through a friend’s friend’s husband I landed my first job making hamburgers at a bowling alley for six bucks an hour. Six months later I am working under better conditions at a well log company making seven bucks an hour. My brother got me hired on, he works there too, believe me, they would not have hired me otherwise. Nobody wanted me.
Time does tend to drag by on a set eight hour schedule, but my thoughts are riding high on a wave of ideas and lofty dreams that keeps the focus clear and keeps my body seated instead of standing up and walking out the fucking door. What is it about being on the road that excites me so much? It is my obsession. I just feel so at home, and relaxed, and free when traveling. My inspiration peaks for there is much to be experienced and explored. The goal is to save up enough money and buy a bus or RV and travel the states as far as we can go. “We” being Gwen, her boyfriend Lyle, Jena (maybe) and myself. So far I have saved up about $700. Not bad but still not enough. It will be easier when I get my car paid off which will be in September. Oh how I would like to spend this summer on the beach.
Sweating
April 1999
A big part of me does not believe that the following party will actually follow through. I see into a misguided future that caters to a number of reasons and excuses that will eventually murder this alternate population. My hopes and expectations are higher than an after work buzz, and as distasteful as it may sound, selfishness will be the only way to get there from here. There are too many complications that steal attention needed for far better causes. I have grown tired of useless chatter throwing around ideas like a baseball scanning the plates. There is doubt to be found in myself as well. All these selfish nights spent locked away from the world capturing just a small meaning of isolation. At times it is healing, other times it is a life sentence.
Ten Years From Now…
May 2, 1999
I guess it’s safe to say that we became strangers a while back. Departure from this used up town puts the fear into me more often than it should. My shoebox is almost full and although temperatures are beginning to introduce my old friend summer, my feet are becoming cold. Reasons for staying do not actually exist. They are self-made. My life here is nothing but the past. It has been ten years since I first became a resident. God, that’s half my life. I like what I’ve become but it is time to shed this winter coat.
Standing Guard
May 2, 1999
Some days it is all I can do to keep from going off the deep end. I cannot seem to overcome irritations that are playing on my sense of humor like a fiddle. The same old daily routine is wearing thin and when I fight off oncoming bitterness, more seems to pile up. It is futile to stick around day after day trying to recreate something that is buried under boxes and ping pong tables in some abandoned storage room. Even if I wanted to stick around I don’t think this place would let me. Houston has become like a dysfunctional marriage to me. You take the good with the bad, for as much as I bitch, there is some good.
All those school nights spent cruising around downtown instead of doing my homework. I don’t think you ever told me no. The city was new and intriguing until I abused my privileges of youth. Once familiarity sets in we overdose on confidence leaving ourselves open for the vampires lurking in the shadows. After several attacks we become cold and unmoved, and it is there that I now exist. It is imperative to stay aware and keep alert of any sudden changes that may go unnoticed if not careful. Something as small as an ant bite could destroy the flesh entirely. But be alarmed, for there is a fine line between awareness and paranoia.
Overcast
May 2, 1999
The sky falls heavy as motionless bodies become blurred by raindrops covering paned glass. Streaks of pollen are wiped to the side descending into cracks that even the smallest drop of dew could not find. Somewhere else the wind is becoming capable of uprooting trees and replanting them across the field, but where I sit there is only a pleasant breeze.
Men or Mice
May 6, 1999
My mind is working overtime again, and with the last summer of this century upon me, I already know which direction my thoughts are heading. It is time to leave home for good. It is time to abandon this shithole. This popular road has been talked about for what seems like ages but has yet to be followed because of various detours and some construction work. The only thing stopping me is myself. I have the money saved and I have the transportation, now I just need to gather up some courage.
Jena and I have been talking hours on end about “The Move” trying to work out all the loose ends and technical bullshit that must be dealt with. There is also a lot of fear to be dealt with. I can already feel myself become homesick for my family, friends, security and the familiar routine of life that I complain about so often, but it will never happen if I keep focusing on all that will cause sorrow.
Charity May 10, 1999 Undertones of doubt drip like wax following in a steady stream until the wick can no longer provide heat. Multi-colored spirals cover the carpet in whole hiding originality that was once dirt brown. Slay the devil for he hides behind shower curtains waiting for the water to boil. Prayers were meant for closed doors he chants in a breeze that brushes by your neck. I have been fooled again. Skies turn to ash and sit with patience waiting for gravity to arrive. Whispers from the west settle into my ear foretelling a tale yet to be told. “Her mountains now look to the sea while the sea continues to reach for the sky.”
Beach Bound May 24, 1999 Cleanse your body and soul within her depths while you roll off her tongue and are lifted from your feet. A rising wave shall drift you away and fall where your spirit awaits. Walls of seaweed gain height from a storm barricading the shoreline complete. Vast possibilities border plush islands giving birth to fluorescent life. I traced verses in the sand that now stretch across the sky I am treading. It is here that seagulls flock to watch fish who leap and dolphins at play, but only the seagulls know when low tides flood and high tides stray.
Cream Soda on My Pinata May 29, 1999 Ask me again tomorrow when the blinding sun is shadowed behind a much needed forest of rain. Muggy air strangles a weak lung that has grown tired of pollution. Swallow the moon whole for he looks to the side leaving an unattended eye. Tonight the swamp is alive using my backyard as a stage. Ten long years offer more than memories for in my rear-view-mirror this could be home sweet home. A yellow tint from the campfire continues to burn, smoldering smoke through another scorching summer that has predicted a shortage of rain.
Litter Bug
May 31, 1999
Dreams have been spiraling out of control leaving me with a wasted six hours of rest. The other night I found myself combing the beach in search of nameless dead bodies. I hovered up and down the shoreline in one of those blue barrel trash cans that had a propeller on each side to navigate. “This is really happening” I heard a voice say but could not find a familiar face. “Tomorrow could be the day of freedom if you would just let the sky fall.” I know the life I want to live and this bit of knowledge may well be my ticket out of here.
Treasure Quest
June 6, 1999
The story thickens. Almost a year in between an upcoming celebration renders me and pushes forward. It is ridiculous to stand my ground for it is not mine to be stood. Again, I cowardly hold back what may possibly be the very key to my quest. When the weekend is long and sleep sparse, it is pleasing to know time was not wasted behind closed doors. I guess in a way I would rather not say how I feel at the end of today. Not one goodbye did I bid, now tonight I am left naked remembering how easy it is to forget.
Night Drivers
(Exit McGowen)
June 11, 1999
By the way the rain falls I can tell my timing is right. The season springs into full bloom and surrounding tropics heed the wails of a familiar siren. My senses have been awake since 5 a.m. and as the night persistently proceeds, I continue watching as the storm rolls in. Outside I take pleasure in the gaining strength of a gathering wind. Goosebumps invade my exposed skin but lights from the sprawling city warm my fat-free frame.
Something in the air other than a smoggy haze of fear beckons me to flee and seek higher ground within crowded establishments downtown.
A member of the herd, or so I’m led to believe, is a safe position to keep when threatening changes in an otherwise stable atmosphere occur. Among gothic, modern-day vampires feeding off overly accessible hallucinogens, trend-setting hoppers only in attendance to show face, and modernized hippies reciting Ginsberg and claiming fame, I witness my transformation. The very mouth that learned and preached such useful philosophy contradicts conversations about resisting the pull of conformity and avoiding the makings of a clone. Living as a non-traditional member of society has become mainstream. Everything has been done. We are in a time of information overload where originality is rendered an endangered species – broken borders render me another nameless face. What have I got to lose?
McGowen passes under a shallow bridge and empties off onto a narrow strip of corroded concrete that is way too busy for construction. Seldom do I grace this fast-paced scene for fear that to venture outside of my confining borders would bring disastrous results, but tonight I caught a vibe and acted on instinct. Tonight the air was right and my spirit was possessed by cycles of nature brewing the unexpected. Newfound wisdom was waiting for me at the doors and paid my cover charge with a wink. Feed off insecurities and laugh at sweat beads as they pollute your brow. If we are not lost we cannot be found, and with this on my side I was instantly glorified. Riding the freeways after dark is an enjoyable pastime, but leave your road map at home.
Happily Ever-after
June 13, 1999
My twenty-second birthday falls tonight on the night of a full moon. I have made a promise to myself. With or without I will abandon this ship and head for higher ground. I will go alone walking hand in hand with courage leading the way. As of now I know my purpose, and I know the life I want to live. Another year was put on hold but my watch was discovered dead yesterday morning. Right on time. Big plans hang heavily in the air with no strings attached. I have seen dreams become forgotten along with the Monday morning trash, and who do we have to blame? I’ll let you know what happens.
The Apple and the birdcage 