Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Tour

She speaks into the void. Calls my name, but can't see me right in front of her. She must be blind.
She is kind.  She pities me.  Good bye old woman.  He is coming to chase you off again.  His gaze locks onto me. He spits, sneers and leaves the room.  I hope she comes back.  I like her smile.
I haven't been the same since You died Sam.   We had always been so careful.  Dad came into the room. I thought he was in Germany.

"Faggot"." My son is a God damn faggot"

The gun erupted twice.  I blacked out. The fear was too great.  I'm sorry I didn't stand up for you Sam.  I'm sorry.   That damn old man still controlled my fear.  I thought I had broken away. But he appeared and suddenly I was a young boy again.  Like when I was seven and he found me wearing moms dress.  I knew he had power to hurt me.  A father you see.  He is your sire.  He knows you.  He owns you.   Even when you know you are your own man.  When he appears the primal fear erupts.  The first lessons learned return. And you freeze.  The skin doesn't forget the sting.  The mind doesn't forget the hate. And the soul won't ever feel whole.

I broke that night.  Every day it's the same thing.  I lay in bed, holding my tears inside.   But then night comes. And I can't control it.  I yell. I moan.  I hit the walls.  I throw things.  I am passion.  I am fire. I am amplified hate.  Finally I sleep. But someone in the hall wakes me.  Or the old man opens the door.

I don't know if he's a doctor, a shrink.  He tells other people my story.  Says I went mad.  Mocks me for my love of Sam.  Mocks our sacred bond.  And I get mad. I don't make it to the door. Something stops me.  But I yell. I moan.  I hit the wall.

He seems to get pleasure out of that. His guests jump. They mock my pain.  I hate them.
But every day I'm here. In this room.

---------
She is back. I must be six In the morning. " Tim. Come here. Hurry.  He'll be here anytime now. "
She opens the door looking at the far side of the room opposite me.  I notice salt has been poured across the threshold.  Out of her bag she pulls a weird branch. Looks like it's from a sage brush plant.

She mumbles some words while brushing away the salt line.

As she does I feel reconnected to the world. My room doesn't seem my prison anymore.  I thank her. She cuts me off.  "Tim, there's someone special waiting for you under the cypress tree."
I walk out back.  It's Sam.  We hug.  And never come back.

------------
Yelp review for Hoskins Haunted Bed and Breakfast.
Clint Williams 1 star.
I came here five years ago and it was great.  Most paranormal activity I had ever seen.  Screams. Walls being pounded on. Things falling. Plus it jus had this creepy vibe.
Now there isn't a peep. No noise. Old man Hoskins has lost his magic.   Maybe he outta try a honeymoon B&B. His place just doesn't have the same spirit it used to.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Sunday Conversation

"You take communion with your left hand you faggot. You know that isn't the right way. Why do you treat the holy as a thing of naught." I don't treat it as naught. The right hand is traditional. But not required. "You faggot. You have to be so different. You learned as a child to use the right hand. But now you mock it. You mock our Religion and you mock those who came before." It's true I was taught as a child to use the right hand. But there is no basis in the handbook for this. I see no directive to use the right hand. "Queer. You know it's not right. There is an unspoken order. You learn by watching, by mimicking why do you hate your family. Why do you make your mother cry." It's only the right hand dammit. It's more convenient. "The gospel is not one of ease and convenience. Your right hand shows respect. Your left shows your slippery slide away from the gospel. Away from your family. You hate them. You hate all of us." I don't hate. Not them. Not the church. But I do hate this guilt. So leave. You make me want to quit. But just leave me alone. "I'm always here fag. I'm here mocking you. You are so different. I live here. Ready to destroy you. I know you freak out. I will find a your weakness. I will push the crack. Spread the crack. You will fall. And I will take glory in your desperate cries for help which all will hear but none answer""

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Woman of Stone

Who do you mourn, oh woman of stone; what pain, or what sorrow, do you cry for?
Why do you mourn, oh woman forlorn; whose hand made your tears fall so lonely?
Who do you watch or'e full day and all night; whose corpse does your silence still call to?
When will you leave; from whence your reprieve? Your sorrow does serve you no more. 
But stay you will, cold quiet and still. Your wound is still open and dripping.
The pain stays with you. The sting becomes you and your choice to remain is eternal. 
The life that was lost should have been but one cost, but with you old man death got a couple.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Orange Soda

I wish that I wouldn't ruin our friendship if I tried to make out with you. I wish that I wouldn't betray your smile if I made out with you. But were friends. And that's all. And when I have a hard time I call. And we talk and we laugh and we don't even care how much sunlight has passed Then I wish that it wouldn't ruin our friendship if I just made a pass at you. I wish that that this moment could last forever when I lock eyes with you But there's rules and they say that our friendship will just stay this way. And I'm fine well-- I'm really not, but I love you enough to respect what you want And we'll be the greatest friends. Well play disc golf and smash bros until all time ends. I wish that these feelings were pure and platonic-I know that they once were but then I drank tonic and now when we lock eyes and you give that smile or whenever we hug then I get drunk for a while, with these feelings and thoughts that just won't ever be; You've been a good friend and that's all we can be. I just wish that it wouldn't ruin our friendship if I touched lips with you Cause you're married and straight and I'm single and gay. And the friendship we have is more than ok It's better than just some five minute flirt. It's better than a quick hookup that just leaves one hurt. Our friendship is real and I love what it is. You're my bro. A true bro. And if I had one wish I'd wish that our friendship would last forever just the way that is is. I'd tell all these feelings to go to hell. A true friend is needed for more than a spell. A true friend is rarer than albino deer I won't trade our friendship for those five minutes. Not that id even get those five minutes. So let's play some smash or find some great place to eat. Let's build a campfire and get off our feet. Spend a long day tossing frisbee in the park and then when it's over well sit in the dark
And I'll wish that this moment could last forever just with us being friends.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Water on the brain

10,000 rain drops tap the earth in a consistent rhythm. Each on leaving a small impression. Suredly unnoticed when considered solitarily but immensely powerful in the aggregate. Like insanity which comes as our soul is assaulted bit by bit until it cracks and the dusty earth of reason is supplanted by the washed out mud of irrational fears, impulses and ideas.

Monday, March 9, 2015

Good times

how about a post that is about good things

I've lost 23 pounds.

i am performing well at work

i have great friends

i am able to focus more

depression is not near the issue, i think walking daily has really helped that.  they say exercise is as effective as antidepressants sometimes.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Reaction to Radio Love Songs



Love

What is it?

This potent potion, which changes hearts, clouds minds, and sanctifies souls.

At least from the outside…

People seek it.   It must feel good, so very good.

When it is taken away men weap, they wallow, they lose hope. 

It applies to all, the righteous, the wicked, the young the old.

A part inside each of us needs it.  

So is it the reaction of when two people meet who both have hormonal releases precipitated by the other?

Well that appears to be part in all of love.  For some that might be it.

It appears that the chemicals in our bodies are seeking a one, another to love.


Then the actions,   the love making for sure, but also the cuddling, the talking, the togetherness.

For some, a connection grows that is deeper than mere chemical.

And that is good. . . but for them, when that connection is taken away, it is a violent reaction.  Two souls knit in one, and the separation is a violent surgery.

Marriage seems to facilitate this deeper love.  Deeper connection.  And of course service, and time, and children and shared experience.


At least that’s what love appears to be as an outsider looking in.

It seems nice.   And I’d love to have it.   But for now, I’ll keep guessing what it is like.  And I’ll keep wishing there were less of it in songs.