He lit a cigarette. Took a deep drag and let the smoke out slowly.
Suddenly all the tension that had been building for ten years disappeared in a second.
Tomorrow he could beat himself up.
But tonight he was going to disappear.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Growing Old
Growing old means obsessing about things that happened 30 years ago that meant nothing to you at the time but now seem like the key to every decision you ever made.
I didn't know when I was in my teens and early 20s bouncing back and forth between New York and Washington, D.C. that those memories would be so strong years later. I can't remember what I did last week, but I can tell you what I did every day in 1986.
I can tell you about the Amtrak trains. Roaming around Georgetown. Getting bombed in the East Village when it still was the East Village. I remember life had some meaning then and promise. Now it's just a compromise.
You can't call this a midlife crisis because I'm not planning on living until I'm 94. Just call it some ramblings from the back row.
I didn't know when I was in my teens and early 20s bouncing back and forth between New York and Washington, D.C. that those memories would be so strong years later. I can't remember what I did last week, but I can tell you what I did every day in 1986.
I can tell you about the Amtrak trains. Roaming around Georgetown. Getting bombed in the East Village when it still was the East Village. I remember life had some meaning then and promise. Now it's just a compromise.
You can't call this a midlife crisis because I'm not planning on living until I'm 94. Just call it some ramblings from the back row.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Almost Time
Starting to realize there's something more to this game.
A life spent writing about other lives is no life.
Stuck bent over a computer all day.
With nothing but a little pay to show for it.
Almost at the point that I'd rather write for myself for free.
I'd rather use my words for my way.
Use my words and see if I can't make them pay.
Rather play that play.
Another year has gone by me.
Don't want to be 70 and full of regrets
Reading a bunch of old clips that didn't mean shit.
Better to take a shot at doing my thing.
Could fall flat on my face.
Rather do that than look back with shame.
At myself for all I didn't do.
And all the time I wasted.
Chasing someone else's life while wasting mine.
A life spent writing about other lives is no life.
Stuck bent over a computer all day.
With nothing but a little pay to show for it.
Almost at the point that I'd rather write for myself for free.
I'd rather use my words for my way.
Use my words and see if I can't make them pay.
Rather play that play.
Another year has gone by me.
Don't want to be 70 and full of regrets
Reading a bunch of old clips that didn't mean shit.
Better to take a shot at doing my thing.
Could fall flat on my face.
Rather do that than look back with shame.
At myself for all I didn't do.
And all the time I wasted.
Chasing someone else's life while wasting mine.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
My Own Making
Not sure why that cut doesn't heal
Maybe because I keep pulling off the scab
The wound doesn't even bleed any more
And I'm not sure what it is I'm not trying to feel
Keep digging deep
There's nothing left to pull out
Keep squeezing that wound
There's nothing there to come out
Tired of feeling so tired
Keep driving down the same road
Can't keep my eyes open
And yet I'm still wired
Would reach for a drink but that's no more
Would love a smoke but those days are gone
Would take a pill but the bottle's empty
So here I sit in another moment of my own making.
Maybe because I keep pulling off the scab
The wound doesn't even bleed any more
And I'm not sure what it is I'm not trying to feel
Keep digging deep
There's nothing left to pull out
Keep squeezing that wound
There's nothing there to come out
Tired of feeling so tired
Keep driving down the same road
Can't keep my eyes open
And yet I'm still wired
Would reach for a drink but that's no more
Would love a smoke but those days are gone
Would take a pill but the bottle's empty
So here I sit in another moment of my own making.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Soon I Promise
Drove home down Laurel Canyon late at night with Californication playing. Might have been a cliche but it felt like a moment to me.
I know I've been away too long. I spend all day cranking crap for work. By the time I get home I'm too tired to crank for myself even though I'm the one that matters and it's what I do here that will ultimately bring me satisfaction.
Anyway, there is no reason to believe, but I do intend to get back into this space.
I just need to figure out how.
I know I've been away too long. I spend all day cranking crap for work. By the time I get home I'm too tired to crank for myself even though I'm the one that matters and it's what I do here that will ultimately bring me satisfaction.
Anyway, there is no reason to believe, but I do intend to get back into this space.
I just need to figure out how.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I have all night -- part four
I slept most of the day away. When I wasn't sleeping, I was crapping. Beer, blow and smokes do that to me. Around 4 p.m. I decided to get out and get some air and blow the stink and funk off me. I grabbed my laundry and headed to the place on 104th between Broadway and Amsterdam.
Fortunately I picked a good time. The place was pretty empty and I had my pick of the washers. I snagged one near the front and got some quarters from the woman behind the counter. While she was getting me my change her little girl came out from behind the counter with a ball she was bouncing. It slipped out of her hand and rolled over to me. I picked it up and held it out to her but she took a look at me and ran back behind the counter to her mother. Smart girl. She could smell satan on me.
I handed her mom the ball and headed back to my machine. After I dumped the Tide in and some Clorox 2, I pushed the quarters in and closed the lid and waited. A few seconds later I threw my clothes in and then headed out the door. I needed grease and there was only one place to go -- Sal and Carmine's.
There was no line which was rare for a Saturday. I got one cheese and one pepperoni. I didn't want them heated up. Sal and Carmine's was best lukewarm. I wolfed down the slices while reading a Daily News that someone left on the counter. The headlines screamed about a Columbia coed who was raped on 114th and Riverside the other night. It was the third rape in or around Riverside Park in the last couple months and everyone was starting to get paranoid. The story said she'd been at Cannon's, a bar I frequented often at Broadway and 107th. She'd last been seen leaving with a guy who the police had not hunted down yet.
I skipped the rest of the story and moved to the letters to the editor page which were full of the usual rants. Then I hit the sports section before finishing my meal and hitting the deli at 101st for a cup of coffee. Then I headed back to the laundry and put my clothes in the dryer and took a nap in the back on one of the chairs. When I woke up, the clothes were dry and I threw them back into my bag. Usually, I folded them there. I'm a creature of habit. This time I took them home and threw them and myself on the bed.
The pizza and coffee had lifted most of the hangover. The crash wasn't that bad this time. I figured I'd stay in and watch TV, but around 9 p.m. I got antsy and remembered that I still had some beer and other goodies. Normally, I didn't indulge two nights in a row, but I figured I was on a roll and when you get on a streak you keep playing.
Fortunately I picked a good time. The place was pretty empty and I had my pick of the washers. I snagged one near the front and got some quarters from the woman behind the counter. While she was getting me my change her little girl came out from behind the counter with a ball she was bouncing. It slipped out of her hand and rolled over to me. I picked it up and held it out to her but she took a look at me and ran back behind the counter to her mother. Smart girl. She could smell satan on me.
I handed her mom the ball and headed back to my machine. After I dumped the Tide in and some Clorox 2, I pushed the quarters in and closed the lid and waited. A few seconds later I threw my clothes in and then headed out the door. I needed grease and there was only one place to go -- Sal and Carmine's.
There was no line which was rare for a Saturday. I got one cheese and one pepperoni. I didn't want them heated up. Sal and Carmine's was best lukewarm. I wolfed down the slices while reading a Daily News that someone left on the counter. The headlines screamed about a Columbia coed who was raped on 114th and Riverside the other night. It was the third rape in or around Riverside Park in the last couple months and everyone was starting to get paranoid. The story said she'd been at Cannon's, a bar I frequented often at Broadway and 107th. She'd last been seen leaving with a guy who the police had not hunted down yet.
I skipped the rest of the story and moved to the letters to the editor page which were full of the usual rants. Then I hit the sports section before finishing my meal and hitting the deli at 101st for a cup of coffee. Then I headed back to the laundry and put my clothes in the dryer and took a nap in the back on one of the chairs. When I woke up, the clothes were dry and I threw them back into my bag. Usually, I folded them there. I'm a creature of habit. This time I took them home and threw them and myself on the bed.
The pizza and coffee had lifted most of the hangover. The crash wasn't that bad this time. I figured I'd stay in and watch TV, but around 9 p.m. I got antsy and remembered that I still had some beer and other goodies. Normally, I didn't indulge two nights in a row, but I figured I was on a roll and when you get on a streak you keep playing.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
I have all night -- part three
I got woken up by the garbage trucks making the Saturday pickup. I always thought it was cruel and inhumane to pick up garbage at 7 a.m. on a Saturday but numerous calls to the 3-1-1 line to suggest an alternate day had fallen on deaf ears.
The first thing I noticed when my eyes opened was that I was still on the roof. My pants were back on and there were scattered beer bottles all over the place. The next thing I noticed was that I was alone. Then begin to wonder if I was alone the whole time and everything from the night before -- most importantly the blowjob -- had been a figment of my imagination.
I pushed myself up and looked around the roof. At my feet, a bottle of Corona still had some life in it. I'm not a morning drinker. I had always used that as proof that I wasn't a real alcoholic. Of course, I conveniently overlooked the fact that I usually went to sleep around 5 a.m. when making that assessment.
This time though I made an exception to my rule and took a swig. Then I took out my pack of cigarettes and was relieved to see I still had four left, which would get me through the next couple hours. I lit one and started to put the pack back in my pocket when I figured a little extra jolt before my morning coffee couldn't hurt.
I walked over to the door thinking about the night before and her red hair and stockings that were torn from the ground on the roof. I got to the door and there was note under a rock in front of it that said, "Until next time, Dani." I was also glad to see she left the door ajar because I really wasn't up to trying to climb down the roof and onto a neighbor's fire escape.
Not wanting to be a complete pig, I walked back over to where the damage had been done and grabbed the empties and put them in the shopping bag. Then I finished my smoke and grounded it out on the roof.
I made my way back down the stairs with both the empties and the four bottles we didn't get at. I walked into my apartment, put the beer in the fridge and the garbage by the door. I tried to remember what else happened on the roof and when she might have left and, most importantly, how I was going to find her again.
The first thing I noticed when my eyes opened was that I was still on the roof. My pants were back on and there were scattered beer bottles all over the place. The next thing I noticed was that I was alone. Then begin to wonder if I was alone the whole time and everything from the night before -- most importantly the blowjob -- had been a figment of my imagination.
I pushed myself up and looked around the roof. At my feet, a bottle of Corona still had some life in it. I'm not a morning drinker. I had always used that as proof that I wasn't a real alcoholic. Of course, I conveniently overlooked the fact that I usually went to sleep around 5 a.m. when making that assessment.
This time though I made an exception to my rule and took a swig. Then I took out my pack of cigarettes and was relieved to see I still had four left, which would get me through the next couple hours. I lit one and started to put the pack back in my pocket when I figured a little extra jolt before my morning coffee couldn't hurt.
I walked over to the door thinking about the night before and her red hair and stockings that were torn from the ground on the roof. I got to the door and there was note under a rock in front of it that said, "Until next time, Dani." I was also glad to see she left the door ajar because I really wasn't up to trying to climb down the roof and onto a neighbor's fire escape.
Not wanting to be a complete pig, I walked back over to where the damage had been done and grabbed the empties and put them in the shopping bag. Then I finished my smoke and grounded it out on the roof.
I made my way back down the stairs with both the empties and the four bottles we didn't get at. I walked into my apartment, put the beer in the fridge and the garbage by the door. I tried to remember what else happened on the roof and when she might have left and, most importantly, how I was going to find her again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
