She's Nothing But Trouble III

I didn't even bother making up a reason for my early exit. Just grabbed my jacket and told Martha, our assistant, that I'd see her tomorrow. She barely looked up. I wasn't the only one who who hated this place.

Once I was on the street I pulled a smoke out of my jacket and fired one up. I should quit. It's been three years since my last drink so it's not like I still need the cigs as a crutch. I guess they were my last act of rebellion. I know. Some rebel. A guy with a cushy high paying job doesn't exactly conjure up images of Marlon Brando in "The Wild One."

But I still hung onto some fantasy that I was this tough-guy dark writer. That's what I've pretended to be my whole life. I've just taken the act out of the bar and into the rooms. I used to spend my nights drinking at the Dublin House until four in the morning while jotting down poems and stories thinking it would lure girls. Hardly ever worked. I gave off a vibe that said "stay away."

I looked at my watch. It was 4:15. I could head down to the village and catch the second half of the 4 p.m. meeting at Perry and race back up here to meet Audrey when she left and then go back downtown again. That seemed kind of dumb. I could grab a bite and walk over to Ninth Avenue for awhile. My head was spinning with choices. We aren't used to choices. We're used to doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the results to be different. This is what's been beaten into my head and yet I was having a hard time with it today.

I walked up the street and sat down in front of Black Rock, home of CBS. The building was standing up to the test of time even if the network wasn't. Or at least it was on the outside. Last time I was inside it looked like it could've used some new carpets. Of course, it didn't help that I'd thrown up on them once when I had a few dozen too many at their holiday party. I was smart enough to hide behind a curtain when it happened and the next day offered my list of suspects to Dan McClinton, their public relations guy. Maybe one day I'd confess.

"No smoking here."

I looked up into the face of a security guard who seemed thrilled to finally have something to do.

"Sorry," I said. Then I took a long last drag and flicked the butt into the street and turned to walk off.

Just then I saw Audrey coming out of the building. She didn't have a jacket on so maybe she was just getting another coffee or something. For some reason I decided to follow her. This clearly wasn't sober behavior but I didn't care. If my femme fatale was cheating on my imaginary relationship with her I needed to know.

Audrey walked briskly down the street, her four-inch heels not slowing her down at all. She was headed towards Fifth Avenue. I kept a good distance back. She turned the corner and walked up to 55th and then ducked into the Peninsula. This was getting interesting.

I waited a few minutes and then walked into the lobby. I tried to think of what lie I would use if she saw me. She was probably just meeting someone about a job. Audrey was only consulting at the Institute of Media after getting bounced out of a high-profile PR gig for sleeping with a reporter. It happens all the time, but not usually at an industry party in the bathroom. Like I said, she likes her drink. That happened awhile ago, but that's a hard one to overcome especially since the reporter was married with kids. His marriage survived and he became a folk hero. She was the one who took the hit. Not fair, but that's life sometimes.

She sat down at the bar and ordered what looked like scotch. Of course she'd drink scotch. I found a spot out of her sight and pulled out a newspaper. A few minutes later a guy in jeans and leather jacket came in and sat down next to her. As they made small talk she took her purse off the back of her chair and started to go through it, or at least pretended to anyway. Once it was open the guy dropped a small envelope into it and took a big one out. You have to be kidding me. Only Audrey would do a drug deal at the Peninsula bar. Everyone always made things so complicated. The guy could've come up to the office and no one would have said a thing or she could've met him on the street. Instead she meets him at a posh bar where who knows how many undercover cops there are not to mention the occasional observant doorman or waitress to conduct her business. Whatever. It seemed to work. A few minutes later he leaned in and kissed her cheek and headed out the door. She sat back, looked around and took a big swig from her scotch and didn't notice me come up from behind her.

"You gonna share some of that with me?'

She turned quickly and spit out what scotch was left in her mouth onto my shirt.

"Gee, thanks. I'm more of a whisky guy but I appreciate your sharing."

"You fucking followed me?," she asked.

"Actually yeah, but just because I was bored."

"Oh god. What do you want from me."

"Relax, I don't want anything. Or at least anything that I haven't already made abundantly clear to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. How much did you get?"

She looked down and then smiled.

"Eight ball."

"All for you?"

"Maybe," she said in that little girly voice.

I knew this was a bad scene. Audrey didn't know I was straight. I looked down at her crossed legs and the heel dangling off her foot and then into her eyes. She winked at me. She was willing to sleep with me to keep her secrets. That's all this was. I begin to wonder if it would be worth it. I already knew the answer and I tried to play the tape out as to how this would end. It wasn't going to be pretty.

I picked up her drink, chugged it down, took her hand and led her out of the bar.

Cool Chick

Chan Marshall (Cat Power). Check her out.

What It Was Like

I am something of a journal keeper, or was until the blog and then Twitter entered the picture. At this rate, my journal entries will be three sentences.

But I have the hard copies from the past to remind me where I once was.

I thought I'd share a few. I'm guessing this is 2001 or 2002. I reprint this not to glorify the past. There is nothing here worth glorifying. It's just a reminder of how pathetic it had become.

It's 11:15 and the last of my songs are playing. What to do? I can stay here and drink and do more coke hoping to numb myself or I can leave. Go some where else. Do more coke and drink and numb myself? Go somewhere else? Decisions! Decisions!

For now I've opted more more coke and a beer here. I'm not ready for the trip downtown though I know it's coming. The coke is just sitting here. It's like it's stuck between my nostrils and my central nervous system. I want it to kick in, but it won't. Might be time to go downtown.

Finally at Christopher's (downtown). Coke dealer offering Ecstasy for $20. I sit at the bar and throw down my beer staring at the beautiful fag-hag knowing nothing will happen.

Here's another one:

Damn I look good. It's amazing how your outside can cover for your inside. I'm bleeding internally but no one knows. My hair is perfect. My body tone. I look into the mirror and it tells me these things.

But the mirror can't see everything and for that I'm grateful. As the hours pass and the beers do their job that mirror will turn from my best friend to my worst enemy. The blood that I fight so hard to keep inside will start pouring out of my eyes, my nose and my mouth.

It will flow over my face and show me for what I am -- a battered and bloodied carcass -- just a soul exposed in all its blackness and hatred of itself and everyone around it.

Oh yeah, those days were fun. More to come. It feels good to type this shit up and remind myself of what I did to myself for so many years. Somewhere in all this is a piece of fiction. I have no intention of doing a "Night of the Gun" or "Million Tiny Pieces" but I do want to do some dark noir.

Left This Ghost

Quiet here
Except for you
Still lingering in the background
Dancing through my mind
Loitering around my head
Squatting in my yard
Like to get you out once and for all
But it takes time
Who knew that someone who stayed so short
Could cut so deep

Know it's all about my ego
Been so long since someone got the drop on me
I'm usually the one to cut and run
Let me tell you the other way isn't much fun

Thought I'd finally get what I wanted
And maybe instead I got what I deserved
Just know that with each passing hour
Is one more than you ever served

Just want to be free
Yet I'm the one still clinging
To a false memory and a fake dream
That drained my soul and left this ghost

South Of 8 Mile

You were dying when I first started living
The heart's still beating today, but so faint no one can hear it
We crack jokes about faded beauty through burnt out shells
Can try to look away, but south of 8 mile is all of our man-made hell.

Late Afternoon Lust

Those days of wanderlust so alluring
Those times that are lies now
Taking the last ride out of there
Leaving the blood and dirt behind.

Just A Random Update

I feel I've let this slip. Like so many other things I've let slip in my life. So here's an update. My two-and-a-half weeks of cat sitting just ended. While it was relatively painless, it did not make me long for my two cats. For the uninformed, Skinny and Fluff are still in New York and living with my brother. They may join me at the end of the summer or they may stay there. It's up to him. If he wants them, they are his. And if he doesn't, I will go gather them up and bring them out here.

Some are wondering how I left them in New York. I know it doesn't make me look too good. Whether this career switch and move across the country is moving towards something or away from something, I don't know yet. I do know that I wanted to do it alone. Somehow I let my life get shattered six months ago and I felt a need to just start everything over and clean. Maybe it's a geographic, I don't know. Whatever it is, it has worked so far. I have no regrets about moving. I think about a lot everyday, but one thing I don't think about is whether I made a mistake.

If I do end up with the cats back, I will be OK with it. They are good cats and I think they are being better cared for by my brother than they would have been if they came with me. That said, if they end up here I will try to do better. I'm not going to get into all the reasons that I have for doing what I did. They are in good hands and happy. There last few months with me were anything but that.

I have spent a nice afternoon reading a book. Been so long since I got sucked into a book. Pretty sure I'll finish it tonight, which is good since I don't have any other plans. That's OK. I was out Wednesday night at a big industry event. Yesterday, I met friends after work and then went to a meeting and came home. Today I worked out, meeting, did a little cleaning and soon will make some dinner and read some more. Tomorrow I have a full day planned. I am not struggling for things to do. I have reconnected with some old friends here. I am trying to get into the meetings here while at the same time trying not to make that my life.

I am hoping to start writing again soon. I mean book writing. I really do want to finish something, even if I never try to get it published. I just want to have something I completed to look back on.

When I do get around to pursuing this, I will probably have to find a place to write. When I was writing in New York and making headway, it was at the library or the coffee shop. At home it is too easy for me to turn on the TV or surf the Internet. And we know what that means.

It was really warm today, first time in awhile. Maybe the June gloom is finally starting to lift. Anyway, that's my update for now. Hopefully later I'll throw up some morose poetry for you.