Feel like I'm supposed to bleed here
But I cut and cut and it just won't come
Wish I could feel that rage or sadness
Just for a few more seconds
Wish I could feel that hurt and pain
And wonder what wrecked us
Now though I see you and see through it
Keep looking for a clue that will remind me
That I was once inside you
But it's like it never happened just a phantom pain
So now I'll have to find something else to be in anguish about
Find some new heartbreaker to torment me
Somehow moved past this or so it seems
And as crazy as it sounds, I wish I could bleed
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
She's Nothing But Trouble IV
"Where are you taking me?" Audrey said as I led her out of the hotel and onto 55th Street.
I hadn't thought that far ahead. Where do you go when your about to blow up everything you've been trying to hold onto for three years? Then it hit me.
"My place," I said, squeezing her hand and flagging a cab before she had time to pull away.
I opened the cab door and shoved her inside and quickly jumped into next to her.
"Slow down cowboy, you're going to get it."
"I'm not taking any chances," I said before turning to the driver and telling him to take us to 100th and West End.
He swung up 55th and started to turn on Sixth.
"No, take this to 10th and take that all the way," I barked.
If he took Sixth it would take us ten minutes just to get to Central Park West at this time of day and another seven or so to get up to Broadway. All the lights were in sync on 10th Avenue and we'd be at 99th Street in no time.
As he kept going up 55th I turned towards Audrey.
"Why would you do that in the hotel?," I asked. "Don't you know how easy it would be to get busted there?"
"I've done it there before. I'm careful."
"Next time just have the guy come to work, no one would even notice."
"Yeah, well I'm not looking to make a habit of it."
"Looks like you already have."
We turned right on tenth and she reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale.
"Here, you'll all sweaty, take a sip and relax," she said handing me the bottle.
I took a big swig, which was a big mistake. It was ginger ale and whisky. I hadn't had a real drink in a long time. It burned going down and my head started to spin.
"What's wrong, it's not that strong," she said.
"No, just caught me off guard," I lied. There was a lot more to Audrey then I realized. She was one hot mess.
They say that every day you don't drink, your disease is doing push-ups and that when you pick up again it's like you never stopped in the first place. The progression continues even if the abuse doesn't.
They weren't kidding.
I took another big swig and then reached into her purse.
"What are you doing, just wait?" she said trying to grab my hand while motioning towards the driver.
I scanned the dashboard and looked at it his Hack license. Our driver, Esat Ajij, was on his cellphone babbling away in Arabic and could not give a shit about what was happening in the back of his cab.
"Hey driver," I said, "mind if I do a bump?"
Esat kept right on talking without missing a beat.
Audrey grabbed my ear and twisted hard. I turned my head towards hers and she pulled my mouth into hers.
It wasn't exactly how I'd practiced our first kiss in my head but it would have to do.
I hadn't thought that far ahead. Where do you go when your about to blow up everything you've been trying to hold onto for three years? Then it hit me.
"My place," I said, squeezing her hand and flagging a cab before she had time to pull away.
I opened the cab door and shoved her inside and quickly jumped into next to her.
"Slow down cowboy, you're going to get it."
"I'm not taking any chances," I said before turning to the driver and telling him to take us to 100th and West End.
He swung up 55th and started to turn on Sixth.
"No, take this to 10th and take that all the way," I barked.
If he took Sixth it would take us ten minutes just to get to Central Park West at this time of day and another seven or so to get up to Broadway. All the lights were in sync on 10th Avenue and we'd be at 99th Street in no time.
As he kept going up 55th I turned towards Audrey.
"Why would you do that in the hotel?," I asked. "Don't you know how easy it would be to get busted there?"
"I've done it there before. I'm careful."
"Next time just have the guy come to work, no one would even notice."
"Yeah, well I'm not looking to make a habit of it."
"Looks like you already have."
We turned right on tenth and she reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale.
"Here, you'll all sweaty, take a sip and relax," she said handing me the bottle.
I took a big swig, which was a big mistake. It was ginger ale and whisky. I hadn't had a real drink in a long time. It burned going down and my head started to spin.
"What's wrong, it's not that strong," she said.
"No, just caught me off guard," I lied. There was a lot more to Audrey then I realized. She was one hot mess.
They say that every day you don't drink, your disease is doing push-ups and that when you pick up again it's like you never stopped in the first place. The progression continues even if the abuse doesn't.
They weren't kidding.
I took another big swig and then reached into her purse.
"What are you doing, just wait?" she said trying to grab my hand while motioning towards the driver.
I scanned the dashboard and looked at it his Hack license. Our driver, Esat Ajij, was on his cellphone babbling away in Arabic and could not give a shit about what was happening in the back of his cab.
"Hey driver," I said, "mind if I do a bump?"
Esat kept right on talking without missing a beat.
Audrey grabbed my ear and twisted hard. I turned my head towards hers and she pulled my mouth into hers.
It wasn't exactly how I'd practiced our first kiss in my head but it would have to do.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Smoke
Caught a scent of you in the evening air
Breathed you in and got my taste
But if I let you back for good again
You'll lay me to waste.
So close you were burning inside me
Wanted to take you home and make you mine
Fill my place with all those dreams
That it'll all work the way it should this time
Fill my lungs with your soul
Feel you beating in my chest
Let me use you to fill that hole
And maybe my head will finally rest
You leave me with nothing but smoke
As the rest burns slowly away
And in the end I'll be the one to choke
If I l let myself get caught in your sway.
Breathed you in and got my taste
But if I let you back for good again
You'll lay me to waste.
So close you were burning inside me
Wanted to take you home and make you mine
Fill my place with all those dreams
That it'll all work the way it should this time
Fill my lungs with your soul
Feel you beating in my chest
Let me use you to fill that hole
And maybe my head will finally rest
You leave me with nothing but smoke
As the rest burns slowly away
And in the end I'll be the one to choke
If I l let myself get caught in your sway.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Scab
Pulled off a scab just to see if it still bleeds
Is the pain still real or something I need
Clinging to a place that I shouldn't be
Something in you torments me
Gonna let that blood drip down my arm
Hope the sight of me doesn't cause alarm
Want to take that blade and slice myself open
Make believe that I can still feel
Can't keep walking down that road
Sitting here in the dark alone
Picking at that old scab
Waiting for the pain to take me back
Is the pain still real or something I need
Clinging to a place that I shouldn't be
Something in you torments me
Gonna let that blood drip down my arm
Hope the sight of me doesn't cause alarm
Want to take that blade and slice myself open
Make believe that I can still feel
Can't keep walking down that road
Sitting here in the dark alone
Picking at that old scab
Waiting for the pain to take me back
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, July 3, 2009
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
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
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