Man. For those of us who indulge in alcohol, for those of us on weed; for those of us who pop the pill for those of us who heed the warning of the psychedelic dark shrouded in tone, mistakes and errors beautiful waiting on the phone. We break it down and churn it up, in belly's vile with bile, and lest we sway to 'blivion our mind's eye sails the Nile, to plains white and green where the sun strikes down a pose so innocent and pure with a scent of decompose that lifts our spirits as the sand drops down and falls each grain we yearn to get back on our paws our toes our life.
Relationships are scattered by time of day and yeast, the work we put or not determines our heart's inner beat the corniness of writing this exposed and under siege means nothing compared to sitting by a peaceful chaotic, necrophiliac ocean's breeze.
To rich and haughty, handsome and fat, the wealth accrued is a matter of fact that brings order to the world and order to your life order to the filth and order to the knife. We dream of wicker chairs and fences feces dropped and names relentless. We lose our way and find our soul.
Every fucking weekend.
Heads roll. (our own)
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Walk with Headphones on (something old I found)
Building a cresecdo with steps that align with bass and tune.
Afraid to take off headphones and listen to the dead silence of reality.
Knee creaking reminds me of mortality and I reflect again.
Lost to my own reflections.
But I’m getting better.
I wrote that letter as a goodbye to you, and to me (the old me you hated and I hate now but not the oldest me that was raised the right way)
23 and just learning not to look at people like supermarket shopping.
23 years and I can be friends with a girl and not want to use people. What’s the discount, the opportunity cost, the quality, the brand, and how useful?
Feeling at home in a place that can never really accept me as one of the family. Do I like that? Or did I just run out of options back in my real home?
Seeing images that turned my heart and gripped my fingers. Wanting to see these everyday to make me understand I had to change. Learning to do it myself from the inside. But those images still freeze my thoughts and shatter my complaints.
Not worrying about doing it myself, cherishing what I have instead. Realizing it’s ok to rely on others, to be ignorant sometimes, and to fail. Realizing that I have been helping people for most of my life and it makes a difference.
Just a little, beat by beat, it can grow into some symphony of happiness before it all slows down. But I’m not worried about time or the future.
23 years young and I think I am finding myself in a big way. Didn’t you always wish for this, David? Tears welling in your eyes not because you’ve had a drink or two, or made up with your girlfriend, or met a new girlfriend, or thought longingly about family or thought with a mixture of pity and protection about Megan or someone less fortunate than yourself. Stop myself and realize the music is so big. Maybe I can blame the music pulsing in my ears and giving me pause to accept the fact that this is just another “living in the moment” virtuoso that once again I will forget and later on forgive myself when I write another one.
No. I really have to believe it. This time. Simple life is something I can do. Complicated life is something I can do too, because I have some simple rules to live by. Loyalty, listening, patience, holding the ego in check, loving, spending time with those I love not those who fit the bill. Looking outside my window. Writing. Reading.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The real last goodbyes
Wind sucked out of my sails, leaning over the bike he just gave me because I didn't know what else to do, I watched as G Money jogged across the dim lit street at 4 in the morning.
"Take care of the bike, bro."
"Thanks a lot, man, I really really appreciate it."
"That's ok."
"Hey you should call Yumyi she and Chucky were calling me worrying where you were."
"Yumyi's freaking out." He was drunk and seemed almost disoriented, more so than usual.
"Yeah, think so."
"Well, I'm gonna get a cab."
"Here, G, take this," I tried to hand him 15RMB for a cab back to his house. He'd just given me his bicycle, it was the least I could do but he raised his hand in protest, anxiously.
And, then he left with a short and awkward hug. No promises of another meeting, no calling me little brother. He could have stayed on the corner we were on and hailed a cab; instead he jogged across two lanes away from me and he was still in sight as he waited for a taxi. I wasn't sure what to do, wasn't sure if i was supposed to reach out or go home or if I should have said something more.
That was how it had been with G Money for the last half year.
A little less than a year ago, Mast and G and I were drinking at the apartment Mast had helped G rent. We had already known each other for 6 years, these two older guys I really looked at as my brothers. I had stayed at G's house in the Philippines, gone to him when I was sick or needed advice. Mast had kept me going and guided me while I was hopelessly pursuing the girl of my dreams. We toasted. We put a strong, but emotional arm on the shoulder of our brother, a gesture that as the night and the whiskey wore on became more and more frequent until we weren't drinking anymore but instead confiding the importance of each other as more than friend but family until we all grew old. We cast our doubts into the water, real doubts that we knew would be scooped up and set aside by our brothers with warm words and confidence we ourselves couldn't muster until it came time to offer the same to them. We wished, and guaranteed, each others' success.
In the beach hotel, away from the girls and the brute, G Money and I sat across from each other with a bottle of his father's whiskey. It was very good whiskey, a bottle of Johnny Walker Premium. We had glass after glass; it was the first time during the whole 3 week trip that we'd been able to talk without the others around or worrying where to go next. He told me he felt like I was part of his family, and I replied that I was his little bro. We laughed about how that big brute had dove into shallow water all cocky and adventurous, came up shuddering shouting at me about something on his back and then lumbering into the boat with his back shredded by coral. We talked about his Korean girlfriend being accepted by his family. We talked about how much I missed my own girlfriend.
Me and KCho discussed the "death of our friend" right before KCho left. It was almost like he had changed, and since we had lost contact for so long I struggled to remember how it was that first Jiao Da Semester. G Money, the big bro, the prankster with a twinkle in his eye, the caretaker. Somewhere I know he's still all those things. But we were left instead with sharper memories of him having to teach English at 10 at night, of a tired and unenthusiastic voice on the phone. I knew I could depend on him if I needed him, this whole half year I've known it. But the downtime, the easy time, seemed lost.
And sadly, running away from me in the night, having left me with the exact gift I'd needed for 2 months, it seemed right.
"Take care of the bike, bro."
"Thanks a lot, man, I really really appreciate it."
"That's ok."
"Hey you should call Yumyi she and Chucky were calling me worrying where you were."
"Yumyi's freaking out." He was drunk and seemed almost disoriented, more so than usual.
"Yeah, think so."
"Well, I'm gonna get a cab."
"Here, G, take this," I tried to hand him 15RMB for a cab back to his house. He'd just given me his bicycle, it was the least I could do but he raised his hand in protest, anxiously.
And, then he left with a short and awkward hug. No promises of another meeting, no calling me little brother. He could have stayed on the corner we were on and hailed a cab; instead he jogged across two lanes away from me and he was still in sight as he waited for a taxi. I wasn't sure what to do, wasn't sure if i was supposed to reach out or go home or if I should have said something more.
That was how it had been with G Money for the last half year.
A little less than a year ago, Mast and G and I were drinking at the apartment Mast had helped G rent. We had already known each other for 6 years, these two older guys I really looked at as my brothers. I had stayed at G's house in the Philippines, gone to him when I was sick or needed advice. Mast had kept me going and guided me while I was hopelessly pursuing the girl of my dreams. We toasted. We put a strong, but emotional arm on the shoulder of our brother, a gesture that as the night and the whiskey wore on became more and more frequent until we weren't drinking anymore but instead confiding the importance of each other as more than friend but family until we all grew old. We cast our doubts into the water, real doubts that we knew would be scooped up and set aside by our brothers with warm words and confidence we ourselves couldn't muster until it came time to offer the same to them. We wished, and guaranteed, each others' success.
In the beach hotel, away from the girls and the brute, G Money and I sat across from each other with a bottle of his father's whiskey. It was very good whiskey, a bottle of Johnny Walker Premium. We had glass after glass; it was the first time during the whole 3 week trip that we'd been able to talk without the others around or worrying where to go next. He told me he felt like I was part of his family, and I replied that I was his little bro. We laughed about how that big brute had dove into shallow water all cocky and adventurous, came up shuddering shouting at me about something on his back and then lumbering into the boat with his back shredded by coral. We talked about his Korean girlfriend being accepted by his family. We talked about how much I missed my own girlfriend.
Me and KCho discussed the "death of our friend" right before KCho left. It was almost like he had changed, and since we had lost contact for so long I struggled to remember how it was that first Jiao Da Semester. G Money, the big bro, the prankster with a twinkle in his eye, the caretaker. Somewhere I know he's still all those things. But we were left instead with sharper memories of him having to teach English at 10 at night, of a tired and unenthusiastic voice on the phone. I knew I could depend on him if I needed him, this whole half year I've known it. But the downtime, the easy time, seemed lost.
And sadly, running away from me in the night, having left me with the exact gift I'd needed for 2 months, it seemed right.
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