Nothing is everything

here i sit alone, far away from myself
listening to the silence that i should be making
hearing only what i wanted to say
all leads to nothing.

Special Operations

Finding a job, a relationship, or any other basic requirement makes you feel like you finally joined the Secret Society of Normal People.

The Curator

The only gift that ever mattered to me was something written, something that can capture the moment of how they felt and how it felt. Today, I read the cards you wrote me, not to suffer, but to feel. I keep these memories close and safe and preserved, although I did have them stained with a bit of saline.

Divided

There are two people in your life,
The one you live with
and the one in your memory.

Crash Course

In love is out of control.

Be A Man

A man that acts without innocence is a man that has lost his intimacy.

Back Pain

My hand on her back, cupping my fingers on her shoulder and then sliding slowly downward. This is a condescending motion for me. It began with the way my father touched my mother. It was a way of feeling bad about a situation but continuing it. It was unfair and unjust and the other has no idea what it all means other than an endearing motion. I have always wanted to be truthful and when I touch this way, I know beyond my pitiful consciousness exactly what I'm doing. I am feeling sorry for her with each stroke, hurting her as my empathy draws me closer. It is as far as I can reach out to her within my deficient means.. it's as little as I can offer. I keep her away at arm's length. The back always remains strong and I wonder what I am doing here.

Oil Crisis

Who doesn't have a cheap friend? Like a real, downright cheap pal. It becomes an art form watching them operate: calculating and always precise, mouthing numbers as they attempt to add and subtract their portion of the bill in their heads...

He always comes prepared to dinner. He breaks a 20 before arriving. He has all types of permutations to make exact change.

This particular friend of mine strikes some memories on the issue. He was the thrifty sort that upon a purchase of a meal surpassing 8 dollars, I could only imagine his banking fraud department telephoning him immediately inquiring if there were any strange behaviors concerning his banking activity. He uses phrases such as, "what's the damage?" when he owes less than 5 dollars to the collective pot. I have never seen him splurge for a drink with his meal; he'll order water for everyone, being certain to clarify that it should not be bottled water.

This was a learned behavior. His father was the master; simply the best at the game. His old man amassed a considerable fortune during his life and discovered the perfect means to horde it all. During a period of time when the mother was not in the best health, his old man won a free flight across the Atlantic. She was expressing her desires to travel the world. I remember our friend being asked, "so how did your mother like the trip?" He returned a puzzling stare and replied, "My father only won one ticket.."

So, the war in the middle east may have began right here. Black gold.. and it was a fight to the end.. the end of the tank: the gas tank. The father and son shared the rights to drive the family's prized possession: the '92 Honda. Alright, the story did take place about 5 years ago, so adjust the time frame. Nonetheless, it became a game between the father and the son, to use the car and return it with the least amount of gasoline possible.

You can see the anticipation on my friend's face on a cold winter morning.. waiting to see what the Price-is-Right wheel falls on when the engine starts. Sure enough, the orange light flickers, and two smirks form within this frigid car. We both know the game. The needle shoots forward as our eyes follow its rise to glory, then sink back down to reality.. empty. He shakes his head in anger of being left with no gas yet again. Yet, it wasn't clear if he was shaking his head in homage to the perfected method of a master thriftsman. "I'll get him for this.." he mumbles...

Winter. Stuck at 8 am, lips chattering, fingers stiffening, toes unable to move. Heat would we asking too much.. I'd have to jettison my books to drop the extra weight in exchange for a little bit of heat. I assure you, the favor will be returned. Barely making it to a gas station driving under 25 miles per hour, we had a line up of cars behind us that reassembled a presidential convoy. The gas station was an oasis after a dangerous, depraved journey.

"Fill 'er up 4 dollars worth," was the usual command to the attendant.. but this time we only had self-serve. He had to take a morning bathroom brake, so I was in charge of pumping the petrol. He said, "'till 4, then shut it down!" as he made his way to the men's room.

I jammed the pump in, and turned my back to cover from the wickedly cold wind. I let that baby rip, passing 4 dollars in the first 30 seconds.. I saw the numbers shooting higher and higher and I thought of the electronic billboard markers in NYC that are tracking the US national debt: ..8..9..10.. the numbers were rolling in slow motion, it was a montage, filled with numbers past and present. He came around the corner and saw the pump still going strong, and knew there was no way the 4 dollar limit could be sustained. "Yowzers!.. what's going on?? Stop it! Only 4! Only 4, no more!"

"I thought you said fourteen.."

"I said 4!"

The gas pump stopped at $12.57. We both looked down in shame. He was furious, I could just tell as he reached in to his pocket. Then I heard a snicker which turned into a raving laugh. "What?"

He looked at me with a memorable grin, "I took my father's gas card by mistake! It's on him!"

I suppose there are only losers in this story. Actually, as an update, the 92 Honda needed servicing in the near future from this episode (let me tell you how long it took them to make the decision to have the car serviced). The car was soon to be laid to rest. "The mechanic told us the car is completely rusted. The gas tank never had more than 1/8 of gas for the past 8 years, so it rusted inside out."

This is the way some live their lives. When I have the energy, remind me to tell you about their septic tank issues. Good grief.

thou shall not envy..

I was privy to a strange, out of context conversation as I exited the elevator late tonight.

A portly man, with a British accent spoke to an older Indian woman while accompanying her to the garbage shoot in the hallway. He turned to her and stated,

“.. and then he made the most unpleasant comment about my rottweiler being better endowed than myself.”

Ground control

Have you every thought that we are just a smaller versions of ourselves trapped in our heads, in one big control room. Moving levers and pushing buttons to move arms, wrists, legs and toes. We hide behind our eyes like the accountant hides behind his glasses. It's hard to truly know what someone is feeling or thinking behind all of our layers. When we drown, the same motions are made to grab oxygen as the flow of the gears shifting about to fend off frustration, up there, all alone, in the control room.