It wasn’t like him to be late or not call, so we called and called again. Finally my father need to see if something was wrong because he lived alone, and if we didn’t check on him, who would? I said to wait because he was probably just sleeping after working the late shift. He sleeps a lot, and seems to have no other ambition in his life but to sleep as much as he can when he’s not working. I’ve never known anyone to sleep so much, as if he were trying to escape into another reality, one where he was like those characters in all the video games he played. He was the shyest out of all the brothers, and I don’t think he has ever been on a date despite being 24 years old.
The thought was there that maybe he wasn’t there anymore. He was the most prone to depression out of all of us, like our mother, but unlike her he wasn’t taking 20 different drugs to “work it out.” My theory was that he was the smartest out of the 4 of us, but the least able to handle life because he was always looking for some escape.
My father left with the last 2 burgers and the “fixings.” I wondered what I would say at a funeral, if I would be able to speak. No, I was sure I’d be able to. I’d always thought of him as one of those lost people who never find their way. I’d tried to help him but the distance 10 years of custody battle had created was too much for me to cross to reach him, and like all of us he didn’t like someone else trying to tell him what he should do. I’d say something about the loss of such a unique and talented person because the world wasn’t friendly to people like him. He’s part of the reason I hate psychiatrists because they try to fix people with drugs where most of the problem is our inability to accept people who are different than us, which is why I hide those parts of me people won’t understand because I’d be like him living apart because I’m not willing to take the drugs to change who I am so people can accept me. Instead I stand in their midst a counterfeit of a normal person.
Two hours later my father came back saying he’d only been sleeping from 10am to 10pm. I was a bit relieved, but I wasn’t surprised because the other person he reminded me of was my grandfather on my mother’s side who was the most utilitarian person I have ever known. All his shirts had to have 2 pockets so he could have a place for his pens and his glasses, this necessity had made it difficult for me as a child trying to buy him shirts for Christmas, but he had designed the diagnostic computer program to test if the space shuttles were ok for flight. Yes, he was good at seeing if something was fully functional or not, though don’t ever ask him to change anything. That was my little brother too, set in his ways at 24 like an old man of 70. He also wore the 2 pocket shirts, though his were unbuttoned with and orange t-shirt underneath, and I’d given up on trying to find him clothes that were stylish and functional because he wouldn’t wear them.
I should have known he wouldn’t be the one. He lacked to creativity for it because though he sought to escape, he didn’t know how to live in a nonutilitarian manner. If anyone was to be the one, it was me, and I was mad at the thought that he might have taken my place and denied me my right. You can’t be the second one, that would be unoriginal. And my reasons weren’t merely for escape, but so abstract that most people would stop me before I even began to explain my reasoning, though the idea wasn’t fully formed yet, so I couldn’t put it in action yet. I had to finish my views on life before I could end it, and that was a life’s work, though I like the thought of ending things on my terms instead of waiting for nature to dictate the terms. No one likes being told what to do, though most would allow it for an extra few years.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Lost
My father had lunch with an old friend named Dale Smith who remembered a trip we once took with both of our families.
Costa Rica 20 years ago, the Smiths and the Marstellers, 12 people, two vans (one for each family), and one Spanish speaker among us. We never understood why my father always insisted on speaking Spanish because there were plenty of people who spoke English like the guy at the hotel, but he always spoke to them in Spanish. There was a huge pool at the hotel that my best friend Ben and I would sit in and watch a man cut the grass with a machete. “Don’t they know about lawn mowers here,” I asked Ben. He just shrugged his shoulders.
On our way to a mountain town for lunch we stopped at some place so my father could get some coffee to take back, though I didn’t like having to wait so long when you could get coffee back in America, and I tried it once, and it tasted awful. Finally he came back with a burlap bag, and we drove up to this small town. I was in the Smiths van so I could ride with Ben.
The restaurant was a wooden building and all the furniture was wooden. It looked dirty, but my father had heard something about the restaurant that we had to try. I wanted a hamburger, but they didn’t have them. I asked where the restroom was and my father pointed towards a door with a sign that said vaqueros. I went in and watched the other men, who look suspicious, leave and I locked the old rusty lock because there were suspicious looking people, though it was hard to budge. I found out just how hard when I tried to unlock it. I was trapped in there for 15 minutes before finally I worked it open.
Not really interested in what my father had ordered me I went back to the table to talk to Ben, but… I couldn’t find them. It wasn’t a big restaurant, but I looked all over, and went outside to look. No one. No one even paid attention to me. There was a store across the way so I went in to find them there waiting for me to catch up because I was always dragging behind, I was the slow eater. No one.
I went back to the restaurant and sat on the front steps. They had left me. Now I couldn’t go home. What am I going to do? Well, I bet I can get a job at the store across the way. They probably need someone to sweep, and I bet that would pay me enough to eat. Sitting there trying to work out my future was where they found me. Later it was explained to me that my family thought I was with the Smiths and the Smiths thought I was with my family. I was always so quiet that they often forgot I was there, and sometimes forgot I wasn’t. The first thing I did was burst out crying because I wouldn’t have to sweep the floors of the store.
That wasn’t the last place I got left for being so quiet, but it was certainly more exotic than Disney land. At least back in the states when I was forgotten in a corner for time out there was my older brother to tell my mother because he needed someone to play with.
Costa Rica 20 years ago, the Smiths and the Marstellers, 12 people, two vans (one for each family), and one Spanish speaker among us. We never understood why my father always insisted on speaking Spanish because there were plenty of people who spoke English like the guy at the hotel, but he always spoke to them in Spanish. There was a huge pool at the hotel that my best friend Ben and I would sit in and watch a man cut the grass with a machete. “Don’t they know about lawn mowers here,” I asked Ben. He just shrugged his shoulders.
On our way to a mountain town for lunch we stopped at some place so my father could get some coffee to take back, though I didn’t like having to wait so long when you could get coffee back in America, and I tried it once, and it tasted awful. Finally he came back with a burlap bag, and we drove up to this small town. I was in the Smiths van so I could ride with Ben.
The restaurant was a wooden building and all the furniture was wooden. It looked dirty, but my father had heard something about the restaurant that we had to try. I wanted a hamburger, but they didn’t have them. I asked where the restroom was and my father pointed towards a door with a sign that said vaqueros. I went in and watched the other men, who look suspicious, leave and I locked the old rusty lock because there were suspicious looking people, though it was hard to budge. I found out just how hard when I tried to unlock it. I was trapped in there for 15 minutes before finally I worked it open.
Not really interested in what my father had ordered me I went back to the table to talk to Ben, but… I couldn’t find them. It wasn’t a big restaurant, but I looked all over, and went outside to look. No one. No one even paid attention to me. There was a store across the way so I went in to find them there waiting for me to catch up because I was always dragging behind, I was the slow eater. No one.
I went back to the restaurant and sat on the front steps. They had left me. Now I couldn’t go home. What am I going to do? Well, I bet I can get a job at the store across the way. They probably need someone to sweep, and I bet that would pay me enough to eat. Sitting there trying to work out my future was where they found me. Later it was explained to me that my family thought I was with the Smiths and the Smiths thought I was with my family. I was always so quiet that they often forgot I was there, and sometimes forgot I wasn’t. The first thing I did was burst out crying because I wouldn’t have to sweep the floors of the store.
That wasn’t the last place I got left for being so quiet, but it was certainly more exotic than Disney land. At least back in the states when I was forgotten in a corner for time out there was my older brother to tell my mother because he needed someone to play with.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Suggested Title Not Found
Walking down a dark hallway, can’t see a thing, not even Plato’s shadows. This is my life. Where am I going? Can’t see. Where am I now? Don’t know. Seems I’m searching for something, but how do you know in the dark what you’ll find, or if you’ll ever know what it is. This is a bit darker than usual, but since I’m writing by the light of my laptop at 11pm, I guess I’m allowed that.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Seems my story has already been written
I saw it tonight in a movie, but it was done better than I could have. There she was. Why think of her after so long? They brought her up, and did such a good job. I would name the city, but that would be giving it away. The emotion was there, the mixed feelings, and the ending. Seems a common enough ending after all, but we all think our private stories are so special. Reminds me of Kundera where he says even are expressions are not our own, but are more original than we are. Could be true.
Fallen in love with your best friend’s girl. They break up. You confess, make love, and he comes back. Where do you stand? Nowhere, you thought you’d be. It was a movie about young 20 somethings. Seems better left to a time like that.
Fallen in love with your best friend’s girl. They break up. You confess, make love, and he comes back. Where do you stand? Nowhere, you thought you’d be. It was a movie about young 20 somethings. Seems better left to a time like that.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Inspired?
I just watched an inspirational movie, but I’m not inspired, quite the opposite. Where is the hope these days? What is there to fight for? The American way of life? I don’t think so. We don’t know how far gone we are. Start over again? Is there anyone willing to do that? I didn’t think so. Is there definition to our days? Are we all just fading away?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Around Town
Seems people are starting to take notice. The girl behind the counter at the coffee shop asked if I was that guy who rode his bike around town. It’s odd in this town. No one does that, except me it seems. She asked me about myself, and I lied. The lies were simple enough, they could have been true, but they weren’t. Often I find myself lying when I’m around people who don’t know me or know anyone I would know. Why? Call it a game or a test. I like to see how real my lies or stories sound. I stick to several basic principles: stick with what you know, don’t give yourself time to think about it, or make it so fantastic they wonder more about whether it’s possible than if you did it or not. The only story I was ever called out on was true, which told me something important, it’s not what you tell them, but how. She asked my name so that next time she could use it, and maybe even shout at me as she drove by me riding in her neighborhood.
A guy sitting outside asked me if I was new in town because he had seen me coming around recently. I tried a different story on him. It seemed to satisfy him, and I liked the idea of meeting more and more people presenting a different story to each one, a different person even. I called it practice.
I left the coffee shop and went to a cigar shop where I thought I might run into an old friend of mine. Someone I hadn’t seen in years, and actually didn’t care to keep in contact with saw me a week ago in Denton because he was at a wedding reception that got moved last minute to the pizza place I was eating at. He called this friend of mine and told him he saw me, then he came back to me and said I should stop in at a certain cigar shop because this friend was there almost every night. I didn’t know then I would be in this town.
Yesterday I stopped by to check the place out, and I asked about my friend. They said he was there almost every day. I asked what time. They said around 4:30. It was 2:30 then, but I knew I wouldn’t be back that day. Instead I went today. The same guy told me he hadn’t been in yesterday, so he was almost sure to be in today. I looked at my watch, it was 4:30, so I bought an inexpensive but good cigar and sat outside with an iced coffee and a book to see if he would show. At 6:00 I was done waiting and I looked in my backpack for a card, but I had none, so I decided to leave it to chance. It had been years since I had seen him last, though we had only been a couple of cities away. I could have tried harder to run into him again, but I knew it would be more an exercise in nostalgia instead of actually reconnecting. That was a different time. I was a different person then, and instead of me recreating myself, it had been time. I didn’t feel up to pretending to be who I had been, who he could relate to, and I didn’t feel like explaining who I was now. About the same as asking a butterfly why he isn’t a caterpillar anymore.
A guy sitting outside asked me if I was new in town because he had seen me coming around recently. I tried a different story on him. It seemed to satisfy him, and I liked the idea of meeting more and more people presenting a different story to each one, a different person even. I called it practice.
I left the coffee shop and went to a cigar shop where I thought I might run into an old friend of mine. Someone I hadn’t seen in years, and actually didn’t care to keep in contact with saw me a week ago in Denton because he was at a wedding reception that got moved last minute to the pizza place I was eating at. He called this friend of mine and told him he saw me, then he came back to me and said I should stop in at a certain cigar shop because this friend was there almost every night. I didn’t know then I would be in this town.
Yesterday I stopped by to check the place out, and I asked about my friend. They said he was there almost every day. I asked what time. They said around 4:30. It was 2:30 then, but I knew I wouldn’t be back that day. Instead I went today. The same guy told me he hadn’t been in yesterday, so he was almost sure to be in today. I looked at my watch, it was 4:30, so I bought an inexpensive but good cigar and sat outside with an iced coffee and a book to see if he would show. At 6:00 I was done waiting and I looked in my backpack for a card, but I had none, so I decided to leave it to chance. It had been years since I had seen him last, though we had only been a couple of cities away. I could have tried harder to run into him again, but I knew it would be more an exercise in nostalgia instead of actually reconnecting. That was a different time. I was a different person then, and instead of me recreating myself, it had been time. I didn’t feel up to pretending to be who I had been, who he could relate to, and I didn’t feel like explaining who I was now. About the same as asking a butterfly why he isn’t a caterpillar anymore.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I Lied
So I lied. It’s true I’ve been wrapped up in political philosophy lately, but there are some things I can’t stay away from. I haven’t been reading fiction in awhile, but I’ve gone back to those old stories. I knew what I need to do with that book which was basically tear it apart. It came from collecting my monkey stories. I realized all those other stories belong with them. I read one of those stories, and I think of all the others I have to write, and I’ve been doing that. The running and the biking has helped.
Today I had my first drink in a week, not that that’s some sort of accomplishment, but not drinking has helped me focus on other things, and for now I’m just not interested in drinking. Now if some beautiful woman were to show up with a bottle of wine, I wouldn’t say no, but aside from that I’ve been making some real progress the past week, more so than in the past few months. Well, that’s about it for the night I have to get up early and run tomorrow.
Today I had my first drink in a week, not that that’s some sort of accomplishment, but not drinking has helped me focus on other things, and for now I’m just not interested in drinking. Now if some beautiful woman were to show up with a bottle of wine, I wouldn’t say no, but aside from that I’ve been making some real progress the past week, more so than in the past few months. Well, that’s about it for the night I have to get up early and run tomorrow.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
A Helmet Or Not
My days have been political philosophy and life changes. I have never spent so much time reading any type of philosophy before, and it’s become addicting. I’m taking vigorous notes on The Social Contract, and I have Locke in view next, to be followed by John Stewart Mill.
I’ve been staying at my father’s since Monday, and I think I’ll be here until I make the move. I get up and take Lady running before I have my morning coffee. Then I pour over my books and notes. It’s slow going because I reread most passages twice or thrice to make sure I get them. It’s shifting my view of things to look at our world through the eyes of what could have been had we only listened, and also what seems to be the progression if we don’t change.
I have so many writing projects asking me to work on them, but I can’t seem to focus on them. Today I brought a book of fiction to the coffee shop thinking maybe I’d read it and do some writing because I had been too distracted for philosophy after a fight with my father over what the hell I’m doing with my life. He thinks joining the army is a way I could change our world, and that is my idea of hell. So after a bike ride I settled into Rousseau with my iced coffee and last cigarette because it seems no places out here carry American Spirits, especially not my kind. I just went online and the closest place is 2.5 miles away.
I got sucked into Rousseau again and had an idea for an article I want to write, but I’ll wait until I’ve read Locke and Mill. I was surprised because I even ignored the conversation of the table next to me which fragments drifted over of strip clubs with midget bands playing kiss, to a large black stripper hired for a party who seemed to have had a recent c-section and a meth pipe hidden in an unusual location, and the last fragment I caught was about going down a water slide naked. Normally I would have just pretended to read while listening to every word, but they couldn’t hold my attention today.
Thinking about the ride home I’m looking down at my arm which has some strange red marks that at first I think are from not being used to riding a bike for so long, but no, it seems it’s from the plums I was eating hours ago. Back to the ride home, it went well except for realizing it takes a different set of muscles than what I normally train, that and the cop who decided to pull me over.
On a bicycle? Really? At first he asked for my license and registration, then corrected himself to just say license. I said I didn’t have one. What’s the problem? He said something about a helmet and lights. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I’m just down here visiting, and I borrowed this bike to get around, and as you can see it’s not quite right for someone as tall as I am. Where are you from? Chicago. You can just ride around and then put your bike on the front of the bus to get around the city. I love it. You don’t have any form of id? No state id? Sorry I left it all back that their house. I just took a few bucks for some coffee. I didn’t think I’d need an id for riding a bike. Never been stopped on one before. What’s that around your neck? A jaguar tooth. What do you do for a living? I take groups of people on trips. Really? What kind of trips? Like to Brazil and such since I speak Portuguese and know all the ins and outs of customs. Wow that must be really helpful. That’s what they pay me for. You don’t have anything with your picture and name on it so I can know who I’m talking to? Because I like to know who I’m talking to. I’ve got this card on my backpack that has my name on it. It’s for my travel insurance. Let me go back to my car and you keep looking for something with your picture on it. He came back. I have this ticket stub with my name on it. Ok. Got anything else? I dig through my bag and find a luggage ticket for Johannesburg. Will this work? Johannesburg, where’s that? South Africa. Cool. Yep, it was winter when I was passing through there. Say, you don’t have a passport on you do you? No, it’s back at their house because that’s something you don’t want to carry around with you because you might lose it. Oh, yeah. I guess so. Well, I’m not going to write you a ticket this time. Just wear a helmet next time, and have some lights. I hope you make it back before it rains. Oh, I’m sure I will, I said hoping I wouldn’t run into him again.
My father asked me how my ride went. Just fine. I need to get a bigger bike though when I get some money.
When I get there I plan on getting rid of my truck and just riding a bike around, so I’m getting my practice in, though tomorrow I will have to decide whether I will try and find a helmet or not.
I’ve been staying at my father’s since Monday, and I think I’ll be here until I make the move. I get up and take Lady running before I have my morning coffee. Then I pour over my books and notes. It’s slow going because I reread most passages twice or thrice to make sure I get them. It’s shifting my view of things to look at our world through the eyes of what could have been had we only listened, and also what seems to be the progression if we don’t change.
I have so many writing projects asking me to work on them, but I can’t seem to focus on them. Today I brought a book of fiction to the coffee shop thinking maybe I’d read it and do some writing because I had been too distracted for philosophy after a fight with my father over what the hell I’m doing with my life. He thinks joining the army is a way I could change our world, and that is my idea of hell. So after a bike ride I settled into Rousseau with my iced coffee and last cigarette because it seems no places out here carry American Spirits, especially not my kind. I just went online and the closest place is 2.5 miles away.
I got sucked into Rousseau again and had an idea for an article I want to write, but I’ll wait until I’ve read Locke and Mill. I was surprised because I even ignored the conversation of the table next to me which fragments drifted over of strip clubs with midget bands playing kiss, to a large black stripper hired for a party who seemed to have had a recent c-section and a meth pipe hidden in an unusual location, and the last fragment I caught was about going down a water slide naked. Normally I would have just pretended to read while listening to every word, but they couldn’t hold my attention today.
Thinking about the ride home I’m looking down at my arm which has some strange red marks that at first I think are from not being used to riding a bike for so long, but no, it seems it’s from the plums I was eating hours ago. Back to the ride home, it went well except for realizing it takes a different set of muscles than what I normally train, that and the cop who decided to pull me over.
On a bicycle? Really? At first he asked for my license and registration, then corrected himself to just say license. I said I didn’t have one. What’s the problem? He said something about a helmet and lights. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I’m just down here visiting, and I borrowed this bike to get around, and as you can see it’s not quite right for someone as tall as I am. Where are you from? Chicago. You can just ride around and then put your bike on the front of the bus to get around the city. I love it. You don’t have any form of id? No state id? Sorry I left it all back that their house. I just took a few bucks for some coffee. I didn’t think I’d need an id for riding a bike. Never been stopped on one before. What’s that around your neck? A jaguar tooth. What do you do for a living? I take groups of people on trips. Really? What kind of trips? Like to Brazil and such since I speak Portuguese and know all the ins and outs of customs. Wow that must be really helpful. That’s what they pay me for. You don’t have anything with your picture and name on it so I can know who I’m talking to? Because I like to know who I’m talking to. I’ve got this card on my backpack that has my name on it. It’s for my travel insurance. Let me go back to my car and you keep looking for something with your picture on it. He came back. I have this ticket stub with my name on it. Ok. Got anything else? I dig through my bag and find a luggage ticket for Johannesburg. Will this work? Johannesburg, where’s that? South Africa. Cool. Yep, it was winter when I was passing through there. Say, you don’t have a passport on you do you? No, it’s back at their house because that’s something you don’t want to carry around with you because you might lose it. Oh, yeah. I guess so. Well, I’m not going to write you a ticket this time. Just wear a helmet next time, and have some lights. I hope you make it back before it rains. Oh, I’m sure I will, I said hoping I wouldn’t run into him again.
My father asked me how my ride went. Just fine. I need to get a bigger bike though when I get some money.
When I get there I plan on getting rid of my truck and just riding a bike around, so I’m getting my practice in, though tomorrow I will have to decide whether I will try and find a helmet or not.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Seclusion
So I won't be around much these days in part because of some tangible reasons and in part because of some intangible reasons. From now on everything will be different. Why? There are so many answers to that question that I won't begin to start.
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