Someone to watch over me...
I remember my friend John Clements.. I know I'm potentially giving something away but oh well.
He introduced me to mules when I was a teenager, he had two one was a "Tennessee walker"?? I think it was tan and seemed to me as large as a horse though he could point out the differences. We took the mules for a ride through some blueberry fields and junkyards. A warm sunny day, we jumped a small creek (small enough to step across) but I remember almost falling off when the mule lunged forward. The memory is not as sharp as it could be. I've faded almost all my memories of John.. Teenage trauma mostly now I remember the car crash I had with him.. Sitting in the Burger King feeling tough and scared looking at a car w/ 2 people in it who sat there all night while john was working. Me with 2 or three knives and a machete under the seat. John told me had taken a trailer to New York for someone and been paid and then refused to do it again. That's why they waited for us. It started snowing. The strange car turned over as we came out of the door and ran to his mothers Plymouth duster. Then a scary ride, I only remember sliding and white. I think I saw the tree that flipped us but it might be imagined.. He dragged me out of the car I was told. I just remember sitting in someone's living room barely conscious with paramedic wrestling with me trying to get my leather jacket off, as I fought for a cigarette and cursed them and threatened them not to cut off my jacket... Even semi conscious I was tough, but there was John eye bloody perched on the edge of a wingbacked chair apologizing to me. He felt so bad. I found out later he carried that for a year before he died in a worse car accident.. That morning was the first time he talked to me in a while besides just in passing. He felt too guilty for almost killing me. I never held it against him but I guess he never knew that.. I don't even recall what we said but I know we agreed we were friends again.
Then later that night Randy on the phone his eyes so wide so scared to tell me. I kicked some furniture screamed, ran outside and up the street. Stood there cursing god not believing.. Then for days stood around hating the fakers and teen drama people who wept for him.. Their feelings could have been true, but I didn't believe them.. Even at his funeral I wanted to speak to talk about John, but I was never asked and would not have been much good as I sat there glaring at his grieving parents.. Throwing all the blame at them I'm now sure they must have felt for themselves. I didn't even stay another explosion I ran out across the street sobbing punching a tractor trailer a feed store??
All my memories of john swirl back into this drain of his death/ funeral.. All the happy memories are leads attached to the sad and pull me there stronger than any riptide.. John was always a redneck, I never understood him, his ways but he was always the Marlboro man and didn't care who thought it.. Rabbit fur black cowboy hat.. I have a picture of him in it but his face is too dark to see.. My thirteenth birthday party...
I understand him better know.. Now I have a bow a shotgun and a desire to wear manly hats and be thought a rugged untouchable individual.. I miss my friend.

Soccer..
My soccer career was short lived.. Even early my criminal tendencies had a way of tripping me up.
One Saturday I was in 2nd or 3rd when I played Little Boy soccer. I remember our uniforms being green and white. It was a scrimmage?? Honestly unimportant, but I know there was another team. I had gotten a ride to the game with my mother who had stopped at a convenience store. While there I had lifted a package of white Tic Tacs, and surprisingly managed to sneak them past her. I was eating them the whole day and had them tucked into the little mesh pouch they sew into the linings of some sports shorts.. My father came to pick me up and I saw him and started running towards him. He hated to be kept waiting. Suddenly I heard the tic tacs rattling in my pouch. I can still feel the great surge of fear I felt. I knew instantly he would know they were stolen from someone. I stopped and ran back calling over my shoulder I had to take something to a teammate. I felt like I was going to wet myself I was so scared and I ran p to the first kid and gave them to him. I don't recall his face or who he was, because I turned around and left right away. Dad was in a bad mood and got a little ugly about me having something that belonged to someone else, but let it go for once...

In Phoenix a one bedroom downstairs apartment on the corner fronting the pool. Light tan stucco walls orange curved tile roof. Deep green grass and an eggshell colored fence around palms and some bush that has great fans of long blade shaped leaves. It's almost midnight on new years eve and I've had a few beers, maybe some wine, but am not intoxicated. I come outside as it nears midnight to watch the fireworks and listen to the Mexican families fire off their pistols into the night. My Cuban neighbor, Carlos, from next door and upstairs across the walkway comes out onto his stairs. Eventually we move to the 2 bedroom apartment underneath his and make good friends with him, but for now I've only seen him in passing. From inside the television blares out the countdown and I nod at my neighbor and look up into the sky stars barely visible throughout he glow of downtown Phoenix. Suddenly someone yells out "Happy New Years " highlighted by explosion noises from firearms and fireworks. Carlos starts running toward the pool gate and I know his intentions immediately and leap forward pulling myself over the 4 foot rail fence. It's a race and we seem to be in the air at the same time. I remember seeing a hearty grin on his face as he started turning upside down right before he hit the water. I have to imagine I had the same look on my face, but I think I yelled as I hurtled through the air. Fully clothed with my lover and Carlos' wife standing out on the side walk watching and laughing at the sight. Two full grown men who've never even spoken splash each other like children, whooping and hollering fully dressed down to my boots and his sneakers. We pull ourselves out of the pool our bodies steaming from the 70 degree pool water in the 50 degree night, shake hands. I said "happy new year", he said "Felices Año Nuevo" and we both went back to our own homes..

Memories, the dusty corner or my mind blotchy water colored memories of the way we were... I think those are the words.. The song almost seems to jagged to fit, but that's only in the writing.. The singing as will all of Babs, makes me want to bang my head against a wall, born to play in elevators and dentist offices.. These are a few of my favorite things.........To avoid........

Freshman year high school, just 6 months away from my growth spurt and the freedom being suddenly larger than everyone around you provides.. Usually growth spurts are more awkward, but I'm lucky and do most of my growing on my Great-Uncle Tom's farm where I spend most of the summer trying to be a man.. I probably didn't do as much work as they would like but I was only thirteen..
As usual I'm lunching alone, I never was lucky enough to have lunch with any of my friends so instead of sitting inside trying to hide I go out into the parking lot. All the kids come out in groups some play wall ball some sit around talking. I sit on a curb across from the cafeteria with a small bag of chips.. For some reason I attract someone's attention and now I'm staring at the front of someone's knees and a voice says "you better not eat those chips here or I'll kick the bag down your throat."
Instantly I have the cold sweat and trembling leg sensation I'm almost constantly feeling, and my throat just closed up. I look up at some random upper classman who I don't recall any features about, and in pitiful defiance I lift another chip to my mouth and slowly chew it. My mouth is dry, I couldn't swallow the chip I'm chewing to safe my life, and I can't stand up because it seems too challenging and the guy towers over me seeming twice my size. He might want to fight if I stand up but I feel really pathetic sitting there staring up at him chewing that chip. He draws back his foot soccer style like he's just about to kick my and I'm staring at his eyes. I don't know what he though but he barked a short laugh and said
"Stupid freshman" and walked back to his group of friends laughing.
I wonder now what I would see if I were to look into his eyes like that again. Was he seriously thinking of kicking me? Was he scared I'd force him into carrying out his threat.. I don't even know who he is. He is just another random almost bully who didn't like that I could not back down.

I think I've actually managed to work hard today...
Unusual for me, my job is more repetition than anything else..
Ok- back in time to the recurring dream..

I'm in my father's living room sitting up on the back of the sofa looking at the sliding glass window onto the porch, but it's just a square white glow. My father comes into the room towards me and I know I'm not supposed to be up on the sofa like I am but I can't slide down because he's blocking me. His voice starts soft and reasonable but I don't understand what he's saying. He's trying to reach out and grab my arm but he doesn't. His voice starts to rise in volume like someone is slowly turning up a stereo and his face is getting redder and redder and he seems to be leaning over me. I feel small and scared and can feel my penis start to shrink and I think I'm going to wet myself.
His voice slowly lowers and he turns away, I feel great relief but then he's playing with lego blocks on the floor with my two brothers and he's laughing and happy. He turns his head towards me and his face almost seems to snarl and his voice starts to rise again louder and louder and I feel the coarse weave of the sofa pressing into the backs of my legs. My knees shake and feel weak and I try to grab a hold of the sofa to stop myself from falling but it's too firm and my hands slide over it. Dad is leaning over me again and I can see spit forming on one corner of his mouth and he's yelling words at me that I don't understand then his voice starts to lower again until he's just talking then he turns and starts tickling my brother and they are playing and I'm afraid to attract his attention by moving so I stand there very quiet.

Am I too tired to shape myself into an all around person? Why do petty problems seem to nag at you. Last night I was not tired -too much caffeine- pain in my foot- not enough alcohol.. Basic discontent... I lay in bed depressed and angry, staring at the ceiling trying to keep my leg comfortable even though I had it on top of the sheets to keep air on my toe... Gut wrenching sadness, anger, an overwhelming sense that the world was being specifically unfair to me. I finally could not take it any longer, I got up played a game of risk on the CPU got angry enough that some general named Campbell was humiliating me I came close to punching the computer screen. Then miraculously I felt better, I was angry, but all the heaviness and sadness was gone. I lay down in bed and daydreamed of what kind of workshop I would have, and how I would have a dentist replace all my teeth with titanium implants if I won the lottery..Then I fell asleep.

I really have shortened this account to give a general feel for what I went through. I was thinking through the mechanics of several different suicides one minute, never really contemplating them, just imagining the process. Then after a fit of temper (a flash, an explosion) I actually felt content. Happy even, There's almost no explaining it. I wonder if I had won if I would have felt the same..

Sometimes losing is all you can do.
Sometimes all I do is lose, and
even though there are things I wish
I could lose, I can never lose them
Even losing can make you lose
as using lose is losing its use.
Even reading lose is losing
coherency as a word I can use.
It seems all this using of lose
is now losing my muse of losing
the use of my lose

It's astounding how fast the sheer boredom of my job can deflate e and take all the joy out of my day. Today was a happy day I was excited and brimming with possibilities for a life. At least possibilities for enjoying life and being able to look past the doldrums to the white water beyond and all the press and excitement. Knowing full well that excitement is not always positive I still ache for it. Several times I was "bored" these past few days off of work, but it was more a restless, what can I do next type of bored, not this dreary chained to my chair, must sit here to pay the bills kind of bored. I can feel the flowers and smells and colors of my time off turning gray and empty in my head. Describe the scent of grey. The feel, the damp texture of fog or mist but not too cold or too wet, that would become something. A wall you can't touch, but you're sure it is there, even though you can't see it. You can't see anything past it though nothing is blocking you sounds are there but not audible you can feel them waiting to shout out if only you could escape the shroud.
A short digression into plagiarism wiped out with a few key strokes then we continue... How long will I be able to continue this life with this job. Is it truly unbearable? Or am I just fatigued with the dreary repetition. Burned out..

Bonjour!
It eeze a beautyaful day.....!
I am in such high spirits It makes me worried I may be manic... Then again a long weekend apart from the ugh, and uck and grrr really did set my mind straight...
Ray Bradbury wrote a book called "Zen in Writing" A series of essays on .... Writing of course!!
So I've only read two because it's really passionate and inspirational, I think I've been infected with some sort of weird respect or something for the man.. I usually try to maintain separation between the artists and the art.. More for an appreciation for the substance than for the background.. But his exuberance is contagious from this "compilation?" It definitely made me want to check out some of his other writings, even though what I have read of his before has not been of any special note. Just differences in taste I suppose. Definitely has gotten my pen back on the paper however.. Hope springs eternal in this quest for free writing, now if I can only avoid more TV hypnosis I might actually get something done..

Life as Chess inspired non- original thoughts:
The king as self- representing all attributes drives and desires that relate to maintaining control of the board (life). Everything circles the king either they want to destroy it or protect it, there are no neutral pieces. As you deal with each person who comes along you make decisions which guards to attack, whether to try to slip inside their shield, trick them into giving something, anything so that you can be in control of the opponents king or self. No matter how one sided the confrontation might seem to an outsider:
You see a man walking toward you on a sidewalk. Dressed in a suit walking briskly somewhere to go you nod at him watch until he responds then turn away. Game over. Stalemate? Or success?
By nodding first you sent a feeler, a pawn an interruption into his field of play. He nodded back, a counter, another pawn to block the move leaving a stable field two pawns head to head center square.
Something more perhaps? Same situation but after the nod you step slightly into his path and before he gets to you ask: "Do you have the time?" He stops turns shoulder slightly to you and watches you for the time it takes his watch to rise reads the time. You say thanks and step out of the way, he resumes moving still level field. Still stalemate? Consider nod as pawns, slight step in to his path
bishop declaring check on his king. Check on his motion has choice of stopping and protecting his king, moving king out of the path (stepping around you) or moving other piece to push your bishop out of the way (using his briefcase to club you off the sidewalk, walking through you) stops moves a pawn into the path. You ask the time, queen into check. Reads time surrender. Or reads time, blocks path with kings rook pawn, opens up path for himself, and escapes mate because I can't continue to follow without endangering my pieces. Since I maintained my initiative my king was in no danger throughout..

I don't mean for this to always be about things I'm afraid of but since my last posting I thought of another irrational fear I'd like to drag out into the light of my CPU screen.. I'm freaked out by mirrors in general. I don't mind looking at myself, but if I start looking at the space around me in a mirror I start getting all nervous. Possible the reversal of everything unsettles me. I actually start to feel panicky short of breath fluttering heart sweaty palms, like I'm looking at something really spooky. Doesn't help that every time you watch a scary movie something freaky always appears over the hero's shoulder. Every time that comes up I avoid mirrors for days. Even reflections in metal pans and car windows are a little scary. Seems like an odd phobia.
When I'm home alone is the worst, we have several mirrors up in my house and I purposely will never look at them, turning my back to them as I enter and leave rooms. I know something is there watching me waiting for me to turn around and take a peek.. When I get good and drunk sometimes I look into the mirror and my own reflection start looking at me like it wants to reach out and choke me. Maybe I just look really mean when I'm drunk, or maybe being intoxicated makes my distaste for mirrors more evident in my face. I'm pretty sure the day I actually look and see some ghoul or demon peering over my shoulder will be the day I day. Not exactly the most peaceful way to go, but I'm sure the doctors will conclude heart attack, or stroke. Scared to death by a mirror.. I guess you'd have to see me to appreciate how humorous that would be. I've been inflicting this face on others my whole life, I'm sure you could find a few people to agree death by my own reflection is no more than I deserve..

As I sat on the throne yesterday someone walked into the bathroom and I froze.. It has been a while since I considered why I'm scared of bathrooms, I no longer have a valid reason to be afraid, but it's too physical a reaction to talk myself out of. My whole body freezes up and nothing moves literally. In grade school when I was a very small and tasty target for the local bullies I was warned to avoid bathrooms. Not by friends or by the bullies themselves, but by the principle of our school, here's me, 6th grade, sitting in front of our bloated coke bottle glasses wearing grade school principle Mr. Wagner (funny it's so clear). I have been in another fight which involved me being told to do something by one of the pubescent ghouls, and though terrified and weak at the knees refusing to play along. Always my biggest problem was that I never played along. I wouldn't say uncle, I wouldn't talk back, but I also wouldn't back down, or beg. Just stood there frozen like a rabbit. Eventually the little bastards would hit me push me and there I'd be in the principles office.. Though this had resolved some of the bullies who figured I was OK because I never ratted to the authorities. I was suspended numerous times for fighting when I had never struck another student in all of my days. Digressing...
The Principle... was the one who told me to avoid the bathrooms, also hallways during class change, and getting caught on the back of the bus, not to mention changing for Gym class, going outside for recess, in fact his exact words were to try to stay out of the way of the bullies and always try to keep within certain number of feet of a teacher. Imagine my dismay, being told flat out that I could not be protected by the teachers and faculty of a grade school.
I shrugged it off at the time a slight burning feeling of unfairness, but then, once I did get caught in the locker room, by someone I'd never seen before from 2 grades above me who grabbed me and banged my head into the locker room wall until a crying fellow student brought the gym teacher in. Then I was caught in the bathroom by three antagonists who stood outside the walls to the stall slapping the walls and threatening all sorts of things until I gave in pulled up my pants and walked out to meet them.. To their credit and my horror those three never laid a hand on me. Ever.. I found out later the head of that group felt sorry for me and instead of beating on me decided to just threaten me, that time and every other time he saw me. I was more scared of him than I ever was of anyone else. Even now with a bit of mature understanding I still would have liked to have been beat up rather than terrorized.
I hate bathrooms, locker rooms, any small cement rooms that are secluded for the purpose of giving men privacy to change or defecate, urinate.. Now when I go I have to force myself to make noise when I hear someone come into the bathroom with me. Otherwise I sit there holding my breath sweating from my palms until I hear them leave..

Behind the times I find myself enlisting the help of a BLOG to cure my writers block. I have not written a successful poem in 2 weeks, and that was a fluke.. Something seems off- I have to have music playing to even get into my writing stage, but more often now I'm just reciting off into my head and my pen isn't moving. I did get a tiny little pocket journal as a gift. Supposedly this little leather journal was the choice of several very famous people but I cannot remember their names. I can write something every time I open it. I just don't think I have anything of "Quality"-- Personal joke I'm about halfway through Zen And the Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance. I didn't read it in High school because I thought it was too trendy. I think I probably understand it better than I would have, but not sure if I'm reactionary enough to agree.. Only halfway through though, so we'll see..