that led me to you.
But I didn’t realize what that would mean.
What we would share in the coming months.
How our lives would continue to intersect time and time again.
The blows that would be thrown. Promises not kept. Sides drawn.
All because of a key that led me to you.
And started the war.
‘Win’.
Never presume to give someone unsolicited advice about how to meet a challenge you have not yourself faced.
Never expect things to turn out exactly the same for them that they did for you.
Never deem your struggles to be the same.
Never be another pressure instead of a release.
It’s not one I expected to find.
One of you and me, when we first met.
It’s a wonder you talked to me with that outfit I was wearing.
I half remember that day. Well, really, I just remember you. The rest of the day is kinda blurry. Tequila blurry, not whiskey.
Your smile gave me the courage to come up to you. It said maybe I had a chance, but you would let me down easy if I struck out.
I broke all my usual rules with you. The usual bullshit about how long to wait before calling. Before asking for the next date. How often to text.
But you were worth. All of it. All the madness and fun. I wouldn’t change a day of it
I take the bus to work.
One day, going a different way, I saw a sign that said ‘Artist Studios’ with a For Rent sign underneath. There was a fleeting wondering about them but nothing more.
Today I took what I thought was this same route and remembered the signs. I started looking out the window but realized I had passed the most likely place for the studios. Again, the vague wondering of what they were like.
Then a memory hit me. Of a movie clip I had seen of Thomas Jane playing the beat writer Neal Cassady (a quick check before I started writing this showed that the movie is The Last Time I Committed Suicide).
The clip was of Cassady at his typewriter. He used butcher paper on a roll and fed it through his machine so he wouldn’t have to stop to change pages. It started me thinking of all those portrayals of New York writers, writing in the heat. A fan that just manages to move the air some, a fridge with nothing but beer. Late nights and sleeping most of the day.
And suddenly I wanted to do that. To rent one of those studios and live there during the summer. Maybe use an assumed name, make up a past. Buy a typewriter from one of the second-hand shops around there. Get old jeans and shirts. Just a small fridge and a desk fan. Maybe a cot to sleep on. Nothing I would mind if it got stolen. The idea kept returning to me throughout the day.
Just move out of my place with all of its distractions and force myself to work. To be a mad, desperate writer. Instead of the Paris cafe, the New York rundown apartment. Not the open retreat in the woods, but the small space in the city.
Whether the studios are just meant to be used as a work space during the day with no real amenities or could be used as crashpad is unknown. How long I could make the fantasy last is also unknown. Plus the lack of available funds is a detriment.
But damn if I wouldn’t want to try it, just once.
Do you even know?
Have you ever really thought to ask yourself?
I think I know a bit too much. Bit of the fun taken out, if you take my meaning.
Not for the faint of heart, most times.
I’m not sure if it should be done by everyone. Not without proper supervision.
I’m fine, of course.
So far as you know.
And can give testimony on.
We saw him as we entered the square, though it seems everyone else was ignoring him.
He was crouched down, using his knife to draw something im the dirt.
He had both sword and arrows, not usual for most warriors.
My friends made comments about the mud on his coat and boots, then continued walking. But I stayed, watching.
Suddenly he lifted his head and looked right at me. With his blade he waved me over.
“Do you know this word?” He pointed to the ground before him.
“It is a name. My name.”
“Then you are who I seek.”
Before you slip into unconsciousness
I’d like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss
I can’t help it, I think of the song whenever I see it.
There’s not a regular schedule to its appearances. No hints as to when it will show. And it has never come close for me to see anyone on board.
It’s usually on calm nights like this. Late at night.
I’ve tried to be casual about asking other people if they’ve seen it. Not so that if they haven’t, they won’t think I’m crazy. But so they won’t go looking for it. Maybe do something to make it stop coming around.
I want to keep it for myself.
The setting sun bathed the beach in a red light that could almost be felt.
The hue surrounded me, coloring my clothes and skin.
By a trick of the mind, the air seemed warmer. Not hot and suffocating, but a warmth that sunk into my bones.
I knew that soon the sun would slide beneath the horizon and this vision would be gone for another day.
I looked around, mourning my lack of talent in paints or picture. But not to share with others.
No, the record would be for those long hours that I was exiled from this world.
So we shift gears a little.
Been looking for a better use to this beside just keeping track of my geek meetings.
New Plan.
Trial duration: 2 months.
I have about 2 hours in the morning I can play with if I actually get myself up to do. There is additional time on the bus going to and from work, but there tends to be a lot of bobbing for apples then.
So the plan is to do a different ongoing project each day, with two free days to play with.
This is in hopes of establishing a pattern of working, but have none of the projects feel like a drag.
Fan Fiction – Sunday
Free – Monday
Revenge (2015 NaNo)- Tuesday
Drabble – Wednesday
Free – Thursday
Fantasy/VMG (geek group)- Friday
Weekend Coffee Share – Saturday
The intent is to do these in the morning, then leave the nights for vegging (or falling asleep) in front of the TV or whatever comes up. Reading will most likely be done on the bus rides.
So that’s the experiment, starts on Tuesday. Here’s to the next two months.
And beyond?
As heavy as the rain was, we didn’t see it til the lightning struck. It was a ghostly sheet against the sky. Rain almost enough to fill the canyon below. All the more striking for the blue sky behind it. A turn in any other direction would show a clear sky. It was just in this one spot that the fury was located. I stood and watched the whole show and wondered. Wondered at all beyond my ability to control. To even guess at. The ability to just let go and accept.
Desert Words 