She would drive home through a toxic twist of turns. Unsure of whether the fog was coming from her mind or the road, she would finally arrive at the Dove family house on Patterson Street. She tried her best to keep her membership a secret. Sitting there smothered by a fossil of problems, she knew what await her once she stepped outside of her car.
Every night, Lily stood outside her car and stare at the infinite piles of dog shit that surrounded the vehicle. “It’s my fucking step mom, I know it, I know it!” she would say. Lily’s only suspect to blame for this new encounter of steamy welcomes was her stepmother Gretchen. Gretchen and Lily got along great.
Gretchen was an elderly old southern bell. She wore glasses that were a 1950s style with over-sized, red plastic rims across the top. The exaggerated rims looked like a rusty butterfly with black spots. They blocked her wrinkled and craggy face. Very unlike her stepmother, Lily saw the world through scabby telescopes. At the expense of what Gretchen called her “huffie puffies”, Lily’s hair color changed twice a weak from mellow yellow to turtle green, and ruby red. Gretchen could only see in two colors; the first was white, and the second was whiter. But racist pigs were not the concerning issue-at-hand with Lily. She just wanted her stepmother to stop walking the dogs near her car.
Apparently, Gretchen got pissed at Lily when she started parking her car in the driveway, unlike her usual spot in the street. Gretchen was old and couldn’t really drive that well, and when she needed to back out of the driveway in the morning for work, well she had a little trouble. Lily felt there was plenty of room for her to park in the driveway. So Gretchen’s solution, instead of practicing mother to stepdaughter futility, she would every night before bed, take the two family dogs to relieve themselves in the little grass yard besides Lily’s car, hoping her stepdaughter would give up and stumble her car back to the street.
Gretchen would just say something very dainty, “Good Heavens, I haven’t the slightest clue, and Lily, stop saying ‘shit’, say ‘poo’. It’s more polite.” To this day, Lily wonders where the extension chord is to plug-in Gretchen. This problem could have been easily solved by Lily parking in the garage, and Gretchen in the driveway. However, stubbornness was seen as a positive character trait for the Dove family. Lily hated being in the street, and Gretchen wanted the garage because she was certain her car would get stolen if parked in the driveway. So on and on, every night Lily would tiptoe over landmines, and every morning, Gretchen would slowly and gracefully, monster truck her way over the driveway, wondering each and every time if she would make it to the street.
Her first attempt was somewhat of a miss. She could have been backing out of an airplane hanger, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference. Gretchen’s stale green hunk of metal that floated on water had this silver bumper that stuck out along the nose of the car. The rusty and faded bumper, jagged around the sides, knew well of Gretchen’s driving record, and sweated every time it heard the engine spark. During her first effort, Gretchen slowly and delicately steered this hang tooth bumper, which just happened to latch onto a two week old garbage bag that Lily never took out, which resulted in Lily’s car receiving a sponge bath in rubbish that morning. Gretchen really couldn’t see that well, so she didn’t notice anything, and well, she struggled with hearing things too, so the clank-scrap-rip across the side of Lily’s car went unnoticed as well. She drove her whole way to work with a trash bag on her bumper. Little kids on school buses giggled towards their education that morning, sailing next to a green boat, and Captain Gretchen S. Dove spreading her junky graffiti across the roadway.
“So not only do I have to deal with dog shit at my feet every time I get out of my car, I also have to worry about used diapers stuck to my tire? You know how embarrassing that is?” Lily belched.
“If you would have taken out the trash like I asked you wouldn’t be crying,” Gretchen defended. “A little grease for your elbow wouldn’t hurt ya’ know?”
“No, now my entire body is greasy thanks to Miss Skippidy-Do-Da,” Lily whined. “I’m gonna go shower in bleach. Thanks. Oh, I heard BFI is hiring by the way, just thought, you might want to apply.”
The next night, Lily hazed home sliding through turns and weaves preparing for an unpleasant walk from her car to the house. During her drive, she stumbled across the idea of parking on the right side of the driveway. This, in her mind, would take care of the landmines, and hopefully free her car from anything that latched onto Gretchen’s bumper. Not the worst of ideas, a noble effort of sorts. She just looked over one small detail. Gretchen’s right eye had a very skewed peripheral ability. That next morning, Gretchen opened the garage door and peered happily out. “She finally wised up and parked in the street,” she muttered to herself. With no obstacles in sight, Gretchen with a new confidence, decided to back out a little faster then normal. The two cars fused and flushed together for three feet before she felt the resistance. This time, Gretchen heard what became of the clank-scrap-rip, which really was just one long SKRIEK, which awoke the neighborhood that morning.
Lily slowly stumbled outside in crabby pajamas rubbing her eyes against the first images of the day.
“Please tell me this is a nightmare.” She moaned.
Gretchen desperately squeaked, “You know my right eye is lame, how was I to know you parked on the right side of the driveway when you normally park on the left?”
“Whatever, you’re paying for this.” Lily said turning towards the house realizing that the two hours she could normally be sleeping in for, would be spent plotting her stepmother’s demise.
The next night came upon them. Lily spent the whole day brainstorming on how to get back at her stepmother. This was the night. Focused and calm, Lily drove home impatiently through twirls of clarity. She was alert and determined, and the only thing in sight was her destination. Arriving home, Lily parked in the middle of the driveway, knowing all well that Gretchen would not be backing out the next morning. She spent the next half hour unplugging her stepmothers car battery, releasing all the air in her tires, and hiding Gretchen’s keys in the one place she knew she wouldn’t find them, her trunk. Lily fell asleep that night with a smile, not caring what was to come that morning, because she knew that her car was safe and sound from Gretchen’s monster boat.
The next morning Gretchen came across the sabotage left for her from the night before. Not even bothering looking for her keys, she left a note on the table for Lily to find when she awoke. It read:
Dear Lily,
I needed a car for work so I borrowed yours!
Love,
Gretchen
Lily came across the letter that morning, and was so angry, she decided to skip school and wait for her stepmother. Gretchen arrived home early from work to find Lily sitting by the door.
“Was that a taxi that dropped you off?” Lilly asked.
“Well, we need to have a talk dear.” Gretchen said.
“Where the fuck is my car?” Lilly screamed.
“Honey, what did I tell you about that word?” Gretchen hesitated.
“The only thing you need to be telling me is where my fucking car is.” She ruptured.
“Well, I was on my way to work, just putting along, and this cop car came out of no where, and I sorta got in a little fender bender.” Gretchen revealed.
“You hit a cop?” she asked.
“Sort of, but don’t worry, your car is fine, it was the officers car that got damaged. I swore I thought the light was green, it looked green, but you know me and my vision,” she explained. “Well, ultimately, because I’m not insured on your car, and it’s registered to you, they had to tow it. I swear it wasn’t my fault.”
Gretchen swears to this day she saw Lily’s eyes do a three sixty inside her sockets. Lily unable to drive anywhere spent the rest of the day and night locked in her room. Every time Gretchen knocked on her door, Lily screamed for her to go away.
The next morning came, and with no vehicle for Gretchen to go to work, and no vehicle for Lily to go to school, the Doves boarded the crowded city bus. There were only two seats left, and to Lily’s disappointment, they were right next to each other. They plopped down on the hard plastic and waited for the sudden jolt for the public transit system to begin. They were quiet most of the time. Gretchen would go to open her mouth and Lily would dramatically throw her hands in the air saying, “Don’t talk to me!” Gretchen gave up and spent the rest of the time with her eyes shut. When it came time for Lily to get off the bus, Gretchen felt a grueling stare from her stepdaughter. “Thanks for being a true asshole,” Lilly said.
Gretchen’s simple response was, “Hey. This is a world of sticks and stones!”
Lily sighed, “Yeah, but you are the only one who doesn’t feel broken bones.”
Gretchen frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said as Lily exited the bus.
For two-weeks, the two sat next to each other on the city bus. When they did finally get their vehicles back, Lilly ended parked in the street, and Gretchen spent forty-five minutes picking up dog shit.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
It's been awhile
Hey guys, sorry I haven't posted in awhile, but below is a short story I'm working on for my creative writing class, it's a rough draft. Let me know what you think.
Much love,
Joe Wilbert
Much love,
Joe Wilbert
Junky Graffiti (a short story)
She would drive home through a toxic twist of turns. Unsure of whether the fog was coming from her mind or the road, she would finally arrive at what little she could call home. Sitting there smothered by a fossil of problems, she knew what await her once she stepped outside of her car.
Every night, Lily would stand outside her car and stare at the infinite piles of dog shit that surrounded the vehicle. “It’s my fucking step mom, I know it, I know it!” she would say. Lily’s only suspect to blame for this new encounter of steamy welcomes was her stepmother Gretchen. Gretchen and Lily got along great.
Apparently, Gretchen got pissed at Lily when she started parking her car in the driveway, unlike her usual spot in the street. Gretchen was old and couldn’t really drive that well, and when she needed to back out of the driveway in the morning for work, well she had a little trouble. Lily felt there was plenty of room for her to park in the driveway. So Gretchen’s solution, instead of practicing mother to stepdaughter futility, she would every night before bed, take the two family dogs to relieve themselves in the little grass yard besides Lily’s car, hoping her stepdaughter would loose all hope.
Gretchen would just say something very dainty, “Good Heavens, I haven’t the slightest clue, and Lily, stop saying ‘shit’, say ‘poo’.” To this day, Lily wonders where the extension chord is to plug Gretchen in. This problem could have been easily solved by Lily parking in the garage, and Gretchen in the driveway. However, stubbornness was seen as a positive character trait for the Dove family. Lily hated being in the street, and Gretchen wanted the garage because she was certain her car would get stolen if parked in the driveway. So on and on, every night Lily would tiptoe over landmines, and every morning, Gretchen would slowly and gracefully, monster truck her way over the driveway, wondering each and every time if she would make it to the street.
Her first attempt was somewhat of a miss. She could have been backing out of an airplane hanger, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference. Gretchen’s stale green hunk of metal that could have floated on water had this silver bumper that stuck out along the nose of the car. The rusty and faded bumper, jagged around the sides, knew well of Gretchen’s driving record, and sweated every time the engine sparked. During her first effort, Gretchen slowly and delicately steered this hang tooth bumper, which just happened to latch onto a two week old garbage bag that Lily never took out, which resulted in Lily’s car receiving a sponge bath in rubbish that morning. Gretchen really couldn’t see that well, so she didn’t notice anything, and well, she struggled with hearing things too, so the clank-scrap-rip across the side of Lily’s car went unnoticed as well. She drove her whole way to work with a trash bag on her bumper. Little kids on school buses giggled towards their education that morning, sailing next to a green boat, and Captain Gretchen S. Dove spreading her junky graffiti across the roadway.
“So not only do I have to deal with dog shit at my feet every time I get out of my car, I also have to worry about used diapers stuck to my tire? You know how embarrassing that is?” Lily belched.
“If you would have taken out the trash like I asked you wouldn’t be crying,” Gretchen defended. “A little grease for your elbow wouldn’t hurt ya’ know?”
“No, now my entire body is greasy thanks to Miss Skippidy-Do-Da,” Lily whined. “I’m gonna go shower in bleach. Thanks. Oh, I heard BFI is hiring by the way, just thought, you might want to apply.”
The next night, Lily hazed home sliding through turns and weaves preparing for an unpleasant walk from her car to the house. During her drive, she stumbled across the idea of parking on the right side of the driveway. This, in her mind, would take care of the landmines, and hopefully free her car from anything that latched onto Gretchen’s bumper. Not the worst of ideas, a noble effort of sorts. She just looked over one small detail. Gretchen’s right eye had a very skewed peripheral ability. That next morning, Gretchen opened the garage door and peered happily out. “She finally wised up and parked in the street,” she muttered to herself. With no obstacles in sight, Gretchen with a new confidence, decided to back out a little faster then normal. The two cars fused and flushed together for three feet before she felt the resistance. This time, Gretchen heard what became of the clank-scrap-rip, which really was just one long SKRIEK, which awoke the neighborhood that morning.
Lily slowly stumbled outside in crabby pajamas rubbing her eyes against the first images of the day.
“Please tell me this is a nightmare.” She moaned.
Gretchen desperately squeaked, “You know my right eye is lame, how was I to know you parked on the right side of the driveway when you normally park on the left?”
“Whatever, you’re paying for this.” Lily said turning towards the house realizing that the two hours she could normally be sleeping in for, would be spent plotting her stepmother’s demise.
The next night came upon them. Lily spent the whole day brainstorming on how to get back at her stepmother. This was the night. Focused and calm, Lily drove home impatiently through twirls of clarity. She was alert and determined, and the only thing in sight was her destination. Arriving home, Lily parked in the middle of the driveway, knowing all well that Gretchen would not be backing the next morning. She spent the next half hour unplugging her stepmothers car battery, releasing all the air in her tires, and hiding Gretchen’s keys in the one place she knew she wouldn’t find them, her trunk. Lily fell asleep that night with a smile, not caring what was to come that morning, because she knew that her car was safe and sound from Gretchen’s monster boat.
The next morning Gretchen came across the sabotage left for her from the night before. Not even bothering looking for her keys, she left a note on the table for Lily to find when she awoke. It read:
Dear Lily,
I needed a car for work so I borrowed yours!
Love,
Gretchen
Lily came across the letter that morning, and was so angry, she decided to skip school and wait for stepmother. Gretchen arrived home early from work to find Lily sitting by the door.
“Was that a taxi that dropped you off?” Lilly asked.
“Well, we need to have a talk dear.” Gretchen said.
“Where the fuck is my car?” Lilly screamed.
“Honey, what did I tell you about word?” Gretchen hesitated.
“The only thing you need to be telling me is where my fucking car is.” She said.
“Well, I was on my way to work, just putting along, and this cop car came out of no where, and I sorta got in a little fender bender.” Gretchen revealed.
“You hit a cop?” she asked.
“Sort of, but don’t worry, your car is fine, it was the officers car that got damaged. I swore I thought the light was green, it looked green, but you know me and my vision,” she explained. “Well, ultimately, because I’m not insured on your car, and it’s registered to you, they had to tow it. I swear it wasn’t my fault.”
Gretchen swears to this day she saw Lily’s eyes do a three sixty inside her sockets. Lily unable to drive anywhere spent the rest of the day and night locked in her room. Every time Gretchen knocked on her door, Lily screamed for her to go away.
The next morning came, and with no transportation to work or school, the Doves boarded the crowded city bus. There were only two seats left, and to much of Lily’s disappointment, they were right next to each other. Gretchen would go to open her mouth and Lily would dramatically throw her hands in the air saying, “Don’t talk to me!” Gretchen gave up and sat there quietly for the rest of the bus ride. When it came time for Lily to get off the bus, she stared at Gretchen for thirty seconds before saying, “Thanks for being a true asshole.”
Gretchen’s simple response was, “This is a world of sticks and stones!”
Lily sighed, “Yeah, but you are the only one who doesn’t feel broken bones.”
Gretchen frowned, “I’m sorry.”
For three weeks, the two sat next to each other on the city bus. When they did finally get their vehicles back, Lilly parked in the street, and Gretchen spent forty-five minutes picking up dog shit.
Every night, Lily would stand outside her car and stare at the infinite piles of dog shit that surrounded the vehicle. “It’s my fucking step mom, I know it, I know it!” she would say. Lily’s only suspect to blame for this new encounter of steamy welcomes was her stepmother Gretchen. Gretchen and Lily got along great.
Apparently, Gretchen got pissed at Lily when she started parking her car in the driveway, unlike her usual spot in the street. Gretchen was old and couldn’t really drive that well, and when she needed to back out of the driveway in the morning for work, well she had a little trouble. Lily felt there was plenty of room for her to park in the driveway. So Gretchen’s solution, instead of practicing mother to stepdaughter futility, she would every night before bed, take the two family dogs to relieve themselves in the little grass yard besides Lily’s car, hoping her stepdaughter would loose all hope.
Gretchen would just say something very dainty, “Good Heavens, I haven’t the slightest clue, and Lily, stop saying ‘shit’, say ‘poo’.” To this day, Lily wonders where the extension chord is to plug Gretchen in. This problem could have been easily solved by Lily parking in the garage, and Gretchen in the driveway. However, stubbornness was seen as a positive character trait for the Dove family. Lily hated being in the street, and Gretchen wanted the garage because she was certain her car would get stolen if parked in the driveway. So on and on, every night Lily would tiptoe over landmines, and every morning, Gretchen would slowly and gracefully, monster truck her way over the driveway, wondering each and every time if she would make it to the street.
Her first attempt was somewhat of a miss. She could have been backing out of an airplane hanger, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference. Gretchen’s stale green hunk of metal that could have floated on water had this silver bumper that stuck out along the nose of the car. The rusty and faded bumper, jagged around the sides, knew well of Gretchen’s driving record, and sweated every time the engine sparked. During her first effort, Gretchen slowly and delicately steered this hang tooth bumper, which just happened to latch onto a two week old garbage bag that Lily never took out, which resulted in Lily’s car receiving a sponge bath in rubbish that morning. Gretchen really couldn’t see that well, so she didn’t notice anything, and well, she struggled with hearing things too, so the clank-scrap-rip across the side of Lily’s car went unnoticed as well. She drove her whole way to work with a trash bag on her bumper. Little kids on school buses giggled towards their education that morning, sailing next to a green boat, and Captain Gretchen S. Dove spreading her junky graffiti across the roadway.
“So not only do I have to deal with dog shit at my feet every time I get out of my car, I also have to worry about used diapers stuck to my tire? You know how embarrassing that is?” Lily belched.
“If you would have taken out the trash like I asked you wouldn’t be crying,” Gretchen defended. “A little grease for your elbow wouldn’t hurt ya’ know?”
“No, now my entire body is greasy thanks to Miss Skippidy-Do-Da,” Lily whined. “I’m gonna go shower in bleach. Thanks. Oh, I heard BFI is hiring by the way, just thought, you might want to apply.”
The next night, Lily hazed home sliding through turns and weaves preparing for an unpleasant walk from her car to the house. During her drive, she stumbled across the idea of parking on the right side of the driveway. This, in her mind, would take care of the landmines, and hopefully free her car from anything that latched onto Gretchen’s bumper. Not the worst of ideas, a noble effort of sorts. She just looked over one small detail. Gretchen’s right eye had a very skewed peripheral ability. That next morning, Gretchen opened the garage door and peered happily out. “She finally wised up and parked in the street,” she muttered to herself. With no obstacles in sight, Gretchen with a new confidence, decided to back out a little faster then normal. The two cars fused and flushed together for three feet before she felt the resistance. This time, Gretchen heard what became of the clank-scrap-rip, which really was just one long SKRIEK, which awoke the neighborhood that morning.
Lily slowly stumbled outside in crabby pajamas rubbing her eyes against the first images of the day.
“Please tell me this is a nightmare.” She moaned.
Gretchen desperately squeaked, “You know my right eye is lame, how was I to know you parked on the right side of the driveway when you normally park on the left?”
“Whatever, you’re paying for this.” Lily said turning towards the house realizing that the two hours she could normally be sleeping in for, would be spent plotting her stepmother’s demise.
The next night came upon them. Lily spent the whole day brainstorming on how to get back at her stepmother. This was the night. Focused and calm, Lily drove home impatiently through twirls of clarity. She was alert and determined, and the only thing in sight was her destination. Arriving home, Lily parked in the middle of the driveway, knowing all well that Gretchen would not be backing the next morning. She spent the next half hour unplugging her stepmothers car battery, releasing all the air in her tires, and hiding Gretchen’s keys in the one place she knew she wouldn’t find them, her trunk. Lily fell asleep that night with a smile, not caring what was to come that morning, because she knew that her car was safe and sound from Gretchen’s monster boat.
The next morning Gretchen came across the sabotage left for her from the night before. Not even bothering looking for her keys, she left a note on the table for Lily to find when she awoke. It read:
Dear Lily,
I needed a car for work so I borrowed yours!
Love,
Gretchen
Lily came across the letter that morning, and was so angry, she decided to skip school and wait for stepmother. Gretchen arrived home early from work to find Lily sitting by the door.
“Was that a taxi that dropped you off?” Lilly asked.
“Well, we need to have a talk dear.” Gretchen said.
“Where the fuck is my car?” Lilly screamed.
“Honey, what did I tell you about word?” Gretchen hesitated.
“The only thing you need to be telling me is where my fucking car is.” She said.
“Well, I was on my way to work, just putting along, and this cop car came out of no where, and I sorta got in a little fender bender.” Gretchen revealed.
“You hit a cop?” she asked.
“Sort of, but don’t worry, your car is fine, it was the officers car that got damaged. I swore I thought the light was green, it looked green, but you know me and my vision,” she explained. “Well, ultimately, because I’m not insured on your car, and it’s registered to you, they had to tow it. I swear it wasn’t my fault.”
Gretchen swears to this day she saw Lily’s eyes do a three sixty inside her sockets. Lily unable to drive anywhere spent the rest of the day and night locked in her room. Every time Gretchen knocked on her door, Lily screamed for her to go away.
The next morning came, and with no transportation to work or school, the Doves boarded the crowded city bus. There were only two seats left, and to much of Lily’s disappointment, they were right next to each other. Gretchen would go to open her mouth and Lily would dramatically throw her hands in the air saying, “Don’t talk to me!” Gretchen gave up and sat there quietly for the rest of the bus ride. When it came time for Lily to get off the bus, she stared at Gretchen for thirty seconds before saying, “Thanks for being a true asshole.”
Gretchen’s simple response was, “This is a world of sticks and stones!”
Lily sighed, “Yeah, but you are the only one who doesn’t feel broken bones.”
Gretchen frowned, “I’m sorry.”
For three weeks, the two sat next to each other on the city bus. When they did finally get their vehicles back, Lilly parked in the street, and Gretchen spent forty-five minutes picking up dog shit.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
My Own Book of Blues
This next post needs to be slightly prefaced. All of the writings I am posting were created during a short period while I was in Chicago. I have written more like them but these all sort of go together. It was a quiet time and I was really falling in love with the city. It was about this time that I discovered a lot of passion in the small things that I did and created.
The writings were an experiment that I did for myself. I wrote them based on a simple form that Jack Kerouac sort of created. There are several pieces all broken down into short segments. To help explain it better, here is a quote from Jack Kerouac in his poetry compilation 'Book of Blues':
"In my system, the form of blues choruses is limited by the small page of the breastpocket notebook in which they are written, like the form of a set number of bars in a jazz blues chorus, and so sometimes the word-meaning can carry from one chorus into another, or not, just like the phrase-meaning can carry harmonically from one chorus to the other, or not, in jazz, so that, in these blues as in jazz, the form is determined by time, and by the musician's spontaneous phrasing & harmonizing with the beat of the time as it waves & waves on by in measured choruses.
It's all gotta be non stop ad libbing within each chorus, or the gig is shot."
With that said, here is a taste of my attempt at Jack Kerouac's 'blues choruses'.
*****
The words are there,
but no one can see,
If they are only
in my head,
Are they
still
words -
Still thoughts?
or just emotions -
meaning?
Full or Less
Circle one, then
let me in on it.
*****
If time is so
precious then
why do we waste
it with our "breast
pocket notebooks"?
Why here - or on
that sheet there.
Turn me over and
waste here!
Atleast here will
live forever when
Time is wasted.
Time is here -
not yet wasted.
*****
To where will you
go?
When I leave -
where will
I go?
Why do I have
to have a clue
-O-
To what reasoning
is there that
I should know
Cabins, woods, dreams,
and rivers -
I shall take a
bus -
From coast to coast
I can place my
name on any
mail box.
I can sit in a
recliner and
get
-HI-
Watch time go
by - High and
Time go -
Where will I end
up? It's
as much
your clue
as it is mine.
g
u
ess
Because that is
where I will
be - Carmen
S a n d i e g o
That is where I
will be -
-O-
That is where
I WILL
BE
That is what I Love.
*****
Where am I now -
Chicago, well
not this second.
10
thousand miles
above the ground -
Airplanes
Flying or soaring
or
drifting in the air -
Ro ck et -
ing
and bringing a child's
imagination to life.
*****
honk honk
vezooonm -
screeching tires
but no end - no
bang. no
BANG. NO
in Chicago -
no pickup
or call in - bumper
to bumper but never
bumper
in
bumper
*****
My heart over
a sunset
R
i
s
ing to show
me how beautiful the
world is
How peaceful the
r
o l
W d is
My heart is here.
*****
My loves find
inspiration in Chicago.
Chicago finds
inspiration in
M E.
This is why I
love this city.
And why I don't
want to leave -
but I'm sorry -
The wind
The wind -
It goes West to East
West
to
East
But my love for
home will only take
me so far -
it will take
me West to East -
to O O
hi
to where I was
born, but that
isn't
enough - I read
and see a
place I love -
I drive to smell
it's air - passed
over the ocean.
The sweet smell
of land - and
salt
WA TER.
The water oooo
the Water of
California - or
San cisco -
Fran
where will I end -
I don't know -
I've never seen
Port LAND
But I hope to -
I dream to.
I have smelled a
beauty and I can
NOT
deprive myself
of that beauty - of
that sun
rise and Fall -
The sunset over
the ocean -
It wouldn't be
F A
I R to me.
To us.
But I may extend
my boundaries . . .
Boundaries beyond
our National
Bor
d
e
r
s.
Who knows.
I love where
I am -
And I know I'll
Love where
I will be.
This is not good-
bye
B
Y
E - just see
you Later.
The point is
Chicago - I have
to
Chica GO
The writings were an experiment that I did for myself. I wrote them based on a simple form that Jack Kerouac sort of created. There are several pieces all broken down into short segments. To help explain it better, here is a quote from Jack Kerouac in his poetry compilation 'Book of Blues':
"In my system, the form of blues choruses is limited by the small page of the breastpocket notebook in which they are written, like the form of a set number of bars in a jazz blues chorus, and so sometimes the word-meaning can carry from one chorus into another, or not, just like the phrase-meaning can carry harmonically from one chorus to the other, or not, in jazz, so that, in these blues as in jazz, the form is determined by time, and by the musician's spontaneous phrasing & harmonizing with the beat of the time as it waves & waves on by in measured choruses.
It's all gotta be non stop ad libbing within each chorus, or the gig is shot."
With that said, here is a taste of my attempt at Jack Kerouac's 'blues choruses'.
*****
The words are there,
but no one can see,
If they are only
in my head,
Are they
still
words -
Still thoughts?
or just emotions -
meaning?
Full or Less
Circle one, then
let me in on it.
*****
If time is so
precious then
why do we waste
it with our "breast
pocket notebooks"?
Why here - or on
that sheet there.
Turn me over and
waste here!
Atleast here will
live forever when
Time is wasted.
Time is here -
not yet wasted.
*****
To where will you
go?
When I leave -
where will
I go?
Why do I have
to have a clue
-O-
To what reasoning
is there that
I should know
Cabins, woods, dreams,
and rivers -
I shall take a
bus -
From coast to coast
I can place my
name on any
mail box.
I can sit in a
recliner and
get
-HI-
Watch time go
by - High and
Time go -
Where will I end
up? It's
as much
your clue
as it is mine.
g
u
ess
Because that is
where I will
be - Carmen
S a n d i e g o
That is where I
will be -
-O-
That is where
I WILL
BE
That is what I Love.
*****
Where am I now -
Chicago, well
not this second.
10
thousand miles
above the ground -
Airplanes
Flying or soaring
or
drifting in the air -
Ro ck et -
ing
and bringing a child's
imagination to life.
*****
honk honk
vezooonm -
screeching tires
but no end - no
bang. no
BANG. NO
in Chicago -
no pickup
or call in - bumper
to bumper but never
bumper
in
bumper
*****
My heart over
a sunset
R
i
s
ing to show
me how beautiful the
world is
How peaceful the
r
o l
W d is
My heart is here.
*****
My loves find
inspiration in Chicago.
Chicago finds
inspiration in
M E.
This is why I
love this city.
And why I don't
want to leave -
but I'm sorry -
The wind
The wind -
It goes West to East
West
to
East
But my love for
home will only take
me so far -
it will take
me West to East -
to O O
hi
to where I was
born, but that
isn't
enough - I read
and see a
place I love -
I drive to smell
it's air - passed
over the ocean.
The sweet smell
of land - and
salt
WA TER.
The water oooo
the Water of
California - or
San cisco -
Fran
where will I end -
I don't know -
I've never seen
Port LAND
But I hope to -
I dream to.
I have smelled a
beauty and I can
NOT
deprive myself
of that beauty - of
that sun
rise and Fall -
The sunset over
the ocean -
It wouldn't be
F A
I R to me.
To us.
But I may extend
my boundaries . . .
Boundaries beyond
our National
Bor
d
e
r
s.
Who knows.
I love where
I am -
And I know I'll
Love where
I will be.
This is not good-
bye
B
Y
E - just see
you Later.
The point is
Chicago - I have
to
Chica GO
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Where have all the Writers Gone?
Just because the Writer's Guild is on strike doesn't mean you can't write here!
It's not just you guys though. It's me and you. No one is writing. So everyone is in the wrong. I fully understand everything with the holidays. But they are over. So, let's kick off a new year of writing. Let's post everything and post often.
We have seen some writers a lot and then we have seen a couple new writers a little. Let's all try to post and comment.
Invite your friends or anybody. I want some new people posting. Post short things or long things. Anything. Let's get the blog rolling!
It's not just you guys though. It's me and you. No one is writing. So everyone is in the wrong. I fully understand everything with the holidays. But they are over. So, let's kick off a new year of writing. Let's post everything and post often.
We have seen some writers a lot and then we have seen a couple new writers a little. Let's all try to post and comment.
Invite your friends or anybody. I want some new people posting. Post short things or long things. Anything. Let's get the blog rolling!
Monday, December 10, 2007
An Ode to Thirsty Thursdays
Over the weekend, I attended a "bad sweater party". The reminded me of a rant I wrote in college about parties like these. It's a rather negative take but I hope you enjoy....
Sometimes in life, I run into people and situations that get under my skin. I am almost always bothered by the little things more than anything. I am in college and when you are in college you often find yourself drinking. That is okay. I sometimes go to parties and drink. I may drink heavily or I may not. The entire situation is fun and I typically enjoy myself. My only question is, what is with all the terms and clever saying? Let me start at the beginning:
I get lost in the lingo and slang of an everyday night. If I am belligerent, this makes the whole night harder. Let’s bring out an example to help me explain. If I’ve drank enough to dance, am I toasted or tipsy? If I’ve drank enough to piss in the kitchen, am I crunked or smashed? And how do I know if I’m f***ed up or wasted? To be f***ed up do I have to throw up or just piss myself? I just can’t find the line. And the more I drink the blurrier it gets. Which brings me to my next and more important point:
I know that college kids think they’re clever, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Remember when we used to drink on Saturdays? It was Saturday night and we’d get crunked or wasted or whatever. Well, you guys started getting antsy for the weekend and you slowly bumped it to Friday. Freaky Friday or Funky Friday or F***ed up Friday. Whatever. And maybe this was a long time in the making. Maybe Friday is a good day to party. But I don’t know who you’re fooling. Giving the day a rhyming name doesn’t change the fact that you’re an alcoholic.
So, maybe it’s a stretch. You’re only drinking on Friday and Saturday. That’s not alcoholism. It’s just being social. Well then how do you explain Thirsty Thursdays? Oh you clever devil. You know I get thirsty on Thursdays and you’re using that against me. I don’t know about you, but when I get thirsty I don’t think of Irish car bombs and jack Daniels. I think of poweraide, milk or water. Maybe that’s just my conservative side.
But you know my fellow lush’s; I’ll give you Thursday because I don’t have any classes on Friday. Maybe this is a trend around the world. Who knows? But Wicked Wednesday? Now you’re just trying too hard. Inebriated Tuesdays? That doesn’t even make sense. And Maniac Mondays? My grandpa has Maniac Mondays. But that’s only because he is a drunk.
So we might as well make Smashed Sundays. Or why not Wasted Weeks? Just name everything in one big swoop. I get it, you’re creative. Whoopee! Let’s move on. Let’s say it’s Wicked Wednesday and you’re heading out to a party. What are you going to wear? Well, if it’s a good party, you’ll wear whatever the f*** you want. If it’s a party that annoys me then it will require attention to the invitation.
What type of party is it? Golf pros and tennis hos? What does that even mean? I went to a party like that and a girl hosted it. She just set woman back 50 years. Guys dress in sweaters and girls wear next to nothing. What the f*** is a tennis ho? Are tennis players secretly pimps? That would be an awesome underground ring. Andre Agassi whoring out women. Weird. Ganstas and hos? Good, I’m well prepared. I just need to dust off my grill. I should never have to buy anything to go to a party. NEVER. Not a hat, or coat or pitching wedge. Nothing.
So, I will wrap this up in saying that I will put my drinking on hold. I will boycott the delicious taste of alcohol until you, my fellow college students, just drink. Stop with the names and terms and parties and just drink. Go places with friends and drink and have a good time. Maybe get drunk. But stop with the tennis hos and thirsty days and getting crunked (which, by the way, I couldn’t even begin the describe what that word means). Stop with all the nonsense and drink like you lost a leg in Vietnam. Use alcohol to forget your problems. Use it as a crutch. Just don’t give it clever name and clever reasons to consume it.
And while you’re learning your lesson I will be sitting alone in my room, not drinking. . . . .Unless of coarse I get thirsty.
Sometimes in life, I run into people and situations that get under my skin. I am almost always bothered by the little things more than anything. I am in college and when you are in college you often find yourself drinking. That is okay. I sometimes go to parties and drink. I may drink heavily or I may not. The entire situation is fun and I typically enjoy myself. My only question is, what is with all the terms and clever saying? Let me start at the beginning:
I get lost in the lingo and slang of an everyday night. If I am belligerent, this makes the whole night harder. Let’s bring out an example to help me explain. If I’ve drank enough to dance, am I toasted or tipsy? If I’ve drank enough to piss in the kitchen, am I crunked or smashed? And how do I know if I’m f***ed up or wasted? To be f***ed up do I have to throw up or just piss myself? I just can’t find the line. And the more I drink the blurrier it gets. Which brings me to my next and more important point:
I know that college kids think they’re clever, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Remember when we used to drink on Saturdays? It was Saturday night and we’d get crunked or wasted or whatever. Well, you guys started getting antsy for the weekend and you slowly bumped it to Friday. Freaky Friday or Funky Friday or F***ed up Friday. Whatever. And maybe this was a long time in the making. Maybe Friday is a good day to party. But I don’t know who you’re fooling. Giving the day a rhyming name doesn’t change the fact that you’re an alcoholic.
So, maybe it’s a stretch. You’re only drinking on Friday and Saturday. That’s not alcoholism. It’s just being social. Well then how do you explain Thirsty Thursdays? Oh you clever devil. You know I get thirsty on Thursdays and you’re using that against me. I don’t know about you, but when I get thirsty I don’t think of Irish car bombs and jack Daniels. I think of poweraide, milk or water. Maybe that’s just my conservative side.
But you know my fellow lush’s; I’ll give you Thursday because I don’t have any classes on Friday. Maybe this is a trend around the world. Who knows? But Wicked Wednesday? Now you’re just trying too hard. Inebriated Tuesdays? That doesn’t even make sense. And Maniac Mondays? My grandpa has Maniac Mondays. But that’s only because he is a drunk.
So we might as well make Smashed Sundays. Or why not Wasted Weeks? Just name everything in one big swoop. I get it, you’re creative. Whoopee! Let’s move on. Let’s say it’s Wicked Wednesday and you’re heading out to a party. What are you going to wear? Well, if it’s a good party, you’ll wear whatever the f*** you want. If it’s a party that annoys me then it will require attention to the invitation.
What type of party is it? Golf pros and tennis hos? What does that even mean? I went to a party like that and a girl hosted it. She just set woman back 50 years. Guys dress in sweaters and girls wear next to nothing. What the f*** is a tennis ho? Are tennis players secretly pimps? That would be an awesome underground ring. Andre Agassi whoring out women. Weird. Ganstas and hos? Good, I’m well prepared. I just need to dust off my grill. I should never have to buy anything to go to a party. NEVER. Not a hat, or coat or pitching wedge. Nothing.
So, I will wrap this up in saying that I will put my drinking on hold. I will boycott the delicious taste of alcohol until you, my fellow college students, just drink. Stop with the names and terms and parties and just drink. Go places with friends and drink and have a good time. Maybe get drunk. But stop with the tennis hos and thirsty days and getting crunked (which, by the way, I couldn’t even begin the describe what that word means). Stop with all the nonsense and drink like you lost a leg in Vietnam. Use alcohol to forget your problems. Use it as a crutch. Just don’t give it clever name and clever reasons to consume it.
And while you’re learning your lesson I will be sitting alone in my room, not drinking. . . . .Unless of coarse I get thirsty.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Connecticut Christmas (1 of 3)
I am 16 but have never met my father. That is why I am here in this convertible. My name is Matthew and sitting next to me is my brother Chew. We have been driving for 2 days now and are getting excited to see our birth father. Last we heard, he lived in Arizona so that is where we will search.
“Where are we going?” Chew asks.
“We’re almost there, Chew.”
Chew isn’t actually my brother and his name isn’t actually Chew. I guess I should start at the beginning.
My mom was a beautiful girl when she was young. Long before her truck driving days. When she was 17 she met a nice young man who turned out to be my father. Nine months later at least.
The tricky part is that my mom’s twin sister also met this nice young man a week later and she had his baby too. That’s where chew comes in. My mom and Chew’s mom are twin sisters who were knocked up by the same man. To make things more unique, me and Chew were both born on the same day only hours apart.
We have a lot of pride in our family and I love my step-twin brother. He is the most important person to me and the way I see it, he is my whole brother.
It gets weirder though. Our mom’s were in different rooms when they named us. My grandpa’s name is Matthew and they seemed to have the same idea to name their kids after him. So we were both named Matthew, but Chew came out a little different.
Chew grew up with what we thought was a lisp. We soon learned that Chew was actually mentally retarded. He couldn’t pronounce Matthew, he could only say MaChew, so we now call him Chew. My mom always said that it was a miracle that Chew came out retarded or else there would have been a lot of confusion. I agree.
So our dad skipped town and no one’s seen him since. The last we heard he was living in Arizona. He called Grandpa Matthew a few years back. He told him what he was doing and how life was. I’d like to think that he was looking to come back into our lives. But I don’t think Grandpa Matthew would like that too much. So, we’re heading south to find him.
Not only are we looking to meet this man but we’ve also run into some money trouble. Chew’s mom is pretty sick so she can’t work. My mom just lost a finger on her cross-country trucking route and we’ve been waiting for her worker’s compensation. We’re in the market for a prosthetic finger but times are tough. Plus, Grandpa Matthew just died last month so everyone’s been pretty down. Chew always has a smile on his face, but I just need to get out.
Last week I told Chew we were leaving and going to find our dad. He doesn’t really understand but he needs to come. We both need this.
So, Chew and I suited up and said our goodbyes to our moms. We left Connecticut and headed south for Arizona. We’ve been driving a beat up car but traded it in with our baseball card collection for this awesome convertible. The convertible can only reach 30 mph but it has been a lifesaver with the heat.
Chew has been complaining for most of the trip. “Its so hot here, Machew. And I stuck my head out the window like you told me to but I can’t breath. I can’t breath Machew. And if I can’t breath then I will die Machew. I don’t want to die!”
Chew is wearing a dirty starter jacket, sweat pants and LA gear light up shoes. It is a week away from Christmas and Chew is positive it will snow. I’ve explained to him that it won’t snow where we’re going but he is adamant that it will. So I let him.
Chew turns the radio on, “Rockin’ Jams 101.7 the Rockin-est Rock!”
A DJ comes on the radio, “big news for the drivers out there. It seems there has been a huge recall on several makes and models of cars. It appears that the airbags are deploying for no reason. This could become a serious problem. Be safe out there drivers and check online to see if your car is included in the recall.”
Chew continues to sweat and try to breath while sticking his head over the door. We drive into Phoenix and Chew starts to get excited. “Penix, Penix!” Chew yells.
“Where are we going?” Chew asks.
“We’re almost there, Chew.”
Chew isn’t actually my brother and his name isn’t actually Chew. I guess I should start at the beginning.
My mom was a beautiful girl when she was young. Long before her truck driving days. When she was 17 she met a nice young man who turned out to be my father. Nine months later at least.
The tricky part is that my mom’s twin sister also met this nice young man a week later and she had his baby too. That’s where chew comes in. My mom and Chew’s mom are twin sisters who were knocked up by the same man. To make things more unique, me and Chew were both born on the same day only hours apart.
We have a lot of pride in our family and I love my step-twin brother. He is the most important person to me and the way I see it, he is my whole brother.
It gets weirder though. Our mom’s were in different rooms when they named us. My grandpa’s name is Matthew and they seemed to have the same idea to name their kids after him. So we were both named Matthew, but Chew came out a little different.
Chew grew up with what we thought was a lisp. We soon learned that Chew was actually mentally retarded. He couldn’t pronounce Matthew, he could only say MaChew, so we now call him Chew. My mom always said that it was a miracle that Chew came out retarded or else there would have been a lot of confusion. I agree.
So our dad skipped town and no one’s seen him since. The last we heard he was living in Arizona. He called Grandpa Matthew a few years back. He told him what he was doing and how life was. I’d like to think that he was looking to come back into our lives. But I don’t think Grandpa Matthew would like that too much. So, we’re heading south to find him.
Not only are we looking to meet this man but we’ve also run into some money trouble. Chew’s mom is pretty sick so she can’t work. My mom just lost a finger on her cross-country trucking route and we’ve been waiting for her worker’s compensation. We’re in the market for a prosthetic finger but times are tough. Plus, Grandpa Matthew just died last month so everyone’s been pretty down. Chew always has a smile on his face, but I just need to get out.
Last week I told Chew we were leaving and going to find our dad. He doesn’t really understand but he needs to come. We both need this.
So, Chew and I suited up and said our goodbyes to our moms. We left Connecticut and headed south for Arizona. We’ve been driving a beat up car but traded it in with our baseball card collection for this awesome convertible. The convertible can only reach 30 mph but it has been a lifesaver with the heat.
Chew has been complaining for most of the trip. “Its so hot here, Machew. And I stuck my head out the window like you told me to but I can’t breath. I can’t breath Machew. And if I can’t breath then I will die Machew. I don’t want to die!”
Chew is wearing a dirty starter jacket, sweat pants and LA gear light up shoes. It is a week away from Christmas and Chew is positive it will snow. I’ve explained to him that it won’t snow where we’re going but he is adamant that it will. So I let him.
Chew turns the radio on, “Rockin’ Jams 101.7 the Rockin-est Rock!”
A DJ comes on the radio, “big news for the drivers out there. It seems there has been a huge recall on several makes and models of cars. It appears that the airbags are deploying for no reason. This could become a serious problem. Be safe out there drivers and check online to see if your car is included in the recall.”
Chew continues to sweat and try to breath while sticking his head over the door. We drive into Phoenix and Chew starts to get excited. “Penix, Penix!” Chew yells.
Connecticut Christmas (2 of 3)
We drive up to a motel and I pay for a night. I hope that will be enough to find our dad. We just don’t know where to start looking. We’re not positive what he does but we know he makes great money. He’s a businessman of some sort and he owes us child support.
We start by looking in phone books. His name is Merl Furqward. You would think that there could only be one Merl Furqward in all of Phoenix but there are 12. We start at the top.
“When do we get to see dad, Machew?” Chew asks.
“Soon enough buddy. I’ve just gotta call a few numbers and we’ll find out where he lives. Then we can finally meet him.”
Chew responds to himself, “He lives in Penix, my dad does. And I get to see him. And it is like a Christmas present because it is almost Christmas but that isn’t my only present because I told Santa what I want and it will be waiting for me back in Curneckertut.” Chew can’t say Connecticut.
So, I call the numbers and catch a break. They are all disconnected numbers except my dad’s. I don’t know what was up with the other numbers. He answered his every time I called, which was several. And every time he said hello, I hung up. I can’t bring myself to talk to him. I’m afraid he won’t want to see me.
I finally stir up enough guts to talk to him. “Hello, Merl? Hi, this is…uh…this is Matt’s Extermination and you have won a free de-bugging service. Yeah, but uh it seems your number is not in the phone book so if you would just give me your address I can swing by in the next week and deliver your free service.” I write the address down and hang up. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him.
Me and Chew eat out of the vending machine for dinner. We will go to our dad’s house tomorrow. Sleep now and go tomorrow.
“Did you talk to dad?” Chew asks.
“Yea I did, and he told us where he lives.”
“Will he like me, Machew?” Chew wonders.
“Of coarse he will Chew. How can he not like you?”
Chew thinks for a minute. “I know, but maybe he won’t.”
“Just sleep Chew, and tomorrow we’ll go and see him.” We both lay down and Chew’s feet stick out of the bottom of the bed. His shoes are still on and they light up the entire room.
The next morning we wake up and get ready to go. Chew whines, “Can we eat first? I don’t want to meet my dad when I’m hungry.”
We go to get some breakfast. The waitress makes polite conversation, “And what are you boys doing here?” She points at Chew, “You ain’t dressed like you’re from Arizona.”
Chew answers with food in his mouth, “We’re from Curneckertut and came to Penix to see our dad. My mom is sick and we’re going to meet out dad in Penix. He is nice but I never met him.”
She looks at him for a minute. “Curneckertut?”
Chew says, “yea” and keeps eating.
“We’re just here to meet our father,” I explained to waitress. She nodded her head politely and walked away.
We finish with our meal and head over to see our dad. I am nervous but Chew sang Disney songs all the way there. We pull into his driveway and the place is beat up. It looks worse than our trailer back in Connecticut.
We knock but no one answers. Our dad is not home. All the lights are off and I look through a window at the side of the house and it looks deserted. A neighbor walks up behind me, “You looking for Merl?”
I tell him I am and ask if he knows where I can find him.
The neighbor responds, “Yea, he leaves for work in the morning and comes back in the evening. He won’t be back here until late. But you can catch him at work if you like Santa.”
Chew’s eyes light up, “I like Santa!”
The neighbor continues, “Well, he is a Santa down at the mall and you can go see him there.”
I tell him thanks and we head off for the mall.
Chew is still trying to process the information, “Our dad is Santa? Santa is dad? This is amazing.” Chew sticks his head out the window to yell but can’t breath and quickly comes back to his seat and coughs.
We go into the mall and find SantaLand. Chew is excited but I’m hesitant. We find the line of kids and wait. We wait for 2 hours before we get to the front and then I see him. I can’t tell what he looks like but it’s my dad. My father who I’ve never met. The man that is missing in my game of catch and the man who will teach me how to shave. He has a cut off T-shirt on and a white beard that is turning brown from dirt.
We walk up to him. He smells like baby powder and scotch. He asks us, “Ho Ho Ho, aren’t you boys a little big for Santa?”
Chew screams, “Santa! I mean dad! I love you so much!”
“What’s he talking about? Hey, elf, get these kids outta here!” Santa yells.
“But wait,” I said, “We’re your son’s. I’m your boy, I just want to meet you.” That’s when Sprinkles and Plunket grabbed my collar and took me and Chew out of the store. We had been defeated by 2 boys our age with curled shoes.
We decided to wait at his house meet him when he came home. This took longer than expect. We waited for 7 hours and he finally stumbled out of his car. He was drunk and he had a friend with him. It was a girl who couldn’t have been older than me. She was drunk and he dragged her everywhere by her wrist. Our dad took that young girl inside.
He fucked her.
She passed out somewhere in the middle. But our fucking deadbeat pervert of a dad fucked her. He smacked her and fucked her. He’s not the man I thought I would find. This is the same piece of shit man that fucked my mom. The same piece of shit that fucked my aunt. I made Chew sit in the car while I watched. I couldn’t take my eyes away. It was like a car accident but in this case I just wanted a knife to cut his dick off. This piece of shit man needs to be stopped. I will kill this son of a bitch.
I get back in the car to breath a bit. Chew and I go back to the motel to sleep. I don’t sleep though, I stare. I stare and plot. Everything I just saw keeps replaying in my mind and I want to kill him.
We start by looking in phone books. His name is Merl Furqward. You would think that there could only be one Merl Furqward in all of Phoenix but there are 12. We start at the top.
“When do we get to see dad, Machew?” Chew asks.
“Soon enough buddy. I’ve just gotta call a few numbers and we’ll find out where he lives. Then we can finally meet him.”
Chew responds to himself, “He lives in Penix, my dad does. And I get to see him. And it is like a Christmas present because it is almost Christmas but that isn’t my only present because I told Santa what I want and it will be waiting for me back in Curneckertut.” Chew can’t say Connecticut.
So, I call the numbers and catch a break. They are all disconnected numbers except my dad’s. I don’t know what was up with the other numbers. He answered his every time I called, which was several. And every time he said hello, I hung up. I can’t bring myself to talk to him. I’m afraid he won’t want to see me.
I finally stir up enough guts to talk to him. “Hello, Merl? Hi, this is…uh…this is Matt’s Extermination and you have won a free de-bugging service. Yeah, but uh it seems your number is not in the phone book so if you would just give me your address I can swing by in the next week and deliver your free service.” I write the address down and hang up. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him.
Me and Chew eat out of the vending machine for dinner. We will go to our dad’s house tomorrow. Sleep now and go tomorrow.
“Did you talk to dad?” Chew asks.
“Yea I did, and he told us where he lives.”
“Will he like me, Machew?” Chew wonders.
“Of coarse he will Chew. How can he not like you?”
Chew thinks for a minute. “I know, but maybe he won’t.”
“Just sleep Chew, and tomorrow we’ll go and see him.” We both lay down and Chew’s feet stick out of the bottom of the bed. His shoes are still on and they light up the entire room.
The next morning we wake up and get ready to go. Chew whines, “Can we eat first? I don’t want to meet my dad when I’m hungry.”
We go to get some breakfast. The waitress makes polite conversation, “And what are you boys doing here?” She points at Chew, “You ain’t dressed like you’re from Arizona.”
Chew answers with food in his mouth, “We’re from Curneckertut and came to Penix to see our dad. My mom is sick and we’re going to meet out dad in Penix. He is nice but I never met him.”
She looks at him for a minute. “Curneckertut?”
Chew says, “yea” and keeps eating.
“We’re just here to meet our father,” I explained to waitress. She nodded her head politely and walked away.
We finish with our meal and head over to see our dad. I am nervous but Chew sang Disney songs all the way there. We pull into his driveway and the place is beat up. It looks worse than our trailer back in Connecticut.
We knock but no one answers. Our dad is not home. All the lights are off and I look through a window at the side of the house and it looks deserted. A neighbor walks up behind me, “You looking for Merl?”
I tell him I am and ask if he knows where I can find him.
The neighbor responds, “Yea, he leaves for work in the morning and comes back in the evening. He won’t be back here until late. But you can catch him at work if you like Santa.”
Chew’s eyes light up, “I like Santa!”
The neighbor continues, “Well, he is a Santa down at the mall and you can go see him there.”
I tell him thanks and we head off for the mall.
Chew is still trying to process the information, “Our dad is Santa? Santa is dad? This is amazing.” Chew sticks his head out the window to yell but can’t breath and quickly comes back to his seat and coughs.
We go into the mall and find SantaLand. Chew is excited but I’m hesitant. We find the line of kids and wait. We wait for 2 hours before we get to the front and then I see him. I can’t tell what he looks like but it’s my dad. My father who I’ve never met. The man that is missing in my game of catch and the man who will teach me how to shave. He has a cut off T-shirt on and a white beard that is turning brown from dirt.
We walk up to him. He smells like baby powder and scotch. He asks us, “Ho Ho Ho, aren’t you boys a little big for Santa?”
Chew screams, “Santa! I mean dad! I love you so much!”
“What’s he talking about? Hey, elf, get these kids outta here!” Santa yells.
“But wait,” I said, “We’re your son’s. I’m your boy, I just want to meet you.” That’s when Sprinkles and Plunket grabbed my collar and took me and Chew out of the store. We had been defeated by 2 boys our age with curled shoes.
We decided to wait at his house meet him when he came home. This took longer than expect. We waited for 7 hours and he finally stumbled out of his car. He was drunk and he had a friend with him. It was a girl who couldn’t have been older than me. She was drunk and he dragged her everywhere by her wrist. Our dad took that young girl inside.
He fucked her.
She passed out somewhere in the middle. But our fucking deadbeat pervert of a dad fucked her. He smacked her and fucked her. He’s not the man I thought I would find. This is the same piece of shit man that fucked my mom. The same piece of shit that fucked my aunt. I made Chew sit in the car while I watched. I couldn’t take my eyes away. It was like a car accident but in this case I just wanted a knife to cut his dick off. This piece of shit man needs to be stopped. I will kill this son of a bitch.
I get back in the car to breath a bit. Chew and I go back to the motel to sleep. I don’t sleep though, I stare. I stare and plot. Everything I just saw keeps replaying in my mind and I want to kill him.
Connecticut Christmas (3 of 3)
The next morning we go to the mall. And we volunteer as elves. Which turns out is much easier than being hired as one. We have a post in SantaLand where the fake snow is and we have to make sure it stays there. It is boring.
There is a car that was being shown across our post but they are hauling it away today. The airbags are deployed and a man is leaving on a stretcher. I suppose that recall is really starting to hurt people.
I try to pass the time by watching people but I keep thinking about last night. I start to day dream and I walk up to him tell him who I am. He will try to get me to leave but I will snap off the glass candy cane sitting next to him and slice his throat. I guess he can’t rape girls when his throat is leaking on SantaLand’s snow.
I snap out of it and think for a bit.
Chew recites what he wants for Christmas, “Lotsa lego’s and a pair of scissors with the safety edges because I lost mine. And a glue stick because I ate mine and candy and baseball cards with gum because my cards were given to a man with a car and my dad. I want my dad for Christmas. But my dad is Santa so I wan t Santa.” Chew looks at me, “You think my mom knows that my dad is Santa?”
“I don’t know Chew. But we’re going to be leaving soon. Real soon Chew.”
“What about dad?” Chew asks.
“We’re going to meet him outside.”
Of coarse when I say meet I mean stab excessively. I have decided that I will kill him for sure. I buy a knife at a shit hole store later that day and head back to the mall before the old man gets out. I see him walk out the doors and I head toward him.
Chew asks, “What are you going to do to dad?”
“I’m sorry Chew, but I’m going to kill him.” I head after him but he is about 30 yards away. He is heading for his car and I figure I’ll meet him there.
Chew yells after me, “No don’t. Dad is Santa and we look alike and if you kill Santa he may not know which one of us is which and you will be on the naughty list but you look like me, so he may put me on the naughty list.” Chew screams, “Don’t kill Santa.”
Our dad, if you can call him that, crosses the parking lot and turns around when Chew yells. He sees me with my knife and looks wide-eyed.
A car hits our dad and mashes him under its tires. He is dead on contact. The boy who was driving was a student driver. He stares for a minute. He looks at the instructor, “Does this mean I . . .” his airbag goes off before he has a chance to finish.
Me and Chew stand there in awe that our father is dead. Neither of us knows what to say. Chew starts crying. We get in the car and start to leave the parking lot.
An old lady is trying to park her car and slowly pulls into a spot. We wait for her and she edges closer and closer. The tip of her bumper touches the car next to her and her airbag goes off. She slams the gas and rams several cars around her.
I’m sure she’s dead.
We head back to Connecticut and Chew sings Christmas songs the whole way there. It took about 5 minutes for me to get him to stop crying, all I had to do was explain to him that our dad wasn’t Santa. I told him that our dad died a painful death but Santa was still alive.
Chew was happy.
There is a car that was being shown across our post but they are hauling it away today. The airbags are deployed and a man is leaving on a stretcher. I suppose that recall is really starting to hurt people.
I try to pass the time by watching people but I keep thinking about last night. I start to day dream and I walk up to him tell him who I am. He will try to get me to leave but I will snap off the glass candy cane sitting next to him and slice his throat. I guess he can’t rape girls when his throat is leaking on SantaLand’s snow.
I snap out of it and think for a bit.
Chew recites what he wants for Christmas, “Lotsa lego’s and a pair of scissors with the safety edges because I lost mine. And a glue stick because I ate mine and candy and baseball cards with gum because my cards were given to a man with a car and my dad. I want my dad for Christmas. But my dad is Santa so I wan t Santa.” Chew looks at me, “You think my mom knows that my dad is Santa?”
“I don’t know Chew. But we’re going to be leaving soon. Real soon Chew.”
“What about dad?” Chew asks.
“We’re going to meet him outside.”
Of coarse when I say meet I mean stab excessively. I have decided that I will kill him for sure. I buy a knife at a shit hole store later that day and head back to the mall before the old man gets out. I see him walk out the doors and I head toward him.
Chew asks, “What are you going to do to dad?”
“I’m sorry Chew, but I’m going to kill him.” I head after him but he is about 30 yards away. He is heading for his car and I figure I’ll meet him there.
Chew yells after me, “No don’t. Dad is Santa and we look alike and if you kill Santa he may not know which one of us is which and you will be on the naughty list but you look like me, so he may put me on the naughty list.” Chew screams, “Don’t kill Santa.”
Our dad, if you can call him that, crosses the parking lot and turns around when Chew yells. He sees me with my knife and looks wide-eyed.
A car hits our dad and mashes him under its tires. He is dead on contact. The boy who was driving was a student driver. He stares for a minute. He looks at the instructor, “Does this mean I . . .” his airbag goes off before he has a chance to finish.
Me and Chew stand there in awe that our father is dead. Neither of us knows what to say. Chew starts crying. We get in the car and start to leave the parking lot.
An old lady is trying to park her car and slowly pulls into a spot. We wait for her and she edges closer and closer. The tip of her bumper touches the car next to her and her airbag goes off. She slams the gas and rams several cars around her.
I’m sure she’s dead.
We head back to Connecticut and Chew sings Christmas songs the whole way there. It took about 5 minutes for me to get him to stop crying, all I had to do was explain to him that our dad wasn’t Santa. I told him that our dad died a painful death but Santa was still alive.
Chew was happy.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Running Late
Wait…before you go, I just wanted to let you know, that I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re too damn stupid to understand. I’m sorry you were never taught how to read a clock. Damnit, I said 5 and you come waltzing in here at 15 after. I should have eaten. I don’t like cold food, but apparently you do. Apparently, the little world that revolves around your beer belly has to eat cold asparagus because you like it that way. Just another bump in the road, right? How many bumps until we tip over? Huh, Howard, how many bumps? And I asked you to fix that shower this weekend because the drain is clogged with hair, and did you? Nope! That shower doesn’t even drain now. Maybe your balding head should fix it since it is after all his fault. We can’t even shower until you feel like it. We can’t shower until you have time in between your under-achieving job, calling your mom and being a dumbass. Maybe you could squeeze it in, Hun? What do you think? God, I stayed with you through your infertile years. You can play with boxes all day at work but you sure as hell don’t know how to work mine. Oh, did that surprise you Howard? Catch you off guard? And just so you know, golden retrievers are not the same as children. I have needs! . . . . . Go ahead, leave. But just know, just know that if you walk out that door, don’t expect to come back . . . . . . . Wait, Howard, come back, I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me? . . . . . . . Fine! Go, but you’ll be back, no one else will put up with you . . . Wait, what about the shower?
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