Thursday, December 16, 2010

To Be Determined

Time flies when you're having fun or maybe just when you realize that it's done. When the good times easily out weigh the bad times it only makes the final time even worse.

All of our anger and rage, bitterness and hate, still hoping that it won't over take our love and choke out our life. Being in love is supposed to suffice, but I've never seen it.

What's mine is yours and yours is mine, but I paid no mind to what you had in mind because I thought it was all mine. How could I have been so blind?

If the truth will set you free, it will also set you on fire. It can burn down walls, brick and mortar, leaving only a foundation that hopefully remains for a better tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

Darlin' Companion

I couldn't believe how easy it was. Most guys like me dream of sitting at the bar and having some curvy blonde pull up a stool, buy me a beer and ask "Do you wanna get out of here?" two minutes later. I agreed, but told her I had my ex wife's dogs in my car. "Bring em' with you." She said.

I didn't know where we were going, but I didn't argue. I followed her back to an apartment complex where I had done some electrical work a few years back. After putting the truck in park I listened to the last verse of "The Thunder Rolls" before shutting the engine off. She insisted that I bring the dogs in even though they were fine in the car.

"Why do they have mohawks?" She said.

Her face was puzzled but her hand knew exactly what was going on. I was surprised she could slide it down my pants with out having to undo the belt. After she woke him up she abruptly went in to the next room.

Waving me over she giggled like a sorority girl as she started cutting lines. "I like to make them into smiley faces because it makes me happy. See, I made you one too." I'd been clean for a while and didn't feel like getting fucked up with some floozy. I changed the subject.

"How old are you? I mumbled.

"Forty Five." She said. "Your dogs are freaking me out. Let's fuck before my son gets home."

I agreed. "You don't have to tell me twice."

She laughed.

"You like horror movies?"



Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Combo #3 With Chicken

When I came through the front door it smelled like nachos. For some reason fucking has always smelled like a cantina to me, not the one on Mos Eisley, more like Buford Highway. The apartment looked like it had been burglarized, but nothing was missing.

Someone had actually made an addition. Two standard poodles were sitting in the middle of the living room floor. They had mohawks. They didn't make a sound. They could've been statues.

A rolled up dollar bill and a smiley face outlined with cocaine were on the dinning room table. Some of the powder had fallen on the floor. It made a trail, like bread crumbs, to the bathroom. The door was cracked open.

I stood in the door way and was greeted by a naked man wearing a Michael Myers mask. He was taking a shit.

"Uh...Hey man...Your mom said she'd be right back."

Most people would call 911, but I know a first date when I see one.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Gridlocked

The second thought that came to mind was "Whatever you do, just don't look down." Naturally, I looked down. I was terrified. How could I not?

What surprised me; with my whole body trembling and the next rung in my hand I took the next step. Thinking back, I only recall going up two places on the ladder before I woke up.

It's not that I'm afraid of success, just the failure that precedes it.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

House, on the rocks. Tall, but a single.

It‘s late and the work day was 12 hours long. He slides behind the wheel to make his way home. The windows are rolled down and the radio is turned up. Trying not to fall asleep, he drums on his steering wheel mimicking John Bonham. He’s failing at both.

His second wind finally blows into the car catching his hair and twisting it in his face as he moves his head up and down to the beat. Zeppelin starts to fade and there’s so much static in the speakers his hair is about to stand up on end. He passes the water tower that he rolls his eyes at every morning for having the obligatory positive slogan for the small town. “Half way home.” He quietly says.

Without music to listen to, he feels the weight of the day dragging his eye lids further and further down until they’re completely shut.

“This place seems to be hopping tonight. I wonder if it’s like this every night?” He thinks to himself. While standing in line trying to get a drink he spots a beautiful girl wearing a black sequin dress making her way to the bar. She flashes him a smile. He would’ve preferred something else. The bar tender asks him for his drink order right in time to keep him from staring. The band strikes up as he places his order. He tries to speak up so the man can hear him, but the blasts of the trumpets keep drowning him out with every attempt.

“Whiskey! I’ll have a whiskey!”

The heads lights are blinding and the horn is deafening. His car pulls through the turn colliding head on with another vehicle. All the while he’s screaming “Whiskey!” as loud as he can.

Slowly the reception of his radio kicks in. The music is blaring. He closes his eyes because he knows what’s next, but there isn’t a white light and there is no tunnel, just blood and sequins.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Typewriters and Dark Rooms

My dad and I were talking yesterday about how when I was a kid we moved into a new house in a subdivision that didn't have phone lines that ran out to it yet. For the first month that we lived there we didn't have a phone. My uncle Billy was a a pretty well to-do business man though and let us borrow his "cell phone" for that month. My dad said it was in a large brief case that weighed around 30 lbs. Zack Morris had nothing on this baby! That was in 1989.

"It worked though!" my dad exclaimed as we talked about it via my iphone that was plugged in to the cigarette lighter and charging in my car. I'm sure everyone has had those moments thinking to themselves "What did I ever do before...?". I've really felt the pain the last few weeks. We moved into a new place and for whatever reason, mainly laziness, I put off getting the internet hooked up. Once I finally got around to doing it, the installation date was a week out and naturally they hooked it up at the 11th hour.

I've never realized how dependent on the internet I am for spitting out a 1000 words. I'd like to believe it's because I only write in google documents anymore, but that's not completely it. Typing on computers in general is pretty amazing, backspace alone has affected my life in ways I'll never know.

Technology overall has obviously made a lot of professions/industries a lot shittier though. How many people ever wrote anything outside of an essay before blogging popped up? Wedding photographers are a dime a dozen now with cameras going digital. It has to suck for those who had to tough it out with typewriters and and dark rooms. Sometimes I day dream about it all just giving out, but then how would I update my Facebook status?

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

My dog ate my homework.

When I was a child I would procrastinate. My ability to put something off was groundbreaking for someone my age. Unfortunately, with my procrastination came guilt, Catholic guilt, this too was unprecedented for a child of merely 7 years. I was raised protestant.

The "night before" when I told my parents at 9pm I had a science project due the next morning or the time I had at least 20 pages worth of answers to fill in a hour before school started is a daunting memory. Just thinking about it I can still feel that knife in my stomach, digging deeper with every toss and turn as I rolled around in bed thinking about what was undone.

"The worst part about being a writer is that you always have homework."

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Exodus vs. Masochist

"Fuck you!" He said as he ran out the door. Slamming in to a wall of rain, his emotions seemed to be mirroring the current storm cycle; peculiar and erratic.

All I could do was laugh.

I tried not to give it much thought, fearing that I might do the same.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

This seems to be fleeting.

"Do you remember when you still loved me?" you asked. Our backs were facing and I was thinking about a girl I had seen on the train while I assumed you were thinking about yourself.

"I'm not sure if I could pin point an actual date when I stopped, but it was sometime last fall. You were sitting on the porch when I arrived to your house by car. "What took you so long?" you said. It was all in your tone. I knew it would just be a matter of time."

This confession, all in my head.

"You know I still love you." I replied.

Friday, August 13, 2010

The Good O'l Days!

I was reading over at gaping void that there's been a major decline in blogging since 2006. I figure that might be for the best, you know, over saturation in the market. Then again, I've seen a lot of cool bloggers come and go, or just not blogging as much. Who am I to judge though. I've done the same thing.

Life happens and you get busy. Maybe like me, you find yourself no longer working a 9-5 where you only have to do two hours of work a day to stay ahead of the curve. Perusing the internet and blogging filled the rest of my cubicle life.

Blogging has been so beneficial for me. It really helped me take the first step into writing. Nowadays I find myself consumed with writing articles and doing interviews for a local online magazine. As much as I enjoy it, I miss writing the daily/weekly blog entry and being in the blog community.

With that being said, I randomly came across a blog a friend of mine started recently, For Each Wind That Blows. Check her out! It's like the chick flick of blogs, with no drama!

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Future and the Past.

Earlier this month I talked to a dude about the future.

Steven Dixey is a super hero.

After that I spent time reading about the forgotten past.

I've never considered selling my soul to the devil, but then again he's never asked.

Monday, July 12, 2010

On Making Friends.

If you like listening to good music or meeting trannies on craigslist, this article is for you!


A Casual Encounter With Dylan Kight.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

"Born, Born To Be Wild"

My parents were hippies, but only one of them liked the Beatles. Like my father, I'd rather listen to Dylan.

I wrote this about the Hippie/Youth Activism Movements in Atlanta During the 60's.


Throwback: The Bird Is The Word.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

Friday, May 21, 2010

A road in Atlanta...

If you've never been to Atlanta, there's a road called Ponce De Leon Ave. that runs through the heart of the city, at least the part of the city that I hang out in. Unfortunately, it's not quite the fountain of youth that it sounds like. Just ask the hookers and crackheads, but they did use to play baseball there, not the hookers and crackheads.

Throwback: Ponce De Leon Baseball Park

Monday, May 10, 2010

New Endeavors

I recently started writing for an Atlanta online lifestyle magazine called Purge. This is my newest article/interview regarding a local record store owner and his first year of business. This article may or may not have a gang initiation involved.

Feed Your Head! Music

Enjoy!

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Maybe we can carpool.

They despised me when I walked among them. The disobedient son who paid no tribute to lip service and said what everyone else was thinking. I was never welcome at the table.

They feared punishment. Substance is what I sought, something that was real, even if it was pain.

They are the faithful. Saying that they will do "His will", but only doing their own. Watching to see who is watching. The left hand always knowing what the right is doing.

Now I'm the sheep who forgot his way, the lost coin that cannot be found, the seed planted on rocky soil. I'm stuck in the thicket, I lay within the cracks, my roots have died and have scattered in the wind.

They cringe when I appear, teeth gnash. They think that I might test or even tempt them. Our morality the same, but I choose to be honest. One of the few commandments that I won't violate.

No longer the faithful servant, but I'm not the only one. The son who has gone to waste his inheritance, the prodigal who won't be returning home. I wouldn't be welcome. Unknowingly, they are the reason that they think I will burn.

Place the mill stone around my neck. I choose to be a stumbling block.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

This To Shall Pass

This winter seems two seasons long. It’s fitting though, everything else has been numbing and long and drawn out as of late. Why not the weather? Once I settle in for the evening, I usually go for my night cap. The ice I put in my glass has freezer burn on it. Once poured though, the whiskey removes all traces.

The drink is doing something to me tonight. Lighting a fire inside my frozen body and thawing out what’s been numb. Two birds with one stone!

The holidays went by so quickly. I don’t remember Thanksgiving and I was sleeping in a guest bedroom during Christmas. I did receive a year supply of shaving cream and a book on serial killers though. Nothing like reading about a triple homicide to ring in the new year! And that’s just what I did while I worked. Happy New Year!

It snowed on “our” Valentine’s Day. After eluding work, I got her a DVD about Philadelphia and she helped me not forget about Dre. Some assholes destroyed our snowman hours after we brought him in to this world, but we do live in the South, so maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

New things could be happening this year though. My Dad could potentially not have anyone living in his basement, my better half will be spending more time in the snobbier part of town due to work and I think I might just try gaining the “Freshman Fifteen”.

First things first though, Spring must arrive.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Doctor Sleep

Everything is black. This room is large, but vacant. Maybe I’m outside or in a cage. I'm definitely in a spaceship. I could be wearing a mask. There would be more light if my eyes were closed.

I like it.

Someone’s talking. Each syllable they enunciate makes my head feel like a floor tom. Maybe it’s electronic, a drum machine that plays in rhythm with their every word. I hit the snooze button. The beat trails off and I feel like dancing. The bathroom is down the hall.

If I don't get up now I might piss myself, but I’m cold and pissing myself doesn’t seem like such a bad option when there's only two. The debate ends, my journey begins.

Trying to find the light switch on a wall reminds me of braille. If I was blind I would lose. If I was mute, pointing would be my way. If I was deaf I’d probably curl up and die.I am the epitome of human waste. I’d be completely useless if not fully functional.

The weak are truly strong.

Finally, the switch is between my fingers. It reminds me of a cigarette on its last drag, the thought causes me to dry heave. The switch is heavy and the click makes my ears ring.My eyes are still closed, but I’m surrounded by artificial light. It reminds me of my mother. As a child she would wake me for school in the morning by abruptly switching on the lights, singing and dancing to show tunes. I’m the only straight man that I know who can sing along to Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals.

The hallway seems long and reminds me of the Overlook Hotel.
I close my eyes when I think of dead girls staring at me.
Now I'm scared and wouldn't mind hearing my mother sing "My Favorite Things" to me. I hum along. My index finger involuntarily moving up and down to the chorus.

The bathroom is my finish line and I congratulate myself for finishing the race.
I step straight into the shower. My clothes haven't come off this fast since 6th grade. Relief is mine. I watch last night go down the drain.

Bathing seems like a good idea until the water hits me.
The shower head releases it's power and it feels like acupuncture.
A love/hate relationship with China suddenly forms.
Pain or euphoria, Shang or Zhou, steamed or fried?
All of these decisions to ponder!

And now it sounds like someone is trying to break down the bathroom door.