Polishing Your Junk

I had collapsed onto the pavement, without a change in my dull expression, squinting from the aggressive sun that invaded my eyes. Faded footsteps grew louder until the silhouette of a young lady rescued my burning eyes. She draws a wet cloth to my face and makes it sensitive to the breeze once more. Oh that cool relieving breeze.

“There,” she was satisfied. “So handsome!”

Years back there was a lady who had found a painting in a pile of trash and hung it up on her wall. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that the painting was an original of a famous Mexican painter, valued at $1 million. It was stolen from its original owner and by many exchanges, lost its reputation as a gem and was diluted in the minds of many into trash. Today I was reminded of that story as I wandered through my existing feeling like junk.

Sometimes what you are worth is forgot through the wear and tears of life. If you ever find yourself down on your luck in a pile of garbage remember, whoever threw you there doesn’t have a Goddamn clue what you are worth to begin with. And they will regret it when someone else cleans you up and pays you your dues. Or you can polish your own junk off…hmmm.

I would like to think that in 10 years time, when I’m laying in bed with my lovely wife, I would tell her about how I was thrown away once.

“Ayo, Shaniqua,” I would holla. “come here gurl, I wanna tell you somethin’. Can you believe that 10 years ago, Shanaynay up and kicked me to the curb?”

“Shanaynay?” she would be surprised of course. “you mean Latoya’s sister, that bald headed , stank breath hoochie with the gimpy leg from around the corner on 14th??”

“What?? Nah, not the bald headed, stank breath hoochie with the gimpy leg from around the corner on 14th! Damn!” I corrected, “I mean Shanaynay, the one who married Dr. Roberts, living in that good part of town.”

“Oh her. She doing pretty good now huh?”

“yup….”

“Stop sitting there like you gonna cry and go fetch me some water!” she screamed, “you lazy ass mothafucker!”

“awe. That’s my baby” I smile.

…….That did not prove my point at all huh? Just ignore that whole half of the blog….

I, Miss The Right

With a swagger I stagger
Further and further from you
Clear and true as her eyes are blue
Who knew that these winds blew
Answers, answers
Catch them by twos
T'was the epiphany that murders
My good ridden hope
Strangles it gently with an 18 karot rope
Then let me down with an unexpecting grope
And as she spoke
She soaked
In the guilt
"I often wonder how Rome was built"
Bites her bottom lip and slips into my arms
The tide will cover us for now until the dawn
And you, so unaware
Or better yet without a care
Indeed all I need
Is a soft secret stare
And there
In the moment of this night
I rest, a proud man
'till she whispers "you missed the right"

Time Murders for Youth

I fear the bitter sweetness of time
Choking her down
Yes, it’s for the best
But still I often frown

Her smile will not exist
Faded with each breath
For a moment I’ll be silent
Out of respect
For this gradual death

And soon, it seems
So will the curiosity of driving fast
That same Goddamn model of vehicles
I desperately need to pass

I’d throw some hopeful glances
Throw them quick!
For God knows why
Always definitely not her
So not worth a try

Her laughter
For all I know
Will sound more like kazoos
For only then
Just then
Will I be able to
Carry through

So time, do it quick
Don’t drag your feet so
Cause the longer you take
The more my sanity goes

Then I’ll close my eyes
While you dump her down stream
Away from my sight
Away from my dreams

And I’ll hear your chuckle
Similar to calendar pages flipping
I’ll pay you with my youth
Through this alcohol I’m sipping

Desperado...Why Don't You Come to Your Senses

*Note, this blog is best read during the playing of Desperado, the song by The Eagles and after watching Desperado, the movie by Robert Rodriguez.

The piano in this dark saloon plays a melancholy tune before it preaches to me what I’ve been ignoring for as long as I can. I sit at the bar getting more drunk and not getting any younger, riding these fences for far too long. The laughter that surrounds me don’t concern me much cause I’m busy staring at the queen of diamonds, freshly drawn from the deck of card in front of me and now slowly falling out of my hands onto the floor.

Earlier today I watched the movie Desperado, directed, written and produced by Robert Rodriguez for the second time. It originally came out back in 1995 and I can remember, as a child being extremely shocked, among other things, at how intense the sex scene was between Antonio and Salma. There they were on the bed in a dark room, surrounded by candles that illuminated an orange glow, both all sweaty. I gave that scene the title of “best sex scene I’ve ever seen” right then and there. That titled eventually got passed on to every porno I ever watched since. Now, sadly, I discovered that epic scene is barely considered soft porn! I think I even yawned during it. What’s messed up is I realized that I got more excited during the moments leading up to the two doing the horizontal dance, details that I never remembered before. For those of you who forgot what happened, let me describe it for you.

Antonio and Salma are in her bed talking, after she had just bandaged up his wounds that he got from a fight on the streets. They had just met the other days in very similar circumstances (him being injured, her nursing him) and already they were falling for one another. He notices an acoustic guitar wrapped in paper leaning against the nightstand and asked about it. She explains that she had just bought that for him. You see, Antonio use to be a musician until gangsters shot a hole in his hand and figuratively, shot a hole in his heart by killing his lover (hush now, I know I’m the master of corniness). Since then, he’s never played much. Instead he lives his life looking for the man in charge of those gangsters and if successful, he will kill him, thus avenging his lover’s death. Anyway, I thought it was very cute that Salma bought him that guitar. For some reason he’s hesitant about using his left hand (the hand that was shot), so all he did with it was finger pick with his right hand. (Let me reminded you that for the first time in all my blogs, I’m not metaphorically describing naughty acts. This is all literally speaking). So as you should know, hopefully, you need two hands to play the guitar, so Salma crawls over besides Antonio and lends him her left hand, pressing the notes while Antonio strums the strings. Sigh. That’s fucken teamwork…Romantic. He teaches her some chords and is caught by surprised when Salma goes in for a kiss. I know, I know. How did I not appreciate this scene before? Had I did, would I have drawn the queen of hearts instead? Maybe.

I stumble out the swinging doors of this saloon, my leftover change jingling like the spurs on the renegade boots of a desperado as he walks in the dry sun down the side of a never ending highway. Oh, I’m a hard one and I did have my reasons but it seems that now I’ve got my tired arms stretched out, thumb to the sky hoping for Salma to come in her jeep to pick me up and ride me into the sunset…I mean drive me into the sunset. Well, maybe I mean both. She’s hot. But what about my freedom you ask? Well my prison, so I’m told, is walking through this world alone. So I’m slowly starting to figure that I should start letting somebody love me before it’s too late. Any takers? I got a great personality!

Bon Voyage

That smile lacks my presence
But it's gorgeous none the less
And the fact that it still shines so bright
Means us dying was for the best

Drifting further from these empty shores
I hope the waves are kind to you
Send some bottled message sometimes
Let me know "how do you do?"

And maybe the tides will wash ashore
Some memories now and then
Inside some seashells and drift wood
In case I wonder if we'd ever been

So your foot prints fade, smoothed out by water
Now I'm certain you're gone
That and the fact I was at your door
And your dad chased me off your lawn

I am Not a Victim of Love or Karma

With four definitions of inspiration tattooed on my ribs, I write with a sense of ownership. This is me for the moment and I assure you that my feelings are honest. But don’t mistake my need to express myself for the ignorance and lack of appreciation for the power of words that you process. My blog entries are not fallen evidence that scream, “Here I am, a victim of love or karma.” So while you laugh away with what you may call justice, know that the misfortunes bestowed on me were not in any way a result of events between us. The new flash is that if everyone’s cards are laid out on the table, there are no victims. Now go ahead and walk around proud, as if your curse on me has finally come true and in turn show your true face; an immature child.

Off the Top of My Head

In an attempt to reclaim my status as a freestyle typer-of-the-rap master, I got a newly acquired hombre to pick any topic and I'd write a rap about it in less than 10 minutes. She chose "Phones."

And this is my reply


Ok,
I gotta catch the beat first,
Check one, two
Uh
Ring ring ring is what my phone will say
When she sends a text to brighten my day
Telus and Bell, I would choose neither
When she come quicker through my Fido receiver
And that’s a subliminal message, if you naughty like that
I’ll facebook the details on my iphone app
But reality hits and cuts the cord
Now her attention, I can’t afford
She’s so lovely, and she’s so cute
She’s the reason, my phone is now a mute…

....damn. Will she ever get out of my head!?

sigh...Keep it gangsta everyone...

Exactly Where We're Suppose to be

“Hey, babe. Now that I have a real life, not-made-up girlfriend, should I not wear my ‘cheers to being single’ t-shirt anymore?”

“No, babe, you shouldn’t wear that shirt anymore.”

I hate when girls tell me what to do, but in that very moment, it felt good, like an S&M gagged slave obey his master….Well, maybe not exactly like that, but I had no problems parting with that t-shirt. And those of you calling me a little bitch right now would stop if you’d seen the girl that answered me. We laid in each other’s arm, lost in our own thoughts; the silence made us smile and our touch reassured that we were still thinking of each other. Well, I was anyways. Who knows, she may have been already planning her escape. I thought of how perfect my life was; how all the books that have made me who I am, leaned on my shelves, proud like parents are on their kid’s graduation day. My hard wood floor, bare as we were, covered in nothing more than the clothes we had on only 5 minutes ago….I mean, 2 hours ago (yeah…I’m a sex machine. What’s up ladies?). My vinyl records stacked ever so neatly, while the record player speakers buzzed, yearning for the touch of Ray LaMontange’s Trouble waxed record. I looked in her beautiful eyes and thought, “We’re all exactly where we’re suppose to be aren’t we?”

Fast forward to right now and you'll find me laying in the exact spot as then, haunted by the drunken night before, staring at a suitcase from weeks ago, half unpacked, the other half on the hard wood floor along with everything I wore for the last week. My vinyl records are scattered beneath any and every piece of furniture, probably keeping my guitar and hats company. The books that once praised my lifestyle now wilt with age and slouch just a bit more than usual. The ‘cheers to being single’ t-shirt peaks out from the back of my closet as if it were a long lost friend that, through extensive research had found my address and come knocking on my door. This red shirt is usually a sight for sore eyes, or in past cases, sore hearts, but not this time. I tried it on days before and it never felt right. Maybe it shrunk in the dryer or maybe I just got fatter. Probably both. I looked into the eyes of my dog Maggy as she builds a fort of the unfolded blankets and thought, “We’re all exactly where we’re suppose to be aren’t we?” She ignores me and continues making her fort.

My Old Blog Description

So there’s this cliff way above the clouds, a beautiful sight, made of golden earth that’s complimented by clear blue sky and soundless dessert. On the edge of this cliff is a poorly located seesaw, the pivoting center point sits so that one end of the board hangs suspended far beyond the solid ground, like a diving board only it teeter totters. Keep up with me now. I’m seated on the end of the seesaw with ground beneath it staring at the other end, which is at its highest point due to my weight. Sitting on that end is an idea, light as a feather. Alone, I struggle finding ways to get close enough to those ideas without falling to my death.

The Great White Buffalo (in a soft whisper)

There’s a point in everyone’s life when they wish they had some sort of time machine to help them take a second chance at caging their great white buffalo (in a soft whisper). Well, to be honest, that whole sentence does not make sense to me anymore. For one, time travel to the past is now considered impossible by the great Stephen Hawking and for two; the great white buffalo only exists relative to unfavorable situations. Let me explain.

I downloaded the time travel episode of Stephen Hawking’s Into the Universe series to discover that time travel to the past is quite impossible. Let’s face it, to go back in time and change our lives would make no sense because there would be two of us existing at the same time, the present us (or future us, however you want to look at it) and the past us. Imagine, if you will, a man passing through a time machine with a mission to kill himself. He goes back in time 10 minutes and ambushes his past self as that past self is on his way to the time machine (to go back in time to kill himself). If it could be true, then that ambush would have already happen, which means that the man would have been dead before he could even travel back in time….to kill himself!!! Think about it! It creates a paradox does it not? How can you kill yourself if you’d already be dead before you could do so because your future self has already done it?? So you see, time travel to the past cannot exist. And neither does the great white buffalo (in a soft whisper).

The great white buffalo (in a soft whisper) is the one that got away. You know, the girl/guy that was so good for you that even 5 years down the road you’re still regretting not fighting to stay in a relationship with them? If you are nodding your head yes to that it means that your life is shit right now. Well, according to me that’s what it means. It’s kind of like what happened today. I was walking to my truck after work when out of nowhere it began to rain, hard. Naturally, I started looking for trees with stretched branches that filters the raindrops into drizzle to walk under. As I hopped and skipped from tree to tree I noticed a man in a t-shirt and shorts, casually taking his time walking. Drenched of course.

“Hey man!” I called out through the chaos of rain contacting the earth, “you do realize it’s raining right?”

He’s startled. “Oh hi there fella. Yeah, I know it’s raining. I lived in Vancouver for most of my life so this rain doesn’t bother me much.” And continues his stroll down the sidewalk.

What is rain but tiny drops of water? What’s the worst that could happen? I get wet and eventually dry off. Before that encounter, a sunny day was the only thing that I could think of. And on the hottest days, all I could think of was the refreshing fall breeze. And when my heart is aching because of a horrible girlfriend, all I can think of is the girl that treated me better. But does that mean she’s the great white buffalo? Is she the one that got away? I mean, would she still be the great white buffalo if I were with a girl that appreciated me? I doubt it.

So, my friends, I tell you this. Everything is relative. Just because the girl you were with for 4 months has a million dollar laugh, has the decency to unlock your door for you from inside your truck, and held you like no other, doesn’t mean she’s the only one who can do it. Don’t get me wrong, if you ever find someone like that, you best know that they’re keepers. But if they do leave you hanging in a dark hotel room with nothing but the silent tides of a beautiful lake mocking you, know that you’ll get a chance to be happy again. And yes, maybe later down the road you’ll find one another again, but for your own sake, don’t count on it and find someone who will appreciate you. Because even though Back to the Future 1,2, and 3 were great movies, don’t count on a time machine to get that…

...Great White Buffalo (in a soft whisper).

*note, I wrote this after watching Hot Tub Time Machine for the second time. The first time was in the movie theatre with my ex. I couldn’t help but go back to that night as I watched the movie on DVD in my room, reminiscing the days when I could just lean over and steal a kiss whenever I wanted. And then I realized that I could never have that again. Not with her, unless I had a time machine. And the rest is history I guess.

Umbrellas...

Step by step I drop, making my way to the first floor of my work building; more specifically, the back door. Pushing the handle, I allow the sweetest sounds of cars roaring for their driver’s freedom and the rain pouring fast and hard. I pull out my umbrella put step out into the cold slippery pavement only to step back inside, for in the warm quiet sanctuary of this carpeted stairwell was a man. I noticed him after I heard the following words coming from his direction.

“What the hell!?” he says.

He notices me noticing him and explains in further detail through another question. “How did you get your umbrella to stay open like that?”

I looked at mine, stretched and erect, not really understanding it’s mechanics. You see, here in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, rain is not our specialty. Now, give us a snow shovel and we’ll clear a sidewalk for you in minutes, but umbrellas?? The one in my hands isn’t even really mine!

“Well, mine has a button you press,” I state in a Jim Gaffigan kind of tone, “…and it has flowers.”

We attempt to open his umbrella but there was no clicky-stopper-mechanism to keep the darn thing stretched open. He compare umbrellas for a few minute until a lady from up stairs comes down with her leopard print rain shelter. She joins the party and after 10 minutes I quit and leave them to it.

The soft hallow taps on the outstretched cloth above my head puts me in a pondering mood and I make this here connection. Umbrellas are like relationships. They are designed to keep you dry from the rain but they have their flaws. Some rip while others flip over backwards from the wind. Some have buttons. Some you got to push open manually. Then there are some that don’t stay open at all. There hasn’t even been any break through improvements to their design since they were first invented! Oh, then there are some that lightning is attracted to and you get hit and die.

Actually, umbrellas are nothing like relationships. Whatever! I can't give you awesome blogs every fucken day ok!

A Wild Idea

3 summers ago, Marvin, Roger and I had a great idea. It was the peak of summer and the sun was shining intensely. The affects were two folds as the heat wave enters through Marvin’s Suzuki Vitara SUV. We drove down the free way, aimlessly. We were all bored. We were all broke. And we were all hungry. The logical thing to do here would be to stop the SUV, collect whatever currency we had on us and decide on a restaurant that we would be able to split a meal. However, this is what we chose to do instead.

We rolled up all the windows while Marvin continued driving. We also cranked on the heater to full power, thus, setting the stage for the competition that we invented. Loser of this competition pays for everyone’s dinner. And by loser, I mean the person who cracks open the window first. 15 minutes and 3 sweaty boys later, Roger comes, literally, out through the window; refreshed and the loser.

We laughed about it at dinner and told a fourth friend about what we had done. “Can you imagine? Three sweat guys in an SUV driving down the freeway with the windows up in 30°C weather??” We were very entertained.

“That’s so stupid and irresponsible!” says the fourth friend, a.k.a party pooper. “What if one of you guys past out? Worse, what if Marvin pasted out and swerved into another vehicle??”

In retrospect, what we did was probably not as awesome as we had thought. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” was our reply.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I thought of all the sweat in that SUV in reflection on my current situation and the choices that were made. After she left me that day she stated, “I have a feeling that I’m going to regret what I’m doing right now.” Now there are many of you that will throw the chair you are sitting in out of rage. I don’t blame you. How could she give up something so good?? And for what?? To voluntarily experience a moment of loneliness?? Will she look back and say, “It seemed like a good idea at the time”? Either way, I got to respect that. Regardless of her regretting the decision or not she will grow because of it. I support anyone that chooses self-growth.

And for me? I had no idea that this was how things would end. My idea was that she was the one. Now, taking a drive in my truck on a hot day much like 3 summers ago I can’t help but see all that we would miss out on. Every song on the radio that I haven’t dedicated to her yet; all the stories on all the streets that I never thought of telling her; the vintage movie theatre that I promised I’d one day take her to; the restaurants that I/she HAD to try. The idea of us together was perfect, easy to imagine and even easier to conduct. But is it her that I miss so much or just the idea of her? I stare at the dusty stereo screen in my truck and remembered when she use to wipe it clean for me with her index finger every time she sat in the passenger seat. I pull out my new portable swiffer and give the screen a dusting. Maybe one day, all that I so desperately wanted would become just another wild idea.

The Sorrow Period

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my last big break up, it’s this. Give yourself a grievance period. And by this I mean, plan a start date and an end date. Within this time, allow yourself to dwell in your sorrow. Do whatever you need to, even if it makes things worst; cry hard and loud in the shower while eating a ham sandwich screaming “oh god why?!” as many times as needed; drive your truck at 3am to her house, headlights off, and just stare at her front door; make collages of all the things that would be in your wedding when you win her heart back using Sears catalogs and pictures of the two of you together. Regular things like that. But after that period is over, you move on. Through the art of documentation, I, well, documented my sorrow period.

*note, though some of the items below are lies and never happened, all of it is true.

8:35am – Wake up. Sorrow Period begins. Cry.

8:40am – Lay awake in bed staring into the abyss (ceiling) while listening to Pomplamoose’s cover of Makin’ Out, our song, over and over again.

9:00am – Brush teeth and take a shower.

9:07am – Collapse in the shower and silently open-mouth-cry, periodically releasing a loud scream until I get all wrinkly.

9:40am – Prepare breakfast to the tune of Come On, Come Out by A Fine Frenzy with a big smile on my face, realizing that life moves on!

10:00am – Set both plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the table, realizing that I prepared her a plate.

10:05am – After staring at the plates for 5 mins, I remember that she is gone and throw a fit, turning over the table, breaking the glasses and plates that sat on it.

10:13am – Breathing heavy on the ground next to the mess

10:15am – See a piece of broken glass that looks like the perfect shape to cut my wrist with

10:17am – Chickened out of committing suicide and clean up the mess

10:30am – Apologized to my dogs for the out burst that occurred 15mins ago and promised that it will never happen again

11:30am – Break my living room window by throwing laptop threw it after looking through all the pictures of her and I. Wedding, vacation, concert pictures…

12:00pm – Ate stuffing I bought at Superstore for lunch while apologizing to my dogs again.

12:30pm – Wrote a list of things that she promised me and consequently broke through leaving.

1:00pm – Drink last of the 12 pack Keith’s that I started 15mins prior.

2:00pm – Wake up to find myself in my underwear, body covered in what taste like caramel with a red thong in my hand that I believe was hers

2:15pm – George, my neighbour at front door takes back his wife’s red thong that I supposedly stole from their laundry line.

3:00pm – Call my ex up from a pay phone and hang up when she answers, repeat this for the next hour or so.

4:47pm – Run out of change. Text her from my iPhone saying “yeah, so I’ll pick you up at 8 and we’ll go to that expensive restaurant ok?”

4:55pm – She replies, “what?”

4:56pm – I reply, “oops. That was supposed to go to Shanay-nay, my new IMPROVED gf. Pls ignore.”

5:00pm – She replies, “whatever…”

5:15pm – Make a time line of our relationship, from when we met to the day we broke up, using my memory and journal entries as reference.

6:50pm – Share my new time line with my dogs, Maggy and Lionel, in a 1 hour presentation, with soundtrack music that I burnt.

7:45pm - Spend the next hour arguing with Maggy about the accuracy and truth in my presentation. "Yes she really said that Maggy! I just forgot to tell you about it that's all!"

9:34pm – Get into bed and sing “Leave” by Matchbox 20 acapella to a moon lit sky then cry. Take a shot of Nyquil to ease the pain.

10:07pm – Pass out. Sorrow period is over….hopefully.

Dealing with pain is important. But you got to look it in the eye if you really want to get past it. One day of ridiculous acts sure beats a lifetime of depression and bitterness. Don’t you agree?

I'll Roll a While Longer

As I lay lifeless on my couch, mentally scanning for any evidence that could still prove that she existed here, I reflect. The empty cans of beer that decorate my floors so useless in their hollowness are pushed helplessly with every gust of wind that enters through my windows. Much like the cans I am empty, weighing minimal in the grandness that is life. The symphony of noise from beyond my walls tell me to move on but right now that very effort of pushing me is attention that I desperately need. I’ll roll for a while longer and then I’ll move on.

And Just Like That *snaps finger* She's Gone

All the signs were there. The picture of us making the funny faces was no longer her cell phone wallpaper. She barely reached for my hand while we walked side by side like she use to. And the good morning texts were far between. To say that I was surprised by her decision to leave me would be a lie. I saw it coming. I guess I just really hoped that I was wrong.

A few weeks prior, during a casual phone conversation she says, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Love you.” I remember the world stopping dead in its tracks. It felt like all eyes were on me and my reply. You see, that was the first time she ever said that to me. So I took a quick moment to go through my usual options in case a girl springs those words on me. (a) hang up the phone and blame it on bad reception (b) run away screaming "bears, bears! millions of bears!" and never look back. (c) drop into a fetal position with my comfort item rubbing against my nose while repeating the phrase “you’re a big strong boy” over and over again. All, for your information, have served me well in the past. Everyone, you can imagine, were at the edge of there seats, as I’m sure you are now wondering what this boy, who was once happily lonely and fearful of commitment, was going to do next. I smiled. I chose (d) and took a deep breath, licking my lips in preparation for what I was about to say. But before I could get the first word out I hear, faintly through my phone, “I love you too. Good night.”…It was her mom...she was talking to her mom...

And the flash backs, like that one, kept coming as I sat in my truck, which feels ridiculously lonely now; the passenger seat which she once reside, now so useless. Her laughter, nothing more than an echo that I desperately try to grasp along with her smell. I still break out in a smile when I think of the times when she would front a tough act or when I catch a hint of a country accent in her speech. I reminded myself of an enormously wealthy young man who did not pay his taxes, scrambling from asset to asset in his home as the repo men did their work. My feet drag across the ground beneath me in a poor attempt to tug-a-war any part of her that I could. But these repo men, sadly, are too strong. Memories, I pray you don’t fail me now.

She left to be alone; to figure herself out without distractions; that or because of that fact that I have a comfort item that I rub on my nose when I feel lost in the world. I didn’t even put up a fight; didn’t offer to compromise; didn’t even ask if she would come back when she was ready. How could I? I spent the last 3 and a half years of my life alone; growing up and build a foundation for who I am today. How can I deny someone else that opportunity? I can’t. And I don’t.

I’ll never truly know what I would have replied to her during that phone conversation, but I know I wouldn’t have ran. Over a pity lunch from my close friend Cindy, I told her that I think I would have said “I love you” back. Cindy smiles and says, “I know. I see that love every time you talk about her.”

I’m a big strong boy. I’m a big strong boy….