backwoods

this is part of a short story i’m writing leisurely, because it’s fun.

“they live out in the woods. somehow they fitted together a radio–through wires and water and some crazy backwoods electricity they could probably slice and separate in their teeth. this is what my mind would tell me. they’ve got two dogs, one blind one, and one with one blind eye. some knife accident with the boys. i don’t know, they’re practically foreign to me, and most people would call my land backwoods. they see a tractor as a jealous machine, and take pride in their goats and machetes. they make bombs in the cellar, where all the moonshine sits. ms. sue-ellen’s favorite thing to do is sit out on the porch and scallop potatoes. i can’t say i blame her much, but blade use runs in that family like the dominant indian gene. who knows what they think of down there?

sue-ellen used to be a married woman. she bore all but her first son by one man. his name was jack mitchell, and he wore steel toed boots and carried his rifle every where he went, even if it required his hands to remain full all day long. he was well-liked among all the townsfolke, when he ventured that way. he had a farm, but it was one of the smallest you could find. he had his share of crops and animals, but not many. he didn’t want the work that came with owning a big farm. he didn’t like all the machinery. he called it nonsense under his breath most days, and if he had an audience, he was really just saying it to himself, as if it would convince him that his life was better the way it was. i suppose that’s a trait not unheard of. it comes in all shapes and sizes, and even sounds, but contentment is not an attribute of a human that comes along easily, painlessly, and unwisely. sue-ellen moved to the farm where she had tony and michael. she thought the names were contemorary enough, for in that time she was almost ashamed of her backwoods, southern nature. she tried to disguise her drawl on her hardest days, but when she sat down after a few swigs of moonshine to chat with anyone who was around, her accent came out in waves, depending on which word she spoke, but it was as thick as milk. really she wanted to name tony buckshot and michael willie, after lord jesus christ himself.

jack mitchell stood tall and wore plain clothes he didn’t think about too much. a pair of jeans and some sort of shirt. nothing special about his appearance other than his brooding height. he could walk in any room and have all the women turn their gaze toward him. it wasn’t because he was especially attractive or unattractive. he had a kind eye about him, though, and that combined with his stature could keep a woman talkin’ all night long, drinking more and more until he was sure she’d tell him any secret she had. he didn’t do that to them, though. he just liked to drink, and women tried to keep up with him. at least, the women he was used to meeting. they were usually regular looking, despite a few more than fair skinned thin women he cordially invited back to his place. he wasn’t interested in lying down with them most of the time. his intentions weren’t always on that. he kept his mind on something else, some far away dream of knowing another soul just as well as he knows his own. i guess he thought you could learn a lot about a person in bed, which is certainly true, but he didn’t need the physicality to learn the inner workings of a woman. he learned from the sound of a woman’s voice and thought most of the time it sounded like music. he liked what women had to say, even if he thought a lot of them dumbed themselves down to be on his level. he wasn’t much of a talker. he kept his most private thoughts inside himself and didn’t open the cupboard to gaze at them very often. he thought private things should remain private, even to a person’s own conscious, at times. afterall, secrets, when focused on for long amounts of time, can drive a person crazy with their solitude. secrets are lonely, and don’t like to stay that way long. they are little parasites and take hold of their host when the host allows it. jack mitchell was smarter than this. his main problem, which led to his later demise, was that he didn’t care for himself very much. and because he didn’t care for himself much, he didn’t work toward much. he kept his tiny farm in fair order, but didn’t spend extra time on it. didn’t love it like a farmer should. he didn’t dig his hands in the dirt and feel his own brown soul somehow sitting in his palms. he thought like a country man, in a way. he had an old romance about him, but he tried to hide that. this is why he slept with plenty of women. he didn’t want to at the end of the day, but he felt there was a certain manliness attached with it that he didn’t know how to find another way. he never had a woman give him an identity, because women, a lot of the time, are trying to find their identities in men. it’s a strange cycle, but jack mitchell and his concubines expected the same boring, old thing from each other, not realizing you don’t learn anything of yourself that way.”

i’ve spent all night downloading the top 250 hits from the 90’s and from between 2000-2005. it is bringing back heavy memories. mostly good ones. almost only good ones.

the tides are changing, once again. matt is moving away, i’m moving away, cierra is graduating and moving even further away, aimee and kev are gone–a fact i’m still not really used to. i think i’m slow to understand and resolve change, not that i mind it. i try to savor everything too much and anticipate the days that are to come with contempt and near-anxiety. things changed yesterday, though. i got to visit the house we’re going to be living in and it is beautiful, a safe change i will welcome with open arms.

He lives well who lives lightly,
hoards nothing,
lets go the air he breathes—
to draw in more. –Peter Abbs

as soon as i get a job i’m going to buy myself a new sleeping bag, the expensive kind made for exteme weather, and i’m going to sleep wherever i want for a while. i think it’s probably good for your mind to sleep in fresh air sometimes and i don’t think having a few windows open is really the same. your whole body needs to be blanketed by it. same with river water. you just need to be around something as natural as that, with no chlorine and pretty blue waves, but with snails and snakes and dirt. my hair never looks prettier than when it dries after a good river swim.

tolerance, how gay is that?

ok, who’s seen those commercials that say you shouldnt call people or things gay? they say you shouldn’t associate gay with stupid because that’s offensive. well, guess what. screw you guys. as far as my opinion of gays is, i feel so indifferent that i shouldn’t be expected to have an opinion at all. i think gay people shouldn’t create their own little society involving trends of music and art and expect to not be considered different based on their sexuality, but i think anyone who has a fit about whether a dude is kissing another dude has got more problems for getting so irrationally riled up about it. so a dude likes a dude? why are you telling me? that’s how i feel about it. just don’t care. be together or don’t be. it isn’t my business who you’re dating. afterall, “you” are a stranger.

i will say that i do not believe being gay is a choice. someone told me the other day that you choose who you love and so being gay will always be a choice. of course, but what if you’re only attracted to the same sex? it’s not like you can force yourself to be attracted to the opposite sex, just like you can’t force yourself to be attracted to carlos mencia. it just aint happenin. gay people do not want to be socially exiled by their families and other people for choosing to like or not like a gender. the highest suicide rate is among gay teens. do ya wonder why?! because it’s the biggest deal in the world if someone is gay. and now it’s the biggest deal in the world to say “that’s gay,” so they have to make these anti-gay commercials about it. you know, about tolerance and whatnot, but screw that. they’re making the problem worse, and do you know why? because i exist.

it IS ridiculous to use gay as a word to reference something stupid. this is something i very well realize, but america is a country based on “feelings” so much of the time that when i see books and statements and songs about tolerance, i just want to be all the more intolerant. i am now a “that’s gay” fiend. i don’t really say it audibly in public, but my answer to almost every question now is “because you’re gay.” it’s AWESOME to me that people get offended by this.

“you say that like gay is a bad thing.”
“oh yeah? you’re gay too.”

i think my position on homosexuality is quite fair, so i feel i’m allowed to milk this. i say it mostly to make fun of the fact that it’s an insult at all. i mean, where did it come from? who started it? and why is it such a bad thing to be called gay? i don’t know. i guess i don’t care too much. it’s a dumb insult. offensive at the very best only to those who think gay and stupid shouldn’t mean the same thing. but whatever. apparently woman means moody, pregnant, and maid all in one. man means strong, provider, and able to do crazy keg stands, so maybe gay people should just be happy their title is carrying more weight. means society is catching on. i have a gay friend who even says that’s gay because he thinks it’s funny. and that’s awesome. because people need to lighten up. stop crying. the world is not against you. just a buncha idiots are against you. and, really, do you need idiots in your life? probably not.

i think sitting in a place of indifference is nice regarding some things. here, i enjoy the view. i would ask that anyone opposing homosexuality get off their high horse and come join me. anyone trying to stroke the head of an offended gay person should come sit with me, too. if you think i’m being brash about it, you’re probably gay, and i don’t care.

hey-o

this is my new quote of the century: “s*** happens, but good s*** happens too.”

i’m learning the simplest things.

life just is.
good just is.
bad just is.
and God just is.

and all without my say in the matter.

just don’t know what it is to be free

i’ve had a rough two days. it’s stuff i won’t go into simply cause i refuse to be so vulnerable on a public blog, but it’s nothing any person would just breeze over. believe me. and i am not good at mentioning it to others. i don’t know how to articulate some things, and other times i just prefer not to talk about it. i like to keep my mind on things i like rather than things that hurt me physically and mentally. it’s not the best way, but it works usually.

tonight got bad. someone i care deeply for let me down in a lot of ways and by 3 AM i was absolutely positive i was alone in the world. i ended up driving to amanda’s in my bath robe. i was a mess of a person when i saw her, but she was warm and inviting, and she knew i had stuff on my mind, but she didn’t pry or anything. she just sat with me on her porch for a solid hour or two while i wondered out loud about whether or not anyone cared about being good at all anymore. we talked for so long and she kept making me laugh until i realized i felt fine. not fine, but good.

i realized i’ve been trying to go it alone for too long. i need to talk about stuff. i need to get it out there, because there are people who are completely receptive to whatever issues i might be facing. they may not be able to fix them, but they’ll sit with me through it all, and sometimes that’s all it takes.

i listened to johnny cash hymns the whole drive home, while the sun started to rise behind the dark clouds that has been the weather the last two nights, with light blue shining through deep blue, and realized that i am not remotely alone in the world. not ever. because i have people like amanda whose presence itself makes the world seem like a good place again.

scissors cut paper, paper covers rock

i’ve been called insensitive by a multitude of folks my entire life, and i’ve been called an “A-hole” more times than i’ve been called insensitive. i have a hard time being a good friend among petty conflict. i just want to say “this is stupid” and be done with it. so that’s what i do, and it never works out. “you should not be worried about this tiny little problem, i’m telling you.” people don’t take that as good advice when they so verily feel the problem resonating within them. but i’m out of advice. i’m out of mercy for problems people have to learn to accept, because my hand can’t be extended so far to make them complacent among bad things.

i would say that i am a person who has experienced a lot. not more or less than most, that’s not the point i’m trying to make, i just feel that i have been there with a lot of things and have had to face the breaking point more times than i would like to recount. i’m silent in these times. i don’t really talk about it to many people, because it’s mostly stuff i feel needs to be worked out in my own mind. and sometimes i don’t have the right person to talk to about them.

it’s just when a friend is upset about a minor setback, or a person they were dating not calling them back, or just whatever, i don’t have a thing to say.but it’s not because i am losing faith in the person that i have a hard time being sympathetic for them. it’s because i’ve seen what a strong instrument humans are and i know they’ll make it through it. i don’t know how to be sorry because i know that they will move on fine. the bothers of it won’t matter in time. i know how much a person can deal with at once… not even the extent of it, really, because there are people who’ve fought a much greater fight than i ever could have dreamt of taking on, but i’ve had my share.

maybe i am insensitive. maybe i think people should just accept their fate. maybe i’m not good at having mercy on anyone who’s lost every easy challenge they’ve taken on. i don’t know. i need a rest. my soul does. my eyes are heavy and my spirit is tired, just like every day. and i won’t mention it to anyone, because i can take the loneliness that comes with it. cause things don’t change when your audience doesn’t get it. there are those who understand more than anything, and i’ve spent insurmountable thought on them, grateful all the while… but sometimes i feel best going it alone. this is the path i tread and i’ve grown to love every part of it. i’ve learned pain is just as good as solace. they’re the same thing sometimes. it’s only cause i’ve felt so good that i can also feel so bad… vise versa… we all know this, but it astounds me anyhow.

shrine of the most blessed sacrament of the holiest most angelic most high…

yesterday jake, amanda, and i went to the shrine of the most blessed sacrament. i dont know, really, what happened while i was there, and i guess i don’t want to get into it for fear of losing it, but my soul feels restored to me in a way, and i am just so happy to be alive and all. sure it’ll pass, it always passes, but that’s not right now, so i don’t care. i spoke to a nun and she said “god bless you” and all. it’s such a nice thing to hear when you haven’t sneezed. just to see someone who wishes good things upon you out loud like that.

i am coming to terms with a lot of things, being twenty years of age now. they say reading the beautiful and damned by fitzgerald really messes with your mind and your sense of time and there’s no doubt about it. i feel so aware of how time is raging onward that it truly terrifies me. mostly because i don’t know what to look forward to. and for the things that i anticipate in life, for when they come, i have no idea how to bridge the gap–to get myself there, i mean.

i’ve been reading a lot like i used to in the summer of 2006. i feel like i get further with the knowledge i gain by seeking it on my own time than i do by following some sort of curriculum. i’m sure everyone feels that way. and it’s not so much laziness as it is, for me at least, realizing that time is fleeting and i don’t have forever to figure things out. i want to get a feel for this world–a good, solid footing of some sort–before i know what i am going to be obliged to do for the rest of my life. i probably sound angsty. i’m aware of that. i spose what i’m getting at is i haven’t yet found my place and that’s the position i’m in.

anyhow. these days i’m just praying for summer to approach more rapidly than it has been and i’m dreaming of swimming in rivers and catching tadpoles. i’ve got ideas in mind to go visit all of my long, lost [to college and other things] friends who’ve moved away from me. i’ve been reading bukowski and so i will leave “you” with this:

this is hard to explain, I mean who the man was,
anyhow, it was in a large structure and he sat in
a chair in uniform, red coat and all, his job was
to examine the hand-stamp of those who left the
structure and returned, there was a lamp you put
your hand under and the stamp appeared (god that
was work) anyhow, as I put my hand under the lamp
the man asked, “listen, what’s your name?”
“Hank,” I answered
“listen, Hank,” he asked, “what makes a man a
writer?”
“well,” I said, “it’s simple, it’s either you
get it down on paper or you jump off a
bridge.
writers are desperate people and when they stop
being desperate they stop being
writers.”
“are you desperate?”
“I don’t know…”
I walked on through and as I took the escalator up
I saw him sitting there, probably thinking that it was possibly
bullshit, he had wanted me to suggest some special
school, some special way, like some way to get out
of that red coat, it was not an enlightening job
like designing a bridge or batting cleanup for the
Dodgers but
he wasn’t desperate enough, the desperate don’t ask,
they do
and at the top of the escalator I pushed through the
glass doors and as I did, I thought, son of a bitch,
I should have asked him his name, and then I felt
bad for him and for myself but a few minutes later
I had forgotten all about him
and the other way around
and he watched more hand-stamps under the lamp
and I watched the toteboard and the horses and
the desperate people
desperate in all the wrong
ways, in-
deed.

-charles bukowski “what makes?”

BITR: if i could beat up anyone, who would it be?