Me and Mr. Jones

a being on a couch with a sneezy/stuffy nose. his boyfriend sits beside him, covered in a blanket, inspiring love within. passively watching stephen colbert. thinking about tomorrow when he may get a little done. wondering what he should listen to in the iPod when he tries to fall asleep. considering a clever turn of phrase. hopeful that someone may take notice. at the moment, this is the extent of me.

i have been a little behind in the 15 minutes of writing lately. several days of playishness and a little bit of work. i am amazed at how quickly the span of a day diminishes before my napping eyes… well, or perhaps i am amazed at my ability to take naps. either way i seem to amaze myself and waste a lot of time. produce, produce, produce and the band plays on. at the eye doctor today i felt a bit unkempt and began to consider how to keep my parts in relatively stylish order. oh, and the doctor thinks i don’t make enough tears and i now have a bottle to use a couple times a day. oh the irony…

first there is a mountain. then there is no mountain. then there is.

it has been a queer couple of days. prickly and intense at times, but also important. and my haircut isn’t half as bad as it seemed at first. so i’ve got a little over an hour left before bed and i’m calm, despite a little pitter-pat of the ‘ol ticker ’cause of that football game that just happened. yeah, this stuff accumulates and if you are watching and listening and open to it then you can “grow” or “evolve” or just not fuck it up.

there is a really fine line between me feeling sad and me feeling sick. my mood is currently so connected to my body i feel like a simple sneeze can cause depression. today was mostly sour, and this brings me inward and forces me to simply meditate on all the minor inconveniences of my humanity and the only thing i can think of to numb all of this is the tinkling of ice cubes and a dash of bourbon. (“ah-hah!” he mutters from over there, “i knew you had a problem. and that is my problem!”)

anyways, i have many outlines of poignant plot moments i’ve been collecting from my autobiography and i would like to eventually turn them into a new york times bestseller or at least a piece of fiction in the new yorker. that large fish in the backroom of cindy’s office that got killed during the cleaning riot, those walks and smokes with frank, mostly every sexual thought and/or experience i’ve ever had, and then days like today. the problem is i’ve lost the message, which my creative writing prof said was always key when you sat down to type. the first “meaning” i choose for that story i called ‘canaan’ was something like “life is simply a continual practice in the art of self-delusion.” this isn’t a bad focus, however it does give me a few twinges of regret personally.

so let’s take that cindy/fish story… i’d probably call it “school” and hope that the title added resonance as i went through various characters learning moments and tied in the fact that her husband was a high school teacher and that’s pretty much where all the other characters got caught up in the mess. there would have to be a scene about cindy getting the fish from some fundraiser event, you know, one of those game where you throw a ball in cup and win a goldfish that probably will die by the time you get out to the parking lot. well, hers didn’t, and it grew and lasted decades, like everything else she got her fingers on. it’s tank looked disgustingly slimy and overwrought with algae, but she claimed it was perfectly healthy and the type of culture he needed to live in. (not unlike her own house…) and then it impressed me and i metaphorically connected it to her and somehow or another it got killed by luke and julie whilst ravaging her life and trying to give it a good polish. um…but where’s the meaning? i have collected so many of these moments and i’m waiting to flush ’em out, but perhaps i am not spending enough time on the details. is it comic or tragic? hopeful or cynical?

and so i drink and listen to music and research gay or alcoholic writers and hope that in their own lives i’ll find mine??? well, it’s true so i’m putting it down here now perhaps to come back later and do a little editing.

oh, it should also be noted that i’ve written about this fish stuff before in a post for cindy HERE.

this morning we’ve been teetering on the edge of a cliff. sometimes the fall seems imminent, and sometimes i think that we are finally gaining our balance. i’m just trying to figure out what will happen if we actually tip over: will i fly or will i crash? i suppose i need to steal my nerves and suck in my gut. i do believe in love, and i’m willing to work for it.

lane says all i have to do is start writing for 15 minutes. perhaps she is right. however, i feel that if i just allow the mind to roll that long i may stray too far and it will all fall apart. but if it helps then i suppose it will be okay. tonight i experienced a CRAZY night with my fellow co-workers, and then i came home and had a fight with my beloved. i’m sure i am culpable in both, but i am also sure that i am partially the victim. but then lane says the important part is that i keep writing no matter what and so i just allow my fingers to tap and touch with a certain immunity. do i feel guilt?? sure, that is the story of my life. would i change if i could? again the answer is a resounding “yes!!!”. but “them’s the brakes.” this is me and sometimes i suppose me isn’t so perfect. my mind is filled with too much black thought. and i deal with it the only way i know how. so i still feel like i will write for fifteen minutes no matter what this month, and perhaps it may be a whole lot of this kind of stuff. if so, are you gonna leave me too? i sure hope not. we’ll see… we will see.

What keeps these people from running in to each other? How does this city avoid collision? And how do we make contact?

Today and then tonight. Perhaps and so because.

I wore my flower shirt, some pants, and a coy grin. It was a disguise or maybe the truth.

I am amazed at how all of this balances itself out.

I just had to write a small little bio for George. I mostly just copied his and filled in the blanks. Trying to distill your life into a few sentences is a very ego-centric activity. Promoting your selling points, perhaps even polishing them off with some catchy phrasing. I realize this is what people have to do non-verbally whenever they meet someone for the first time. Trying to use the right haircut, shirt, or little quip in order to maximize your attractive potential. I think from now on I’m just going to keep my bio hanging from a small placard around my neck, that way I won’t have to worry about all the rest.

I am here to say but cannot speak
the bottle is empty, my mouth dry
equilibrium compromised

please open me
raw is why i collapse at the doorstep
too much wine without understanding