Look

(This poem is probably the most personally delving that I've posted here. It's addressed to a dynamic that has been with me since childhood. Although it wasn't my fault originally, I understand that I am solely responsible for perpetuating it. I post the poem in case you see shades of yourself in my words (but most won't). Maybe my self-reflections can help you break your own destructive cycles.)

I don't look at you anymore
not in the eye
you've noticed
even if you don't say
I used to think it was no big deal
to look away
just something I sometimes need
in order to think
or to keep my thoughts orderly
like a quirk
or a bad habit
but
for the first time
I understand
it's more
because I've learned
(mis-learned)
there are two kinds of people in my life
#1-the few I hope will help me
(when I admit I need it)
#2-all of the #1's once they've failed
(by hurting more than helping)
and I think you know
where you fall
because I see (imagine) a world of
saviors and enemies
and I avoid your face, your eyes
because you are my (emotional) enemy
if I look
I might falter
and put the knife in your hand
when you've already shown
such a zest for cutlery

but now
my look away
means more to me
because I've learned phrases like
disorganized attachment
and biological paradox
because so many times I've been misdirected
the child-parent by the parent-child
me
wobbling on a tiny iceberg
baited and switched
picked free by your needs
on an icy sea

I've tried
too hard
(crazy hard)
because I know how to try
but not to receive without strings attached
and the only solace
is to be the savior
because who doesn't love a savior?
(well, most people
don't love a savior
in the end
because help tends to crimp
your style)
and I'm so good
at chosing people
unprepared to really give
so I don't look at you
even if I talk to you
because
the feeling
I don't understand
is fear
--my fear at your fear--
and what it will ask of me
because
I was always a means to an end
and it's going to drag me down again
I won't let you
drag me down
again
but in the not letting
maybe I've forgotten
how to really look
at anyone anymore
but now that I know
(un-learning)
I sure as hell
am going to
try

The Beer Philosophers #5

(We join Dude 1 and Dude 2 with beers in progress, feet on the coffee table, watching a old episode of Bay Watch with the sound turned low.)


"Dude, I didn't get to tell you what happened this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was on the subway going to work. You know how most people are half asleep in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Reading their newspapers? Sleeping even?"

"I hate newspapers."

"So there's this woman. Middle-aged I guess. Everyone's quiet. Everyone's doing their thing. But I notice her kind of looking around. Looking uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, like she's in some kind of pain. Or trying to hold something in. Then, as I'm watching, she snatches something out of her purse. Does a little side maneuver, then it's gone. Back in her purse."

"What the hell?"

"And now she acting like nothing's out of the ordinary. But it's painfully obvious."

(Twists the cap off another beer.)

"But something IS out of the ordinary. This fucking smell hits me."

"Smell?"

"Oh yeah."

"What? Like, perfume?"

"Good guess. I thought perfume at first, but it was so bad. Too strong. Too wacky. I'm trying not to choke and figure it out at the same time. That's when it finally hit me."

(Misses the trash can with the cap.)

"Air freshener."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. You don't expect to smell air freshener on a subway, but that's what it was. I'm thinking, what the fuck? Just whip out a tiny can of Glade and give a little spritz? I've seen a lot of things, but I haven't seen that before."

"Me neither."

"But then...oh yeah...then, it all becomes clear. Another smell mixes in. Now it's not just the wildflower vomit and battery acid. It's got an undertone of nasty."

(??)

"She totally let one loose man!"

"She farted?"

"Uh huh. It's totally that air-freshener-in-the-bathroom-after-nuclear-war smell."

"Damn."

"Tell me about it."

"Wait. You mean, she blasts a couple dead tacos and then does a little ninja spray to neutralize?"

"Indeed. Travel size can, even."

"Whoa."

"Yep."

"I don't know whether to be horrified or impressed."

"You usually do that shit in stealth mode. Everybody will just blame each other anyway."

"Yeah. Might as well shove a microphone up your ass and broadcast it."

"So people start looking up from their papers. Noses wrinkle. I even saw one old lady start shaking her head."

"Hey bro?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, you got one of those cans?"

(...)

(Grins.)

"Jesus!"

A Spring Haunting

there's always a sidewalk
with bricks
and maybe a hedge
and it's warm
the kind of warm
that only comes after
a long cold
the coming night is soft
and a couple hours away
and the yards are mostly deserted
and the streets
except for traffic
which doesn't matter
because traffic never matters
other than to remind me
that the world is still alive
beyond what I know how to touch
but maybe it's not really the light
or the warm
or time of day
that tells me
something changed
tells me something is present
that rarely is present
anymore
maybe it's the door
or the shadow of the trees
or the dark windows
or maybe it's the door and the shadows and the windows
because I am the shadow
and you are the window
on the other side of dark
and the door
between the two
is always
enticingly
closed

Overheard (Almost)

"He's the kind of friend you want to have. Whatever you need, he's there."

"Okay."

"Not many people realize there's a big difference between intending to do something for someone, and actually doing it."

"Yep. Amen."

"No, really. I'm serious. He's one of those people who does it, every single time."

Nodding with a wobble to the left. "Cool." Then to the right. "I guess."

Step by Step

(Fiction)

The number one mistake people make is panic. You can't panic.

Not that I don't understand panic. How easy it flicks on. Once it starts, it spreads like fire, and before you know it, you're making mistakes left and right. Mistakes mean a trail. And a trail will lead straight to you.

But you won't do that.

The number two mistake is going down on someone too close to you. See, I don't care how careful you are. They've got this space-aged shit these days. Lights and scanners and dogs trained at NORAD or something. If you go down on someone right where you live, you're a goner. Game over. Fucking seriously. No one gets away with that shit. I mean, come on. If the person is close, you have to explore other avenues. It's that simple. That's the deal. No use whining about it.

But I'm not close.

Distance is good. But too much distance is not good. When you have to go far, you leave traces. Like tolls. Credit cards. Security cameras. You want to be far enough not be on anyone's radar, but close enough to cover it in two hours or less. Back roads, of course. I know you're not stupid enough to pay tolls and get your picture taken.

I won't cover the merchandise. I have faith in you. That part will come natural. If I have to tell you, then I'm wasting my time. So once you have the merchandise, that's when the panic will want to strike a match and light your ass. That's when you need to buckle down and hold on tight to your calm. After you get the merchandise, your emotions are going to want to boil over. You're going to want to scream, laugh, cry, vomit. But it's not over. The real work is just getting started. Remote is good. You can't go too wrong with remote. But water...forget it. Just forget that shit right now. Water is not your friend. Think about it. Water flows all over the planet. Put a thing here, and water moves it there. But I don't have to tell you that.

Go with remote. But not just remote. Here is where people make another mistake. Remote does not mean inaccessible. It just means not-visited-very-often. You're just playing the odds if you pick any old wide open space. Put some effort into it. The work will pay off. Believe me, I know. Low, tangled bushes are the best, in my opinion. Stuff you'd never think to walk through. But what most people don't realize is that you can get down and drag through. No one else would have a reason to crawl in there.

Drag your merchandise deep in. Don't skimp on that part. If you can time it before a good rain, that's even better. Lastly, don't underestimate what it will take to dig. I even suggest that you do it first. In the pre-planning stage. This isn't like planting posies in the backyard. You've got roots, rocks, clay, and other geological shit I can't even pronounce. Take a week. Get a short shovel. Go deep. This is where you need persistence. You're not going to make six feet. Not in the back country. But shoot for four at least. The blisters and blood are well worth it. They heal.

I'm sure you can fill in the rest. (Fill in...get it? Ha! Get it?? You always loved my sense of humor.)

I watch TV from eight to midnight every night. I don't lock the front door. My neighbors keep to themselves. They're too stupid to notice anything short of a volcano erupting in their front yard anyway. (Wasn't there a volcano that formed in Mexico after some farmer noticed some smoke venting in a field? But I digress.) Now all you have to do is go step by step.

Step by step.

I'm tired. And I know you're hot to settle the score.

You know where to find me. Between eight and midnight. Maybe I'll even be napping. I nap a lot.

Yeah, I'm tired. It's a crap-infested world anyway.

Hey, you want to know something? You know what's worse than being alone?

(Yeah, I know you don't care.)

Being alone so long you're even sick of your own pathetic company....

So that's it. See you soon.

Peace out.

Fucker.