I want to trick-or-treat
for cigarettes.
I want to knock
on doors
for nicotine hits.
I'll alternate:
a shot of liquor here
a cigarette there
a shotgunned beer
from the corner.
I'll change my costume
once
twice
three
times
and walk around
until I've got a pack full
of smokes
and a brain buzz from alcohol.
Let's play grown up
Halloween;
and get the treats
we really need.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
now, now.
Oh sugar, I'm flattered.
But don't you worry
about me.
Yeah, I'm the girl
who he'll use
to get over his ex,
but when he's ready
to settle down,
he'll ask you
without a look back.
But don't you worry
about me.
Yeah, I'm the girl
who he'll use
to get over his ex,
but when he's ready
to settle down,
he'll ask you
without a look back.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
yeahhhh boy
Hell yes, I can be a bro.
But I wanna be your doll too.
Sometimes I want to wear
a pretty dress and a pair of heels,
to let you do the seducing.
Other nights, I want a fifth of whiskey
while I take in a hockey fight.
Come for my lips
and my tits,
but stay for the adventures
aside from my hips.
Let's watch comic books turned films
Or let me bake cookies
while you play xbox live.
I'm not picky;
I just wanna be with you.
But I wanna be your doll too.
Sometimes I want to wear
a pretty dress and a pair of heels,
to let you do the seducing.
Other nights, I want a fifth of whiskey
while I take in a hockey fight.
Come for my lips
and my tits,
but stay for the adventures
aside from my hips.
Let's watch comic books turned films
Or let me bake cookies
while you play xbox live.
I'm not picky;
I just wanna be with you.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Name Callin'
Look sweetheart,
you're going to have to come up with something a little more creative
if you wanna hurt me.
There's a real short list of people on this planet
who haven't
called me a whore.
It doesn't bother me at all
if you wanna jump on the bandwagon.
you're going to have to come up with something a little more creative
if you wanna hurt me.
There's a real short list of people on this planet
who haven't
called me a whore.
It doesn't bother me at all
if you wanna jump on the bandwagon.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sunflower
Ophelia dragged her suitcase through the doors of the train station, aching for a cigarette after the twelve hour train ride back to the city she loved. But, before she could wheel herself over to the benches overlooking the river to dig her lighter from her purse, she saw him standing there with a single sunflower.
"Hey." he called when he saw her too.
"Hi." she whispered, dropping her suitcase to the pavement.
The kiss that followed was a summer's worth of anticipation made tangible. His lips felt so right against hers after the months of dreaming.
"I missed you." he said.
"I love you." she said.
"Hey." he called when he saw her too.
"Hi." she whispered, dropping her suitcase to the pavement.
The kiss that followed was a summer's worth of anticipation made tangible. His lips felt so right against hers after the months of dreaming.
"I missed you." he said.
"I love you." she said.
Monday, August 2, 2010
My own alternative-emo song (okay, okay, will be retitled, i swear)
We'd have been besties for sure,
if we'd meet five years ago.
I swear to god,
this is the first time
I've ever wished to be fifteen again.
Maybe I never would have started drinking--
never would have let a razor blade split my skin.
How is it that you know all the words to all my favorite songs
when all my 'friends' don't even know the names of my favorite bands?
Life's a wicked, wicked wench.
But you knew that already, didn't you?
Yeah, I know you do.
We're the kind of kids,
who wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch.
(My left hand never really ever did bend the same.)
And fuck's a word that fits in just about anywhere.
Where've you been?
Where you headed?
Are you going to leave, so all I've got is memories?
'cause it's a little bit kinda crazy
that you get me like this, just a few years too late.
Yeah, a few years too late's the story of my life.
But maybe it's not too late, is it too late to know you like this?
if we'd meet five years ago.
I swear to god,
this is the first time
I've ever wished to be fifteen again.
Maybe I never would have started drinking--
never would have let a razor blade split my skin.
How is it that you know all the words to all my favorite songs
when all my 'friends' don't even know the names of my favorite bands?
Life's a wicked, wicked wench.
But you knew that already, didn't you?
Yeah, I know you do.
We're the kind of kids,
who wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch.
(My left hand never really ever did bend the same.)
And fuck's a word that fits in just about anywhere.
Where've you been?
Where you headed?
Are you going to leave, so all I've got is memories?
'cause it's a little bit kinda crazy
that you get me like this, just a few years too late.
Yeah, a few years too late's the story of my life.
But maybe it's not too late, is it too late to know you like this?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Ode to my Boobs.
My cleavage has received all the compliments I never have.
Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. Ideal.
Their shape, size, component ratio, sensitivity and overall appearance have garnered them praises of a luxury car.
When given the drunken opportunity to look at, touch, and otherwise enjoy them, people, generally male, treat me like a princess. In utter awe of these orbs adorning my chest, I am a goddess. However, in the sober light of day, nipples tucked away behind clothing, I am not the girl one asks out.
If I lean over just enough during the course of a night, I have no problem picking a gentleman up, in any manner of speaking. But that's not the kind of thing one builds a relationship on.
A house needs a solid foundation to stand on, or else, it will fall, like a kid on roller blades. And while my boobs are delightfully firm, they are not strong enough to support a relationship.
Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. Ideal.
Their shape, size, component ratio, sensitivity and overall appearance have garnered them praises of a luxury car.
When given the drunken opportunity to look at, touch, and otherwise enjoy them, people, generally male, treat me like a princess. In utter awe of these orbs adorning my chest, I am a goddess. However, in the sober light of day, nipples tucked away behind clothing, I am not the girl one asks out.
If I lean over just enough during the course of a night, I have no problem picking a gentleman up, in any manner of speaking. But that's not the kind of thing one builds a relationship on.
A house needs a solid foundation to stand on, or else, it will fall, like a kid on roller blades. And while my boobs are delightfully firm, they are not strong enough to support a relationship.
Ten Dollar Word, Reminiscence
The vodka you'd been downing made you slur:
"Let's consummate this commiseration. Then we won't be lonely anymore".
and I said that'd be satisfactory; I didn't want the evening to terminate with me going to bed in solitary, not after all I'd been through.
So we kissed our way to oral copulation, in a clandestine rendezvous, the secret adding just as much thrill as the actions themselves.
"Let's consummate this commiseration. Then we won't be lonely anymore".
and I said that'd be satisfactory; I didn't want the evening to terminate with me going to bed in solitary, not after all I'd been through.
So we kissed our way to oral copulation, in a clandestine rendezvous, the secret adding just as much thrill as the actions themselves.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Message in a Bottle III
This is the 3rd in a series of message in a bottle stories (Renee, Brad, Ophelia). Complete series will be posted soon! (*note, use of Ophelia here is for creative purposes not reporting of actual events)
Ophelia screwed the plastic cap back on her coke bottle, then shook the slip of paper inside down to the bottom. Next, she wound a length of duct tape around it to secure the seal. She closed her eyes and threw the bottle into Lake Michigan. When she opened them again, she saw a man down the path doing what appeared to be the same. The cellphone in her pocket began to buzz. A number she didn't recognize. She answered it.
"Hey, Ophelia. It's Oliver. Are you down by the lake?"
"Yes, in fact I am."
The figure she'd seen was walking towards her, hand at his ear. They each hung up as they met.
"Guess we had the same idea." he said.
The note Ophelia had put in the bottle and thrown into the water was a wish list. The first item, just above finding a job, was true love. Could it possibly have worked so quickly?
"I guess so."
They walked down the path to a bench and sat together.
"I missed you." Oliver said.
"I missed you too."
He leaned over to kiss her. And Ophelia's musings were confirmed in the hot amethyst passion she felt fill her body as his lips pressed against hers.
(to be continued)
Ophelia screwed the plastic cap back on her coke bottle, then shook the slip of paper inside down to the bottom. Next, she wound a length of duct tape around it to secure the seal. She closed her eyes and threw the bottle into Lake Michigan. When she opened them again, she saw a man down the path doing what appeared to be the same. The cellphone in her pocket began to buzz. A number she didn't recognize. She answered it.
"Hey, Ophelia. It's Oliver. Are you down by the lake?"
"Yes, in fact I am."
The figure she'd seen was walking towards her, hand at his ear. They each hung up as they met.
"Guess we had the same idea." he said.
The note Ophelia had put in the bottle and thrown into the water was a wish list. The first item, just above finding a job, was true love. Could it possibly have worked so quickly?
"I guess so."
They walked down the path to a bench and sat together.
"I missed you." Oliver said.
"I missed you too."
He leaned over to kiss her. And Ophelia's musings were confirmed in the hot amethyst passion she felt fill her body as his lips pressed against hers.
(to be continued)
Saturday, July 17, 2010
in progress
I'd trade this belt buckle skeleton key
for your heart's password, any day.
unloved ain't so glamorous now, is it, kiddo?
did you really think
she'd take the sting away?
is she just killing time,
you're taking away the fun
of that victimless crime.
I miss your lips,
damn it.
I miss the way your hands felt
on my back; and pulling down my jeans.
I miss the way your eyes looked in the dark
reflecting the flame from your lighter.
Have I told you? I'm quitting smoking.
Funny how things change.
for your heart's password, any day.
unloved ain't so glamorous now, is it, kiddo?
did you really think
she'd take the sting away?
is she just killing time,
you're taking away the fun
of that victimless crime.
I miss your lips,
damn it.
I miss the way your hands felt
on my back; and pulling down my jeans.
I miss the way your eyes looked in the dark
reflecting the flame from your lighter.
Have I told you? I'm quitting smoking.
Funny how things change.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
novel excerpt
“Janie, what’s wrong?” Kurt asked, putting down his glass of wine.
“I… I feel like I’m not doing enough to help these kids.”
Kurt got up and put his arms around her.
“Janie, you live three blocks away from campus, in an apartment you can’t afford so that you can run over if any of them need you. What more can you do?”
“You know what Carter said to me today?”
“What?”
“I asked him if he’d eaten anything, he said he had a couple of screwdrivers before noon.”
“He’s in college. They drink.”
“Kurt, he’s been making breakfast cocktails since he was thirteen. “
“You can’t fix them all. Jesus, half those kids shouldn’t even be in school. They need the kind of help you can’t give them in an hour or two a week.”
“They don’t have a choice! This school is the best thing that’s ever happened to most of these kids. Their parents don’t give a fuck. They tell them to grow up and get over themselves.”
“Well, maybe that’s what some of them need to do.”
Janie slammed her fork on the table and shook off Kurt’s arms.
“Go fuck yourself. That’s what my parents told me to do.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah, with the help of the people doing my job now.”
“I’m sure there are kids that do need your help, but I’m also willing to bet that a lot of them are looking for attention. They read about all the ‘artists’ that came before them, and the issues they claimed to have. You read all that celebrity paparazzi garbage; half of it’s publicity stunts, Janie.”
“I’ve got 25 kids directly in my care. I’ve got 25 more on an outpatient level. Of those 50 kids; maybe two are exaggerating, which is why they’re outpatient. The fact that they feel the need to exaggerate, indicates underlying issues, which means they need to be treated anyway.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize your job. But you’re kidding yourself if you think that all those kids need saving.”
“Get out. And don’t come back.” Janie said, getting up from the table and walking to the front door.
“Janie, come on.”
“Get the hell out of my apartment, Kurt.”
“Fine,” he walked to the door, “you’re just as needy as your students and I really can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to leave.”
Kurt walked out the door and Janie slammed it shut behind him.
“I… I feel like I’m not doing enough to help these kids.”
Kurt got up and put his arms around her.
“Janie, you live three blocks away from campus, in an apartment you can’t afford so that you can run over if any of them need you. What more can you do?”
“You know what Carter said to me today?”
“What?”
“I asked him if he’d eaten anything, he said he had a couple of screwdrivers before noon.”
“He’s in college. They drink.”
“Kurt, he’s been making breakfast cocktails since he was thirteen. “
“You can’t fix them all. Jesus, half those kids shouldn’t even be in school. They need the kind of help you can’t give them in an hour or two a week.”
“They don’t have a choice! This school is the best thing that’s ever happened to most of these kids. Their parents don’t give a fuck. They tell them to grow up and get over themselves.”
“Well, maybe that’s what some of them need to do.”
Janie slammed her fork on the table and shook off Kurt’s arms.
“Go fuck yourself. That’s what my parents told me to do.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah, with the help of the people doing my job now.”
“I’m sure there are kids that do need your help, but I’m also willing to bet that a lot of them are looking for attention. They read about all the ‘artists’ that came before them, and the issues they claimed to have. You read all that celebrity paparazzi garbage; half of it’s publicity stunts, Janie.”
“I’ve got 25 kids directly in my care. I’ve got 25 more on an outpatient level. Of those 50 kids; maybe two are exaggerating, which is why they’re outpatient. The fact that they feel the need to exaggerate, indicates underlying issues, which means they need to be treated anyway.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize your job. But you’re kidding yourself if you think that all those kids need saving.”
“Get out. And don’t come back.” Janie said, getting up from the table and walking to the front door.
“Janie, come on.”
“Get the hell out of my apartment, Kurt.”
“Fine,” he walked to the door, “you’re just as needy as your students and I really can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to leave.”
Kurt walked out the door and Janie slammed it shut behind him.
Half Glass (extended metaphor-- monologue)
Half Glass
A juice glass.
A martini glass.
A shot glass.
Maybe you were pouring your morning orange juice when the phone rang.
Maybe there was only half a shot left in the whiskey bottle when you got home from work.
Maybe you only finished half your cosmo when you started puking.
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?"
"I had a couple screwdrivers before noon, does that count?"
Is the glass half full, or half empty?
It's one of those questions that's supposed to gauge your outlook on life.
Are you content because that glass is half full? Or depressed because it's half empty?
Are you half way there? Or are you half way gone?
A juice glass.
A martini glass.
A shot glass.
Maybe you were pouring your morning orange juice when the phone rang.
Maybe there was only half a shot left in the whiskey bottle when you got home from work.
Maybe you only finished half your cosmo when you started puking.
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?"
"I had a couple screwdrivers before noon, does that count?"
Is the glass half full, or half empty?
It's one of those questions that's supposed to gauge your outlook on life.
Are you content because that glass is half full? Or depressed because it's half empty?
Are you half way there? Or are you half way gone?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Emily Gets a Job (Half Glass Scene)
Emily is sitting at the coffee table with a handle of whiskey. Travis enters the apartment.
TRAVIS
Whoa there, are we celebrating or forgetting?
EMILY
Celebrating. I got a job.
TRAVIS
Awesome. Doing what?
EMILY
Afternoons and evenings in the cafeteria at the hospital.
TRAVIS
That sounds perfect for you, congratulations, Em.
EMILY
Thank you. Now come do a shot so I know you mean it.
TRAVIS
Of course.
TRAVIS
Whoa there, are we celebrating or forgetting?
EMILY
Celebrating. I got a job.
TRAVIS
Awesome. Doing what?
EMILY
Afternoons and evenings in the cafeteria at the hospital.
TRAVIS
That sounds perfect for you, congratulations, Em.
EMILY
Thank you. Now come do a shot so I know you mean it.
TRAVIS
Of course.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
molasses musings
It looks like rain
and I've got contentment
slow trickling
through my veins.
Why'd they make veins
so goddamn easy to see?
It's like waking up every morning
with a million dollars to your name
and being told you can't spend a damn dime of it.
It's days like these
where I think
so what, if I never fall in love again;
meaning, fall in love
with someone who loves me back.
I'm tired of giving all I've got
to family, friends and lovers
only to get shot
in the back, when I'm already down.
I've got a cat
who's loved me since the first time
he crawled up in my lap.
Only boy who'll ever love me back.
Mama says I need a man
older than me by five to ten years.
I tell her that just seems too old for me.
She says 'careful, your Peter Pan's showing".
I say, so what?
She says "Peter Pan needs to find someone to take care of her".
I laugh it off.
Only time I'll ever admit my Mama's right.
I'm good at being alone.
I'm good at faking independence.
But I bet I could be real good at being in love.
If someone were willing to take the chance.
and I've got contentment
slow trickling
through my veins.
Why'd they make veins
so goddamn easy to see?
It's like waking up every morning
with a million dollars to your name
and being told you can't spend a damn dime of it.
It's days like these
where I think
so what, if I never fall in love again;
meaning, fall in love
with someone who loves me back.
I'm tired of giving all I've got
to family, friends and lovers
only to get shot
in the back, when I'm already down.
I've got a cat
who's loved me since the first time
he crawled up in my lap.
Only boy who'll ever love me back.
Mama says I need a man
older than me by five to ten years.
I tell her that just seems too old for me.
She says 'careful, your Peter Pan's showing".
I say, so what?
She says "Peter Pan needs to find someone to take care of her".
I laugh it off.
Only time I'll ever admit my Mama's right.
I'm good at being alone.
I'm good at faking independence.
But I bet I could be real good at being in love.
If someone were willing to take the chance.
dreaming
I can write the perfect
romance.
Right now,
it stars
you and me.
Long, slow kisses
followed by gentle
lip presses.
Midnight
Mid Day
Phone calls
just to say 'hi'.
Flowers arrive at my door.
Cookies come to yours.
I can write the perfect romance
the one where you love--
even like me back.
But here I am,
alone.
It's all just words
in my head.
romance.
Right now,
it stars
you and me.
Long, slow kisses
followed by gentle
lip presses.
Midnight
Mid Day
Phone calls
just to say 'hi'.
Flowers arrive at my door.
Cookies come to yours.
I can write the perfect romance
the one where you love--
even like me back.
But here I am,
alone.
It's all just words
in my head.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Rebounder pt II
We've established that Ophelia is a rebound girl.
She gets picked up as a pit stop, not a relationship.
The previous girl tends to blame Ophelia for stealing the man away.
Obvious projection of pain.
But there's another level that keeps occurring.
After the man has moved on to a new relationship, a real relationship, that previous girl, still blames Ophelia.
What has Ophelia done?
She hasn't acted as a matchmaker. She hasn't told the man to find stability. She provided comfort, distraction and release. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Ophelia is not responsible for the new relationship.
Where is the logic these rejected girls are using?
Ophelia's a professional scapegoat.
Why not blame the man?
Where is his scarlet letter?
She gets picked up as a pit stop, not a relationship.
The previous girl tends to blame Ophelia for stealing the man away.
Obvious projection of pain.
But there's another level that keeps occurring.
After the man has moved on to a new relationship, a real relationship, that previous girl, still blames Ophelia.
What has Ophelia done?
She hasn't acted as a matchmaker. She hasn't told the man to find stability. She provided comfort, distraction and release. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Ophelia is not responsible for the new relationship.
Where is the logic these rejected girls are using?
Ophelia's a professional scapegoat.
Why not blame the man?
Where is his scarlet letter?
Monday, June 21, 2010
Three Simple Steps
Step One: swallow five (5) to eight (8) acetominophen with half a shot of vodka, repeating every ten (10) minutes for one (1) hour.
Step Two: remove two (2) brand new razorblades from their package. (the cheap kind in the nifty little dispenser will do).
Step Three: go down the road, not across the street, to bleed all your problems away!
Step Two: remove two (2) brand new razorblades from their package. (the cheap kind in the nifty little dispenser will do).
Step Three: go down the road, not across the street, to bleed all your problems away!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
In Black and White
[[Note: the use of Ophelia here is in terms of manifestation, not retelling of recent events. Obviously.]]
Ophelia woke up to the smell of hazelnut coffee. She brushed her wavy cinnamon hair away from her face and opened her left eye to look at the nightstand, before lifting her head from the pillow.
Coffee.
Bagel.
Make that, bagel with veggie cream cheese.
Sunday New York Times.
Ophelia sat up.
"Babe?" she called.
Her favorite breakfast. Orgasm inducing newspaper. What was the catch? Or better yet, what was he apologizing for?
Ophelia reached for the paper as she heard her boyfriend's footsteps approaching the bedroom.
As she slid the paper from the nightstand to the bed, something fell in her lap weighing down the sheets where it landed.
A ring.
A platinum, princess cut diamond engagement ring. The kind of ring she'd been picturing all her life.
She set the paper back down and picked up the ring as Henry entered the room.
"Morning." he smiled.
"I think you're supposed to help me put this on." Ophelia said, holding up the ring.
Henry sat on the edge of the bed.
"Is that a yes?"
Ophelia nodded.
"Can't help but trust what comes from the Times." she shrugged.
Henry laughed.
"I figured as much."
Ophelia woke up to the smell of hazelnut coffee. She brushed her wavy cinnamon hair away from her face and opened her left eye to look at the nightstand, before lifting her head from the pillow.
Coffee.
Bagel.
Make that, bagel with veggie cream cheese.
Sunday New York Times.
Ophelia sat up.
"Babe?" she called.
Her favorite breakfast. Orgasm inducing newspaper. What was the catch? Or better yet, what was he apologizing for?
Ophelia reached for the paper as she heard her boyfriend's footsteps approaching the bedroom.
As she slid the paper from the nightstand to the bed, something fell in her lap weighing down the sheets where it landed.
A ring.
A platinum, princess cut diamond engagement ring. The kind of ring she'd been picturing all her life.
She set the paper back down and picked up the ring as Henry entered the room.
"Morning." he smiled.
"I think you're supposed to help me put this on." Ophelia said, holding up the ring.
Henry sat on the edge of the bed.
"Is that a yes?"
Ophelia nodded.
"Can't help but trust what comes from the Times." she shrugged.
Henry laughed.
"I figured as much."
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Rebounder
Ophelia is a rebound girl.
Or, more often, a in between girl.
Boys'll mess around with her until they're ready to commit to the one they really like. It's happened more times than she can count, now.
The most recent, stung the hardest.
Ophelia let herself fall for a guy she knew from the start, she couldn't have.
He was a limited time offer, and they both knew it.
But the things he said; the way he treated her, she was helpless. He was perfect.
She'd let herself dream that maybe, just maybe, circumstances would play in her favor and they could be together.
But now he was in a relationship-- with someone else. Undoubtedly someone better.
She should have known her place by now. The girl you could play with, no questions asked, until you were finished. She wasn't the place you looked for long term happiness.
Or, more often, a in between girl.
Boys'll mess around with her until they're ready to commit to the one they really like. It's happened more times than she can count, now.
The most recent, stung the hardest.
Ophelia let herself fall for a guy she knew from the start, she couldn't have.
He was a limited time offer, and they both knew it.
But the things he said; the way he treated her, she was helpless. He was perfect.
She'd let herself dream that maybe, just maybe, circumstances would play in her favor and they could be together.
But now he was in a relationship-- with someone else. Undoubtedly someone better.
She should have known her place by now. The girl you could play with, no questions asked, until you were finished. She wasn't the place you looked for long term happiness.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
outlining
Ophelia's hands shook as she walked out of the lobby of her apartment building. She was nervous.
She smiled when she saw him standing outside, under the red canopy. It was their first date.
"Hi." she said, trying not to sound too excited.
"Hey." he said back.
"Wanna play pool, get something to eat?" he asked.
"Sure." Ophelia nodded.
They walked past the bar at the end of the block.
"You can't get in there, can you?" he asked.
"Nope. Not yet."
Ophelia was eighteen.
"That's okay. I know a place."
They turned the corner, Ophelia tripped over her feet when he stopped in front of the parking garage.
"My car's in here." he said.
Ophelia paused. A car? She didn't really know this guy yet, she'd only met him a few days before. All the teen drama tv show warnings ran through her head. Don't get in a strange boys car!
She followed him in anyway. What could happen?
He unlocked the driver's door and climbed in. He brushed piles of papers off the passenger seat before unlocking her door. She climbed in too.
He drove out of the garage. Then motioned to an open pack of Marlboro Lights on the dash. Ophelia took one and lit it.
He drove them straight out of the city. Ophelia hadn't left the safety of her neighborhood since college had begun a few months earlier. Her palms sweat and she lit another cigarette. It would be okay.
"I have to make a quick stop, pick up my sister from work. This is her car, okay?"
"Okay."
They drove for half an hour, deep into the suburbs. Ophelia didn't know which one.
They stopped at a little restaurant and a thin girl in a waitress's uniform glared at the passenger seat before opening the back. She began to speak in a language Ophelia couldn't understand. He answered back.
He started driving again. Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of an apartment building.
"Have a good night, dear." she said to Ophelia.
"Thanks. You too." Ophelia said.
The girl said something in that foreign language and he laughed.
"Goodnight." he called as she slammed the door shut behind her.
"Okay! Let's go.' he said to Ophelia, pulling out onto the road again.
The pool hall was in a strip mall. It was dark and smelled like sweat and beer. TVs mounted on the wall played different sporting events.
Ophelia followed him to pool table.
Ophelia was bad at pool. She lacked coordination in general.
He laughed and made jokes about how she was pretending to be bad on purpose, so that he would help her.
After every shot she made, he kissed her. Always shoving his tongue in her mouth.
"Let's get out of here, yeah?" he said.
Ophelia nodded. It was getting late, she wanted to go home.
When they were back in the car, he kissed her again. Sliding his hands down her shirt. Ophelia pushed his hands away.
He drove into a neighborhood and parked the car. He slid on top of her. He unzipped his pants; then hers.
"Stop." Ophelia said.
And for a moment, he did.
"You're right. There's not enough room in here."
He climbed off, back into the driver's seat. He left his pants half down. As he started to drive, he put her hand on his exposed crotch. She left him harden under her fingers. The first time she'd ever felt...
He was pulling into the parking lot of a motel.
"You go in and pay."
Ophelia zipped her jeans and pulled her purse up from the floor.
She didn't know what else to do.
If she said no, he could leave her there. How would she get back to the city?
She went into the office and bought a room.
The first charge on her credit card.
When she came out, he was waiting. He pulled her by the wrist up the metal stairs to their room.
Before Ophelia really knew what was happening she was on the bed.
And that, dear readers, is how Ophelia lost her virginity.
She smiled when she saw him standing outside, under the red canopy. It was their first date.
"Hi." she said, trying not to sound too excited.
"Hey." he said back.
"Wanna play pool, get something to eat?" he asked.
"Sure." Ophelia nodded.
They walked past the bar at the end of the block.
"You can't get in there, can you?" he asked.
"Nope. Not yet."
Ophelia was eighteen.
"That's okay. I know a place."
They turned the corner, Ophelia tripped over her feet when he stopped in front of the parking garage.
"My car's in here." he said.
Ophelia paused. A car? She didn't really know this guy yet, she'd only met him a few days before. All the teen drama tv show warnings ran through her head. Don't get in a strange boys car!
She followed him in anyway. What could happen?
He unlocked the driver's door and climbed in. He brushed piles of papers off the passenger seat before unlocking her door. She climbed in too.
He drove out of the garage. Then motioned to an open pack of Marlboro Lights on the dash. Ophelia took one and lit it.
He drove them straight out of the city. Ophelia hadn't left the safety of her neighborhood since college had begun a few months earlier. Her palms sweat and she lit another cigarette. It would be okay.
"I have to make a quick stop, pick up my sister from work. This is her car, okay?"
"Okay."
They drove for half an hour, deep into the suburbs. Ophelia didn't know which one.
They stopped at a little restaurant and a thin girl in a waitress's uniform glared at the passenger seat before opening the back. She began to speak in a language Ophelia couldn't understand. He answered back.
He started driving again. Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of an apartment building.
"Have a good night, dear." she said to Ophelia.
"Thanks. You too." Ophelia said.
The girl said something in that foreign language and he laughed.
"Goodnight." he called as she slammed the door shut behind her.
"Okay! Let's go.' he said to Ophelia, pulling out onto the road again.
The pool hall was in a strip mall. It was dark and smelled like sweat and beer. TVs mounted on the wall played different sporting events.
Ophelia followed him to pool table.
Ophelia was bad at pool. She lacked coordination in general.
He laughed and made jokes about how she was pretending to be bad on purpose, so that he would help her.
After every shot she made, he kissed her. Always shoving his tongue in her mouth.
"Let's get out of here, yeah?" he said.
Ophelia nodded. It was getting late, she wanted to go home.
When they were back in the car, he kissed her again. Sliding his hands down her shirt. Ophelia pushed his hands away.
He drove into a neighborhood and parked the car. He slid on top of her. He unzipped his pants; then hers.
"Stop." Ophelia said.
And for a moment, he did.
"You're right. There's not enough room in here."
He climbed off, back into the driver's seat. He left his pants half down. As he started to drive, he put her hand on his exposed crotch. She left him harden under her fingers. The first time she'd ever felt...
He was pulling into the parking lot of a motel.
"You go in and pay."
Ophelia zipped her jeans and pulled her purse up from the floor.
She didn't know what else to do.
If she said no, he could leave her there. How would she get back to the city?
She went into the office and bought a room.
The first charge on her credit card.
When she came out, he was waiting. He pulled her by the wrist up the metal stairs to their room.
Before Ophelia really knew what was happening she was on the bed.
And that, dear readers, is how Ophelia lost her virginity.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
lovelovelove monologue
Riddle me this, lover.
It started with just a kiss.
Then we slipped.
Oh.
I love that.
See?
I loved it, before I met you.
This is who I am.
Now,
I'm falling for you.
It was supposed to be just a kiss.
Shhhhh
don't say that.
It'll be your face I miss.
Darling, darling, it was just a kiss.
How did it get so complicated?
Situations beyond our control;
damn it, damn it, damn it!
I've got the Ophelia curse.
Love is my loser's game.
[Author's Note: Please, please, please do not interpret this as applying to any situations that may be happening IRL. I am a FICTION writer. My inspiration comes from all over]
It started with just a kiss.
Then we slipped.
Oh.
I love that.
See?
I loved it, before I met you.
This is who I am.
Now,
I'm falling for you.
It was supposed to be just a kiss.
Shhhhh
don't say that.
It'll be your face I miss.
Darling, darling, it was just a kiss.
How did it get so complicated?
Situations beyond our control;
damn it, damn it, damn it!
I've got the Ophelia curse.
Love is my loser's game.
[Author's Note: Please, please, please do not interpret this as applying to any situations that may be happening IRL. I am a FICTION writer. My inspiration comes from all over]
outlining
They were brothers, for all intensive purposes. Family in the absence of blood ties.
Jeremy was the loud mouth. Broad shouldered and audacious, the token older brother.
Evan was his opposite. Shy and calm, thin enough that one didn't expect the muscles that appeared beneath his clothes.
And then, of course, Oliver, the middle brother, whose personality was a balance between the others. He was their voice of reason. Even his body was a compromise between the two. Perhaps that's why they'd become so close, this odd trio. Jeremy and Evan would have never survived on their own, without Oliver to balance out their extremes.
Jeremy lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of the club.
"If we each pull one tonight, we should be able to make the rent."
Evan adjusted his glasses and looked up from his shoes.
"Yeah, well, we would have been fine if someone hadn't blown half of what we had on weed."
Jeremy took another drag.
"Fuck you, skele-boy. I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't keep the lights on--"
"Enough, guys. We'll figure it out. Look alive, we got prospects rounding the corner."
Three women, what modern slang would classify as cougars, giggled their way out of the club.
"Mmmm, look what we've got here." one of them said, spotting the boys.
"Tasty." her companion agreed.
"What's it gonna take to get you boys to escort a lady home?"
Jeremy smiled, tossing his cigarette.
"A kiss and some cash, my dear."
The women cackled.
"Well who can argue with that?"
Jeremy was the loud mouth. Broad shouldered and audacious, the token older brother.
Evan was his opposite. Shy and calm, thin enough that one didn't expect the muscles that appeared beneath his clothes.
And then, of course, Oliver, the middle brother, whose personality was a balance between the others. He was their voice of reason. Even his body was a compromise between the two. Perhaps that's why they'd become so close, this odd trio. Jeremy and Evan would have never survived on their own, without Oliver to balance out their extremes.
Jeremy lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of the club.
"If we each pull one tonight, we should be able to make the rent."
Evan adjusted his glasses and looked up from his shoes.
"Yeah, well, we would have been fine if someone hadn't blown half of what we had on weed."
Jeremy took another drag.
"Fuck you, skele-boy. I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't keep the lights on--"
"Enough, guys. We'll figure it out. Look alive, we got prospects rounding the corner."
Three women, what modern slang would classify as cougars, giggled their way out of the club.
"Mmmm, look what we've got here." one of them said, spotting the boys.
"Tasty." her companion agreed.
"What's it gonna take to get you boys to escort a lady home?"
Jeremy smiled, tossing his cigarette.
"A kiss and some cash, my dear."
The women cackled.
"Well who can argue with that?"
Half Glass Monologue
Emily: I believe monologue
I like high heels because they make men look at me.
I walk around like I'm a hooker: I might as well be.
I'm selling my soul for hits of faux affection,
until I find a guy giving the real stuff.
Yeah, I won't leave the apartment until my make up's done.
Going out in sweats looks weak; vulnerable.
I don't have that luxury.
My motto's always been "look your best when you're feeling your worst, and no one will know any better".
It's just the way I gotta be.
I live my life in a fucked up way;
because I've had a lot of fucked up things happen to me.
I'm not going to give you a sob story about how we were poor, and I got hit.
That's all in the past.
It just means I like a good strong drink when things get rough.
And I'll punch a few walls, until my hand's broken or bleeding, when I'm sober.
It's just the kind of girl I am.
Call me a slut because I'll go home with the guy
who's saying all the things I want to hear.
I need to hear it somewhere.
I'm unemployed and it's a problem.
My skill set is limited.
I write, I drink and I give excellent head.
Not the kind of things you put on a resume.
I hate depending on people. I hate taking favors.
Hell, I don't even like gifts. What did I do to deserve them?
It's just who I am.
I just gotta find a guy who's gonna hold me when I need it,
and let me punch things when I want to.
I like high heels because they make men look at me.
I walk around like I'm a hooker: I might as well be.
I'm selling my soul for hits of faux affection,
until I find a guy giving the real stuff.
Yeah, I won't leave the apartment until my make up's done.
Going out in sweats looks weak; vulnerable.
I don't have that luxury.
My motto's always been "look your best when you're feeling your worst, and no one will know any better".
It's just the way I gotta be.
I live my life in a fucked up way;
because I've had a lot of fucked up things happen to me.
I'm not going to give you a sob story about how we were poor, and I got hit.
That's all in the past.
It just means I like a good strong drink when things get rough.
And I'll punch a few walls, until my hand's broken or bleeding, when I'm sober.
It's just the kind of girl I am.
Call me a slut because I'll go home with the guy
who's saying all the things I want to hear.
I need to hear it somewhere.
I'm unemployed and it's a problem.
My skill set is limited.
I write, I drink and I give excellent head.
Not the kind of things you put on a resume.
I hate depending on people. I hate taking favors.
Hell, I don't even like gifts. What did I do to deserve them?
It's just who I am.
I just gotta find a guy who's gonna hold me when I need it,
and let me punch things when I want to.
Another Half Glass Monologue
Travis: I believe Monologue
I'm the kind of guy who gets hurt really damn easily.
I don't have a lot of friends,
I don't trust people enough.
I'd rather have friendly acquaintances.
I compartmentalize.
School stays at school.
Family stays with family.
Lovers stay in the bedroom.
None of the lines should ever overlap; there's too much chance for someone to realize I'm not who I say I am.
I love intimacy.
Sometimes, I'd rather cuddle than fuck.
But people don't see me that way.
I'm the cool guy you can pick up for a one- nighter
and leave before I wake up, knowing I won't ask for more.
So I take the sex and reminisce on the touches;
hoping I was good enough.
I drink a lot.
I always have.
You don't start doing breakfast shots at thirteen without a damn good reason.
Whiskey's like water, and tastes that much sweeter.
I don't black out, and it takes a certain situation to make me vomit.
But I'll put down a fifth in a blink.
Sue me.
It makes my mind slow down; no more anxiety. Just feeling.
I act like a cynic.
I know I'm a romantic.
I just gotta find the girl who knows the difference.
I'm the kind of guy who gets hurt really damn easily.
I don't have a lot of friends,
I don't trust people enough.
I'd rather have friendly acquaintances.
I compartmentalize.
School stays at school.
Family stays with family.
Lovers stay in the bedroom.
None of the lines should ever overlap; there's too much chance for someone to realize I'm not who I say I am.
I love intimacy.
Sometimes, I'd rather cuddle than fuck.
But people don't see me that way.
I'm the cool guy you can pick up for a one- nighter
and leave before I wake up, knowing I won't ask for more.
So I take the sex and reminisce on the touches;
hoping I was good enough.
I drink a lot.
I always have.
You don't start doing breakfast shots at thirteen without a damn good reason.
Whiskey's like water, and tastes that much sweeter.
I don't black out, and it takes a certain situation to make me vomit.
But I'll put down a fifth in a blink.
Sue me.
It makes my mind slow down; no more anxiety. Just feeling.
I act like a cynic.
I know I'm a romantic.
I just gotta find the girl who knows the difference.
Emily's Favorite Monologue
[[Monologue from Half Glass, read @ Fiction Writers & Playwrights at Dinner]]
Emily’s Monologue
Baby, the rest of the world is cold enough already, they don’t need your frost covered speech fogging up their cell phone screens. Stop saying what they want to hear—what blends in. Whisper warm little lines in my ear. Help me melt the world one kiss at a time.
Soon we’ll all be swimming again.
You and I can shout “Come on in, the water’s fine”!
Fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine! Keep standing there like a snowman—silent and stationary—ignoring the hula dancing bikini girl over here in the sand, calling your name.
Travis, please!
What am I saying? You’ll never listen to me. You’re bent on being cool, so you don’t get hurt again. But don’t you see what you’re missing? You’ve got happiness right in front of you, if you’d stop being a martyr and let somebody in! Fuck, I know it’s hard to trust people, I’ve been there too! But not everything is too good to be true. So what if it fails in the long run, do what’s going to make you happy right now, kid. I’m not waiting forever. Let’s experiment together.
I’ll see you on the boardwalk, babe —I’ll be the one wearing heart shaped glasses with rose tinted lenses.
Emily’s Monologue
Baby, the rest of the world is cold enough already, they don’t need your frost covered speech fogging up their cell phone screens. Stop saying what they want to hear—what blends in. Whisper warm little lines in my ear. Help me melt the world one kiss at a time.
Soon we’ll all be swimming again.
You and I can shout “Come on in, the water’s fine”!
Fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine! Keep standing there like a snowman—silent and stationary—ignoring the hula dancing bikini girl over here in the sand, calling your name.
Travis, please!
What am I saying? You’ll never listen to me. You’re bent on being cool, so you don’t get hurt again. But don’t you see what you’re missing? You’ve got happiness right in front of you, if you’d stop being a martyr and let somebody in! Fuck, I know it’s hard to trust people, I’ve been there too! But not everything is too good to be true. So what if it fails in the long run, do what’s going to make you happy right now, kid. I’m not waiting forever. Let’s experiment together.
I’ll see you on the boardwalk, babe —I’ll be the one wearing heart shaped glasses with rose tinted lenses.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
outlining
Ophelia lit her first cigarette of the day, looking out at her familiar street, ready to walk down to the lake.
"Hey, can I borrow your lighter?"
A tall, thin man with rusty brown hair had exited the building and slipped a cigarette between his raspberry hued lips.
"Sure."
She handed him the red plastic Bic with a smile.
Ophelia watched him cup long bony fingers around the flame until the end of his cigarette glowed.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
She slipped the lighter back into her purse.
"I'm Danny." he said, extending the hand she'd watched moments before.
"Ophelia." she said, allowing him to take her hand.
"You live here?"
"Mhmm. 2014. My third year here in the building."
"Wow. You like it, then?"
"Nowhere I'd rather be."
She took a drag of her cigarette.
"What're you up to, so early?"
"I was going to head down to the lakefront. It's really nice in the morning," she paused, "want to join me?"
Danny nodded.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They began walking down the street together.
"Mind if I stop for a cup of coffee?" she motioned to the cafe down the block.
"Sounds good." Danny said.
They crossed the street, taking the last drags of the cigarettes.
****
"Babe, what do you want for dinner this week?" Ophelia asked, looking up from her grocery list.
"Ummm, I don't know. What about that eggplant lasagna?"
"Sure."
Ophelia and Danny had fallen into a relationship neither had seen coming. It was four months into the school year, and Christmas break was around the corner.
"So, I've been thinking," Danny began, "I know we both have to go home for Christmas."
Ophelia nodded.
"What if I fly up a couple days after, then we can take the train back here together?"
"Really?"
"I'd like to meet your parents."
"Nobody wants to meet my parents. I don't even want to see my parents." Ophelia laughed.
"Okay, maybe I just want to see you again as soon as possible. But they're going to have to meet me eventually."
"I know. I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a plan."
He kissed her.
"Ready to go grocery shopping?"
"Yep."
******
Ophelia brushed the flour from her hands to answer her cell phone. It was Danny.
"Hey baby, Merry Christmas!"
"It would be better if we were together."
"Awww, don't go all cute on me, mister. I don't want to cry with all my family around." she giggled.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too." she sighed.
"What's wrong? Nervous about me meeting your parents?"
"Yeah."
"Don't think they'll like me?"
"How could they not like you? It's me they don't like." Ophelia said, putting the finishing touches on the pie she was ready to slip into the oven.
"It'll be alright."
"I know."
"Hey, can I borrow your lighter?"
A tall, thin man with rusty brown hair had exited the building and slipped a cigarette between his raspberry hued lips.
"Sure."
She handed him the red plastic Bic with a smile.
Ophelia watched him cup long bony fingers around the flame until the end of his cigarette glowed.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
She slipped the lighter back into her purse.
"I'm Danny." he said, extending the hand she'd watched moments before.
"Ophelia." she said, allowing him to take her hand.
"You live here?"
"Mhmm. 2014. My third year here in the building."
"Wow. You like it, then?"
"Nowhere I'd rather be."
She took a drag of her cigarette.
"What're you up to, so early?"
"I was going to head down to the lakefront. It's really nice in the morning," she paused, "want to join me?"
Danny nodded.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They began walking down the street together.
"Mind if I stop for a cup of coffee?" she motioned to the cafe down the block.
"Sounds good." Danny said.
They crossed the street, taking the last drags of the cigarettes.
****
"Babe, what do you want for dinner this week?" Ophelia asked, looking up from her grocery list.
"Ummm, I don't know. What about that eggplant lasagna?"
"Sure."
Ophelia and Danny had fallen into a relationship neither had seen coming. It was four months into the school year, and Christmas break was around the corner.
"So, I've been thinking," Danny began, "I know we both have to go home for Christmas."
Ophelia nodded.
"What if I fly up a couple days after, then we can take the train back here together?"
"Really?"
"I'd like to meet your parents."
"Nobody wants to meet my parents. I don't even want to see my parents." Ophelia laughed.
"Okay, maybe I just want to see you again as soon as possible. But they're going to have to meet me eventually."
"I know. I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a plan."
He kissed her.
"Ready to go grocery shopping?"
"Yep."
******
Ophelia brushed the flour from her hands to answer her cell phone. It was Danny.
"Hey baby, Merry Christmas!"
"It would be better if we were together."
"Awww, don't go all cute on me, mister. I don't want to cry with all my family around." she giggled.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too." she sighed.
"What's wrong? Nervous about me meeting your parents?"
"Yeah."
"Don't think they'll like me?"
"How could they not like you? It's me they don't like." Ophelia said, putting the finishing touches on the pie she was ready to slip into the oven.
"It'll be alright."
"I know."
Monday, June 7, 2010
Fat and Ugly? Look Again.
You can't call me a monster
by simply judging my flesh.
For I've lain with a score
of Adonis's brethren
when those who fit your scale of beauty
haven't stood a chance, decked out in their finest.
by simply judging my flesh.
For I've lain with a score
of Adonis's brethren
when those who fit your scale of beauty
haven't stood a chance, decked out in their finest.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Train Wreck'ed
Popped half a pill
to get to sleep last night
when the feelings like a caffeine overdose
screamed and I remembered
'this is what it feels like to be suicidal'.
It's been months since I've had a legit impulse
but there it was;
bubbling away in my veins.
So, so tired I couldn't move;
but the anxiety tore on inside me.
Almost as bad as that time in high school,
itching away the day at my desk,
waiting to get home and finish
my final test.
Anyway,
the pill took away the pain.
And I woke up this morning still floating.
Half a xanax hasn't gotten me high in years,
but this past month of total sobriety
has cleansed me of tolerance.
And it scares me that this is the closest I've felt
to normal
in years.
Because half a pill
dissolved itself, under my tongue,
and into my bloodstream.
I'm an addict in the making.
to get to sleep last night
when the feelings like a caffeine overdose
screamed and I remembered
'this is what it feels like to be suicidal'.
It's been months since I've had a legit impulse
but there it was;
bubbling away in my veins.
So, so tired I couldn't move;
but the anxiety tore on inside me.
Almost as bad as that time in high school,
itching away the day at my desk,
waiting to get home and finish
my final test.
Anyway,
the pill took away the pain.
And I woke up this morning still floating.
Half a xanax hasn't gotten me high in years,
but this past month of total sobriety
has cleansed me of tolerance.
And it scares me that this is the closest I've felt
to normal
in years.
Because half a pill
dissolved itself, under my tongue,
and into my bloodstream.
I'm an addict in the making.
Friday, June 4, 2010
fuck you.
You can cry all you want;
I didn't hide a thing.
I wasn't lying
when I said
it was a line I wouldn't cross.
A post dawn rebound
doesn't mean a thing
but forgetting heart break
for a few minutes.
If the situation
isn't working out
that's not my fault;
my decision had no bearing
on your hunt.
You can blame it on me;
I know you will anyway,
that's the way
our relationship's always been.
Were you ever really my friend?
I didn't hide a thing.
I wasn't lying
when I said
it was a line I wouldn't cross.
A post dawn rebound
doesn't mean a thing
but forgetting heart break
for a few minutes.
If the situation
isn't working out
that's not my fault;
my decision had no bearing
on your hunt.
You can blame it on me;
I know you will anyway,
that's the way
our relationship's always been.
Were you ever really my friend?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Fight Night
Baby, I never
turn down a challenge;
and I love
a good fist fight.
I'm the kind of girl
who'll throw punches
at the bedroom walls
when they press
too tight.
(I've got the scars to prove it)
Are you sure you want to toy
with me this way?
I've got a granite cool
exterior;
but inside,
I'm all mist
and constellation.
I know you see
the damsel in distress;
neon arrow above my head.
That's why you kissed me that night;
your inner hero complex led your armor
to my magnet core.
(to be continued...)
turn down a challenge;
and I love
a good fist fight.
I'm the kind of girl
who'll throw punches
at the bedroom walls
when they press
too tight.
(I've got the scars to prove it)
Are you sure you want to toy
with me this way?
I've got a granite cool
exterior;
but inside,
I'm all mist
and constellation.
I know you see
the damsel in distress;
neon arrow above my head.
That's why you kissed me that night;
your inner hero complex led your armor
to my magnet core.
(to be continued...)
Friday, May 28, 2010
fall bliss
Ophelia rolled her neck as she stumbled out of the parking lot. The ten hour drive had not been kind to her muscles. But it was well worth the trip, here she was, back in the city she loved, ready to pick up her keys and move in to her first studio apartment.
She squinted as she approached the front door of the apartment building. There was a boy smoking a cigarette next to the ashtray she'd spent many hours perched against in the past. He looked familiar, but it couldn't be...
"I hear you need some help moving in." he said with an adorable smirk.
Ophelia's face stretched itself into a smile. Oliver.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." she said, giving him a hug.
He wrapped his arms around her; and she felt safe for the first time in months.
They let go and he pushed the end of his Marlboro smooth cigarette through the slot of the ashtray.
"After you." he said, motioning towards the door.
He took her hand as they walked into the lobby.
Ophelia retrieved her key and a packet of information from the front desk.
"Have a good day." Melissa, the receptionist from her hometown, smiled.
"Thanks. I will." Ophelia said, leading Oliver back outside. There was no way she couldn't, now.
"I have to figure out what my parents' plan is." she explained.
"Fair enough." Oliver nodded.
They walked back towards the parking lot.
Her family, (mother, father, and three younger siblings) crowded around their mini van and her uncles leaned against the truck that held the majority of her belongings.
"Okay, what's the deal?" she asked when they approached the group.
She saw her mother's eyebrows knit in question over the boy whose hand was twined with her daughter's.
"Well, we need to get your stuff upstairs, obviously." one of her uncles said.
Ophelia nodded.
"Why don't you take the kids down to the park or something?" she suggested to her mother, "it's straight down 8th street, once you cross Michigan, you're in Grant Park. There isn't enough room for everybody upstairs... The guys and I can handle
the moving stuff. Or, if we unload the van first, you and daddy and the kids can go to Target. It's down State, then right at Roosevelt."
"That sounds good."
"Okay."
Ophelia opened the back of the van and began pulling out her suitcases.
"Got enough stuff, babe?" Oliver asked.
"Nope."
"Girls." he sighed, picking up the bags.
Her father followed suit, and between five of them (Ophelia, Oliver, her father and her two uncles), they managed to empty the car.
"I guess we'll take this stuff up." Ophelia said.
She led the way, Oliver following closely behind.
They rode the elevator up the twenty floors and Ophelia opened the door of the apartment.
"Where do you want this stuff?" Her father asked.
"I guess all this can go in the bedroom for now, that way we can put all the boxes in the living room."
When everyone had put down their burdens, they headed for the door. She let her father and uncles go first, stopping Oliver after their exit.
"What's up?" he said.
She kissed him.
"I couldn't wait any more." she sighed.
He smiled back.
"I missed you too."
They headed out the door after the others. It was a good day.
****
Several trips later, all of Ophelia's belongings were in her apartment and the group headed for the lobby one last time.
"You're back!" her favorite security guard, Rosie, exclaimed.
Ophelia laughed.
"Of course I"m back."
"And look at you, with all these men."
"Aw, Rosie, you know me, just the usual. Besides, this is my dad, those two are my uncles and this is..." she paused. How did she describe Oliver?
"I'm her boyfriend." Oliver supplied.
"You are?" Ophelia said, turning to face him.
"Yep."
Ophelia smiled again.
"And this is my boyfriend, Oliver, so you'll be seeing a lot of him."
"Good for you, girl."
"I'm a lucky one alright." she grinned.
Her father and uncles had left them in the lobby sometime during the exchange, so Ophelia leaned up and kissed Oliver.
"Boyfriend?" she asked, as they walked outside.
"Well, I was going to ask, but this worked out, so why not?"
"Good plan."
She squeezed his hand.
This year was off to a perfect start.
She squinted as she approached the front door of the apartment building. There was a boy smoking a cigarette next to the ashtray she'd spent many hours perched against in the past. He looked familiar, but it couldn't be...
"I hear you need some help moving in." he said with an adorable smirk.
Ophelia's face stretched itself into a smile. Oliver.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." she said, giving him a hug.
He wrapped his arms around her; and she felt safe for the first time in months.
They let go and he pushed the end of his Marlboro smooth cigarette through the slot of the ashtray.
"After you." he said, motioning towards the door.
He took her hand as they walked into the lobby.
Ophelia retrieved her key and a packet of information from the front desk.
"Have a good day." Melissa, the receptionist from her hometown, smiled.
"Thanks. I will." Ophelia said, leading Oliver back outside. There was no way she couldn't, now.
"I have to figure out what my parents' plan is." she explained.
"Fair enough." Oliver nodded.
They walked back towards the parking lot.
Her family, (mother, father, and three younger siblings) crowded around their mini van and her uncles leaned against the truck that held the majority of her belongings.
"Okay, what's the deal?" she asked when they approached the group.
She saw her mother's eyebrows knit in question over the boy whose hand was twined with her daughter's.
"Well, we need to get your stuff upstairs, obviously." one of her uncles said.
Ophelia nodded.
"Why don't you take the kids down to the park or something?" she suggested to her mother, "it's straight down 8th street, once you cross Michigan, you're in Grant Park. There isn't enough room for everybody upstairs... The guys and I can handle
the moving stuff. Or, if we unload the van first, you and daddy and the kids can go to Target. It's down State, then right at Roosevelt."
"That sounds good."
"Okay."
Ophelia opened the back of the van and began pulling out her suitcases.
"Got enough stuff, babe?" Oliver asked.
"Nope."
"Girls." he sighed, picking up the bags.
Her father followed suit, and between five of them (Ophelia, Oliver, her father and her two uncles), they managed to empty the car.
"I guess we'll take this stuff up." Ophelia said.
She led the way, Oliver following closely behind.
They rode the elevator up the twenty floors and Ophelia opened the door of the apartment.
"Where do you want this stuff?" Her father asked.
"I guess all this can go in the bedroom for now, that way we can put all the boxes in the living room."
When everyone had put down their burdens, they headed for the door. She let her father and uncles go first, stopping Oliver after their exit.
"What's up?" he said.
She kissed him.
"I couldn't wait any more." she sighed.
He smiled back.
"I missed you too."
They headed out the door after the others. It was a good day.
****
Several trips later, all of Ophelia's belongings were in her apartment and the group headed for the lobby one last time.
"You're back!" her favorite security guard, Rosie, exclaimed.
Ophelia laughed.
"Of course I"m back."
"And look at you, with all these men."
"Aw, Rosie, you know me, just the usual. Besides, this is my dad, those two are my uncles and this is..." she paused. How did she describe Oliver?
"I'm her boyfriend." Oliver supplied.
"You are?" Ophelia said, turning to face him.
"Yep."
Ophelia smiled again.
"And this is my boyfriend, Oliver, so you'll be seeing a lot of him."
"Good for you, girl."
"I'm a lucky one alright." she grinned.
Her father and uncles had left them in the lobby sometime during the exchange, so Ophelia leaned up and kissed Oliver.
"Boyfriend?" she asked, as they walked outside.
"Well, I was going to ask, but this worked out, so why not?"
"Good plan."
She squeezed his hand.
This year was off to a perfect start.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rust and Gangrene
His hair was the same color
as the rust on the railing of the balcony.
Red-brown
and the way it hung over his eyes
reminded Kate
of the flakes of paint
around the spots of rust.
Maybe that was the rum talking.
as the rust on the railing of the balcony.
Red-brown
and the way it hung over his eyes
reminded Kate
of the flakes of paint
around the spots of rust.
Maybe that was the rum talking.
Debut
The curtain opens.
Heavy scraping sounds that could be the beginning
of a thunder storm.
Spotlight
Falls
On a solitary
Figure.
Center Stage.
Androgynous.
The figure’s eyes
Are
Focused.
On the floor.
A tiny squeal
From the mike
Before
A whisper.
The story begins with
I never though I’d be here, still alive, today.
Heavy scraping sounds that could be the beginning
of a thunder storm.
Spotlight
Falls
On a solitary
Figure.
Center Stage.
Androgynous.
The figure’s eyes
Are
Focused.
On the floor.
A tiny squeal
From the mike
Before
A whisper.
The story begins with
I never though I’d be here, still alive, today.
To Be Continued.
“You’re eighteen, you don’t know what passion is.”
“Maybe not. But I know what inner turmoil is, and that’s close enough.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re right.I'm just another melodramatic teenager.”
My social anxiety disorder makes me back down. But I'm screaming a monologue in my head.
“Maybe not. But I know what inner turmoil is, and that’s close enough.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re right.I'm just another melodramatic teenager.”
My social anxiety disorder makes me back down. But I'm screaming a monologue in my head.
I've got the Crazies
Kate slid toward the edge of the two seater porch swing as it jerked forward. She swung her arm out to reach for the edge of the cushion but grasped Vince’s arm instead, her fingernails trailing across his skin as she continued to fall. Vince caught her and pushed her shoulder to the back of the seat. Then Kate wriggled herself into position with drunken, exaggerated twists of her hips and torso.
“Alright there, Ma'am?” Vince teased.
Kate giggled and bent over so she could look down at the dusty green boards of the porch floor for her purse to get her cigarettes. She squinted her eyes in the dark, or as dark as it could get in the city.
“Yep. Fine, fine, fine.” She giggled again, head between her bare knees.
She stretched to reach for her purse, nearly falling over again. This time, purse in hand, she recovered by standing up and tripping the three steps ahead to the railing.
Vince watched her fight with the zipper until she finally got it open and drew out a cigarette. She dropped the purse at her feet and began flicking the dial of her lighter. Her shaking hands were no where near the cigarette—not that she was producing a flame anyway. He shook his head, getting up to join her at the railing, and attempted to take the lighter out of her hands.
Kate started to protest, whining around the cigarette between her lips and hiding the lighter behind her back, until she realized he was going to help her. He plucked the green plastic lighter out of her hands, flicked the dial once, sparking a steady flame, and cupped his free hand around it while Kate leaned in and inhaled until her cigarette was ignited.
“Thank you.” She rested her hip against the railing.
Vince nodded, pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit up himself, before handing Kate the lighter.
He propped his elbows on the railing and watched as cars zoomed past on the city street below them. They heard the familiar honk of impatient taxis and the occasional far off siren.
“I’ve never seen you this drunk before.” Vince said.
“I’ve never needed to be this drunk before.” She squinted again. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see the traffic below, and the many mojitos in her system were making the world even blurrier.
“Oh yeah?”
“Besides, I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk until I’m making out with somebody.”
She gestured out past the railing with her cigarette, as if to summon one of the drivers for her cause.
“I think you might need to reevaluate your definition of drunk.” Vince laughed.
“Nope. That’s how it works.”
“What happens if there’s nobody for you to make out with?” he asked.
“Then I’m not drunk.” Taking the last drag of her cigarette, Kate tossed it off the balcony.
She spun around, tripped over her own feet in the process, and fell to the floor, her yellow cotton skirt sliding up her thighs.
“I think that proves my point.” Vince sighed, looking down at her.
“Nope.” Kate protested, but also making no move to get up.
“C’mon now. Let’s at least sit on the swing, not on the floor.”
Kate pushed herself up with her hands, but didn’t make it more than an inch above the boards before falling again.
“I think I’m good here.” She giggled.
Vince wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up, her back leaning against his legs so he could half carry- half drag her over to the swing.
“That better?” he asked, when she was sitting again.
Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“ I think so.”
“Good. Now what’s wrong?”
Kate kept her eyes closed. She shook her head back and forth against the seat, and felt her blonde hair scraping against the fabric.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You said you’d never needed to be this drunk before.”
“People say silly things when they’re drinking.”
“Yeah, they do. But, there’s usually some truth in them, the kinds of things people won’t say when they’re sober.”
“This isn’t one of them.” Kate stretched her legs out, sliding her feet across the floor.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
Kate squeezed her already closed eyes shut.
“Can’t. Everything’s spinning.”
“Kate.”
“If I open my eyes, I’m going to throw up on you.”
“Well we don’t want that.”
“Exactly.”
“Kate,” Vince started, “you don’t puke from drinking unless you’re upset about something. You know that, and I know that. So if that’s the direction you’re going in, something’s up.”
“Maybe I finally found my limit.”
Vince laughed. “I’ve seen you kill a fifth all on your own, without a hangover to speak of the next day. If a couple girly drinks has you sick, something’s definitely wrong.”
“Stop.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“No, I mean stop moving the swing.” Kate moaned before falling forward again.
She choked and heaved in the direction of her feet, her hair spilling over her face. Vince brushed it back and rubbed her shoulder as she gasped, though still not vomiting.
Kate sat up, leaned back again and took a few deep breaths, eyes still closed. The wet streaks on her face reflected the streetlights. He couldn’t tell if it was from the dry heaving or if she was crying.
“Well?” Vince asked.
“Well, what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Kate bit her lip. This meant one of two things. She was turned on, or she was anxious. Usually, it was both.
“Nobody’s ever going to love me.”
That was not the answer either of them was expecting.
“What are you talking about?”
“Vince, I’ve got the crazies. Nobody is ever going to love me.”
He reached over to wipe away the tear tracks from her face, more to buy himself some time than out of affection. Things just weren’t that way between him and Kate.
“Everybody’s got the crazies. You just have to find someone who can deal with your particular brand and vice versa.”
Kate shook her head, vigorously at first, so her hair danced around the silvery white straps of her tank top, then, more slowly as the motion aggravated her inebriated brain.
“Damn it, I’m not talking about cute little quirks and eccentricities. I mean, legit crazies. I’m sick.”
Kate heard the familiar click of a lighter. Vince lit another cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it out before answering.
“So am I. So are a lot of other people. You’ve got the looks and the charm to even it out. So what if you need a little extra help getting through the day, there isn’t a famous person out there who didn’t have some kind of crazy in ‘em.”
They’d had this same conversation before. Sober. They were both more than a little messed up. They couldn’t be together, it would be too awkward at this point. The initial attraction had come from finding someone who understood. But now they knew they each had to find someone stable—someone who could balance the crazies, as they put it.
“If I could open my eyes, I would punch you in the face right now.”
“Yeah, but you can’t. Totally empty threat.”
“Then I could punch you and puke on you. It would be double the revenge.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. But I don’t want to move.”
Vince took a drag of his cigarette.
"So I win by default.”
“You don’t win. We just have to postpone this debate for a time when I’m not dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Nope. Not that lucky.”
“Kate.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. She peeped her eyes open, but avoided looking at him.
He got angry every time she mentioned dying. She had this stupid ten year plan that called for her being healthy, financially sound and in a stable relationship before she was thirty or she was going to kill herself. He hated when she referred to it. Not just because he cared, but because he was jealous that she had that kind of determination.
“Do you? What do you know? Because I don’t think you know what a catch you are.”
She tried to glare at him, but couldn’t make out more than her eyelashes, so she shut her eyes again.
“Yeah, well, neither do you, mister, so shut the fuck up.”
He knew she was right. Self-esteem was not either of their strong points.
“Fair enough.”
Kate was too drunk to fight, she hated fighting with Vince to begin with. He was the only person she really trusted.
“Truce?”
Vince took the last drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the floor, grinding it out with his shoe.
“I need a drink.” Vince sighed.
“Go for it. I think I need another cigarette.”
She started to lean forward, then fell back, turning her head so her cheek was resting on the cushion.
Vince pushed himself up off the swing, shook his head and leaned down to kiss Kate on the cheek. With her eyes closed again, she smiled, and the rum began to pull her into sleep.
“Alright there, Ma'am?” Vince teased.
Kate giggled and bent over so she could look down at the dusty green boards of the porch floor for her purse to get her cigarettes. She squinted her eyes in the dark, or as dark as it could get in the city.
“Yep. Fine, fine, fine.” She giggled again, head between her bare knees.
She stretched to reach for her purse, nearly falling over again. This time, purse in hand, she recovered by standing up and tripping the three steps ahead to the railing.
Vince watched her fight with the zipper until she finally got it open and drew out a cigarette. She dropped the purse at her feet and began flicking the dial of her lighter. Her shaking hands were no where near the cigarette—not that she was producing a flame anyway. He shook his head, getting up to join her at the railing, and attempted to take the lighter out of her hands.
Kate started to protest, whining around the cigarette between her lips and hiding the lighter behind her back, until she realized he was going to help her. He plucked the green plastic lighter out of her hands, flicked the dial once, sparking a steady flame, and cupped his free hand around it while Kate leaned in and inhaled until her cigarette was ignited.
“Thank you.” She rested her hip against the railing.
Vince nodded, pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit up himself, before handing Kate the lighter.
He propped his elbows on the railing and watched as cars zoomed past on the city street below them. They heard the familiar honk of impatient taxis and the occasional far off siren.
“I’ve never seen you this drunk before.” Vince said.
“I’ve never needed to be this drunk before.” She squinted again. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see the traffic below, and the many mojitos in her system were making the world even blurrier.
“Oh yeah?”
“Besides, I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk until I’m making out with somebody.”
She gestured out past the railing with her cigarette, as if to summon one of the drivers for her cause.
“I think you might need to reevaluate your definition of drunk.” Vince laughed.
“Nope. That’s how it works.”
“What happens if there’s nobody for you to make out with?” he asked.
“Then I’m not drunk.” Taking the last drag of her cigarette, Kate tossed it off the balcony.
She spun around, tripped over her own feet in the process, and fell to the floor, her yellow cotton skirt sliding up her thighs.
“I think that proves my point.” Vince sighed, looking down at her.
“Nope.” Kate protested, but also making no move to get up.
“C’mon now. Let’s at least sit on the swing, not on the floor.”
Kate pushed herself up with her hands, but didn’t make it more than an inch above the boards before falling again.
“I think I’m good here.” She giggled.
Vince wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up, her back leaning against his legs so he could half carry- half drag her over to the swing.
“That better?” he asked, when she was sitting again.
Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“ I think so.”
“Good. Now what’s wrong?”
Kate kept her eyes closed. She shook her head back and forth against the seat, and felt her blonde hair scraping against the fabric.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You said you’d never needed to be this drunk before.”
“People say silly things when they’re drinking.”
“Yeah, they do. But, there’s usually some truth in them, the kinds of things people won’t say when they’re sober.”
“This isn’t one of them.” Kate stretched her legs out, sliding her feet across the floor.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
Kate squeezed her already closed eyes shut.
“Can’t. Everything’s spinning.”
“Kate.”
“If I open my eyes, I’m going to throw up on you.”
“Well we don’t want that.”
“Exactly.”
“Kate,” Vince started, “you don’t puke from drinking unless you’re upset about something. You know that, and I know that. So if that’s the direction you’re going in, something’s up.”
“Maybe I finally found my limit.”
Vince laughed. “I’ve seen you kill a fifth all on your own, without a hangover to speak of the next day. If a couple girly drinks has you sick, something’s definitely wrong.”
“Stop.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“No, I mean stop moving the swing.” Kate moaned before falling forward again.
She choked and heaved in the direction of her feet, her hair spilling over her face. Vince brushed it back and rubbed her shoulder as she gasped, though still not vomiting.
Kate sat up, leaned back again and took a few deep breaths, eyes still closed. The wet streaks on her face reflected the streetlights. He couldn’t tell if it was from the dry heaving or if she was crying.
“Well?” Vince asked.
“Well, what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Kate bit her lip. This meant one of two things. She was turned on, or she was anxious. Usually, it was both.
“Nobody’s ever going to love me.”
That was not the answer either of them was expecting.
“What are you talking about?”
“Vince, I’ve got the crazies. Nobody is ever going to love me.”
He reached over to wipe away the tear tracks from her face, more to buy himself some time than out of affection. Things just weren’t that way between him and Kate.
“Everybody’s got the crazies. You just have to find someone who can deal with your particular brand and vice versa.”
Kate shook her head, vigorously at first, so her hair danced around the silvery white straps of her tank top, then, more slowly as the motion aggravated her inebriated brain.
“Damn it, I’m not talking about cute little quirks and eccentricities. I mean, legit crazies. I’m sick.”
Kate heard the familiar click of a lighter. Vince lit another cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it out before answering.
“So am I. So are a lot of other people. You’ve got the looks and the charm to even it out. So what if you need a little extra help getting through the day, there isn’t a famous person out there who didn’t have some kind of crazy in ‘em.”
They’d had this same conversation before. Sober. They were both more than a little messed up. They couldn’t be together, it would be too awkward at this point. The initial attraction had come from finding someone who understood. But now they knew they each had to find someone stable—someone who could balance the crazies, as they put it.
“If I could open my eyes, I would punch you in the face right now.”
“Yeah, but you can’t. Totally empty threat.”
“Then I could punch you and puke on you. It would be double the revenge.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. But I don’t want to move.”
Vince took a drag of his cigarette.
"So I win by default.”
“You don’t win. We just have to postpone this debate for a time when I’m not dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Nope. Not that lucky.”
“Kate.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. She peeped her eyes open, but avoided looking at him.
He got angry every time she mentioned dying. She had this stupid ten year plan that called for her being healthy, financially sound and in a stable relationship before she was thirty or she was going to kill herself. He hated when she referred to it. Not just because he cared, but because he was jealous that she had that kind of determination.
“Do you? What do you know? Because I don’t think you know what a catch you are.”
She tried to glare at him, but couldn’t make out more than her eyelashes, so she shut her eyes again.
“Yeah, well, neither do you, mister, so shut the fuck up.”
He knew she was right. Self-esteem was not either of their strong points.
“Fair enough.”
Kate was too drunk to fight, she hated fighting with Vince to begin with. He was the only person she really trusted.
“Truce?”
Vince took the last drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the floor, grinding it out with his shoe.
“I need a drink.” Vince sighed.
“Go for it. I think I need another cigarette.”
She started to lean forward, then fell back, turning her head so her cheek was resting on the cushion.
Vince pushed himself up off the swing, shook his head and leaned down to kiss Kate on the cheek. With her eyes closed again, she smiled, and the rum began to pull her into sleep.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Vintage Melodies
Pour me a simple whiskey and water
I'll sip it slowly
while we banter.
A little jazz
or acoustic indie
is the perfect
background soundtrack.
Me in that little black
cocktail dress--
the one that brushes my knees;
I'll have a cigarette in one hand
highball glass in the other.
You wear those jeans
a black band tee
and your fedora.
Baby, we'll sit at the bar
then talk to the stars
that freckle the perfect
ball point ink sky
as we walk down the pavement
your fingers twined with mine.
Back to your place
put on a pot of coffee;
we won't wait until it's done brewing.
Your lips drift to mine
raspberry on strawberry.
My fingers find your hair.
I'm home.
I'm home.
I'm home.
Because you're there.
I'll sip it slowly
while we banter.
A little jazz
or acoustic indie
is the perfect
background soundtrack.
Me in that little black
cocktail dress--
the one that brushes my knees;
I'll have a cigarette in one hand
highball glass in the other.
You wear those jeans
a black band tee
and your fedora.
Baby, we'll sit at the bar
then talk to the stars
that freckle the perfect
ball point ink sky
as we walk down the pavement
your fingers twined with mine.
Back to your place
put on a pot of coffee;
we won't wait until it's done brewing.
Your lips drift to mine
raspberry on strawberry.
My fingers find your hair.
I'm home.
I'm home.
I'm home.
Because you're there.
Evolution
What's keeping me alive?
No, this is not a cry for help. It's a philosophical exploration. I'll explain.
Everything supposedly has a purpose in life. Most people are content with the fact that they've been born and that there are conventions to be followed as a result. Simply progress through the checkpoints that society has structured until you die. No questions asked. That's just the way it is. But, if you take the time to think about it, completing these tasks is just filling the hours. You're going to die regardless of what you've accomplished or not.
Animals inherently know that their only purpose is to reproduce. They only fulfill the tasks necessary to keep them alive long enough for this to be done. Eat, sleep, find a suitable partner, procreate, raise the offspring so they can in turn procreate and continue the species so that the food chain remains in balance. Some creatures don't even live long enough to raise their offspring, once they've reproduced and given birth to the new generation, they die, because their purpose has been finished.
Humans have complicated this cycle by introducing, among other things, modern medicine, and as such, extended the life span far past the age of reproduction. By doing this, as a species, humans nullified natural selection. Everyone is given the opportunity to live, despite the fact that they may not be able to produce offspring, let alone genetically favorable beings.
To justify this, goals were created to fill the extra time (accumulation of possessions, hobbies, social conventions etc) but in terms of relevancy to the life cycle, these goals mean nothing. Petty conflicts such as jealousy of property, war, etc are just manifestations of subconscious boredom. The mind hasn't rationalized that we've structured society to surpass the natural instinct of reproducing simply to maintain the species. This frustration channels itself into constant conflict with both the environment and between ourselves.
As as species, humans claim to be so evolved because we've accomplished all these 'great' things, that no other species has done. We see ourselves as superior because we are 'capable' of tasks beyond survival. But does that really make us superior? Or have we really just complicated the concept of life? If we are indeed superior because we 'can' do these things, what is the point? What are we supposed to do with this knowledge if our purpose is beyond to reproduce for the sake of ecological balance?
Call it an immature existential crisis, but do you have any better answers?
No, this is not a cry for help. It's a philosophical exploration. I'll explain.
Everything supposedly has a purpose in life. Most people are content with the fact that they've been born and that there are conventions to be followed as a result. Simply progress through the checkpoints that society has structured until you die. No questions asked. That's just the way it is. But, if you take the time to think about it, completing these tasks is just filling the hours. You're going to die regardless of what you've accomplished or not.
Animals inherently know that their only purpose is to reproduce. They only fulfill the tasks necessary to keep them alive long enough for this to be done. Eat, sleep, find a suitable partner, procreate, raise the offspring so they can in turn procreate and continue the species so that the food chain remains in balance. Some creatures don't even live long enough to raise their offspring, once they've reproduced and given birth to the new generation, they die, because their purpose has been finished.
Humans have complicated this cycle by introducing, among other things, modern medicine, and as such, extended the life span far past the age of reproduction. By doing this, as a species, humans nullified natural selection. Everyone is given the opportunity to live, despite the fact that they may not be able to produce offspring, let alone genetically favorable beings.
To justify this, goals were created to fill the extra time (accumulation of possessions, hobbies, social conventions etc) but in terms of relevancy to the life cycle, these goals mean nothing. Petty conflicts such as jealousy of property, war, etc are just manifestations of subconscious boredom. The mind hasn't rationalized that we've structured society to surpass the natural instinct of reproducing simply to maintain the species. This frustration channels itself into constant conflict with both the environment and between ourselves.
As as species, humans claim to be so evolved because we've accomplished all these 'great' things, that no other species has done. We see ourselves as superior because we are 'capable' of tasks beyond survival. But does that really make us superior? Or have we really just complicated the concept of life? If we are indeed superior because we 'can' do these things, what is the point? What are we supposed to do with this knowledge if our purpose is beyond to reproduce for the sake of ecological balance?
Call it an immature existential crisis, but do you have any better answers?
shower
My skin's stiff with a/c dried sweat
from that walk around the block
that was meant to clear
my head.
Now all I want to do
is climb into
a dim-lit, hot shower
with you.
Think about your skin
sliding across mine
friction gone
from the soap and water
hickeys growing
that much darker
from the heat.
Unfortunately;
this is just me
imagining.
You're not here
and I'm not there.
I'm destined
for a lonely shower:
curtains left wide open
for luck.
from that walk around the block
that was meant to clear
my head.
Now all I want to do
is climb into
a dim-lit, hot shower
with you.
Think about your skin
sliding across mine
friction gone
from the soap and water
hickeys growing
that much darker
from the heat.
Unfortunately;
this is just me
imagining.
You're not here
and I'm not there.
I'm destined
for a lonely shower:
curtains left wide open
for luck.
First Post
Hey guys, I decided to start a new creative writing blog for this long, lonely summer. Last year's Writing with Matchsticks is gone for good, so if you enjoyed what you saw there, please come back here on a regular basis!
What you should expect to read:
I have a short story collection titled Worse than the Bermuda Triangle: The College Love Triangle, in progress.
Many, many pieces and drafts of Half Glass (the play I'm trying to write for next semester)
And lots of spontaneous boredom poetry.
If you're looking for my emotional, "life" blog, please click the livejournal link on my Facebook.
Welcome to If Ophelia had a Second Chance!
<3 Steffani
What you should expect to read:
I have a short story collection titled Worse than the Bermuda Triangle: The College Love Triangle, in progress.
Many, many pieces and drafts of Half Glass (the play I'm trying to write for next semester)
And lots of spontaneous boredom poetry.
If you're looking for my emotional, "life" blog, please click the livejournal link on my Facebook.
Welcome to If Ophelia had a Second Chance!
<3 Steffani
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