Searching for the Truth
Archive for From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
May 7, 2007 at 11:02 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
I was sitting confortably on a two person sofa, which requires putting your feet up. Monday Night Football sucked, but being on the Coast, Raw is War still wasn’t on yet. Without Met hi-lites, Baseball Tonight kinda loses it’s true meaning in September. Just as I turned to USA to watch the last minutes of “Walker, Texas Ranger”, the phone rang…
“Hello?”
“Wassup Kid? What you doing?”
“Nothing, just sitting on my ass.”
“You got any flow?”
“Like $8? We could catch a rack and chill in the park…”
“Nah. Let’s hit The Ship, get a couple of pitchers. Pick me up in 15.”
“Straight.”
When we got there, the game had already ended and a couple of cats had already locked down the pool tables. We got a pitcher and chilled. Kenny saw a cat he knew from back in the day. Actually, back in the day was three weeks ago when they had both f@ckd with their girls in two separate cars by the park, but that’s other sh!t. He was looking (I’ve said it before, once a dealer, always a dealer) and Kenny helped out. He laid off a nug and bought the next pitcher. Mike and Marc from Chi-town stepped in and gave me sh!t for picking the Giants that week. Last time I saw them, they asked me for advice. Like an idiot, he listened to me. We sat down and ‘kicked it’ while Kenny played pool.
Mike’s girl, Ann, was sweating the shirt and looking at me with those ‘f@ck me’ eyes. I found out later that that was Mike’s girl. Once again, I digress…
Convo varied until I turned it personal. Turns out he had a job he couldn’t keep and needed someone with a brain. $12 an hour was better than $7.50, so I perked up my ears. Plus this girl had some more info for me later on. They bounced without their stoges, so I lit one up with his lighter. He came back for the lighter.
Kenny wanted a shot of Jagermeister and The Ship didn’t rock that way so we moved up the block. The dive was in full effect from the start and two older chickes eyed us from the back of the bar. I picked a couple of songs off the jukebox and we headed back.
The next two hours seemed like 5. Millie, Kristie and the blonde were all twice our age, but chilled out just the same. I’m telling you, I love these older women. I keep getting older, they stay the same age…
Last call was a silent one, but it came all the same.
“You know you’re sitting in Albie’s chair. He’s 60 and hasn’t moved from that chair for 40 years.”
“Yeah, it’s like the old West saloons. You can see the whole bar and your back is to the wall.”
“You seem like a really calm person. Really mellow.”
“I try to be.”
“When was the last time you really got f@cked? I mean really f@cked?”
“I have 6 kids and I love my husband.”
“You know, you should really go far. You were quiet and observant the whole time.”
“Have a nice flight.”
“Are you cool to drive?”
We got Kenny’s pipe and headed for the park. Smoking in public is one thing. But smoking out underneath the stars is a completely different feeling. We climbed a batting cage and chilled in the net. Drunks are a weird bunch. You know sometimes they get emotional and say too much. But they don’t really lie unless necessary. Maybe that’s why Kenny opened up like a book, but then again I should have seen this coming. There is always the point when the sponsor finally fully accepts the guest into his or her world. Like Pacino and Depp, I was in and there was no looking back. It’s the kind of life choice that I was looking for; it’s temporarily permanent. Sometimes plans come together too perfect for words…
April 30, 2007 at 11:01 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
To speak to you and tell you
Tales of surpassing beauty
Would only lead to
Game recognize game
A problem which
I’m sure you’re familiar with
Which leads me to ask:
How do you approach
The unapproachable?
Realizing that this is
A problem that models probably face,
(which you may be after seeing your portfolio)
I rephrase and approach again:
How can one look past
And find the person within?
For no matter how
Stunning
One looks completely
A simple task
Such as
Arranging bags
A person without the capacity
(or ability)
to hold a conversation
is just a
ghost in a shell.
A person
Lost in their own person
Is fit only for
Themselves and their parents
I could continue on my soapbox
And describe
The perfect woman in the perfect world
However
I have revealed so much
While all you have done
Is
Release my thoughts
I thank you for provoking me
And only hope
At the least
I have entertained you
While you wait for your man.
April 23, 2007 at 11:00 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
I saw you
Watched you sit down
And wipe
The cold out of
Your eyes
Watched you adjust your hair
And saw
Something
A beauty which can not
Be described
By words
Maybe it was
Your lack of sleep
Or maybe
Your body
Which you let tumble
Or maybe because
I have yet
To see you
Smile
I waited for you
To sit in the back
Close enough to approach
Close enough
Yet you sat
Away
Maybe because I don’t know
You
I lust for you
Or maybe I lust the
Unknown
The ranting of a
Young boy
Sitting alone
At the back of the bus.
April 16, 2007 at 11:42 pm · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
As some of my selected writing from my compostion books post, I see the need for a bit of an explanation…
Bumblebee was written during my senior year of college, a great time for me as a person as I discovered the difference between Sam Adams Dark and the Boston Lager, between Skyy, Kettle and Stoli Gold, between Redman and The Grateful Dead (Thanks, Lauren).
Lauren, a Cleveland transplant with blond dreads, let me ‘borrow’ her book by Charles Bukowski.
He wrote short stories and poems and I was looking for a style, so I thought I would borrow his, something like Jamal Wallace when he found Forrester and a willing Anna Paquin, minus the white streak from that evil Mangento forcing her to use her powers to fuel his…
I mean, I was just getting my black pen going and wanted to try something new. I see I’ve got a couple more poems that will post soon enough…
April 15, 2007 at 11:07 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
Wake up for work
Go in, small talk
Off today, on tomorrow
Go home, change
Wait for bus, walk
Cable bill
Bank
Store 24
Jose
“ I know I seen you.”
“Maybe”
“You blaze?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna blaze?”
“Yeah. Where to?”
Turns out grandpa died.
Mom’s in PR now
No head shots, understand
“Sit down, what you do?”
“Just graduated.”
“Yeah, doing what?”
“Journalism, I write.”
“Yeah, I might go back.”
Gonna start back at Bunker Hill
Went to Brookline HS
‘lives’ in Roxbury, Dorchester
Paralegal – 9 months
Worked at Northeastern, manager
Radio – movie idea
“You can do it. I can’t.”
“Road’s full of options. Life is…”
“U-turn with his, you know you’re special.”
Mom’s insurance agent
Graduated with associate in chemistry
5-6 year program in 4 with summer
had him at 16, so she didn’t finish
I wanted you to be somebody
“I still do it”
“But you got it.”
Bumblebee
April 6, 2007 at 10:53 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised)
Based on Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
Walking through the door was tough.
It took a couple of deep breaths and the shuffling of small feet behind me to exit the present and confront the past that affected my future. A strong breeze, diluted with cigar smoke, whiskey and painful memories hit me square in the face.
It would have continued and engulfed me completely, but Junior hit the switch on the wall that turned the fan off. As I stood in a methodical gaze at my past, my future strolled past me and brought life into the room.
The small hands touched and grabbed and tugged me into this Grand Ballroom. Looking at it now – the collected dust on the chairs, the mirror with no reflection — it had become just a ballroom. Not that it was Grand when I entered it, fresh out of high school with a speech and a dream. But that was so long ago. I was different now.
My feet returned to me. I walked into the future. This room was to be converted. As I wandered around, jotting down this and noticed that, my boys busied themselves as young boys do.
Junior went behind the bar and ‘Cowboy Joe’ waddled up to the counter. My back was to the bar when I heard the glass shatter; however, my mind was miles away.
I saw the vision that haunted my dreams for years. The American flag, wiggling and writhing to the music. Moving as if something was trying to be released, like a snake trapped in a bag.
Then, suddenly, it is lifted to the sky, with me at full salute. I stand strong and erect as it rises, admiring its stars, yet filled with anger at the stripes.
As I bow my head in shame, I’m engulfed in blood, sweat and tears for a mule that I’ve never known. I kneel in confusion and watch from afar as a briefcase closes over me.
I awake in darkness, the echo of a starter’s pistol stuck in my ears. On most nights, I reach for my wife and check my reality. However, lately I escape my private prison and watch my boys sleep.
In them, I see my wife’s fair complexion and her strong chin. However, as I stand in the dark and look closer, I see what I believe at first to be me.
As I watch my sons take one more small step closer to death, I begin to see my father. Then, the view changes and I see one face of reason inside clouds of confusion.
When I ask them why they broke Mr. McAllister’s window, I hear the answer but what I really hear is my grandfather’s voice. They say it was an accident, but I’m not convinced. I don’t, rather, I can’t believe them. Something seems to be underneath “I’m sorry and it will never happen again,” but I just can’t place it. It seems so familiar…
Daddy, it was Junior’s fault!
No it wasn’t…
Yes, it was…
They argue as if it didn’t happen. As if within this room, a glass wasn’t shattered. They speak as if it was not lifted from its place and brought out to this hostile territory. They act as if it was not violently dropped back down to the Earth, becoming hundreds of inconspicuous little pieces, nothing that could harm you, but there, nonetheless. Then picked up off the ground, the ground that seemed to become its new home. This one, however, was dark and closed, with no sign of escape. Swept out with the rest of the trash…
As the boys cleaned up the glass, I thought how it was similar. A young boy, with certain beliefs, and a will to change the world. I had entered this room valedictorian, Godamnit!
I didn’t deserve that treatment. I should have spit the blood in their faces, but I didn’t. I had never thought why, why I had swallowed my blood that day. But back in this town, back in this room, it all came back to me, like stepping on the wrong side of a rake. Everything raced back to me and stuck like polyester on a hot summer day.
The words had never stuck. I heard them every night in college, but they never stuck. I still hear them, hear them haunting me, reminding me of my past. Yet I never thought about its meaning. Now I knew. I knew what Grandpa meant now; and the best thing was, it wasn’t too late. I could still make a difference. I could still be the spy…
I felt like a large cloud had been lifted and I thought I saw a rainbow in the dust of the stage, however, it was just the light. I thought about my new-founded revelation as I wandered around the old room and felt like the star of a bad novel with a sappy ending.
I laughed to myself as I checked the measurements one last time. The boys were beginning to give me that ‘We can’t think of anything else to do’ look and I know in a few seconds, it would change into a full-fledged complaint. I could always come back later…
Come on boys. Let’s go.
Finally!
Daddy, can we stop for ice cream?
Yeah, I want a big vanilla ice cream cone.
Yeah, me too.
Fine, we’ll stop at the ice cream shop.
Daddy, why did we come here?
Cause this is gonna be Daddy’s newest liquor store, Junior.
Why can’t you have an Africa store, Daddy?
Because that wouldn’t sell, Junior. That wouldn’t sell.
March 28, 2007 at 11:32 am · Filed under From the Composition Book (Parental discretion advised), First thoughts
I gravitated towards composition books, the black and white bounded pads, when I was a college freshman. At first, I thought I would use them for class, but that idea died quickly when I stopped caring about class as much.
Slowly, it became a thought pad. I would use it to calculate my bills, then my schedule and finally, it was where I would write sophmoric rhymes, mostly because I was a sophomore at the time…
From all of that, when I finally started writing to just be writing, it would go into the compostion books.
There are a few that have seen inside, Ip-oz actually has hard copies of all of them somewhere…
Anyway, the problem with the new techno-gadget age of aquaris that we’re in is my comp books are in long hand and I’m way too lazy to transcribe them to digital…
Except I did for a couple of stories and they were on a website, a site I would write music reviews for (Shout out to www.Snicka.com. SNK 4Eva!).
Anyway, thanks to the power of the web, I was able to find them and will provide them a new home on this site.
Starting Monday and every one thereafter, a new thread will appear in a category called From the Composition Book.
This is different from The Past is always Present how, you ask? Well, the Past is previous published works, from my days at any of the four newspapers and such that I’ve written for.
Comp Book is a different beast entirely. Some of it is true, some of it fiction and others are fiction-based.
It’s not up yet but I can tell you this, whenever I get to “Millie”, just remember that…
Well, just remember to keep an open mind and your friends will follow or stop short, not truly telling you who your true friends are, but providing a point of reference for the future…
And other such ramblings will always be available.