work in progress (i’m actually writing stuff that’s good THIS IS A MILESTONE)

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“Oh my, it’s beautiful”. A gasp snuck through her lips as she stared into a square, velvet box held open with gloved hands. In it lay a necklace draped in dedicate emeralds, each framed in a 24-karat gold frame. The gems glistened in the moonlight peaking through the cracks in the closed blinds. Picking up the piece of jewelry from both ends, he hinged back the latch as he carefully draped in around her neck. When it hit her chest, he bent his face down so she could feel his breath as he latched the two ends as one. He rested his chin on her shoulder so they could both admire the beauty in the mirror – not only the green centerpiece, sleeping on her sternum like a hibernating bear, but too the young scarlet with short brown hair in a blue silk chiffon dress that draped just off her shoulders - together. Both couldn’t help but notice how out of context the image looked in the dinghy candle-lit apartment. Nevertheless, she turned and gratefully nuzzled her lips against his cheek, leaving a fuzzy red mark on the front of his ski mask. Hidden underneath, a large, toothy smiled slowly emerged.

The mask man lifted his hands up to briefly massage her arms before he pulled away. Lingering to turn around, he journeyed over piles of old clothes and undisposed garbage towards the run-down wooden record player. Shifting through dusty, scratched-up vinyl purchased second-hand, he pulled out a beat up Sam Cooke record and laid it on the turntable. He pulled the needle westward and placed it on the music’s once shiny veneer. A pointer finger caressed the button labeled start; all but two of the letters illuminated, brighter green than usual in the dark room. The needle danced to static on the warped surface.

He slowly turned around and stared at the woman sitting at the vanity, using her dilated pupils, thinly rimmed with jade-green, as a portal to her soul. Keeping eye contact, his phalanges crawled up his long-sleeved black turtleneck, quickly brushed his neck, and slid into his wool veil. The fingers slowly grazed his face, introducing behind the thick black curtain one facial feature at a time. First revealed was his strong chin, dimpled and covered in a thin layer of hair, which crept up and framed his chapped lips, meeting like a latch of a necklace above his thin upper lip. His nose poked from under the drapery, which protruded outward more than most, the left nostril latched on his zigzagged septum diagonally above his right. The bridge of his nose parted between his tear ducks, which neighbored bloodshot corneas. A three inch scar slashed through his bushy eyebrow, skimming through the right eyelid as his long, dark eyelashes brought his top lid down to meet his bottom. As the eyelids glided back up, they revealed an opaque pupil tainted by cataracts, opposite the remaining, unaffected turquoise eye he was born with. He threw his hat on the nicotine-stained carpet; “A Change Is Gonna Come” began to overrule the static as the hat completed its decent.

Voyaging back through the hoarded rubble towards the vanity, the newly unmasked man cleared a circular path big enough for two. Her outstretched hand met him when he finished; her fingers dangled in the air like wispy clouds on a mid-summer’s afternoon. He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her into the opening.

He leaned against her, feeling the sinfully beautiful jewelry press against his chest. His eyes shifted over her shoulder and scanned the dirty walls of his microscopic apartment, holes of smashed plywood created by angry fists scattered about. He mentally dug through the garbage scattered around the floor and found diamond rings, stolen radios, and an unopened plasma television she was dying to watch a few months back. His mind opened up the dresser drawers filled with others’ hard earned cash. The muffled sound of howling cats, screaming parents and ambulance sirens from outside momentarily broke his concentration.

 And just like that river I’ve been runnin’, ever since

Swaying left, right, left, right, back and forth, a soft touch dangled down his lover’s hourglass curve, lingering towards her hipbone.

Wonder of the loss of breath from constantly running, the siren’s squeal never far behind him, and the anxiety of just barely getting away with it really being worth it filled his mind; If his modest lifestyle being a shield to her desires, impossible for a man like him to legally fill, was worth the risk.

Just before an anxious bead of sweat hit the collar of his turtleneck, well-manicured fingers graced his face. He turned to the source and saw a large, toothy smile slowly emerge. His firm hand graced the small of his smitten life’s back, pulling her warm body closer to his. Again he rested his chin on her shoulder, his whiskers rough against her delicate skin, and whispered into his everything’s ear:

It’s been too hard livin’, but I’m afraid to die

‘Cause I don’t know what’s up there, above the sky

It’s been a lo-o-o-ong, a long time comin’ and I kno-o-o-oow,

A change gonn’ come

Oh yes, it will

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FIN.

thoughts? questions? reactions? does this make any sense?

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When I’m still awake and you’re dozing off,
I love looking at your sleeping face.

When you go to wrap your arm around me or snore your snores,
I glance down at your head resting on my breast;
I find myself lost in your thick eyelashes and the curves of your eyelids,
the texture your pores give your face,
your big, soft lips,
the short hairs framing your face from failing to shave all weekend,
and that cute little mole beside your right nostril,
and I smile.

And I don’t stop smiling.

And I feel okay and perfect and cared for
in all the ways the movies and my mother told me I should feel
and how I should be cared for

And I don’t know what that means,
But I think I’m closer than ever to figuring it out.

a blog about birthdays on my birthday

I love birthdays, I think they’re an amazing thing. I love getting congratulated with gifts and kind words for simply being alive for one more year, it’s fantastic. i’m not being sarcastic either, something that requires minimal work and great results is my kind of thing.

However, 19 is one of the most pointless ages ever; From like 1-12 you’re still super stoked on your birthday and invite friends over for cake and their parents buy you a present, 13 you get to see PG 13 movies, 16 you get to drive, 17 you get to see Rated R movies, 18 you get to do tons of shit, skip over 19, then you’re 20 and a grown ass person, no longer a teenager. 19 is like the end of an era, and it’s kind of a sad year.

Contrarily I suppose that’s an excuse to live it up, which is what I intend to do, but it’s still kind of nutty. So much shit had happened in the past 19 years - the Backstreet Boys, N*SYNC, Dreamstreet, and Spice Girls have all formed and broken up, Amy Winehouse released 2 hit records and died, Apple rose and fell with the death of it’s CEO, the world was rocked by 9/11, and so much other shit I can’t recall. In my personal life, people have come and gone and times have changed so much, but somehow every year I’m exactly where I need to be

With every year that passes, it fascinates me I’ve made it through another one. While i celebrate this event in such a fashion that makes me seem like I think I’m invincible, the truth is I’m celebrating the fact that I’m not. not only am I not dead, but I’m graced to be surrounded by the best people ever period always. 

So here’s to a new year, where I don’t feel any different, but fortunate to feel such.

So although my english teacher is pretty much a complete bore, the assignment we’re doing in the class is interesting - we set up a Wordpress, and instead of writing papers, we do weblogs. The first one was a prompt on beliefs:

1. I believe that society….

is not-so-slowly becoming more dependent on unimportant things and far less dependent on things that really matter

 2. What reasons can you think of to support your belief? 

The rappers who can make entire albums about their fast whips and racks on racks on racks. Teenagers who stand in line for hours and hours and even get stabbed to cop the new pair of J’s. College students who jeopardize their grades to work 40 hours a week and make tons of money. Young girls who wish more than anything that their love handles would disappear or young men who strain themselves flexing sculpted muscles they don’t have. Drugs or drinks being the only source of entertainment for groups of friends. Grandchildren unable to recite a good time or an old story their grandparents shared with them at their eulogy. Tweets upon tweets Christmas Day about how much people hate their parents for not getting them the iPhone.

 3. What evidence supports your reasons? 

The Racks, the Stabbings, and the Tweeting

 4. What have you read or heard that has influenced or shaped your belief?

Walking down the sidewalk, you’ll probably bump into tons of people whose heads are tilted over their smartphones as they cross the street, see womanly figures you wished you had, smell perfumes that are $200 for 4 ounces, and hear the roar of a sports car that probably cost more than a house. You’ll sit down and watch trashy reality television making teen mothers and New Jersey residents household names, only to be bombarded every 10 minutes by commercials telling you what phone you should have, how you should smell, how you should look, and what car you should drive

5. What have you seen or experienced that has influenced or shaped your belief? 

From personal experience. I’ve put insignificant things like work, money, body envy, technology and booze over my relationships with people and the appreciation of simple things in life

6. How have these experiences led you to your present position? 

My personal experience has led me to believe the folly in our current society. I realize that in small increments these flaws in society aren’t too bad, but the scale it’s reached is quite off-putting

 7. How does your belief affect the choices you make on a daily basis?

I try to accept society simply for what it is and not to dwell – dwelling on too much of anything is sort of a waste of time. I enjoy these so called ills in society, but I also remember to stay grounded and truly focus on those things that are the most important

1/26/12 1:43AM: an (edited) excert

….Although thoughts of being with you haunt me from time to time, I’ve gotten much better at fighting them. My naive skin is starting to shed and I’m learning to deal with these kindergarden crushes with greater ease, but it never really gets easier. All it makes me think is: what the fuck will I do if/when/however I fall in love? How will I handle myself when it comes to a screeching hault? But I think I’ll be okay after that, because I think what I fall in love with the most, so hopelessly, is not the man himself, but the concept of him. I love the perfect image the first few romantic gestures sketch up in my mind and the quirky yet charming etched lines that follow suit. But it’s like diving into a cold pond from 50 ft - the journey is thrilling, not quite knowing what’s going to happen, but the millisecond your phalanges hit that icy liquid, things become a lot less worth discovering. Oh wait, I missed a part.

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last night/this morning

You came over, we ate leftovers and listened to my new Beach House vinyl. The news was on and we spoke for the muted subjects; “DAT FOX ATTACKED ME, I WAS LIKE FUCK YOU FOX!”. We laid in my comfy ass bed and watched The Graduate after I told you how awesome my dad said it was. Once it was over, we laid next to each other in bed listening to my Dr. Dog vinyl. Side 1 stopped but I was too cozy to flip it as we continued to talk about everything I wanted to hear and needed to know. I showed you my Pokemon cards and gave you one. Just before you left, you grabbed some cookies and gave me a footrub I joked about in a text message. We hugged and established our friendship, and I’m really okay with that. Sure I sort of wish it was more than that, but I like what we have. If when you are ready and I’ve moved on romantically, we’ll remain friends, but if I haven’t, well…. maybe, who knows.

11/11/11

While thousands of people will be honoring the thousands of veterans who fought for their country in foreign lands, I won’t be able to shake that stomach-churning feeling I experienced in that makeup isle of Target a year ago when we got that phone call about one veteran. A veteran not of war, but of a conjunction of so much more; A veteran of dimples that caved in every time that lavish smile was let off it’s leash, of many brewskis and shots of Irish whiskey swigged down in my living room alone, of too many moments helping out anyone and everyone whenever they needed it, and of so many moments I unfortunately was too far away in distance and age to truly soak up. It’s honestly difficult to write about the man I knew so little about, whose blissful existence on this Earth I took for granted. But he walks with other veterans, being introduced to me constantly with every story and every glimmer, every chuckle, every bittersweet smirk curling out the faces of those telling them. To me, Kylan seems more prevalent on this Earth than ever. And just like those veterans most will honor tomorrow, he will live on as a legend

flirting sucks

I hate it. I don’t know if it’s always been such a difficult feat for me or if it’s just lately, but it’s the worst. It’s hard not to fall a little in love with every pretty boy who flashes a smile and it’s even harder to take that and know what to do next. Half of you is saying that you gotta make things happen while the other half is saying that if it’s suppose to happen it will. These two consciences sit on my shoulder like little pricks yelling their logical arguments in my ear and it drives me so mad to the point where i just walk away. The most i can muster out is a lingering smile, maybe even a name, but what can i do with that? not a damn thing

And getting a number or maybe a Facebook add is only the first hump to get over. Saying witty and charming things? I’m not sure I’m capable of such things. Every text or im or vocal conversation travels off my fingertips with a shudder of disgust and off my tongue with a pukey trail left behind. That’s seriously not who i am, i just cant be “sassy” with words

And even past the initial flirting… the first interaction with one another is positively devastating. I don’t think I could name one time where I haven’t stopped in the middle of a makeout session to lay down implied ground rules or break out in an unnecessary gigglefit

Of course, I guess it gets easier. You not only learn to navigate each other’s bodies, but your thoughts and words. You begin to understand what to say and what to do and know each other better. But how do you look at a person and know it’s even worth it? If they even want these things? If you even want these things..?

Will Smith once told Charlie Rose a story about a brick wall his father made him build - how he looked at the blank space overwhelmingly, but learned to focus on one brick at a time, and eventually a wall appeared. Now this too could be the case for my situation, but I just don’t have any damn bricks to pick up

although the rest of this speech sucks, i love my intro:

“When we look back at the Constitution our fore fathers scribbled up all those years ago, what do we see? The right of justice, that people should be treated fairly when distributing the correction of wrongs and injuries; equality in politics, economy and society, not to be looked down upon in any aspect; the demand of truth from our government; and let us forget not the right to life, to liberties like personal freedom and the right to participate in the government, and to pursue happiness while not infringing on the rights of others. Although some people might not agree with everything they wrote, maybe wanting to redraft it entirely, I don’t blame them. And a famous yet ridiculous cartoon theme song asks a head-thumping question: where are those good old fashion values, on which we used to rely? Let us not forget that core value defining us from our European brotheran –popular sovereignty. The citizens, yes you and me. We are collectively the sovereign of the state and hold ultimate authority. With this in mind, think about the majority of Americans who believe cannabis should be legalized to execute the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness our fore fathers dreamed for us.”

when young people die

people i don’t even know, something just happens inside of me. for a few minutes i’m obsessed over them - what their life was like, who they were, what they did. and most of them look so happy, having the time of their lives, coming so close to huge milestones. i look at how they died and how common it was and how that could happen to me, it just hasn’t. i look around and see people older than them walking around with so much more life jam packed in them, it just doesn’t seem fair, it never seems fair

i remember 4 years ago this kid at my school died just a few months before graduation. i never met him and i don’t even remember his name, but he still sticks with me. i just wonder what he was feeling. there were a few facebook posts about this girl who was driving on the highway and crashed. i didn’t know she existed and i looked on her tumblr and saw her and her boyfriend were about to celebrate their 11 months

i can never truly wrap my head around death, i never truly accept it when it happens, and if stranger’s deaths affect me this much, i can’t imagine how much someone close to me would

it’s weird how one letter can change everything

When I first opened my letter from VCU, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind what it was going to say. For some reason, I could feel it in my gut. Every ounce of hope I had fought against it, and their battle raged inside of my stomach as I scanned the first line slowly. Then - “regret”. I fell to the floor, but at first I couldn’t even cry. It was this weird paralyzing feeling, like something was hoping it wasn’t real, that my brain didn’t register it because it couldn’t possibly do it. But after a few seconds, I realized what had happened. Tears streamed from my eyes and thoughts of failure and worthlessness through my brain. I’ve never felt that pathetic and beat down in my entire life.

All I could think is what am i going to do? In that moment, I had never felt so lost. It’s hands down the worst feeling I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Practically every moment of the past few years relied on this moment. I felt like such an idiot because I strutted around like I was already going to VCU. I was just so sure of everything.

Even though I know people are going to say “Keep pursuing art!”, I just don’t want to. I’m so sick of it beating my emotions black and blue. This is far from the first time I haven’t been good enough - I know that has self-pity connotations, which it did before, but now I’m just stating a fact. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just making it up as I go along. If you told me to vector something, etc, I don’t know what to tell you. Plus, art school is sculpting and drawing and painting - I have no desire to do that. Going into all this I figure I’d get through it and do what I really want, but I just don’t think it’d be worth it. And there’s a lot of hipster douches in Richmond.

Even before I got this letter, I was having my doubts. I’m not ready to live away from my parents or live with a stranger or walk the streets of Richmond by myself. The whole thing absolutely terrified me, but once again, I figured I’d get over it. What I was even more afraid of is going up there and hating it. Just like today, I would have no idea what I would do.

So if you asked me a year ago, 3 months ago, a day ago, or when I was lying on my kitchen floor this afternoon what I would do if I didn’t get into VCU, fuck college in general, I would have no idea what to tell you. I would probably say something along the lines of huddling up in the fetal position for a few days and my world coming to an end. But honestly, after a hour and some change of crying, it’s the beginning of a whole new one.

After years of knowing exactly what I’m going to do and where I’m going to go and being so sure of everything, I like not knowing. Even though I’m not too sure where I’m going or what I’m going to do, I know I’ll be okay. I’m smart enough and I can write, so I’ll probably do that and maybe freelance on the side. Plus, this happened for a reason, everything does. It has to, or else life would just suck too much. Everything happens so you can realize life isn’t always so peachy fucking keen. Things happen so you can stop lying to yourself with denial and empty promises you made when you were 10 and realize how you really feel right now. Things happen so you learn what you need because no matter how badly your mother wishes you could, you can’t always get what you want. Things happen after things after things after things to show you through all that remorse and happiness, the doubt and hope, the acceptance and dreaming a little bigger, that everything will be alright after all.

4. have you changed in the last year?

i have in so many ways. i’ve cut my hair and let it grown then cut it and let it grow again, i’ve ridded of old clothes and got new things. but amongst all of those things, i’ve become far more open to things - more accepting of my friends and their habits, even accepted such on various occasions (maybe or maybe not happening right now). more welcoming of my relationship status or weight, no matter what it is. more alive by facing tragedy and all those all around “growing up” frustations.

i’m constantly growing and changing - weather it be maturity, intelligence, or physicality - and in the past year i’ve become so much more open to accepting who i am 

my monologue i wrote for creative writing~

My life has become a sort of drinking game. Not the kind your parents play with their expensive beers they take a swig of every time Obama mentions the health care plan, but the kind college kids play with their cheap vodka they throw back everytime a boxer gets a hit in.

Every morning that begins with me slapping the snooze button at 5AM, take a shot. Every time I have to rebutton my shirt or retie my tie, take a shot. Every traffic jam I slam down my horn or yell profanities at the drivers in front of me, take a shot. Every time I loose a deal and get yelled at by my boss – well, you know what to do.

If you’re not feeling good yet, you haven’t been paying attention.

Every night I walk through the door, I rip off my tie and unbutton my top button. I pour a glass of Jack Daniels and see what’s on TV. For every local news story that involves someone getting robbed or killed, I take a shot. For every episode of Law and Order that mentions a girl getting raped, I take a shot. For every line of dialogue on CSI that mentions semen residue, I take a shot, and find myself looking at an empty glass.

I turn the TV off and get up to refill my drink. As the glass is filling up, my mind is filling up with thoughts of her - her big blue eyes, long brown hair, porcelain skin, endless curves, soft lips – and then I take a shot. As I drag myself back to the couch, I wonder how she’s doing now; if she’s settled down, had some kids she might cart around in a silver minivan – to soccer, karate, ballet; wherever their hearts desire. As I lift my glass to my lips, I envision her bouncing waves tied up in a ponytail while she scrubs the dishes, and her husband coming home from work, putting down his briefcase, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek. And then I take a shot.

If you’re not slurring your words yet, then you’ve made a few mistakes.

I think about where I would have been if I had stayed. Probably at my mediocre agency in a small office with no windows making half of what I do now. As I kick my business socks up on my coffee table and sink further back into the couch, I start thinking, why does a job title determine how high up you are in the world anyway? Why does a salary determine how wealthy you are?

I think about the first time that I saw her, when she served me my latte and shot me that 100-watt smile of hers. Oh, I felt higher than ever before. As I twirl my glass I think about holding her hand, running my fingers though her hair, pressing my lips against hers. My god, I felt wealthier than any salary could ever make me. And then I take a shot

If you’re not blurting out your deepest secrets by now, you’re in denial.

I sink deeper into my couch as I look around my living room at the priceless paintings hanging on the walls and the black plasma television resting on its cherry wood stand and realize I’m the poorest man in the world. I take a shot and not only realize I’ve hit rock bottom in my life, but I’ve also hit the bottom of my glass. I bring the glass down from my face as I realize I’ve become nothing more than the art on the walls, the TV on its stand… the gun in my top drawer.

If you’re not holding the bar to keep you up straight, then there’s still hope for you.

My eyes open wide as my epiphany jolts energy into my legs that clumsily carry the rest of my body to my bedroom. As I fumble through my dresser drawer, I think about sitting on the couch with her watching cheesy movies and sitcoms. As my blurry eyes meet with the shiny 9MM, I think about her messy face when I looked across the dinner table. As my shaky hands grasp the weapon, I think about holding her body in bed and never wanting to let go. As I lift the barrel to my temple, I think about the foreign countries we never went to, the furniture we disagreed on, the children we never had.

And her smile, her 100-watt smile. It lit up her entire porcelain face and made her blue eyes shine even brighter. I think about looking at that face, higher and richer than you could even fathom. I think about looking at that face and feeling like a person, with blood and love running through me. Now, as dark whiskey and apathy pulse through my veins, I’m nothing more than the paintings hanging on my walls, the plasma TV in my living room, the gun in my hand.

And then, I took a shot.