Thursday, August 16, 2012

Another "hello"

     This is another "hello" that is most likely not as needed as the warm, coy smile from the one that touches your soul, but it's a "hello" none the less. A "hello" from someone that you may not even know, but it's still a "hello" in a world that generally forgets others occupy nearby spaces.

     The two weeks of hell are almost over and I found some time to type a little note to the interwebs. The past two weeks have taken a physical toll that is most likely to put me on bed rest for a few days of recovery, and I was still able to push forward the future getting a moderate amount finished. Any time that I have carved out for introspection has been revealing to say the least. I've also become a shit ton better at being cryptic when typing out messages to the internet.

     That is enough for now. It's not fiction, but I don't have the time for that right now. I have to go screen print some possibly offensive image onto t-shirts.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Sunday fiction on a day that feels like a Wednesday 8/12/12


Their hands clasped together in the center of the table or as close to center as two people with different arm lengths can be. He, being with the longer “wing span”, had to keep a bit of elbow slack to keep all things as equal and comfortable as possible in what was getting ready to be a tense situation.  He had practiced this a few hundred times, but always in his head. What he was getting ready to say never flowed like water in these practice runs, and his anxiety grew as two hundred eighteen thoughts started to flood his brain. No matter how many scenarios he ran through in his head and how many variations he uncovered, his brain still went into overdrive with new thoughts and questions that he undoubtedly never thought of or wanted to consider.

     His eyes met her as she talked without words waiting on the commencement of what was in her mind going to be a significant, yet ultimately benign speech. He has obviously given his choice of words deep thought and the look upon his face pierced her heart as she felt his deep sorrow flow through his hands into hers.

     He opened his mouth to words that did not make themselves present in any previous scenario. Anxiety bred anxiety bred more anxiety until all the things he wanted to say were replaced by a rambling jumble of nouns, verbs, adjectives and pronouns that failed at all levels to make any cohesive sense.

     He briefly stopped to collect his thoughts once more and pulled out a piece of paper. Never apologizing for what was an obviously confusing two-minute auditory mess because his anxiety was a part of his initial charm. He always tried, valiantly, and she knew this. He worked on improving everyday how to let her know that it was her that he wanted, every moment with every breath. He had still come up short to talk openly with his normal cadence. Every time he wanted to get out something emotional it was always rehearsed, written and cold. She had to accept that at least he was telling her these things no matter how it was delivered.

      The time it took him between unfolding the piece of paper, grasping hands once more without the previous intensity and his mouth stopping to produce noise their hands and chests had gently slid themselves a part with out much effort. Neither one of them looked down to ensure nothing was still connecting their flesh. The bracelets on her left arm being forced to rotate around her wrist by her right hand betrayed her true emotions as she sat otherwise motionless and silent. Each knew that this was what would always have been, but neither wanted to admit to the other in fear that weakness would shine through the cracks in their armor.

     He looked up into her eyes once more. Each set of eyes betraying themselves to the other. They pushed back their chairs, stood and walked out. No eye contact was made between them with me or them with anyone else as they passed onlookers pushing forth a wave of pure emotional distress.

Fiction in Times of Need

     If you actually follow this blog or found this through Jesus and the Rabid Badgers then you may have noticed that I added a new label and now an honest to god (God or whatever you believe) series called Sunday fiction on a day that feels like a Wednesday.

     I feel like I need to explain what all this is about so I can avoid any questions from those I know in real life. These posts are written entirely at coffee shops while observing the people that occupy the spaces. Essentially I people watch and find that one person or couple or group that strike me as interesting and I pay out their fictional stories. I do this a lot, but finally putting it all down s new. Yes, the last one and the one I'm about to post are about heartbreak (I've always heard "Write about what you know"), but hopefully not all posts are going to be such downers.

     I hope you enjoy the posts. As always, if you know anyone that would like, hate or laugh at the blog  pass it along G+, FB or Twitter.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Two Months

I have been vaping since my birthday and have not touched a cigarette for two months!

Ps. I have also saved a shit ton of money!

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Timing a shot from the top of a train

All,

I have some not so great news. I will be ridiculously busy for the next couple of weeks and won't be able to update this blog (unless it's very concise which is unlikely to happen).

I'm spending my last pseudo free night removing photo emulsion from a screen so I can attempt another one that will hopefully work better and not have the entire inside missing.

I will update the other blog a few times though since all I have to do is copy and paste text from pre-written stories.

See you on the other side,
-D

Corporate America Fun Time Party

I have worked in what could be considered a corporate job for the past four years and I have to say, whoa!

There are times where the inner punk rock esthetics, ethics and culture starts to bubble to the service of my thoughts. It is rough to keep in check, but I found a way. Change small, almost unnoticeable details every so often just to see if anyone notices.

My latest attempt was changing my e-mail signature to say: "You're Welcome" instead of "Thank you" since my job function mostly consists of compiling data and distributing it. I think the new signature truly reflects my job.

What do you think?

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Linked

In the past I created a series of stories called "Jesus and the Rabid Badgers". Everyone who read this absurdist bullshit seemed to get some type of entertainment out of it, but life kept getting in the way and I slacked off the series for the past few years with numerous unfinished stories to continue the antics. I recently decided that anything that was not already in digital form needed to to be typed out and placed on the internets. Along with that, I have also asked a friend to illustrate these adventure in hopes of creating a Children's Book that is Adult themed (Adult themed does not mean porn). Without further time wasting here is the link, Jesus and the Rabid Badgers.

Sunday fiction on a day that feels like a Wednesday


She sat down at the table in front of me. Dirty blonde hair, wrists and ankles full of what can only be assumed are meaningful bracelets that remind her of the time she has spent with him (whoever he is) and a look of total introversion. The kind of introversion that takes more than traditional ten percent of the human brain to accomplish. The music that flows through her auditory functions block out the various distractions allowing for complete immersion into the thoughts of the night spent in a random small town that was six hours drive north of the town they had known their entire lives. The laughter at the bar with “new friends” they had never met, the drinks that were bought by the overly appreciative locals and the passion that reignited a sex life that had become too bland and mundane for either one of them to acknowledge to the other. It all seemed destined to be pieced back together until a week removed from that night she came home to find only a note and half empty apartment. The note stated all the things both of them had been thinking the past few weeks prior to that impromptu trip to re-connect. His favorite place to get away was the various coffee spots that dotted the city, and now she reads that note each day before spending these spare moments having the smallest of coffees in random coffee spots hoping that he shows up. It’s been six months now without any luck. He probably has taken off to do all things they talked about doing together: the collective farming right outside Portland, the folk band that only plays house shows in Brooklyn or travelling through Indonesia in the fall. Her thoughts are on him doing all of this while she sits waiting at coffee shops wishing he would just call and give her the opportunity to make up for all those nights spent together, but alone.