Thursday, March 26, 2009

Please don't ask me just what I think. Trust me, you don't want to know. (Day 113)

I have a knee MRI, and it's kind of bothering me. I know what's going to happen:

They're gonna inject ink into my knee, and it'll highlight all the effected area. They are going to look at it and scream. They're gonna then load up a shot gun and send this stud out to greener pastures.

I'm so very stoked.

The book won't be finished today, I'm projecting at least mid week next week. Maybe sooner. I have a few things on my plate this weekend.

Lately, while I've been in a really great mood (which I have) It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to find the desire to open up and talk to anyone, even my closest friends. I think a lot of it might have to do with the book itself, because a lot of people I know might take the time to read this, and chances are if they've had any significance in my life--they wound up referenced in the book in some facet or the other.

But even outside of that, it's just rereading what I've written, I remember why it is I don't talk about some of these things. I just don't feel comfortable with it anymore, like, at all.

Well I need to go get ready to be poked, prodded and put down.

Wish me luck.

-Until tomorrow.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

84 takes a lifetime. (Day 112)

I didn't really get too much accomplished on the book front yesterday. I didn't want to be a lousy host again like I was the other day when I wrote four chapters while they sat wondering why this computer had my attention.

I wound up completing a good portion of chapter 10. The next few chapters will probably take longer than I had thought the day before because they are going to be a bit longer, but that's okay. I'm happy to take the time and make sure it's better than just me throwing words at the screen and seeing what sticks. I mean, I basically do that anyway, but at least this time it might not appear to be like that.

So here's a snippet.

Chapter 10:

Walking Spanish

Her name is Holly, and she's a Go-Go dancer. I had no idea that Go-Go dancers still existed.
She tells me of these parties they get paid to go and shake their asses. She tells me that
as Conservative as Republican's want you to think they are, they won't even think twice about
spending tax payers money; Money that some poor bastard sweat and toiled over to just give
away without their consent. They have no qualms about burying that money between a girls tits
when she's shaking them to Usher. And, I'll be very surprised to know that these old guys
are pretty up-to-date on the modern hip hop landscape, as they'll request Ice Cubes "You Can
Do It" while grinding hard on a girl in a silver dress and roller skates' ass.

I'll learn that she once wanted to be a doctor, but the money is too good. I'll learn that
she hasn't had a cheeseburger since the Twin Towers fell, and that she often wakes up in the
bedroom of a millionaires mansion wondering how she got there, and why she never became a
doctor. She'll then remember that she got paid eight thousand dollars last night for discretion,
and the wondering will cease quickly.

I'll learn that methamphetamine is a horrible drug, and every day it takes a bit more concealer
to cover up these brutal mistakes. I'll learn that her bosses' prescribe it to her, because
thin is always in, and metabolism is too slow. I'll learn that she still sleeps with a teddy
bear he daddy gave to her when she was a kid, and they went to a carnival in Burbank. I'll
learn that every day she grows a little more numb, but the words "Los Angeles" never seem to
stop stinging.

She's got a tear in her eye. She has no idea why she's confessing this to a stranger, but she
can just sense that I'm the one person she's going to meet tonight that isn't going to try
and fuck her in a bathroom stall. That I'm going to be the one person tonight that doesn't
see her as meat, as an easy target. I'm going to learn that Holly isn't her real name, that
her real name is "too ugly for the consumer" (Bernice), and that most evenings she finds herself
envying strippers because at least they get lunch breaks.

She's going to squeeze my arm and thank me. I'm going to thank her, and tell her that I know
I'm never going to forget her. That I hope she does become a doctor. She gets up to leave the
bus, and someone who's felt like a life long friend will never be seen again. She's going to
say, "Somehow I doubt you'll ever remember me." and that's going to be the saddest thing I've
heard in years.

I'm going to sit there on the dark bus as it pulls away, and I see her meet up with co-workers
and they go off into the unknown places of what's a passing memory. I'm going to sit in my
seat and stare out the window for hours and pray for the end of the world. I can't stop
cursing my amazement that this world is always constantly revolving, yet we continue to stand
in reverence of pop culture instead of the duration of existence. I'm going to hate the
sensations crawling on my skin in knowing that there's something that exists in this world as
an ugly name, and that it's not good for business. I'm going to sit here and hate the fact that
sometimes you don't even care to learn a name, period. It's just a place to bury yourself in
and when the morning comes you can just walk away and brag to friends about how flexible she
was. I'm going to hate the fact that daddy's little girl, his pride and joy, now showers to
forget. That daddy's little girl is now the recipient of someones callous and care free, somehow
couldn't care less attitude. I'm going to hate that somewhere in the night right now, daddy's
little girl is going to plaster on a fake smile and shake her ass for tips.

-Until tomorrow.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Like a goddamned dog with his tail between his legs. (Day 111)

Yesterday morning, something was very adamant that I not sleep.

At first there was a fire alarm. When I made it to the hallway, after doing all the safety procedures (wetting a cloth to put to my mouth and tapping the door knob) I was fully prepared to save Rizzo when I realized the on key component for a fire alarm: The fire.

So there I stood under a little plastic orb screaming at me that there was some sort of dangerous fire waiting to engulf us all. And no, there was no fire.

I have really sensitive hearing, so this was killing me.

Eventually I ripped the fire alarm off and disconnected the battery.

As I close my eyes, my father runs into my room, instructing anything that's plugged in be relieved of their duties. I was okay with the radio and TV...but my fans? Why god? Why.

I went back to bed, and finally started to drift off. In comes my father, bewildered with his cell phone, "I think I missed a call and I think the left a message." Of course they did. And I get to wade through the other 17 messages left on his phone to get to the one from my Uncle. I dial the number, give the phone back to him. He decides right there is the place to conduct the conversation. Right. Fucking. There.

He loses reception. Leaves the room, and comes back in to inform me he lost reception again.

It's during this time that pesky Rizzo comes into my room. I'm too tired to let him back out. He
always wants attention, never to just sleep next to you. Finally, after half petting him, half falling asleep, he subsides. And there it is. I've finally fallen back to sleep.

15 minutes later there is an other-worldly crash. I look around panicked, only to see the culprits outline. I keep empty wine and Jones soda bottles on my window sill. Don't ask why. I just do. And Rizzo has knocked them all off.

Fine, I'll just stay awake.

So I wind up writing four chapters of this book yesterday through one eye. At one point I thought, "Hey, a nap would be nice." So I go to lay down on the couch. Immediately I'm out. This couch has healing powers. It's so comfortable...

There goes the fire alarm again.

So no sleep for this guy yesterday.

But I did get a lot accomplished on the writing front. So, here's another snippet.

Days Gone By:

I've still got some time to kill, but this time I bring my suitcases with me. I'm sitting at the
bar, and I'm getting bombed. I stopped throwing up hours ago because I ran out of fuel from
my guts. But now I'm loaded, and reloaded.

Staggering back onto the plane, I sit next to an Asian businessman. He's well dressed, and I
look like I just tangled with the gutter and the gutter won. He sits and smiles at me, and
extends his hand. "Jim" he offers. "Chuck. Nice to meet you, sir." We sit there and talk about
why it is we're on the specific plane. He's on his way to Albany to train his replacement. After
34 years, he's being forced into retirement and has no idea what he's going to do.

After 21 years I'm being forced to run away, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.

He buys round after round of wine, and we toast to whatevers going to happen when that tar mac
brings us back to reality.


-Until tomorrow.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Do you like Sam Cooke, y'all? Don't he look Boss, y'all? (Day 110)

First of all, allergies are assholes and I wish I never had a nose right now. Mine are debilitating. Pollen is a a bastard invention by the Man to keep the rebellious down. Truly.

I wound up writing two chapters last night, and I'm really pleased with how both turned out. I like where the book is heading, and from passages I've shared here and there some people really seem to like it okay. So I'm pretty excited about that.

When I'm done writing the book, I'd like to post here videos of all the songs I listened too incessantly, to really let people know how I set the mood. Oh yeah, the Show Stopper does his thang, and sets the mood.

I'm hoping to be done with Open Roads and Brick Walls, which when I first asked if that should be the title, I kind of hated it, but the further I go with this book...the more it makes sense.

So the Chapters I've got written now are Intro/1-5.

Intro/A Sinners Mind.
Cold Water Body Shock.
An Evening With Sal Paradise.
Apples Versus Oranges.

I'm going to start work on the next Chapter, called Days Gone By. I'm pretty excited. So before I head off, here's a clip from chapter 5:

Apples v. Oranges

"She squeezes my thigh, and I nearly throw up. It's too real, and it needs to be diluted somehow.
I just wish it could be. God damn the fingers in my thigh, the tears in her eyes and the
hurt in his voice. God damn the moment cancer became a word, god damn the moment Miles Davis and
Johnny Cash died. God damn the moment this songs going to end...and god damn the moment in three
years when I'm three thousand miles and feel this helpless to console him even though this time
he's three feet away...god damn that moment when I'm three thousand miles away, and he whispers
those words, "Chuck, I have cancer."

God damn the moment I realize it's his birthday."

-Until tomorrow.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Sometimes the painkillers make the pain worse.(Day 109)

I'm lazy. I should be writing Chapter Four of the book,' effort, haha. Something I just don't have the patience for.

Side note of advice: Always remember kids, if your gonna pop pain killers...make sure you eat first. I mean my God, I can't tell which way is up, which might be fine for writing because lets face it, you write what you know. But that won't work when you're supposed to entertain a guest in a little bit.

Last nights chapter was called 'Rooftops', and it took a long time to write because it's a lot more open and honest than I ever thought I could be with anyone, again. Much less people I'll never know, or something.

But I think the end result was something that I'm more than proud with, and I think as far as it goes, that chapter is going to be the cornerstone of the entire book itself.

Anyway, I need to finish, or even start chapter four. From New York to California in one fell swoop. That's how I do.

Now I'm being a bad host.

So here's a snippet of Chapter 3: Rooftops.

"My roommate and her husband drive me to the airport. I hate every moment of this, but I'm
excited for the future. But I'll be making this journey without my heart. My heart lays in my
past, and the past is where it shall remain for the years to come. In the months to come I'll
come to fully understand the expression, "Just going through the motions." And I'll have a new
appreciation for etymology, one that I have to this very day.

Their talking about going to France for their honeymoon. I can't stand it. Honeymoons. Who the
hell thought of that word, anyways? Why does it always have to be such a big god damned
production? The wedding, the honeymoon, the whole nine yards? What ever happened to eloping?
I can promise you most of the people who eloped lived out the rest of their days in love with
each other, because they didn't need the validation from onlookers. People will watch anything.
People watch car chases, people watch 'Two and a Half Men'. and continue to pay to see Nic Cage
not have any talent. People will watch the remains of a car accident with sick fascination.
People will watch anything. It's just a shame real life doesn't always have a soundtrack; We'd
never put down the popcorn.

It's foggy out, and starting to rain. It's 60 degrees. The roommate and her husband drop me off.
I sit in the rain on a bench. I have a few hours to kill. They say get there two hours early,
but they never mean that. Especially not this early in the morning. No wayfarers care to be
up before the birds. The pilots don't care, their riding high off a bump of coke, and a quick
lay in the cockpit. They'll fly your ass anywhere if the money is right. Especially here in
New York. If the money is right, they'll do anything you want. And God, I could go for a bump
of clean coke for once.

It's always cut too much. You're always picking mounds of baking powder out your nose, and only
getting half a hit. Only half a motivation. Only half a moment of definitive reality. Only
a half cocked gun delivering half a bullet to half a brain with only half the impact resulting
in only half of the desired devastation.

Twenty minutes later, something smacks the side of my head and pulls me out of my trance. I
didn't even notice I was soaking wet. I barely realized I was sloshed. "You know...I've had guys leave in the middle of the
night before. I've had guys leave while I was in the bathroom, too. I've even left under both
of those circumstances, but it's usually the guy. I've even had a guy slip out the window while
I was looking for a shirt. He was four feet away. He didn't even take his shoes. Who does that?
Anyway, what I'm getting at is...I'm used to guys leaving without saying anything. But I've
never had a guy leave without saying anything, and it's own apartment. I mean, that's got to
be some kind of a first."

She sits next to me and bumps her shoulder next to mine. I can't look at her.

"Come on. I know you're leaving, and it's okay. Just give me something of your really quick, I
wanna show you something." I unpack my worn copy of Catcher in the Rye. It's been a bible to
a youth lost on subversion. There is no explanation. I am looking for a faith, or a reason
to have an ounce of understanding. We're all just birds in cages with clipped wings singing
mournfully for the memory of flight.

She puts it in her jacket pocket. "Now you have a reason to come back."

-Until tomorrow.