rydubz

The present paints a portrait of the past, presented to the pastor, in order to lament the loss of loved ones & liars who resent reason, seasons swallowed whole by eastern sea borders. These legions without logic reek havoc among the projects commonly cast out into a wide-expanse vastly open, large vessels sail oceans with smog passed these children; choke, inhaling the dark-grizzled glorious smoke. Soaked in sweat, praying & hoping for air clear as day to cleanse their lungs from the soot. In order to live or to love, to leave or stay put.

If they had the chance they would.

One million times over they would, but the creature has sailed & the children who wailed are wilting from sitting on their hands that once clenched victory & vengeance, now surpassed by sickening low-pensions. It’s like a detention scolding these determined boys lost & lonely, cast out from ever reaching that holy blood that once soiled their mud-caked combat boots. Old yet poignant, lovingly cold they set foot on the ground that once cheered them now sneering at their likeness. These moldy soldiers told oldies, only to shortly assist the Lord-fearing ladies with their babies in the morning, mourning for the lives they once lived, inhabited by pain & guilt & more guilt to be had; embracing the bitter reality that madness comes to those who are truly sad. But he was glad he had his mind & the past. Past adventures of far away lands or what seemed to be lands or what seemed to be adventures in the like. Those guns held high & boot strings tied tightly. No one knew what they were getting themselves into but the life here on after would be the hardest, worthwhile hike. I am yours & you are mine, separate we’ll fall & together we’ll strive. Or at least he hopes it to be true, but when he’s with you he experiences pity & plight. They’ve lost sight & will never regain this sight but he’s so close he can see the whites in your eyes & that post-traumatic stress he’s ordered is his god-given right. or his god-given excuse. Either way you’re far too much, as you look at him lovingly he ties up his noose.

The note reads:

“My darling I’m leaving you. With backs cast to the ceiling I hope that I see it through. It’s hard to admit but I’m truly alone whenever I’m here with you & I’m dying, but in one swift intermittence I’ll become a corpse soon. I got caught thinking. I got caught thinking about the eloquence of insanity. That instance in which loveliness is compromised by loneliness & emotional wholeness is objected by holiness. So don’t come any closer. You’re far too beautiful to muster these kind greetings exchanged by a hello, thus impairing my motor skills while I spiral & fluster. Flabbergasted by happenstances all occurring at the same instance or instances.

Wait while she listens.

You’ve certainly messed this one up but she persists that you didn’t. You have & you will & you will again until no one’s around to see you drown in your own spiels about the future & why she was the one who should wheel you around as you eat your last meals. You think that harlot is an angel as she tears you apart from every angle. She hates to see you but loves you, it’s a web that you’ve tangled yourself into time & time again & maybe this time is different or maybe it’s exactly the fucking same.

It’s always been exactly the same.

So goodbye my love, I bid you adieux for the love we once had was lost & I need to see this last scene of my epic through.”

I asked you how he’s doing the day before he died, you said he’s doing fine, we’re all just doing fine. About a week ago I watched his body lowered down, now no one’s doing fine & I am less & less around. I’m sick to death & scared that I might actually be the culprit. I didn’t spend much time with him & no one seemed to notice. His lust for life was squandered when he lost his loving friends, believe he actually was a corpse before his life had ended. The final letter seemed despondent as if he wasn’t there. One more summer & you could have been amongst the world you feared. You were happy, don’t understand how it could all be fake, your smile glowing but your eyes reflected shame. Sorrowful & somber-filled your family didn’t help, your sister was the one with issues they had to deal with now. Now life is but a memory & death is in full swing. Your skin that held together bone is promptly decaying. Family gathered round to see an issue unresolved, why couldn’t you have told a friend that might’ve helped it all. “Identify the body” the father pleaded so, all that laid was flesh no longer occupied a soul. Delicate & calm the father witnessed his son’s fate, the bullet-hole that entered had an exit just the same.

I’ve been wrapping these tragedies in plastic & throwing them away amidst the trash that I inhabit. It’s madness, it’s tragic. I’m clogging up my feelings with this sickness that is sadness.

I’ve been acclimated to this fascination through witnessing a modern miracle, not likely that it’s spiritual, in fact I’m quite certain it’s conceived. As if consecrated by beliefs that the shepherd tamed the sheep & everything he says in that holy book is truly about me. I make believe that I’ve never been a witness but he’s so goddamn persistent because I’ve seen the devil plain as day & yet I remain ignorant.

This relationship is poison so drink up because the person I’m destroying is the one that I can’t get enough of. I’m in love with the warped memory that you & I were good for each other. I’m in love with the memory that you were made for me & vice versa but when I sit crying nights on end & you are out drinking with your friends, maybe you wanted this. Maybe you wanted to consistently drop these phone-call crimes I commit. Maybe you fucking hate the person I was & only until recently have you realized who I’ve become & maybe recently you’ve felt the constant need to vomit when you think about us. Disgusted. Bothered. Undeniably bugged by the thought that we should have, could have, would have loved one-another but our hearts were simply unplugged. So fuck you. I fucking love you while I fucking hate your guts. I choked on every word you spat at me as you drowned in my jealousy. I’m dead to you & you’re dead to me but I like to think that one day when I’m touring the United States of so and so you might be thinking of what life could have been or should be with yours truly.

If you’re crazy & I’m insane, he’s mental & she’s deranged, then what the fuck is normal anyway?

So hail to the unfortunate & pity to the bleak because you’re the devil in my bones that makes my knees feel weak. Lo’ the aforementioned & sorrow to the damned, for you destroyed the life that grasped your tiny little hands. You used to be my love, a saint to this martyr, but now your life is chicken scratch, fire to the fodder.

Coffin-style caffeinated, crappy cup of coffee, black tar heroin doing numbers to my body. Addicted to modern medicine amphetamine dependency, slaving out my mind for a quick back-pain remedy. My age is under 40 but my mind’s collecting dust, thoughts racing through my brain but the glue has come unstuck. So I’ll smoke down this cigarette while sipping on my cup, because life is such a boring waste why not just live it up. We used to be hooligans in the ozone, sticking googly-eyes on grave stones, relapsing memories we once had now sitting in our respective homes. I’ll stay awake if you’re here but when we’re together things feel lonely.

Oh lord how we used to creep.

Like when you creeped into my bed as I persisted that I was sleeping. Things never made sense to me, but now they’re starting to make sense to me & you & I has been replaced with him & her separate but in the current state of the cosmos our bodies seem to fit together neatly.

He was 19, full of hope & picked on for his method of coping. He was living at the top of the world or so he believed. He was bright with a future ahead beaten down by the not-so-previously dead, with goals in mind & so much to achieve.

They were four friends together, all talented as well, looking for a place to call their own. They were young, not only by age, but by their willingness to grow up. They were living but preserving their sins & worries back at their respective homes, then that day came and the group disbanded, “them” no longer they, and “we” no longer us.

Rocks were thrown & names were spit venomously at the teens, more for the consequence of not knowing & less for the willingness to be seen, then that day came around where he, & they, & all of them had had enough. If only he hadn’t chosen to be a hero & erase the mess of the scene.

A call was made & that wait, that awful dreadful wait became a century & a day. Bum-rushed by more than a dozen of men without any consent to reason, no eloquence to their gait. Euphoria, adrenaline, & amphetamines were breathed heavily in the lungs of the oppressors & he finally knew what he had to do in order to lift the spell struck that day on his fate.

A crowbar was lifted & an enemy was drowned. Blood filled his lungs with an uproarious gurgling sound. Weapon hit the floor & skull tissue hit the ground, the largest of them had fallen as the police came around.

Now that 19 year old is full of despair for his life is now spent behind bars. He didn’t mean to hurt a soul, but sitting & waiting was used in his case & now the federal prison considered him theirs. 25 to life, & such a beautiful life squandered by the choices made during war. When I make a living & am able to fight the boy’s case, things will be different.. at least I hope we can remove these scars.

So eff the system & eff the bullying & eff all of the individuals involved that morning, because now all we have is suffering & tears in place of the child-like scorning.

Psyche prompts my consciousness & wakes me from my slumber. Underneath the covers our feet dance ‘round one another. The issue is I started to realize that I’m starting to forget, these daydreams now fuzzy as if they were never meant -to be. I remember the memories, but between the mold in my bones & the soot in your lungs something’s keeping you at ends with me. I’m a ghost of the man I used to be but it’s okay.. I guess it’s alright it’s not like I cared as I stumbled out carelessly under alleged influences into the night. I’m not alright. As you choose to stay away from this child of a man daydreams & memories become less & less of a demand & I can’t face the idea that we may truly already be dead. ..damn. The last time I forgot will be the last time I forget the shape of your cheekbones or the freckles on your neck. I’m upset that nothing we said ever meant a damn thing. Sing-along to this fortuitously grim tune of ill-repute as we die off. More often than not I’m subjected to thinking that we have all but forgotten that our fixation will eventually rot, but I don’t want to forget.

Painted nails, bruised knuckles, backward glances, subtle fuck you’s. I thought I’d let you know that I’ve quit eating so I could continue to think clearly because clarity is subjective & I wanted to stop you from entering these brain cavities. We will never ever ever ever be.

Darling I’m lost so don’t come find me.

I’ve been wearing this body thin since the day I stepped in it, but I’ve heard ignorance is bliss if we share the same pigment. I’ve been told your blood is blue before it leaves the body so forever stay inside to match these cruel thoughts of mine. I try to hide away from these aches & pains but I’m sick again it shows & now we share the same name, so thanks for staying. Thanks for praying that we’ll get along tomorrow or maybe the next day, or maybe the next. We’ve bickered for the better part of this century, it’s plain to see that we were never meant to be but you signed the goddam contract & now instead of unconditional love, we have these silly matching rings. Honey I want to let you know that I’m trying. Foolishly I prodded you to make the mistakes our parents made & I promised one day I’d take away your pain but gave you something much much worse.

Unresolved mistakes.

You can fix what you’ve broken but our minds have been obliterated & the shrapnel scars dancing ‘round the side of your cheek match the ones inside my mouth when it’s open. I’d been hoping that keeping you here would be best but it’s developed quite the sickness, it’s hysterical to think I hold you from true happiness to avoid becoming a statistic. I call you names I don’t mean like asshole and bitch but you’re so incredibly beautiful darling, I’m the one that isn’t. I don’t know why but I take every measure to keep this plane from falling but it’s falling anyways so I guess just call me when you decide to stop crying. Love, I’m so fucking sorry. Honestly I’ve been lying about how I feel about how I think about what I love about you. You’re the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, bottled up into multiple delicate, gorgeous, little hues. The blood in my veins runs like the tears on your face so I’ll let it all out to cover the bruises on my chest plate. Your eyes are open, but I don’t believe you’re truly awake. So I’ll write poems about love and about loss while my own love leaves the house & all I’m left with are crippling thoughts. Whiskey has become my self-inflicted remedy to numb the idea that maybe I treated you poorly. I’m sorry but I’ve run out of apologies so instead of becoming humble I choose to get envious and angry. You hate the man I am but darling I hate the man I am, this willingness to change is conflicted by my upbringing & all I will really do is screw it up again & repeat these words I’m sorry.

So I’m sorry.

She’s got eyes like spark-plugs & a soul like a rocket-ship, bringing life to the body or killing it in an instant.

I’m not the greatest artist so I chose to write a poem. I painted pictures about us & this life that you had ruined.

Mental instability, two halves in separate harmony. I pushed so hard to show you love eventually you got over me.

With god as my witness I’ll never love again.

The business of wholeheartedly delving into another body’s atmosphere whilst isolating yourself from all of your so-called ‘friends.’ I’m finally alive because I’m finally alone. Independent so and so from a suburban middle-class upbringing, now homeless & wishing life could pass by slowly… it’s romantically lovely to think that I’m always lonely.

Based on a series of bad habits & enthralling happenstances the loose ceiling fell upon me like an April fools day prank with all of the bleak hilarity minus the unsought laughter. Amidst the debris was a mosaic completely built from hard glass, soft plastic, broken bones, & large hazmat suits. This cornucopia of objects simulating a sort of makeshift landing strip for the rest of the sky to come crashing in as if compelled to the floor by other forces than gravity.

This all has taken place & soon again will resurface because I’ve got a mouth like a maelstrom, spouting cyclical cynicism that level social constructs & separates one’s soul from the soil. I’ve lost sight of my emotions as if to obtain clarity through depravity.

Untold stories about lovers sitting lonely, if only they could free the grips & face their fears unfolding. That pretty shade of purple making dirty circles in the parking lot. All of you say I’m ugly, that you’ve never seen this side of me, but darling your face is kinda lovely as you squint hard/smile softly. The type of smirk that makes beggars leave the money, tip the waitress, wait uncomfortably, piss around like sitting ducks but the woman has a husband,

so fuck me…

As not to skip formalities I will present to you a working opener, excluding a portion of nomenclature, all the while keeping as close authenticity to reality as one can muster.  In introducing our character, I must reveal the fact that this will be a story about a human person.  I will also reveal the fact that this human person was a male, fair-skinned human person.  With being such an ethnically-challenged cluster of elements our character has had some very unique, yet not so interesting lifestyle choices, identity crises, & itty-bitty decision making conundrums that led to creating the sort of silly, little life that may or may not be captivating to a larger audience.  If at any point in reading you find that our pathetic hero is far too much of a pansy, then please, I beg you to give this book to your least favorite human person & subject them to read this gathering of life-lessons as to ruin their stupid day/week/existence.

So here we go…  

Once upon a time there was this real person with real emotions who lived a real, mundane life.  

He had a name given to him by God, his mother, & a famous female soap-opera actor right around the time of conception.  Conceptually the family was planning on having one human baby & for multiple years the family stuck to said game plan, but after seeing how much money they could sink into a sentient life & in return maintain a state of melancholy euphoria, they decided to go for it again.  Squishing genitalia, urinating on pregnancy tests, nine excruciating months of fat jokes, & some controlled breathing led to a second boy child & now a family of four fair-skinned humans & one Newfoundland, Labrador mix puppy.   They watched television in the living room & ate lunch in the kitchen & lived & breathed each other’s air for ten years in a quaint home amongst the suburban nightmare that was Orange County, California.  The neighbor to their left was one of the leading data entry servants of NASA, to their right was a family of twelve non-English speaking Vietnamese kinfolk, & directly across the street was the shock collar to the largest gang in southern California.   One would think that with such a vast array of neighborly outreach the family would have made long-lasting friendships to celebrate minor holidays (such as July 4th & Groundhog Day), but sadly they spent their festivities lighting sparklers & banging pots & pans in their backyard amongst themselves.  The oldest son grew older & the younger son followed suit & the two of them couldn’t have been happier to have a sibling to spend their days with.  …Or at least until the youngest learned how to talk.  

The siblings went by the name’s assigned to them at birth, one being Skyler & the other being Blake.

A watered-down version of Jesus Christ was taught to Skyler & Blake on Sundays after being pumped full of sugary donate-if-you-feel-convicted donuts & this-is-my-blood-of-the-covenant grape juice.  Following such teachings would be thirty minutes of trying to locate which parents were theirs & subsequently two hours of playtime at the makeshift church jungle gym.  This is where Skyler & Blake learned to settle worldly disputes such as “what amount of confectionary desserts will make a person throw-up after spinning in a circle” or “how will I get more sand/twigs on this pile of sand/twigs quicker than my predecessor” & so forth.  At the noble age of five Skyler decided to accept the teachings of the Bible as truth, & with his mother’s help he brought a sliver of over 2,500 years of Christian-based biblical knowledge into his child heart.  

(…Now I’m not saying that the church isn’t a great place for a five year old to learn about the bitter harshness of reality, but making such a commitment amongst peers & scholars may have required a few more years of fact checking & decision making in order to come to such a conclusion.  But hey, he went with his gut.  So let’s give it to the newborn newly born-again little man of God.)

“Why don’t you want to go on the rides?  Seriously everyone likes these rides why can’t you just stop whining about everything” said Kathy Cline, Skyler’s least favourite aunt in-law.  “You’re old enough to swim & yet you’re gonna make us leave you at the bottom while we all go have fun. Nice, it’s just so nice to have brought you along today.”  Staying at the bottom of the waterslide was not my intention whatsoever, I actually would have preferred to not have been invited to partake in the damp shenanigans of Knott’s Soak City with my distant relatives.  The back & forth nature of our dispute initially began by the area where you receive the proper inner tube for your riding pleasure, & ended where you scale the stairs facing the gigantic plastic tubing.  This location was designed in order to ensure a safe starting point in one’s sliding fancy.  In lieu of the argument I was lifted by my uncle & plopped down next to an Asian grandmother waiting for her children & her  children’s children to exit the chlorine-filled piss-water in order to return to a more satiated, chlorine-filled piss-water at another location amidst the park.  “Stop being such a baby, you’re nine years old” were the particular words chosen to cease my cries about not being able to swim adequately.  I was at the tail-end weight for my age & learned previously that I would suffer from a debilitating illness known as sulfa-induced asthma for the majority of my life.  I personally thought I had made a decent argument to Kathy but unfortunately this was not the case.  My swimming trunks were bone dry, my feet were calloused from the squelched pavement, & my back was a sort of splochy pink from the sun beating down on the portion of my skin-meat not concealed by the theme park insignia encrusted umbrella above.  Bill Cline, better known as uncle Body amongst the younger siblings, had been spending his afternoon with his dearly beloved son Matthew & his equally beloved yet not as openly appreciated daughter Jacqueline.  I’m not saying I totally hate these people & hold it against them for bringing me to this damn park, but I just think they could have enjoyed each other’s company without adding me as a conglomerate.  

Sidenote: No matter what ride I was escorted off of for kicking, screaming. thrashing & gnawing, I always ended up right next to the same Asian grandmother waiting for her clan.  Maybe Asian grandmother was as afraid of drowning as I was.  What an interesting thought.  

The only ride I truly enjoyed that day was the well over-capacity “lazy river.”  Unfortunately I was not able to feign laziness in this sea of people because I felt the constant need to stay on guard from being drowned by Matthew.  I did however, have the luxury of standing fully erect in the makeshift river circling the park’s more popular attractions.  After the Cline’s were fully content with their own bleak, superficial well being, we left the watery abyss only to arrive at yet another equally frightening location altogether.  This place was torturous & hellish, providing little room for the mind to wander about the terrible monstrosities ahead known to many as ‘family time.’  This event led to multiple desperate temper tantrums in order to be relieved of the evils I was about to experience.  This location that sparked such a fit was none other than aunt Sue’s house.  Now aunt Sue did not live alone.  Residing at aunt Sue’s house was uncle Bill, aunt Sue’s hippie-turned-conservative mechanic husband, & Tory, their second child who in fact happens to only be a few months younger than myself.  Unbeknownst to aunt Sue & uncle Bill, their house was the worst house to visit regularly as a child.  Aunt Sue & uncle Bill thought of me as a bratty infant, willingly choosing to disobey all of their commandments, while in fact the opposite was true.  I would have loved to do everything they requested, but I just wasn’t able to physically perform all of the demands they were asking of me.  These varied based on the visit, such as trying to make me fit an unbearable amount of food into my underdeveloped belly, or to watch public news television about right-wing conservative agendas for the duration of my stay, or even to play sports such as peewee basketball for hours & hours on end.  But I digress.  The chlorine had been caked on my flesh for nearly three hours at this point & I was in desperate need to get rid of the film that was quickly becoming my new layer of skin.  “Hey could I maybe possibly take a shower aunt Sue?” I kindly asked.  “How about you go figure out how to do it yourself & then maybe you can learn how to put on your diaper & quit whining all the damn time” remarked my loving aunt.  There was an additional statement made by uncle Bill.  “The kid can work a television set but can’t even turn on the shower?”  Duly noted I chose to be the bigger man & not let this banter get to me.  After moving past multiple waves of belittlement, I felt a strong urge to prove my manhood.  I set off to do the impossible.  I would figure out how to work aunt Sue & uncle Bill’s ancient rusted-over temperate shower myself.

After what felt like a lifetime of turning multiple knobs while simultaneously releasing particular drains & faucets, the shower finally came to life at a temperature that I was content with.  “Make sure you have a towel, we don’t want to have to see your naked ass in the living room” uncle Bill yelled feverishly.  Not knowing how to respond, I proceeded to remove my stiff swimming trunks & carefully move my being under the water pouring forth.  The chlorine returned to its liquid state, sluggishly gliding off of me into the hair-clogged drain below.  I was on the second verse of Where Is The Love by the influential hip-hop group, the Black Eyed Peas when all of a sudden aunt Sue & uncle Bill’s perfectly warm shower became an ice-cold Antarctic wasteland, shriveling everything that had the potential to shrivel on my person.  Within seconds I was in a frantic state, grabbing at the air above me hoping to grasp any object with a little more warmth than what I was enduring currently.  Quickly I reached for the frosted glass that was the shower door, & to my surprise, not a single ounce of matter budged beneath my palms.  As my weak lungs began to gasp for air, adrenaline rushed in and primal instincts kicked into gear.  I threw my whole naked weight at the shower door.  To my avail all that resulted was tiny bits of grout now flecked at my feet, swirling around the pinky toe & Achilles tendon amidst the frigid ice bath of shower water below.  I screamed & hollered for help to remove me from this nightmare, but the only sound in return was a news anchor going back & forth with a movie star about which method would be the most effective in sending troops to Iraq.  Accepting defeat, I crouched beneath the arch of water flowing above finding refuge toward the drain where I hovered, ghostlike in both demeanor & complexion.  

I met you through the intranet, your eyes were full of gold, unluckily for me our hearts were furthest from the soil. We mended what was left although it happened quite often, I’m sorry that I chose to live, I couldn’t let this soul remain open. Now time is but a circumstance just happening on end, the minutes seem to pass, but oh my darling, I am dead.

Benjamin Alphabet

We’re losing sleep within each dividend & I want this relief but we keep sinking in Love I’m lost but I’m found in your cold heartless gaze Won’t you just leave this house, please don’t scream at my face

If we weren’t so alike maybe we’d work it out but we’re stuck in this rut and my mind’s headed south I’m addicted to you, would you please calm your tongue ‘Cause you used to be rad now I’m no longer sprung

Love I’m a wreck Holy fuck

We’re losing sleep within each commonplace & I want this relief but I keep hearing your name Love I’m bummed but I’m glad cause you’re almost all gone Would you just stay away? Can’t we just move along?

Love I’m a wreck Holy fuck

Maybe one day I might see you around & I hope that you’re glad cause I’m better off now ‘Cause we loved and we danced and we made quite the scene Guess it’s just my romance, you were always so mean

Love I’m a wreck Holy fuck

I hung up the telephone with the gusto of a bullet to the heart. A pillar to one’s solarplex, the builder made the monument and forgot the integral ingredient. Love is not the answer, it’s only the air in which we experience it. Ozone layers of sadness and preshrunk acid-washed nirvana tshirts. I’m honestly sick of the bullshit, the tiniest inclination sets off my mind threshold these blood vessels set to pop in an instant. Quite inviting yet inexplicably repulsive. My father taught me to think and my mother taught me to stop. And I pray every day that my mother’s teachings outweigh my fathers public indecency in order to finally take a fucking breath and step away from the life that I constantly ruin in order to feel calm. The storm is coming and I need to be alone. The fury is starting and I need to be alone. The smallest mistake and I may end up punching holes in the walls that I’ve built up in order to stay alone.

Leave this place and for god’s sake leave me the fuck alone.