WHEN WRITERS BLOCK

like a child bathed in the lukewarm waters...

now freezing In the light of the mourning dove across the universe in the snow… 

which way to go… 

piercing my mind and proceeded to move into the green murky waters...

.a  frog frozen in my heart's pond…….

 forgive me to look at you as an object such a beautiful muse females can objectify too…

 I like it when you hurt me too…  

My words are my paint brush… so many thoughts layered…. 

Tea Party.... with the Son of Sam

With soft gentle footsteps, I walked to the door. I knocked so lightly and timid.  I wonder if anyone heard me.

I received an invitation to an English tea party.  It was given to me by the son of Sam.  He welcomed me with warm hospitality.

I asked him "What kind of dreams are you selling…"

He said "I just want a little bit of your TIME".

It was a lovely gift I was holding on so tightly.  So precious, like golden tickets to heaven sold by the Phantom of Death.  I saw him once….the phantom, one day on a chilly fall evening.  The kind when you can see your breath in the night chilled air.  I was walking on the lonesome railroad under the black night sky.  He had ghost eyes and a weathered top hat.  

Sam asked for my coat ever so politely. I hesitated, I never did like taking off my coat despite the intense, roaring fireplace. With hesitation I reluctantly surrendered.  He gently placed it on the coat tree with care by the door.   As I walked down what seemed to be an endless corridor, I could feel myself falling into a dream… falling... falling...  I hit the black and white checkerboard floor of my soul.   As I sat there sitting ever so lady like sipping my tea while I gazed out of Sam’s window.  In my mind’s eye I was thinking about the beautiful darkness that allows us to experience the moon and the stars. There was no light pollution to cloud the night’s sky.

At that moment, time ceased to exist.  We were two souls alone in the universe, COATLESS.  The conversation was dry, non-existent. I never was very good at talking to strangers. Upon taking his last sip tea,  Sam flailed his arms violently across the table knocking the crumpets marmalade and fine china onto the floor.

His voice was loud and thunderous.   He started to cry "Don’t you see… I am everything you are and at the same time we are NOTHING….nothing at all…”

As he lifted his head from his hands, he had raindrops of tears in his eyes as he looked up.   He could see I was frightened, as I looked at him bewildered, confused.

He quickly changed back to his gentlemanly demeanor as if it were a light switch he could turn on and off at will.  As he leaned in closer, the words on his breath forever singed my eardrum.  “Dead, they’re all dead inside.  Most of them pass away in infancy.. .  All I want right now is happiness for you and me….”

Slamming the car door, she locks it shut as fast as she can.  Shaking and trembling as she fumbled to get the key in the ignition.  Driving away she could see him in the rear view mirror running violently after her.  She tries to gain speed in the rush hour traffic. Veering across two lanes making a sharp turn down the first alleyway in sight only to realize it was a dead end! In her desperation, she attempts to turn the car around but crashes the rear bumper right into the concrete wall.  

Where do you think your going baby?

(story inspired by “call me maybe)

"You know this is a great day to be with you". said Carly

"O you flatter me such" said Lemming "I mean I love being with you, on a day like this even more".

"Why thank you, well anyway i’m writing a new song".

"Woah that’s awesome, i don’t even know what to say"!

"Well you could say you love me".

"Of course I do, well anyway whats the new song about"?

“All those boy who try to chase me”.

"O yea well they don’t anymore…. but what ever happened to them did they move or something"

"I don’t know, well anyway i’m gonna go throw a wish in the well”

"O can I go to"?

"Sure lets go"!

"whats your wish"?

“Don’t ask ‘cause i’ll never tell”.

"Wow its like you looked at me as if fell, lol”.

"Yea and know your in my way”.

"Ha, whats do you mean"?

"O nothing" she said leaning in to kiss him "just singing".

"OW"! he exclaimed, pulling back his wrist witch she was holding. "what on earth? I"m bleeding"!

"Yea don’t worry you won’t be feeling anything in a minute"

"what?" He said as he fell backwards "What no, no this cant be i know you would never do this"!

“your stair was holding, ripped jeans skin was showing" She finally saw him slowly trying to crawl away. Jeans provided little protection to the thorns. "Where do you think your going baby”?

He was to weak to fight back. Partially because of poison, partially because of thorns. If you have ever felt so sick you could barely move, then you would know how Carly could drag him to the well and throw him over. Just in time for a guy about her age to walk by with headphones. He didn’t hear anything.

What do we want from a nonfiction piece? Is it a story we can relate to? Care about the author? Think “I’d do the same.”? Or do we want a story to show us a crazy life? One so outlandish that it merits sharing with the world? A story to make us gasp? Say “What were they thinking?” or “How can they live with themselves?”

I don’t know what I want from a piece, but when writing I want my piece to be me.

Arrogant, aloof, anxious

None of what I am about to tell you happened in the sense that would make this story interesting.

I dream it. I live it. It happens to me.

So what happens?

This is how it starts.

I’m coming back from who knows what. I step into my house to hear what could only be the beat of a carpenter hammering away with a mallet. It’s coming from my room? Is anyone even home?

I see them where I sleep. Grey sheets pushed to the foot of the bed, off white pillowcases stuffed with cotton lying on the floor. Her long nails digging into his back.

This is where my stomach starts to turn and I want to puke. Too many relationships end with a partner coming home early. Getting off topic.

"Okay be cool" I think. She’s the shitty one. If you are calm and collected, she won’t think she hurt you. She’ll feel bad maybe, but she won’t get that satisfaction of crushing you.

I see her and her eyes show me that she wished I didn’t. Then her mouth reveals the same. It looks like her tongue fell down her throat.

“You two should leave.” The only words I say before shutting the door. Must be calm. Walk to the kitchen, grab a beer. When she walks by to leave, ask her politely if she can get my Gogol Bordello shirt back to me when she gets the chance.

“Ian, I…”

“It’s okay, just leave” I respond. I don’t ask for my shirt.

I live this every week. Replay it like a bad home movie your father makes you watch. The movie is not always the same though. Sometimes the guy is her ex, sometimes it’s the mailman, or sometimes it’s my teacher, or the friend she studies with, or the guy I smiled to on the street that one time. Rarely the same guy, but it’s always her.

I’m not sure why I think this. I heard an evolutionary theory for why we have dreams. The idea was that we dream so we can prepare ourselves for bad things happening. So if I dream of being chased by a lion, if I actually get chased by one, I’ll have had some practice. I’m afraid of a lot but not lions. I’m afraid of being alone; but who isn’t? I’m afraid of my trust being broken, clearly. So when my movie eventually happens, I’ll be cool. I’ll be calculatedly calm. I will coach myself. Internalize my breathing so that that is all there is. Become numb to emotion. Dissolve all relations to my fellow human beings. Robotic.

And I will be happy too. Right?

p.s. I really like what you're doing with this blog. Look forward to chatting.