Saturday, September 29, 2012

You're screaming, and hitting me.

Everyone was screaming.
Especially you.
I was asleep and I wake up to screaming,
and I look over and it's you,

and then

we are

 both

under

the water,

a trail

of blood

following

your hair,

and your skin

 is pail,

and you're pounding

against

the

 ice

 and trying

 to scream

but the water

is muffling

everything,

and I can't help but say "You were unconcious."

and then you stop screaming, and stop pounding and turn over to look at me, and then our eyes connect 

and you say "If I fall through, will you save me?"

and

thousands

of screams

hit me,

and I'm not sure if I ever really woke up.

You were always on my mind




 


Cafe's in paris are over-rated.

Fuck The Louvre.

Fuck the eiffel tower,
it's just a bunch of goddamn metal, 1,665 steps, you aren't even aloud to take them all the way up.

Did you know that the eiffel tower was built for the world fair in france in 1889, The United states got pretty pissed about it and held an even bigger world fair in chicago in 1893, they knew they needed something to compare to the eiffel tower, so they built the first Ferris Wheel, I learned that from a travel brochure.

Did you know that at the world fair in chicago in 1893 there was a man who went under the ailias of H.H. Holmes, he built a hotel, and killed his guests, it's believed that he killed up to 200 people. His real name was Herman Webster Mudgett, I read a book about him, it's called The Devil In The White City, it's by Erik Larson.



I sat in my hotel room all day yesterday smoking through the carton of Gauloises that I picked up at the airports "essentials" store. They're strong. Smoking them  was thought of as patriotic during WWI.

I drank the coffee that my hotel room provided me. It tastes worse then Folgers. It was raining when I got off the plane, I think it's raining even harder now. All I brought was a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and about $50 USD, I'm only here for one more day, I don't even know why the hell I came here. I had a few days off of work, and I couldn't stop thinking about Mila, so I just left, took off to paris, thought that I might forget her.

I've been in my hotel room the whole time, Scribbling lines in my journal, drawing pictures and writing over and over again:
 
It's not your fault. Float on. It's not your fault. Float on. It's not your fucking fault. Float On.

I should have jumped in, but instead I took a plane to paris, blew over $2,000 on the trip, and I'm stuck in a room with a picture of a brunette on the wall, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette, it's black and white, but I think her nails are probably painted red. She looks nothing like you, but I can't help but see you, I can't stop thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like ice thinks about cracking.

I'm thinking about you like cigarettes think about lighters.

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about jumping out of the sixth floor of my hotel.

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about my plane crashing on the way home,

Like love thinks about Paris,

I'm thinking about you like bare hands think about the snow,

like bare feet think about hot pavement.

I'm thinking about you like smoke thinks about lungs.

I'm thinking about you like guns think about mouths, like bullets think about pushing through your brain.

I'm thinking about you like fish think about a broken hook.

I'm thinking about you the night you wore fishnets with those gray shorts, and neither of us could stop laughing because I had taken off all your clothes but the fishnets and you called me a "perverted freak" and I called you a "dirty whore" and we couldn't stop laughing and it killed the mood and we didn't have sex that night, and neither of us really cared.

I'm thinking about you like the first time I saw you naked, like the first time you climbed into bed with me, like the first night we didn't have sex,
i'm thinking about you like we never had sex

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about leaving my hotel room, and getting really fucking drunk, hopefully passout--maybe hit my head on the way down--and when I wake up (possibly after my flight has already left) I won't remember your face.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Mila.


Navy





I'm afraid of the dark, literally. I'm not afraid of what hides in the dark. I'm not afraid of my immagination doing my eyes job. I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid it'll consume me, swallow me. I'm afraid that once I enter, I'll never be able to get out.

I'm afraid of closed doors. If I open it, will there be anything behind it, or will it just be some  dark abyss. A place completely void of light. Walls with nothing on them. No warmth, no air flow.

I find myself opening doors, checking behind them, just to make sure that there is something, anything: a waterheater, a toyroom, a bathroom, a bedroom, a washing machine, anything, just some type of comfort.

I'm afraid of water.

I'm afraid of ice.

I'm afraid of falling through, and being trapped under it.
That's what happened to Mila.

We were at White Lake, just hiking around it in the winter. It's a pretty place, cold, but pretty. Not too many people go up there in the winter.

Mila thought it would be fun to go out onto the lake.
I was very hesitant. She kept calling for me to come out. I was scared. The ice should have been thick enough, it was february in the high mountains of Washington, we were on our way to Utah, thought we might visit our families for Christmas--we decided to take the long way, down the usual route, from anchorage to fairbanks, down to Calgary, and into the U.S. through Montana, but then we cut across over Idaho, and Into Washington,  we were going to drive the coast till we hit Empiral Beach and then cut up to Corona and drop by my uncles house, then straight up through Vegas, St. George, and to Highland, Utah--But then Mila broke through the ice of White Lake.

There wasn't a crack, there wasn't any warning,
she turned around and laughed "If I fall through, will you save me?"
then she took a step back,
and was gone,
hit her head on the way d
                          o
                            w
                               n
I ran out,
shoved
my arm
into the water,
I couldn't find her.
I was too afraid to
jump in.

I was a coward,
a god damn coward.

Mila probably floated under the ice, and just stayed there, face pressed against the ice, till her lungs filled up with water and sank. I could have probably saved her. But I didn't. Instead I just sat there crying, hoping that I too would fall into the ice.

A couple of ice fishermen had seen what had happened. They radioed for a ranger.


Monday, September 17, 2012

I'll be waiting in northern California for you


This is the last place I saw Mila, but I'm just not ready to talk about it yet.


I bumped into this painting by Rapael Lacoste, I want to scream "Get off the fucking ice." to those two people, but it's just a painting.

We had our hearts in our mouths the whole time.

Mila and I had gone for a hike earlier that day, we were just relaxing by the side of Green Mountain Glory Lake, we were surrounded by aspens and pines that covered the hills rolling around for miles, Green Glory Mountain was to the west of us, and we could see the clouds rising from the peak. I had brought us a bit of a picnic--PB&J's, obviously--we talked about our latest reads, mine was "Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer, which I was extremely disappointed with. Her's was "The Moon is Down" by John Stienbeck, which she was loving--I had given her the reference to read it.

There were a few moose that were off grazing on the western side of the lake, a momma and her calf. We got into talking how amazing it is that some animals, like bears and moose and penguins, can take such incredible care of their childeren, never leave them. While other animals just lay their eggs and run. She asked me about my mother.

                                        "Well, she's pretty. And, she's probably the sweetest lady you've ever met.
                                 She gets a little stressed out at times. She likes to run."

Mila asked me if I had one word to describe her with, what would it be.
                                          "Love. You?"
she thought about it for a second and then said
                                          "Absent."
                                          "Sorry."
                                          "It's cool. I never really knew her. My dad took care of me. I guess she just left a few months after I was born, We have no idea where she is. I guess it's a little weird."

I couldn't help it, I tried to hold back, but the words were persistent
                                          "I love you mila."
                                          "You're sweet Gene."
I asked her if she believed me, she said this:
                                                                         "It doesn't matter Gene. I've realized something, It doesn't matter if Love exists or not.
                              Love is this giant never ending skyscraper that nobody can ever tear down, it just goes up and up and up and up for miles and miles. You keep climbing it. And if you are on the highest floor you've ever been to, even if it's only the third floor, you can be in love. You have no idea what is above you, only what is behind you, and each floor is better then the last."

I wasn't following her, she tried to explain:
                                                      "It's all a matter of opinion. I can be in love on the 55th floor while someone else is in love on the tenth floor."

"And?" In all honesty, I had no idea where she was going with any of it, I wish she would just say something about love being a lake or a mountain or a dead body or something.

"So what I'm saying is this: it really doesn't matter If i'm 'really' in love with you, because what we have is enough, and what we have makes me happy. And I'm okay with that. And I'm okay with not knowing if I really love you."

She took a bite of her sandwhich and a bit of the jelly got on her face. I wiped it off and kissed her, and I couldn't help but thinking Sticky love, sticky lover. My Love, My lover.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

You're a Prince? I'm a fox.

 

I understand this post is long.


"You're a human being, and you also lie." stated the fox
"I do NOT LIE." the Little Prince corrected.
"Then you're inhuman." said the fox.
-The Little Prince

So I took a walk to the slaughter house. I let them do what they wanted, she cut slits in my forearms, legs, and stomach, she hollowed me out, then filled me with a crude paste of ground cow, pig, and my own intestines. She left my Head empty, except for an empty moleskin notebook. She gave me back my heart, I shoved it down my throat, left it in my chest.

Over the last year or so, I've given humanity a lot of thought. I've given humanity a lot of shit. I've been worried about my own humanity ever since I went to the slaughterhouse, some people might argue that I'm not a human simply because I don't have a brain, or eyes, or a stomach, or any of the necessary internal oregans--heart aside--to sustain life. But, i disagree.

It was a woman who hollowed me out, she never told me her name, but she looked an awful lot like a susan. After she put the notebook in my head, she took me to her own house, she watched after me and taught me for several months. A few things have remained. And what I'm about to tell you, is something few people have heard, I could go into the different kinds of sex, or give you a murder mystery, or something interesting, and pretend like I hid some kind moral, but I won't.

She told me that there are three things that prove your humanity, the first: Love, she told me that Love was everything--and not in a "flower power" way--it was all about the Love that you give, whether that Love is for your wife, or ex-wife, your pets or animals, your kids, your parents, your brothers and sisters, nature, your garden, anything, if you have that love it doesn't matter if you're poor or rich or sick or anything, Love makes life worth it.

Creation,  Creating emotions, creating art; a painting, a poem, a dance, a short story, a novell, a sculpture, a drawing. Creating a child--yeah sex. Creating friendships. Creating connections, and this one is important.

Creating connections with the people around you, with the earth and the mountains, and nature, with your wife, your children, your parents, your animals, your music, your writing, other peoples music and writing, your art, other peoples art. She told me that to be able to make connections with people you've never met through a medium of art, writing, or dance, was the greatest thing a human could do, and it was also something that only a human could do; To be able to sing a song, and have someone feel exactly what you were feeling.

I fell in love with her, or so I thought, I'm not sure why. Maybe because she was the first real human I've ever met. Or maybe it's because she was one of the very few GOOD women. I'm not sure, in all honesty she wasn't all that pretty, she was a little shorter then average and probably a pretty average weight for her height, small breasts--all her features were small--firey red hair that had never seen the slightest bit of taming, she had a very pretty voice though.

I told her I loved her, she sent me on my way. Broke my heart.

I had never seen the city I was in, it had fairly tall buildings--it would be easy to kill yourself--it was surrounded by mountains, it was next to the sea, and it was goddamn freezing.

I walked into a place called Anchor Cafe, and ordered a cup of hot chocolate, a woman brought me my drink. Her name was Mila. She was pretty, average height, almost too skinny, small breasts, small hands, and small facial features, but everything was fairly proportional. she had long brown hair, naturally curly, or maybe wavy. She gave me my hot chocolate and asked what happened to my arms, her voice was very cute, she spoke english with a hint of a scottish accent. I told her what happened, I'm not all that great at lying. She laughed, she had a cute laugh, she asked me where my coat was, I told her I didn't have one, she asked where I lived, I told her nowhere. She invited me to sleep at her house for the night.

I slept on a couch.

In the mourning she made me breakfast, "Thank you so much for letting me sleep here" she told me it was no big deal and that I was welcome to stay till I found somewhere else to live "thank you, I-I got you something, It's a secret, so I wrote it down." she took the piece of paper and unfolded it "it's the greatest lesson I've ever learned, Susan, you remember me telling you about her?"
"Of course."

"well this is the greatest lesson she taught me about humanity, she told me that if anybody ever told me I wasn't a human because I don't have a brain or a stomach or bones, to always remember this."
 
"It's only with the heart that one can see clearly," Mila was reading it slowly "what is essential is invisible to the eye." Mila looked up at me.

"It's actually from a movie called The Little Prince. But Susan helped me understand it."

"Gene, please stay."

Saturday, September 1, 2012

having fun?




Welcome, my friends.
We have so much time and so little to do, wait, scratch that, reverse it.
Now on we go.
There will be surprises around every corner, but don't worry, nothing dangerous.
This isn't just any ordanairy blog, it doesn't just go up and down, it can go sideways, and slantways, and longways, and backways and squareways, and front ways, and any other ways that you can think of. It can take you anywhere in the whole factory of the world just by reading one of these posts. Any of these posts. Just read a post and *zing*! You're off. And up until now, I've written them all... except one. Which is this blog, my dear friends, and it will be 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple--that's 105%.
So switch the polls from plus to minus, and minus to plus, IT COULD WORK.
This goes without saying, but this blog has an enormous schwanzstucker.
Please! Continue to check this blog, I beg you! We are not children here, we are scientists! I assure you there is nothing to fear!
Remember, my friends, There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you'll be free if you truly wish to be.
For what you are about to read next, you must quietly enter into the realm of genius.