Take a Breath

I'm going to take a deep breath right now, and not worry. I don't need to change. I don't need to run all the time. The future is there, it's waiting for me patiently. I can be happy here and now, even though it's not here. I want to just think of You and be happy right now. I want to eat candy and curl up in my chair and read a good book and take a nap and listen to some awesome fucking music and think about crazy things and make up stories in my head. I'm going to not be so serious. I will practice all of that whimsical bullshit I preach and climb fences and go on bikerides and pretend to speak Spanish.

So now the question is, what to do, now that I'm okay with things. Hmmmmmmmmmm....

Blue Night

While the sun sets, the silhouettes of trees forming a natural swampy skyline fly past, ancient and towering. Yet the sun glowing orange sits stationary, silently warming me with lingering rays filtering through the branches, solitary and unshakeable, even as it dips below the horizon, dappling my skin with an ever changing pattern of light. Scratchy folk music wafts through the air in waves emanating from the radio of Your pick-up, and taking a calculated breath, I sigh.

We met again for the first time in years on the cusp of a huge boom in the music scene in our little county. I have become a bonified band-aid tailing my friends and their bands from shitty venues to dusty garages to white trash neighborhood backyards. And my sharp tongue and snappy personality has become quite renowned among the scene. Fluttering about like a butterfly in colorful vintage dresses and soda-pop can ring necklaces jingle jangling about my neck, hovering about in the Floating World on cigarette smoke and laughter.

I stopped by Your garage on a hot day around 1 after work with a friend coming to visit a band mate of Yours during practice. Your name, so familiar to me repeated across my brain countless times since I learned it is suddenly connected to Your face as my eyes adjust to the darkness of your garage as I enter from the bright burning noontide sky. There is sweat on the back of my neck and I'm wearing something old but I forget everything as memories of You flood back into my head. Old gray memories that have frayed at the edges but whose images still retain an accurate likeness to their counterparts in the real world.

And it is apparent that We are going to happen, that there exists that bond between Us that has tied Us together through the years and the centuries and the millenia and through all of time and space.

I am shy at first, so very uncharacteristic. But I have been waiting for this moment for 8 years, 17 years, thousands of years, and am not about to begin fucking around.

You are inexplicably handsome. Boys and girls alike notice it, acknowledge it, and yet you have a certain subdued dynamic, you fade in with the crowd, even though you do not walk among them. You laugh with some hardcore kids from a couple towns over who are high and toting ill-gotten forties, sleeves rolled up to Your elbow, strong, graceful fingers grasping a bottle leisurely. I flash a vaguely naughty smile, which You return, and I know You read into it because I can feel Your eyes on my back as I wade through the crowds charming the masses. And I can feel the tension between us surrounding you like a cloud, a tangible atmosphere that I can feel, flowing from your body and rising up into the night, mixing with the moths and the golden lamp light and the blue night.

Sweet, wonderful, lo-fi plays over the crowd, a mixture of shitty stereo and bad recording but it sounds beautiful all the same to me. And as I talk to a group of kids that went to my high school that are now punk rock, I feel Your hand, Your fingers lightly touch my shoulder. The slightest hint of electricity ignites my skin. There are tons of guys that are into me and girls into you. But time slows down when I turn and our eyes meet, and some hippie girls exhale cherry-apple hookah smoke from their lungs and some guys from the other side of town toss shots of So-Co to the back of their burning throats.

We leave together later that night, laughing, slightly tipsy. The party is still quite lively even though it is late. A few people we know shoot us naughty, knowing glances, and I smile and stick out my tongue coyly. Clumsily tripping over my feet a little, You open the passenger door for me laughing, and Your hands keep on slipping up, touching me, too soon, too soon. I grab them, yet don't remove them; but flash a smile that yearns for You to wait just a little bit longer.

We live more on the outskirts by the old forest, and I see that same skyline of trees, this time in reverse, the moon and stars replacing the sun in a blanket of dark blue as they sparkle and fly behind the ancient branches. Your old house looms in the distance, and I almost don't want to leave the car, You beside me, a foot or two away from my body. There are lights on, but they are just your younger siblings, staying up with the freedom that their summer vacation allots them engrossed in the loud jabbering and blaring lights of an old television set.

We laugh, me hanging onto Your arm for support, and tumble up the stairs. You flick on the light of your lamp, dim, but still warm. The window is open and the summer air fills the room. And as we lay on your bed in the light, our hands searching each other fervently, mouths eagerly tasting, tears stream down my cheeks and soak into your old comforter as I feel all of your love both emotionally and physically coming down onto me. I feel it all, everything, so powerfully, so poignantly. The fibers of your sheets, the fine prints of your fingers on my skin, the light glowing red behind closed eyes, the hot night enveloping us.

And I know, this is the greatest moment of my entire life.

Clawing My Way Out

I'm not going to pretend I was some kind of fucked up ghetto kid from a poor neighborhood growing up. I lived alright, got the things I needed for the most part. Even got the things I wanted a few times. I didn't sell crack or my pussy or anything like that. But I did survive suburbia.

Growing up in a super Christian home would make you think I'd come out with some good ideals. And hey, you'd be right. I think of myself as pretty righteous. But maybe that's just my own innate scrupulousness. And of course, like some stereotypical religious satire, my dad had to turn out to be a freaky pervert and alcoholic. It was a sad sad night when I realized I was the child of a completely loveless, dead relationship. How do you even begin to comprehend that? And then there's the religion. I can understand growing up without a god. But to grow up, 12, 13 years devoutly, and have it all taken away from you, shattered? Witness your preacher father hit your mom who's screaming about divorce, completely out of the fucking blue. Now that's fucked up. I try to fill that gap of faith, that shattered notion that these lives are something more than just a blink of the Earth's eye with other things, stupid things, superstition.

But the worst is my town. How fucking white trash it is. How all the kids drank and fucked each other when they were like 15. I guess that's how most teens are though, I guess. Well, except for me. I felt awkward. I didn't want to do those things. And I felt even worse for not wanting it, for not having experienced it. I felt like I was missing out on something I should have wanted.

I experimented. I was a slut for a year, I'll admit it. Fuckin' a. I went to parties as an older teenager. I suffered fools. I shopped at thrift stores because my mom told me that I was a financial burden on the family. Walked the streets alone at night, crying my eyes out. Jumped out of my second story bedroom window to concrete below over some douchebag guy. Prevailed over the stupid brometal and F-150s with "Froaders for Bush" bumper stickers and Support Out Troops decals. Weathered the shitstorm my brother caused our family for dealing and growing pot in his bedroom.

Watched my parents fight, go to counseling, fight some more. Fell asleep with my fingers in my ears so I wouldn't have to hear. And you know, I guess this is normal. It's just the human drama. But I do know that many people succumb to it. I don't know. Maybe I read into this shit too much. But I clawed my fucking way out of that hellhole. Nowadays I call myself a contemporary artist with influences of Pop art, Impressionism, and Superflat. I study Japanese folklore and learn foreign languages, say I'm a fucking graphic designer and read surrealist novels. Shop at Trader Joe's and Bristol Farms and use a vintage plastic lens camera. I guess I'm just trying to be everything that isn't my stupid hometown.

I feel like I am really coming to know my parents for the first time in 20 years. I talk to my dad, and I tell him I love him now, and I mean it, I am trying to love him. When my mom calls me I tell her when I'm feeling bad. I try to be as brutally fucking honest as I can, with everyone. I've got manners, though. I don't know. When I think about my memories, it seems like such a long time has passed. I feel so old. I'm still surviving my fucking 20's. I wonder what else is going to come along.

Your Eyes are Golden

The strings come in and start swelling, the bells echo the melody over and over again, and I am positively vibrating with energy. The motherfucking heat of summer is enclosing my body, and as a beautiful little bead of perspiration rolls down my back and along my side, I smile at all of the things I have seen and heard and smelled and tasted in the past 5 weeks. I feel like I have gained a foothold on life again. Not like I had ever fallen, you know. More like... floated away into some sort of amorphous and intangible expanse of nothing. With nothing to ground me I waited, but now I see life ahead, glowing like stone wall, the precious steps up scattered here and there, some vague, others obvious, leading in so many directions.

My god, how I want to climb towards you. But I am not worried because it doesn't really matter. You've never really left me have you? You've never left me at all. And I know that you're telling the truth, that you will always be my fortress, because I can see it in your golden eyes. So come on, let's climb up fences, break into schools in the middle of the night, get drunk off our own high, lay on my bed in the yellow light of my bedroom lamp and listen to the sweetest music ever heard echo off the walls and float out through the shitty Vertical Blinds into the warm night outside my window.

And I'll take you by the hand and lead you to all of the strange places I've been to, and tell you stories about my life and other people's lives and the world and the stars until your head is buzzing and your eyes can't see the difference between anyone or anything-- it's all one, all together, you and me and everyone we know. And I'll lick your salty skin and you'll kiss my mouth and our fingers will intertwine as we melt together, fade into each other. Even as you board the train-- the very same that bourne you to me and now takes you from me-- I know that you will fall asleep to the gentle rumble of the engine, and the setting sun's rays will fall delicately on your eyelids, glowing golden in my heart and keeping me safe forever.

All of the Goodness and Beauty in the World

Waiting fervently on the platform, I did not see you exit the train as I searched desperately through the crowds. Turning around in circles, our eyes met and I could remember each spot of light in your star-bright eyes. I wanted to jump into your arms, but I restrained my feelings as I ran to meet you, my clumsy body fumbling to meet yours as I toppled into your embrace. And when I looked up I saw green and gold and gray and blue in your magical ever-changing eyes, multiple facets of shades and colors that danced like a kaleidescope with the receding angles of the setting sun.

When I look into them I feel like I am peering into the future, the past, into all of history and time and life's mysterious secrets and I can't help but wonder what exactly it is that you are, that stares back at me, and what it sees in turn. They stare right through me and clear away the hate and the pain and jadedness and draw out my purity, all of the good that wants to come out of me and love you and love the world. It saddens me to think of these things that pollute my mind and my spirit, but at the same time you comfort me with your seemingly infinite patience and understanding.

We hold hands as we cross old brick paths, so well worn with partings and reunions, travel and return, creation and destruction. We are immortal beings who watch over the earth below from the lofty heavens, where dreams float up to us like little birds that play in the sky. I am calm and content and filled with felicity. The clear blue sky quickly dims, and we walk on into the twilight.

And at night you say my name over and over again and how much you love me as we move together, and our hearts and bodies swell with emotion as tears come to my eyes and stream down my cheeks because the thought of being with you and loving you is too beautiful to even fathom. And when I close my eyes there is nothing but blackness and powerful intense feelings permeating everything, straight to my soul, and it is as though I have completely given myself up to my sensations. And all I can possibly think about is how wonderful and beautiful life can be.

L'Age d'Or

Remember those really fucking awesome backyard shows we used to go to, like 5 summers ago? Things were so so different then, we were such different people then. High school was still fresh, even after graduation. Damn was that ceremony boring. So full of fake-ass ostentation and seemingly random importance placed on a very unextraordinary "achievement." Pomp and circumstance indeed. So anticlimactic and unmoving... not at all the fitting ending to our youth.

Things were so golden back then. It was a hot and humid summer, and it permeated through everything, the blood in my veins, the air in my lungs. We'd swim in the big concrete hole of a dirty suburban pool surrounded by a weed-overrun backyard next to that crazy old dilapidated car covered in rust and spider webs. Sun bleached white plastic chairs that were about to break and dented beer cans littering the environs. Pabst Blue Ribbon and Miller Lite 40's and fucking Natty Ice. And we'd walk to the 7-11 down Mast Boulevard and eat wonderful deep fried Taco Shop and drink Cokes or buy popsicles.

The best part was the afternoons when the sun set and everything was orange and red. And your loosely thrown together band would assemble in various white trash backyards to play into the twilight until the blue evening cooled us all down. I would sit on an amp wearing a flippy little skirt and flip flops watching you set up, sound check, smile at me. I stole your chord cheat sheet after the show, scrawled with a messy hand on the back of a crumpled flyer, studying the movements of the lines and savoring the spontaneity of their strokes with as much appreciation as a Chinese calligrapher. And I'd dance to the music you covered later that night as moths burned themselves on the bare light bulb of my bedroom lamp as they flew in through the open window.

Our hometown was shit, but we didn't care. It was East County, it was So-Cal, and it was summer. Your shitty amps rang out distorted chords that resounded against the walls of the valley, and for an hour or so I could just stare up at the dark sky and let go of everything. A real l'Age d'Or. We kissed on the 4th of July after climbing up to the hills covered in scratchy dry grass, showers of colored light illuminating our vision behind closed eyelids.

The summer and the music was still hot, flowing through my body, but when Labor Day came I was suddenly in the grip of Fall. Fuck, it was cold. And like a tide you ebbed ever slowly away. That was it. The moment when you smiled at me, bidding farewell as you stepped into your mom's van, going away to college, your cheerful words, "Be happy... go find a nice boyfriend" gave me a fucking black eye. That was when I knew I had grown up and that I could never ever go back or even look at this town again.

Late Afternoon Return Trip Streams of Consciousness

Reaching the 405 at 5:04, I realize suddenly how very palindromatic my route is, how every town I pass through is the same, how it stretches into one long patchwork of buildings and walls and hills and fields that constitutes the 144 miles between us. Even the names of streets begin to be reused, an unimaginative Adam of an architect cutting corners. Euclid, Fairview, Main, Broadway, Culver, Mesa, Rosecrans, Harbor. One after the other. O my beautiful artfully artificial Southern California, may your orange sun forever burn into my shoulders. With Bass+7, Treble+3, Fujiya & Miyagi thudding like pixelated scraps of jazz max in your headlights.

A thin film of the beautiful briny Santa Barbara breeze and perspiration coats my body as cities flash by me. I can't think of them as anything else but names, as I have only experienced them as such, though I do hear that Van Nuys is very nice, and that the Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen's Club is quite the place to be in the City of Industry, according to a poorly designed billboard. I keep thinking back to all of the little time we've spent together and how it seems to stretch on forever in my memory, even long afterwards. I know I'm reading too much into it, and your two eyes are too wise for my innocence, in a sense.

A sudden break in the traffic jolts me out of my thoughts at Brookhurst and Fountain Valley. Goddammit, I think. Suffice to say, if shit had gone down, bitches would have been flipped. But the cars start speeding up again, I regain my momentum, and begin velocitating rapidly towards a cool 86 mph in silence. Portugal.the.Man brings me back down into my sleepiness again, and my exit finally floats up to me out of a fog. I keep falling into this dream state, my very secret, very solitary second life pulling me down and enveloping me into blackness. Driving down familiar streets, the music recycles, and I wonder if you have seen me cry, tears like diamonds.

I may be batting a thousand, but a homerun crack at love... This is where I tell you that I know love's what I need to work at.