We sit in the tavern drinking away our misery and allowing it to filter in ways unimaginable. We are the life and the death of the whole room. We are loud and obnoxious and say horrible things to each other and laugh at the pain.
We are all dressed in motley. Make up on our faces we look like clowns to the rest of you. In black and white and red with bells that chime and wicked laughter we look back and remember the past.
I remember.
I remember as I sip wine the time I was left vomiting and he was at the bar. I remember the time I was on the plane alone racing across the country away from the disappointment that was my childhood.
She remembers the drugs and the depression and the void she couldn’t fill.
He remembers the cigar mark his father gave him. Decades later it still hurts.
My brother heart and soul remembers the beating he took and received from a mother who knew he would never fight back. He still doesn’t fight back.
She is lost and wants attention and gets it where she can find it, but it will never ever be enough. She is amazing to us still.
He is addicted and has no way out, and disappears and doesn’t show but we love him because he is our friend.
I talk to life as if it was a person, and not an idea or state of mind.
I say to life and all the people in it.
“Fuck it if I’m week and if the scars on my wrists have not yet healed. Fuck you for thinking less of me and not loving me when I loved you more and more each time you fell. I picked you up and knocked you down and I will live with it forever.”
We live and die by the admission of our imperfection and we revel in it. We use it and support it and mold it to our wills. We look back at life and talk to it expecting it to talk back and give us answers.
These wounds heal, but not before being scraped and bruised a second and third time. Just when one thinks they are better and they’ve found something different, a smile and a nod shatter what little peace one thought one had.
Cologne, perfume, a new dress or a freshly pressed shirt makes you remember what you want and how badly you want it. Funny how that works best when you are dismissed like the trash you were always told you were.
The makeup on our faces has run from our tears but we are not giving up these friends of mine and me. We have all locked arms and shoulders at the table. We are stomping our feet and singing our songs in spite of what we all know and all feel. We are one entity of pain and damage in its rawest form.
Go find your friends. They are not there. Go grab the crowd to laugh at us; they are hardly worth the effort. They will take you away from your problems and show you what you missed.
We refuse to do that.
We are weak, and broken says you.
We are disappointing and fallible says you.
We are pathetic to you so you lost faith in us.
You are pathetic because you lost faith at all.
We raise our glasses to the sky and sing.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
A Lie, A Lie...
A week ago…
“You mother fucker. You bastard!”
Yells my nameless friend from my bathroom.
“Son of a bitch, why…?”
I can’t stop laughing.
I shove another gulp of beer down the hatch, and relax to the sounds of the Blue Oyster Cult and Johnny Cash. Its midweek and I didn’t want to be alone as usual, and I don’t drink by myself. The incense burn, the fan is on in my unusually warm house.
This friend of mine is the kind of friend who will always be there. In some form or another he’ll be around. He’s the guy people flock to. He’s for some reason got the same destructive habits I do. He’s hilarious but doesn’t really know it. He’s crazy but doesn’t admit it. A friend of mine and I worry about this guy, because there are times we think that he doesn’t realize what he’s got. I know what its like to lose something, and would hate for that to happen to anyone else.
The door opens and I say
“Did an Ant get you?”
He yells “Yeah man, what the fuck? I saw the little bastard too!”
I start laughing again.
“Why the fuck do they never get my legs? Or my arms? No! Not me man they go for either the cock or the balls!”
Beer goes up my nose.
“Right there, look…” He holds his hands in the air, in a display of what male genitalia might look like as if I wasn’t born male and could not understand the concept. His arm is arched like he is trying to shadow puppet a strange bird, fingers cupping nothing.
“Right fucking there where the base you know? Hits the shaft? By the hole!?!”
Its late, and because of his odd hours working for the City of Los Angeles he can stop by for a beer before I go to bed, and he goes home. Friends are funny that way, the way they make you laugh without trying, or the way they do things and say things that make you appreciate them, or the things around you. He’s one of several people who manage to make me laugh by being simply who they are.
Some days later…
“Aaaawe” yells a room full of people.
Some of them are laughing, maybe one is shaking there head, and another is feigning gagging sounds. We are looking at pictures of a trip they took to Mexico. These are the type of people who are close knit, and have formed a bond that you could not easily break, if you can at all.
Digital pictures on a television screen flash the rocks of a Mexican beach. A George W. Bush doll with an M-80 in his mouth, a friend who has fallen off a motorcycle, a group shot, beers in hand, hang-over’s, breakfasts,
“Change it dude, change this shit C’mon…” Says a friend of mine, while laughing.
But the screen doesn’t change. In the middle of all the nostalgia, and all the good times there is a picture of a perfectly formed log of shit.
No one wants to look, but no one is really turning away. My friend of many years is describing the majesty that is his bowel movement, and discussing how amazing it is that it starts in the hole of the toilet, and ends outside of the water at the very top without losing an ounce of girth at any one point.
Friday night
“Hump his leg”
Says my old school mate and very good friend who’s had maybe just a few too many beers. Her husband is passed out on the floor of my daughter’s room. I’m not one to host parties, but I decided to have some friends over to drink. I invited people who might not realize are the few people I can be myself around. I don’t need to talk, or to impress. I just host and offer and hope they have a good time.
Glenda has brought her own bottle of Vodka. Mikey has smoked himself a bit silly. Mari and crew are the class and life they always bring to the table. My co workers and I are the raunchy opposite to add balance.
“I dare you to hump Josh’s leg” says Mari who has absolutely no problem being outspoken, and I don’t know a single friend of mine who has met her tonight who doesn’t love her for it.
So, my good friend Robert is humping my leg, and I am not only embarrassed by the whole thing, but also thinking about how badly I’ll need a shower after this.
Ouija boards and truth or dare, as if we are in 8th grade again, and goofing off.
Saturday
Joy has been nice enough to take me out to a movie. I’m all low on funds and haven’t got a thing to do with myself. The night for most people would be seen as dull, but not me. Not in the slightest.
A movie with a friend who has been there for me when I needed a shoulder, or a phone call, or a lunch is just what I wanted right now. We head out to LAX. Driving down the 5 freeway takes us past Dodger Stadium, on our way to long beach and through Los Angeles I look out the window to see buildings and places I’ve passed a million times before.
Her friend needs a ride and a place to stay for the night. Born in London and living in Puerto Vallarta Mexico she has come to the states to purchase a camera. She is interesting and different. She and my friend here have traveled the world together and I am sitting at the coffee table and listening to stories from cruise ships, and a lizard shuffles in his tank behind me. It’s late, and I should head home.
Sunday
I’m watching my daughter lay on the ground hoping to be picked up, but we won’t. She is testing her boundaries and we are testing our wills against her many adorable faces. In a few short moments her grandmother will give in.
I am not used to this. I have been here many times but it’s all different. All wrong. I have spent so much time trying to work on myself, and change who I am, and get used to the life that changed on me that I am now a stranger amongst family.
It’s not the same, this person next to me who I had so much to say to before, and now I have nothing in common with. I’ve not got any words to say to her, though I would love it if I did. I slip and call her babe, when she isn’t my babe anymore. I want to tell what I’ve been doing and who I’ve been with but she doesn’t care, and I don’t want to know anyway.
I pick up my daughter and say goodbye to everyone.
I don’t belong here anymore.
I make the rounds, and I take Emma outside and tell her I will see her on Tuesday when I pick her up and take her to school. I grab her mothers arm and give it a squeeze and tell her it was good to see her. I lie.
Emma thinks she is going with me and wave’s bye to Momma. I give her a big kiss, and a hug, and another kiss.
One more,
Two more,
Emma cries.
I leave.
I’m 17 years old. I’m sitting on a bus with this beautiful friend of mine Vanessa. She doesn’t know I’ve got a crush on her. I ask her a question that is completely random. At 17 I am fond of random questions because I like to think, and be asked the same things. I ask her this…
“What if you woke up one day, and nothing in your life was true? Every one you know is a lie, and you are a lie, and nothing was what you thought it was?”
I didn’t think I would get the reaction that I did.
She cried.
I didn’t think something so weird and silly would get that reaction.
I didn’t think I was capable of such thought, or question.
I didn’t think that one day I would wake up and my life would be the lie.
“You mother fucker. You bastard!”
Yells my nameless friend from my bathroom.
“Son of a bitch, why…?”
I can’t stop laughing.
I shove another gulp of beer down the hatch, and relax to the sounds of the Blue Oyster Cult and Johnny Cash. Its midweek and I didn’t want to be alone as usual, and I don’t drink by myself. The incense burn, the fan is on in my unusually warm house.
This friend of mine is the kind of friend who will always be there. In some form or another he’ll be around. He’s the guy people flock to. He’s for some reason got the same destructive habits I do. He’s hilarious but doesn’t really know it. He’s crazy but doesn’t admit it. A friend of mine and I worry about this guy, because there are times we think that he doesn’t realize what he’s got. I know what its like to lose something, and would hate for that to happen to anyone else.
The door opens and I say
“Did an Ant get you?”
He yells “Yeah man, what the fuck? I saw the little bastard too!”
I start laughing again.
“Why the fuck do they never get my legs? Or my arms? No! Not me man they go for either the cock or the balls!”
Beer goes up my nose.
“Right there, look…” He holds his hands in the air, in a display of what male genitalia might look like as if I wasn’t born male and could not understand the concept. His arm is arched like he is trying to shadow puppet a strange bird, fingers cupping nothing.
“Right fucking there where the base you know? Hits the shaft? By the hole!?!”
Its late, and because of his odd hours working for the City of Los Angeles he can stop by for a beer before I go to bed, and he goes home. Friends are funny that way, the way they make you laugh without trying, or the way they do things and say things that make you appreciate them, or the things around you. He’s one of several people who manage to make me laugh by being simply who they are.
Some days later…
“Aaaawe” yells a room full of people.
Some of them are laughing, maybe one is shaking there head, and another is feigning gagging sounds. We are looking at pictures of a trip they took to Mexico. These are the type of people who are close knit, and have formed a bond that you could not easily break, if you can at all.
Digital pictures on a television screen flash the rocks of a Mexican beach. A George W. Bush doll with an M-80 in his mouth, a friend who has fallen off a motorcycle, a group shot, beers in hand, hang-over’s, breakfasts,
“Change it dude, change this shit C’mon…” Says a friend of mine, while laughing.
But the screen doesn’t change. In the middle of all the nostalgia, and all the good times there is a picture of a perfectly formed log of shit.
No one wants to look, but no one is really turning away. My friend of many years is describing the majesty that is his bowel movement, and discussing how amazing it is that it starts in the hole of the toilet, and ends outside of the water at the very top without losing an ounce of girth at any one point.
Friday night
“Hump his leg”
Says my old school mate and very good friend who’s had maybe just a few too many beers. Her husband is passed out on the floor of my daughter’s room. I’m not one to host parties, but I decided to have some friends over to drink. I invited people who might not realize are the few people I can be myself around. I don’t need to talk, or to impress. I just host and offer and hope they have a good time.
Glenda has brought her own bottle of Vodka. Mikey has smoked himself a bit silly. Mari and crew are the class and life they always bring to the table. My co workers and I are the raunchy opposite to add balance.
“I dare you to hump Josh’s leg” says Mari who has absolutely no problem being outspoken, and I don’t know a single friend of mine who has met her tonight who doesn’t love her for it.
So, my good friend Robert is humping my leg, and I am not only embarrassed by the whole thing, but also thinking about how badly I’ll need a shower after this.
Ouija boards and truth or dare, as if we are in 8th grade again, and goofing off.
Saturday
Joy has been nice enough to take me out to a movie. I’m all low on funds and haven’t got a thing to do with myself. The night for most people would be seen as dull, but not me. Not in the slightest.
A movie with a friend who has been there for me when I needed a shoulder, or a phone call, or a lunch is just what I wanted right now. We head out to LAX. Driving down the 5 freeway takes us past Dodger Stadium, on our way to long beach and through Los Angeles I look out the window to see buildings and places I’ve passed a million times before.
Her friend needs a ride and a place to stay for the night. Born in London and living in Puerto Vallarta Mexico she has come to the states to purchase a camera. She is interesting and different. She and my friend here have traveled the world together and I am sitting at the coffee table and listening to stories from cruise ships, and a lizard shuffles in his tank behind me. It’s late, and I should head home.
Sunday
I’m watching my daughter lay on the ground hoping to be picked up, but we won’t. She is testing her boundaries and we are testing our wills against her many adorable faces. In a few short moments her grandmother will give in.
I am not used to this. I have been here many times but it’s all different. All wrong. I have spent so much time trying to work on myself, and change who I am, and get used to the life that changed on me that I am now a stranger amongst family.
It’s not the same, this person next to me who I had so much to say to before, and now I have nothing in common with. I’ve not got any words to say to her, though I would love it if I did. I slip and call her babe, when she isn’t my babe anymore. I want to tell what I’ve been doing and who I’ve been with but she doesn’t care, and I don’t want to know anyway.
I pick up my daughter and say goodbye to everyone.
I don’t belong here anymore.
I make the rounds, and I take Emma outside and tell her I will see her on Tuesday when I pick her up and take her to school. I grab her mothers arm and give it a squeeze and tell her it was good to see her. I lie.
Emma thinks she is going with me and wave’s bye to Momma. I give her a big kiss, and a hug, and another kiss.
One more,
Two more,
Emma cries.
I leave.
I’m 17 years old. I’m sitting on a bus with this beautiful friend of mine Vanessa. She doesn’t know I’ve got a crush on her. I ask her a question that is completely random. At 17 I am fond of random questions because I like to think, and be asked the same things. I ask her this…
“What if you woke up one day, and nothing in your life was true? Every one you know is a lie, and you are a lie, and nothing was what you thought it was?”
I didn’t think I would get the reaction that I did.
She cried.
I didn’t think something so weird and silly would get that reaction.
I didn’t think I was capable of such thought, or question.
I didn’t think that one day I would wake up and my life would be the lie.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
How Did I Get Here?
"Josh."
"Josh?"
"Josh!"
"Josh."
I can hear, but not see whats going on. There are bright lights and the smell of sulfer is in the air. That gun powdery smell that makes you sniff wafts across the lawn I am sitting on. If I open my eyes the world will spin. If I get up my head might explode. If I say anything remotely close to coherent it will be a feat of will and determination.
"Josh are you okay? Talk to me."
I shake my head.
"Josh can you get up?"
I shut my eyes tighter and finger "no".
I vomit. How did I get here?
Its 9am or so, and I am getting my stuff out of my buddy Nicks place. I'm heading over to see my daughter and talk to her mother about "stuff".
Its about 11am and my baby momma and I are bickering/fighting. I cant stop thinking about how much I love this woman.
Its roughly 12pm and my daughter and I are at the local Ihop. I dig into a low carb grease-fest while my daughter Emma does the same with 4 of her specially made pancakes that she loves so much. I watch as her chubby hands move their way over to the pile of torn pancakes I made for her. She finds the right one and puts it in he mouth, only to discover that I slipped in a scrambled egg. She then spits the egg onto the table and I cant help but laugh. Emma 1, Dad 0.
I enjoy these times with my 14 month old. I like just her and I in a diner. She will talk about gibberish, and I will ask her if she is being good with Momma, and if she is behaving with Grandma. She of course responds to it all with random nonsense that only a child can spit out. Though, her facial espressions as she does this carry so much weight. Its amazing.
1pm, I am at my place with my daughter. She is stomping about my house in her little walking shoes that resonate throughout my linoleum palace. She has toys but plays with my stereo, or my shoes, or opens drawers and checks cardboard boxes. I have a chair for her to sit in that will entertain her for ages.
Her mother is with me, and the solace that comes with that is amazing and terrifying at the same time. When they leave they each take a peice of my heart with them for good measure. I decide that I will go to my friends house and do the only thing a red blooded Mexican American man of my age should be doing on this 4th of July.
Time to buy a bottle of whiskey.
So here I am wondering if I should stick with the old classic (Jack Daniels) or should I venture out into other realms of flavor that only a slight case of Alcoholism can appreciate? Makers Mark it is. Bourbon. I take my bottle and run into some pals. It feels good to see them again. Its them I'll be hanging out with tonight. I caught them on a beer run.
At 530pm or so I smoke a cigarette by myself with a bottle of Alchohol at my feet, and an energy drink in hand. I havent seen or hung out with these old friends in years. Its funny what time does to you, and what it doesnt.
I say hello to Casey again, give everyone I remember hugs. I say hello to my daughters play pal Mikaila Rose. I sit and chat and laugh at the smart ass remarks they make at eachother. These cutting japes are always well timed, and come with friendships that have lasted years. Its nice to be around this. Its been a long time. Too long.
Adam and I talk real estate and loans where we used to talk about Ska and record labels. Mikey knows of my current exploits through blogs and doesnt have words to convey whats going on. Its good to see him. Gabriel walks in and offers his hand. Its been too long since he and I last partied. Steven is angry because no on is eating his burgers. Mia and I know eachother from high school, but were never friends. Vivian just happened to be in cheer with my ex. I wonder if Johnny will come by. Glenda and I talk about my daughter Emma and her daughter Mikaila.
I open my bottle.
No one else really wanted to do any heavy drinking which is fine by me. By about 7 the bottle is nearly gone. Pictures have been taken, food has bee eaten. Its almost time for fireworks. I kill the last of the bottle and forgot that I told myself just 10 minutes prior to this moment that as long as I dont stand up and move a bunch I will be fine.
So I stand up...
"Josh where are you?"
"I dont know"
"Josh".
Its that salt n peppery phone voice I fell in love with back in high school. Its over the phone. I must have drunk dialed several people, left several others random text messages. Some of them recieved the same one twice. Thrice even.
At some point I called Glenda over to me and handed her my phone. She hears the worried voice of my ex on the other line. I have never been wasted in front of my ex. Ever.
In what seems like seconds Vanessa is standing over me. Talking to me.
How did I get here?
Oh yeah. The bottle.
4am. I wake up on the floor next to my daughters crib. She is not there. I look up and see Vanessa.
How did I get here?
We talk for a while. We can always talk for a while when our problems are not getting in the way.
I smell of alcohol and stale party.
7am and I am in the car with the two loves of my life Emma and Vanessa and we are at the coffee bean. I dont have a hangover because I am still buzzing. My ex picked me up from a party because dispite the fact that I dont want to be her friend anymore, and that the pain runs too deep between us (we've said so much, and done so much damage to eachother), she still loves me. Its funny how that works. I am glad that somehow it does, and maybe it will again. Who knows.
Emma is dropped off at day care. Vanessa drives me to my truck. I kiss her cheek and say thank you. She grabs my face and tells me to be more careful. I smile and shake my head no.
Sometimes I have to stop and wonder what happened to life, when did it start and when did it begin to end? Where was the party that we were supposed to have letting me know I am an adult? Where were the trumpets letting me know the race was on? Where were the advisors and the counsilers at when I needed them to tell me to shut the fuck up, or to speak for myself?
Sometimes I have to stop and say "How did I get here?".
I dont think I will ever figure that out.
"Josh?"
"Josh!"
"Josh."
I can hear, but not see whats going on. There are bright lights and the smell of sulfer is in the air. That gun powdery smell that makes you sniff wafts across the lawn I am sitting on. If I open my eyes the world will spin. If I get up my head might explode. If I say anything remotely close to coherent it will be a feat of will and determination.
"Josh are you okay? Talk to me."
I shake my head.
"Josh can you get up?"
I shut my eyes tighter and finger "no".
I vomit. How did I get here?
Its 9am or so, and I am getting my stuff out of my buddy Nicks place. I'm heading over to see my daughter and talk to her mother about "stuff".
Its about 11am and my baby momma and I are bickering/fighting. I cant stop thinking about how much I love this woman.
Its roughly 12pm and my daughter and I are at the local Ihop. I dig into a low carb grease-fest while my daughter Emma does the same with 4 of her specially made pancakes that she loves so much. I watch as her chubby hands move their way over to the pile of torn pancakes I made for her. She finds the right one and puts it in he mouth, only to discover that I slipped in a scrambled egg. She then spits the egg onto the table and I cant help but laugh. Emma 1, Dad 0.
I enjoy these times with my 14 month old. I like just her and I in a diner. She will talk about gibberish, and I will ask her if she is being good with Momma, and if she is behaving with Grandma. She of course responds to it all with random nonsense that only a child can spit out. Though, her facial espressions as she does this carry so much weight. Its amazing.
1pm, I am at my place with my daughter. She is stomping about my house in her little walking shoes that resonate throughout my linoleum palace. She has toys but plays with my stereo, or my shoes, or opens drawers and checks cardboard boxes. I have a chair for her to sit in that will entertain her for ages.
Her mother is with me, and the solace that comes with that is amazing and terrifying at the same time. When they leave they each take a peice of my heart with them for good measure. I decide that I will go to my friends house and do the only thing a red blooded Mexican American man of my age should be doing on this 4th of July.
Time to buy a bottle of whiskey.
So here I am wondering if I should stick with the old classic (Jack Daniels) or should I venture out into other realms of flavor that only a slight case of Alcoholism can appreciate? Makers Mark it is. Bourbon. I take my bottle and run into some pals. It feels good to see them again. Its them I'll be hanging out with tonight. I caught them on a beer run.
At 530pm or so I smoke a cigarette by myself with a bottle of Alchohol at my feet, and an energy drink in hand. I havent seen or hung out with these old friends in years. Its funny what time does to you, and what it doesnt.
I say hello to Casey again, give everyone I remember hugs. I say hello to my daughters play pal Mikaila Rose. I sit and chat and laugh at the smart ass remarks they make at eachother. These cutting japes are always well timed, and come with friendships that have lasted years. Its nice to be around this. Its been a long time. Too long.
Adam and I talk real estate and loans where we used to talk about Ska and record labels. Mikey knows of my current exploits through blogs and doesnt have words to convey whats going on. Its good to see him. Gabriel walks in and offers his hand. Its been too long since he and I last partied. Steven is angry because no on is eating his burgers. Mia and I know eachother from high school, but were never friends. Vivian just happened to be in cheer with my ex. I wonder if Johnny will come by. Glenda and I talk about my daughter Emma and her daughter Mikaila.
I open my bottle.
No one else really wanted to do any heavy drinking which is fine by me. By about 7 the bottle is nearly gone. Pictures have been taken, food has bee eaten. Its almost time for fireworks. I kill the last of the bottle and forgot that I told myself just 10 minutes prior to this moment that as long as I dont stand up and move a bunch I will be fine.
So I stand up...
"Josh where are you?"
"I dont know"
"Josh".
Its that salt n peppery phone voice I fell in love with back in high school. Its over the phone. I must have drunk dialed several people, left several others random text messages. Some of them recieved the same one twice. Thrice even.
At some point I called Glenda over to me and handed her my phone. She hears the worried voice of my ex on the other line. I have never been wasted in front of my ex. Ever.
In what seems like seconds Vanessa is standing over me. Talking to me.
How did I get here?
Oh yeah. The bottle.
4am. I wake up on the floor next to my daughters crib. She is not there. I look up and see Vanessa.
How did I get here?
We talk for a while. We can always talk for a while when our problems are not getting in the way.
I smell of alcohol and stale party.
7am and I am in the car with the two loves of my life Emma and Vanessa and we are at the coffee bean. I dont have a hangover because I am still buzzing. My ex picked me up from a party because dispite the fact that I dont want to be her friend anymore, and that the pain runs too deep between us (we've said so much, and done so much damage to eachother), she still loves me. Its funny how that works. I am glad that somehow it does, and maybe it will again. Who knows.
Emma is dropped off at day care. Vanessa drives me to my truck. I kiss her cheek and say thank you. She grabs my face and tells me to be more careful. I smile and shake my head no.
Sometimes I have to stop and wonder what happened to life, when did it start and when did it begin to end? Where was the party that we were supposed to have letting me know I am an adult? Where were the trumpets letting me know the race was on? Where were the advisors and the counsilers at when I needed them to tell me to shut the fuck up, or to speak for myself?
Sometimes I have to stop and say "How did I get here?".
I dont think I will ever figure that out.
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