Gordon would call it the Liminal space. This place I'm in. The in-between feeling after the ending of one thing and the beginning of the next.
Or is it? I mean... I'm doing something with my life... working for FLI, doing good work for these kids, this community (or at least intending to... still need to work on some of my own flaws to better serve them, but working on it.)
But I'm coming upon this realization that maybe I know where I need to go after this job.
And it's not the road I thought I would take. It is... at both ends both practical and impractical, both mature and self serving... so how do I reconcile those forces?
I shouldn't muddle about... the point is that I think, for now at least, I'm deciding not to return to the stage in July. At the end of this stage of my life... this job... I think I'll be going for another. Entering the working world, getting my own place and setting down some roots--in Brooklyn, hopefully. I'll be taking the GRE's and applying for Grad Schools and studying... to be a playwright. To be a better, productive, adult playwright. Like Joel Drake Johnson, or Kat Walat, or any of the other great teachers that have molded my craft.
No matter where I go, though, the time has most certainly come for me to find my voice, speak/write the truth and see where it takes me.
I'm scared. Is that good? I hope.
That's all for now.
-e.-
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
...A Bar on St. Mark's Place. New York, NY.
I'm a little bit useless right now. Lily's in the other room crying because her hair coloring whatchamacallit from the store didn't work out like she wanted and now she's yelling that nobody is ever going to love her.
Ughhh... was I like this at 13? I mean... no, I wasn't a girl... I didn't have issues with dying my hair. There was that time in my twenties when I dyed it all black for a summer... that was stupid. I think that's when my hair started thinning, but I can't prove it.
Anyway... her mother's in there trying to console her... I've been demoted to the living room because I couldn't keep a straight face through the whole ordeal. Does that make me a bad father? I don't know... It makes me human, I guess. I've never been good at holding that sort of thing in... the smirk... when I was in college and those girls with pitch issues came up to sing... it showed all over my face.
My wife had the cable guys cancel the service again... because we found ourselves spending too much time in front of the TV and she didn't like it... so it's back to dueling New Yorker magazines and crosswords at bed time. Works for me though... I always liked that better, anyway.
Oh man... she so loud in there! I wish I could just tell her... well no, I can tell her just fine... but I wish I could make her understand that all this stupid drama goes away... it gets forgotten.
For now though... I guess I'll let it be the end of the world for one night. Her and her newfound, haha, pink and blue streaks will be better in the morning.
That's all for now.
-e.-
Ughhh... was I like this at 13? I mean... no, I wasn't a girl... I didn't have issues with dying my hair. There was that time in my twenties when I dyed it all black for a summer... that was stupid. I think that's when my hair started thinning, but I can't prove it.
Anyway... her mother's in there trying to console her... I've been demoted to the living room because I couldn't keep a straight face through the whole ordeal. Does that make me a bad father? I don't know... It makes me human, I guess. I've never been good at holding that sort of thing in... the smirk... when I was in college and those girls with pitch issues came up to sing... it showed all over my face.
My wife had the cable guys cancel the service again... because we found ourselves spending too much time in front of the TV and she didn't like it... so it's back to dueling New Yorker magazines and crosswords at bed time. Works for me though... I always liked that better, anyway.
Oh man... she so loud in there! I wish I could just tell her... well no, I can tell her just fine... but I wish I could make her understand that all this stupid drama goes away... it gets forgotten.
For now though... I guess I'll let it be the end of the world for one night. Her and her newfound, haha, pink and blue streaks will be better in the morning.
That's all for now.
-e.-
Saturday, October 30, 2010
...My Bed, In Sweatpants. NY, NY.
there is a spitty squid in my sink.
i'm about to turn the water back on
and send him back to the hell from whence he came.
die toothpaste squid.
die.
(:
i'm about to turn the water back on
and send him back to the hell from whence he came.
die toothpaste squid.
die.
(:
Sunday, September 19, 2010
...My Bedbedbedbedbed. nY, nY
you are a passionfruit martini
and i want to get drunk off your eyes
make me miss your tasty blinkings
so i have things to carry in my pockets
for the long walk home
police my phrases like we're
brass knuckle boxing for quarters
on fourteenth street
and i'm left breathing peace signs
and mexican ravioli
just think everything is collapsible
and that i think so too
but i believe in forevering things
poster me on the subway and
pester me on the sidewalk
to join your reckless one
man bandwagon of a cause
to go moonward
blow me like cash at a casino
and cry for me like madonna
begged you not to... i'll be
your country...
control alt delete me
because i'm
frozen
let me lick your
spaghetti straps
and travel your
paperback spine
i want to be the thing you cut to
like 'needle in the hay' was for the boomer
or like the credits or the close up
twist me like like your speech
into logic and make of me something
wind wanting and fire breathing
try me on like a thing you would shoplift
beg for my fingers
you know your skin
is my naked piano
rewind us back to when we met
and let me retake your 'me' virginity
lets make a box of first times and then burn it
for the first time.
show me how triumphant happens
and give me a bad case of the backflips
let me be your drill sergeant
and give me twenty of everything
especially naked things.
tell me it needs more cowbell
and then laugh like you never
heard a joke before.
punch me in a banana republic
because nobody ever asked me
how i wanted to celebrate my birthday
because i would've told them that.
take to studying morse code
so i can talk to you mid movie
with just my heart beats
but first, kiss me
on my mouth
with yours
i'm asking you nicely.
and i want to get drunk off your eyes
make me miss your tasty blinkings
so i have things to carry in my pockets
for the long walk home
police my phrases like we're
brass knuckle boxing for quarters
on fourteenth street
and i'm left breathing peace signs
and mexican ravioli
just think everything is collapsible
and that i think so too
but i believe in forevering things
poster me on the subway and
pester me on the sidewalk
to join your reckless one
man bandwagon of a cause
to go moonward
blow me like cash at a casino
and cry for me like madonna
begged you not to... i'll be
your country...
control alt delete me
because i'm
frozen
let me lick your
spaghetti straps
and travel your
paperback spine
i want to be the thing you cut to
like 'needle in the hay' was for the boomer
or like the credits or the close up
twist me like like your speech
into logic and make of me something
wind wanting and fire breathing
try me on like a thing you would shoplift
beg for my fingers
you know your skin
is my naked piano
rewind us back to when we met
and let me retake your 'me' virginity
lets make a box of first times and then burn it
for the first time.
show me how triumphant happens
and give me a bad case of the backflips
let me be your drill sergeant
and give me twenty of everything
especially naked things.
tell me it needs more cowbell
and then laugh like you never
heard a joke before.
punch me in a banana republic
because nobody ever asked me
how i wanted to celebrate my birthday
because i would've told them that.
take to studying morse code
so i can talk to you mid movie
with just my heart beats
but first, kiss me
on my mouth
with yours
i'm asking you nicely.
Monday, August 16, 2010
...My Bed. NY, NY.
Something about the clear glass pane of your new screen door mixes with the dark black paint of your old front door to form a perfect mirror.
I stood there, the quietest thing on the block it seemed. I could hear cars rolling by on streets I couldn't even see. A dog was barking somewhere in the distance... chasing a cat. I think I pictured it as a black cat, and the dog as being one of those big burly bulldogs, like from the cartoons. I could hear water flushing in the sewers and I could hear the gentle click and flicker of the streetlamp at the foot of your driveway. This was a beautiful little suburb.
You'd gone inside to... what? It's so long now that some things are like the lines of a far off novel. I saw myself reflected in the glass, my leather jacket, one size too small, but I thought it looked cool somehow, the way my shirt protruded from my coat sleeves.
I thought that maybe, at that moment, I looked older, maybe it was the jacket, maybe the fact that I hadn't shaved in a while lent something to it... maybe it was you. You were definitely older. What the hell did you see in me?
I tried to see it. My eyebrows were overgrown. I looked like a smoker. Maybe that was it... my smoker's appearance. You were inside, though, I remember, and I heard your footsteps, your heel clicks, through the door even... or, wait, your living room window was open just a crack, to let in a touch of the cool night air, I suppose. Your heels clicked up the stairs I could only imagine and into some empty bedroom where he was... asleep? I assume he was a deep sleeper.
I stepped over to the driveway and took a seat on the hood of the Prius. His, I assume. You were never big on issues. But that's okay, you had other draws. You were smart, jesus christ you were smart, but... just differently. You didn't care about politics not because you didn't understand it, but because you saw it as a system outside of your control and not worth your time. The hood gave a small crunch under my weight, the way that the old Saturn used to do, with its plastic frame.
From where I was, I could spot the light coming on in your bathroom and I had one of those moments where I saw a whole set of possibilities unfolding. I saw you flushing the toilet and waking someone... the kid maybe... or even worse, him... and then it would be over. I knew that. It wasn't the end of the world, it would just mean no sex that night, which... to a 20 year old feels like the end of the world somehow.
But, it didn't. End. The world kept turning. The light went off, and then others went on and off, following you through the house like a trail of Christmas lights. You came outside and closed the door, and it was as if you were the only thing in the world. Nothing else even sounded. Your heels played down the walk and your lipstick, newly minted, kissed me from across the way. You were so fucking sexy and you knew it.
"Did you give him a kiss goodnight?" I said.
"You're so fucking stupid sometimes," you said back, walking down and getting into the car.
I stood there and stared at your doorway.
I wonder sometimes if part of me still lives in the space between the screen and the door; if some orphaned reflection lingers, looking out on that empty street, waiting for another consequential sunrise.
I stood there, the quietest thing on the block it seemed. I could hear cars rolling by on streets I couldn't even see. A dog was barking somewhere in the distance... chasing a cat. I think I pictured it as a black cat, and the dog as being one of those big burly bulldogs, like from the cartoons. I could hear water flushing in the sewers and I could hear the gentle click and flicker of the streetlamp at the foot of your driveway. This was a beautiful little suburb.
You'd gone inside to... what? It's so long now that some things are like the lines of a far off novel. I saw myself reflected in the glass, my leather jacket, one size too small, but I thought it looked cool somehow, the way my shirt protruded from my coat sleeves.
I thought that maybe, at that moment, I looked older, maybe it was the jacket, maybe the fact that I hadn't shaved in a while lent something to it... maybe it was you. You were definitely older. What the hell did you see in me?
I tried to see it. My eyebrows were overgrown. I looked like a smoker. Maybe that was it... my smoker's appearance. You were inside, though, I remember, and I heard your footsteps, your heel clicks, through the door even... or, wait, your living room window was open just a crack, to let in a touch of the cool night air, I suppose. Your heels clicked up the stairs I could only imagine and into some empty bedroom where he was... asleep? I assume he was a deep sleeper.
I stepped over to the driveway and took a seat on the hood of the Prius. His, I assume. You were never big on issues. But that's okay, you had other draws. You were smart, jesus christ you were smart, but... just differently. You didn't care about politics not because you didn't understand it, but because you saw it as a system outside of your control and not worth your time. The hood gave a small crunch under my weight, the way that the old Saturn used to do, with its plastic frame.
From where I was, I could spot the light coming on in your bathroom and I had one of those moments where I saw a whole set of possibilities unfolding. I saw you flushing the toilet and waking someone... the kid maybe... or even worse, him... and then it would be over. I knew that. It wasn't the end of the world, it would just mean no sex that night, which... to a 20 year old feels like the end of the world somehow.
But, it didn't. End. The world kept turning. The light went off, and then others went on and off, following you through the house like a trail of Christmas lights. You came outside and closed the door, and it was as if you were the only thing in the world. Nothing else even sounded. Your heels played down the walk and your lipstick, newly minted, kissed me from across the way. You were so fucking sexy and you knew it.
"Did you give him a kiss goodnight?" I said.
"You're so fucking stupid sometimes," you said back, walking down and getting into the car.
I stood there and stared at your doorway.
I wonder sometimes if part of me still lives in the space between the screen and the door; if some orphaned reflection lingers, looking out on that empty street, waiting for another consequential sunrise.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
...My Bed. Still Not Asleep. 6 A.M. NY, NY.
There are places we go in the rain. Places unsung by sunlight, unblemished by mother nature, places underneath it all.
In the rain, my mind is a collapsible jungle... springing to life, breathing in falling water. The drops leave footprints on my forehead when I walk, tracks on electronics as I steadily punch keys and twirl dials... water gets everywhere.
I forget who I am in the rain... that I am human, prone to illness, in this world-sized well I am a momentary immortal, salient and severe. I act as if, around me, there is an inch-thick force. I move with the steadiness of an eel through weeds or a knife through sand and though I am drenched by the steady downpour, I am as a water creature, sustained by its life force.
There are times when, stuck inside, I feel it in my heart somehow, the water pouring. I even look out the window, up towards the murky sky, and yet I don't see it coming down. Not one drop. I look out towards supposed nothingness and probe with acute faith... believing that there is rain, and, as if by shear force of will, my vision clears and each and every drop and speck is readily apparent.
In the rain, my mind is a rewound marathon. The systems trace back paths through dirt and sod, tracks that have long since been covered by time, written over like old tapes with new material... and yet the old places seem fresh in my mind when the rain comes. It washes away what I choose to know and brings a sheen to the real world below. And as I look, I am made crystal.
There are places I go, for the rain is my grand mapmaker, and I, its native son.
That's all for now.
In the rain, my mind is a collapsible jungle... springing to life, breathing in falling water. The drops leave footprints on my forehead when I walk, tracks on electronics as I steadily punch keys and twirl dials... water gets everywhere.
I forget who I am in the rain... that I am human, prone to illness, in this world-sized well I am a momentary immortal, salient and severe. I act as if, around me, there is an inch-thick force. I move with the steadiness of an eel through weeds or a knife through sand and though I am drenched by the steady downpour, I am as a water creature, sustained by its life force.
There are times when, stuck inside, I feel it in my heart somehow, the water pouring. I even look out the window, up towards the murky sky, and yet I don't see it coming down. Not one drop. I look out towards supposed nothingness and probe with acute faith... believing that there is rain, and, as if by shear force of will, my vision clears and each and every drop and speck is readily apparent.
In the rain, my mind is a rewound marathon. The systems trace back paths through dirt and sod, tracks that have long since been covered by time, written over like old tapes with new material... and yet the old places seem fresh in my mind when the rain comes. It washes away what I choose to know and brings a sheen to the real world below. And as I look, I am made crystal.
There are places I go, for the rain is my grand mapmaker, and I, its native son.
That's all for now.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
...My Living Room Floor, In My Boxer Shorts. NY, NY.
Preach to me, bastions of the far flung light...
Hmph.
Lily is sitting like a praying mantis. I can see her through the window of my study... out there on the lawn, daring the sprinklers to catch her. Tomorrow is her 18th birthday and I know exactly what she's trying to do. She's always wanted to feel things. To know without being told. And so I'm certain she wants to feel the turn from adolescence into... what? adulthood? At this point, I don't think so... but it'll certainly be an adult enough change.
Senior year has been a struggle for our little girl. Little is another word that changes. Obviously, getting into college was its own uphill climb, not because of grades, she has those, but because Lil isn't the sort of girl who knows what she wants from the world.
I remember when she was six years old, and I sat her down on that lawn on a particularly clear night and traced out the stars into constellations. Her favorite, I imagine because she could spot it so easily, was Orion. She liked the notion that star signs still need belts. At that moment, she made the declaration that she would swim among the stars one day. I thought this would manifest itself with a love of science and astronomy... it oddly appeared a few years later as, quite literally, a love of swimming.
Maybe I should be out there with her.
No. This is her own memory. I don't know if she realizes yet how talented she is with that particular skill. Making memories. She knows exactly how to capture, caption, and categorize her days in what I imagine is a rather grand series of file folders in her mind. I'd like to learn, while I still can, how to take these memories and tie them to my being, the calm, simple way that she does. She tells stories sometimes and I'd love to tell her that she should follow in her father's footsteps and become a writer, but the wife and I agreed not to put undue influence on her... as if raising her wasn't influence enough. But, that's beside the point. I agree, begrudgingly... she has it in her though, to be a great writer, if she ever decides to.
Or maybe she'll be a teacher? She taught me enough things in her time. I remember when I was young and computers were just coming around and I was so much better with them than my parents... and I would hold it over them. Oh, foul karma. Of course, as I grew older, technology advanced with even greater rapidity... what we knew as laptops became as outdated as... what... typewriters? I suppose. But, Lily was always patient with her Dad (her Mom was always fine with the tech... and if not, she hid it well). I could see her molding young minds. But something in me, like it or not, thinks that she's meant for some greater future than simple instruction.
She could be President... well, no I don't think she'd be much interested in that. Not that she's not politically minded... I love to argue with her about whatever cause she's taken up this week or that, and, to her credit, her counterarguments have started to become rather well articulated and convincing. What I know, though, is that she wouldn't like the thought of having such a great amount of power over such a great amount of people. She's honestly humble and at peace with herself and I don't think she'd be comfortable asserting that she belonged in a place of any greater power than anyone else.
I'm sure her mom would love if she went into the non-profit sector. And, I've been meaning to bring up the fact that taking her to rallies and marches all the time could be considered undue influence... but, I've been to my share of protests and they've never really swayed me towards a life as an advocate for the underprivileged and ill-represented. So, I suppose if she chooses that path, it'll be her choice to make.
I could go on, I could imagine a thousand directions her life might take.
But, for myself, I think I'd like to remember her forever like this... alone on the grass.... eyes closed... her hair in communion with the soft summer breeze and her breath somehow in steady rhythm with the seconds on my wall clock.
At this point, I don't think I'll get to sleep tonight, my editor needs this manuscript in by the morning or else she'll cut me with something sharp I'm sure... or, dock my advance... which is the literary equivalent of a shiv stab.
It's a little unbelievable that I... that we all arrived here. At this moment.
I look back at my life, at all the little worries and squabbles that seemed so much larger in the moment... so mortally important... and it dawns on me that at this moment, I am perfectly happy. All the more perfect for the struggles that I faced on the way to reaching this place.
I don't know what to say, except... 5, 4, 3, 2... wow. Happy Birthday, Lil.
This is... well... This is a memory I'll hold onto.
As much as I would love to stay in this state forever, I have to return to my work... take it all in, Lil. Before you've entered the word of deadlines. Oh, I hope she'll be a procrastinator like her father. Nah... not really.
Okay... Chapter... 13.
Preach to me, bastions of the far flung light...
That's all for now.
Hmph.
Lily is sitting like a praying mantis. I can see her through the window of my study... out there on the lawn, daring the sprinklers to catch her. Tomorrow is her 18th birthday and I know exactly what she's trying to do. She's always wanted to feel things. To know without being told. And so I'm certain she wants to feel the turn from adolescence into... what? adulthood? At this point, I don't think so... but it'll certainly be an adult enough change.
Senior year has been a struggle for our little girl. Little is another word that changes. Obviously, getting into college was its own uphill climb, not because of grades, she has those, but because Lil isn't the sort of girl who knows what she wants from the world.
I remember when she was six years old, and I sat her down on that lawn on a particularly clear night and traced out the stars into constellations. Her favorite, I imagine because she could spot it so easily, was Orion. She liked the notion that star signs still need belts. At that moment, she made the declaration that she would swim among the stars one day. I thought this would manifest itself with a love of science and astronomy... it oddly appeared a few years later as, quite literally, a love of swimming.
Maybe I should be out there with her.
No. This is her own memory. I don't know if she realizes yet how talented she is with that particular skill. Making memories. She knows exactly how to capture, caption, and categorize her days in what I imagine is a rather grand series of file folders in her mind. I'd like to learn, while I still can, how to take these memories and tie them to my being, the calm, simple way that she does. She tells stories sometimes and I'd love to tell her that she should follow in her father's footsteps and become a writer, but the wife and I agreed not to put undue influence on her... as if raising her wasn't influence enough. But, that's beside the point. I agree, begrudgingly... she has it in her though, to be a great writer, if she ever decides to.
Or maybe she'll be a teacher? She taught me enough things in her time. I remember when I was young and computers were just coming around and I was so much better with them than my parents... and I would hold it over them. Oh, foul karma. Of course, as I grew older, technology advanced with even greater rapidity... what we knew as laptops became as outdated as... what... typewriters? I suppose. But, Lily was always patient with her Dad (her Mom was always fine with the tech... and if not, she hid it well). I could see her molding young minds. But something in me, like it or not, thinks that she's meant for some greater future than simple instruction.
She could be President... well, no I don't think she'd be much interested in that. Not that she's not politically minded... I love to argue with her about whatever cause she's taken up this week or that, and, to her credit, her counterarguments have started to become rather well articulated and convincing. What I know, though, is that she wouldn't like the thought of having such a great amount of power over such a great amount of people. She's honestly humble and at peace with herself and I don't think she'd be comfortable asserting that she belonged in a place of any greater power than anyone else.
I'm sure her mom would love if she went into the non-profit sector. And, I've been meaning to bring up the fact that taking her to rallies and marches all the time could be considered undue influence... but, I've been to my share of protests and they've never really swayed me towards a life as an advocate for the underprivileged and ill-represented. So, I suppose if she chooses that path, it'll be her choice to make.
I could go on, I could imagine a thousand directions her life might take.
But, for myself, I think I'd like to remember her forever like this... alone on the grass.... eyes closed... her hair in communion with the soft summer breeze and her breath somehow in steady rhythm with the seconds on my wall clock.
At this point, I don't think I'll get to sleep tonight, my editor needs this manuscript in by the morning or else she'll cut me with something sharp I'm sure... or, dock my advance... which is the literary equivalent of a shiv stab.
It's a little unbelievable that I... that we all arrived here. At this moment.
I look back at my life, at all the little worries and squabbles that seemed so much larger in the moment... so mortally important... and it dawns on me that at this moment, I am perfectly happy. All the more perfect for the struggles that I faced on the way to reaching this place.
I don't know what to say, except... 5, 4, 3, 2... wow. Happy Birthday, Lil.
This is... well... This is a memory I'll hold onto.
As much as I would love to stay in this state forever, I have to return to my work... take it all in, Lil. Before you've entered the word of deadlines. Oh, I hope she'll be a procrastinator like her father. Nah... not really.
Okay... Chapter... 13.
Preach to me, bastions of the far flung light...
That's all for now.
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