Please...

Just call or swing a hammer
I'll lose my voice if you speak first
Trying hard not to beg
That's why my cryptic work
Lost voice sounding inaudibly
Can't I forgive?
I try
I give
Forget to mention what was,
What is?
Past the past;
Pass the before
Before it drags you
Hello
Goodbye
Is there ever one of those?
Badbye
Greetings honesty
Do you do well?
Do you do well to dwell?
Save it like my soul
It's not mine to sell.

Hello yesterday, Goodbye tomorrow. October 22, 2010 (9:42am)

Pulling my fucking hair; drawing my angst; spiking my inability to put words against emotion; still my mind motions against a body without an ocean or landing...flattened. Rocking back and toward the other (continue) stop...it never does, like dust and fuzz; which is the culprit? I imagine life being something simple, cruel, and happy...without the perception and involving mostly the thing that deceives that rhymes with...why is pizza better when you know its going to love your mouth, but a home isn't yours until its a house but home is where my smarts are and its parked behind my my car that runs on guilt...666 MPG, sorry the above is the insurance in my glove-box, afraid of salvation...this weak interpretation of what is below (me)., Blinded only to hear what everyone else doesn't shut the fuck up about; I'm not a body of, I'm yours...of course. Vows aren't what you think. Eye to eye only when you sink. Feet cut by some of it; if not because, then because its easy to hurt when you're looking down while being looked down upon...once, princess.

Best Together When Apart (Part I)

April 23, 2005(7:29am)

“Sarah!”

“What?” She was caught off guard, confused, she giggled...thought it was his temper.

“Do you know how hard it is to keep you away?” He found a place to pull over.

“Away from where?”

“Stop!” He put the car into park. “Listen, I know: You’re who you are, that’s sensible. I’ll still say I can exist without you.” He said it objectively. “You’re attracted to me because I’m me,” plainly put.

“Who’s attracted to you?” She asked defensively.

“Am I afraid of you OR are you afraid of me?” Paul asked.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She had every right questioning his comment.

“I would rather watch you part from me than regret seeing you inside.”

“I told you I don’t want to be there,” she said swiveling her head poignantly.

“You won’t be there, as you wish,” finally turning his head. “Nobody gets this deep.” Paul said with an adorable goofiness.

“Would you be more serious, please? Fuckin’ dick!” She couldn’t tell anymore; heads or tails?

“Shit!” He threw his hands down hard against the steering wheel.

“What?” She asked confused.

“I’m completely out of chap stick.”  They both sighed.

Sarah wanted this -nobody knows about my life- deal to lie down. As much as Paul may have felt about Sarah, He should’ve known better and only remembered her as current. Thinking that was put-upon strangely, but Sarah wanted him to have confidence in her silent affair with him. The control was hers and for her, with him. Knowing how she felt about him kept her there. How could he not know how I feel about him, she told herself often enough. Progress for the past two and a half years seemed positive; a premier involvement with a person just discovered. Sarah didn’t care about deciding how she and Paul got in one place together, she was just glad they had.

“Why are you mad at yourself?” She already new.

“I don’t know. It’s just that, I let my,”

“Defenses down.” She interjected quickly.

“Yeah,” he said with sudden sadness.

“I’m going to run away.”

“Now you’re going to run away!?” No need for an answer he decided.

Sarah loved Paul and Paul loved Sarah. There were no secrets, just some falling out. Perhaps there was a little sidestepping between some absolute meanings. Their love is one line over and over again, non-stop and perfect. Getting to that point had more fat and more detail. It’s only fair to know the secret up front to know why it was kept in the first place.

For two and a half years Paul spent a great deal of his free time with Sarah. He couldn’t remember where twenty-three and twenty four went, but knew they weren’t wasted, not when his time was spent with her. It happens that he got stuck thinking that those years were so comfortable and easy. He didn’t need to expend much energy to figure out if it was good or bad. No cares he thought most of the time...no difficulties preventing him from knocking around or picking to death moments in every way. Helplessly he drowned himself in the past without bothering to find out how something happened; how events really transpired. The amount of guilt and assumption weighed him, it dragged his feet. His thoughts were gyred under his eyes and the stalls in his voice. The grooved face that was his now had been consumed by worry. After meeting Sarah he hadn’t ever had to think about much of anything more. Knowing that he had no reason for concern, besides regular daily decision, curled the corners of his lips and kept it impossible not to be happy. He never regretted any of that time. It was as much for her as it was for him. Sarah was why his eyes didn’t have dark circles anymore, was that fair?

It’s not to be said that Paul and Sarah didn’t fit. Both of them, after noticing, got along very well. They asked each other playfully how this was possible. The question never was answered, the conversations always ended with a joke or some unfit forge of sarcasm from Paul.

“Wow, I mean really, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much awe...ever.” Paul said shaking his head incredulously. 

“Oh stop. So I think people should stop being poor, that’s not weird.” She started laughing, he did too.

“You are so right...hell what have I been thinking all these years? What an easy solution...we should call the papers. Perhaps they can all be fashion designers as well, so much untapped resources and creativity.”

“Oh no, sorry, I won’t wear it, not if they make them.”

“Why would they be making them if they’re not poor anymore? Wouldn’t they have kids making them? Of course, remember these people aren’t poor, who’s going to clean the toilets?” She knew he was just being a dick, but he said it with so much concern. “We need to make robots now. Oh shit!!”

“What is it?” Now she was concerned.

“Ugly people, we forgot about them, what are we to going to do about them?” He begged with his eyes for an answer.

“Shut up,” she blushed; he laughed. “Why do we get along?”

“It’s all me. I make this work.” He joked.

“Not much to work with then, huh?”

“Listen you’re cute in shorts and a tank top, but I just sound good.”

“You’re an idiot!” Sarah said.

“You’re a blessing; pure relief.”

“From what?” She asked.

“Unnecessary doubt.” He laughed a little bit more.

“Of what?” She was trying to understand.

“That there isn’t anyone left to enjoy time with, together. I have absolute peace when I’m around you. There is no real reason for me to question it or even understand it, I couldn’t care less. I know what I feel when I’m with you, it’s entirely too good of a feeling to doubt. I care about you; I don’t care why. But, maybe…it’s your breasts.” He shrugged.

“Dick. Just when I think you’re being cute...”

“I go and obviate sincerity.” He smiled; she sneered.

Neither one of them really took each other too seriously. But that was because of restraint. Sarah didn’t know Paul hid things. The walks back and forth in his backyard. Nights were consumed by thought, he walked non-stop. Thoughts of her pooled, then drained, and then gathered gently inside him. Becoming a person’s evening is painful. He wrote one night he wished he could give her the thoughts he had about her.

July 18, 2005(4:34am)

“Because I’m afraid of everything you’ve told me,” Paul said very quietly.

“I just wish no one would love me,” Sarah said. She had already felt it. What is it? She knew; she grew from it and shrank. It was what she remembered and tried to forget.

I beg of you. October 18, 2010 (4:27pm)

Not really sure what to write, actually. Straying from what the original premise plagues me a bit, but I feel I need to explain or to some extent reveal a little about what’s going on with my process just so I can certify my obvious digression.  Setting out to read my entire library and document my progress might have been just a slight ruse; a foot in the door to revealing what I really wanted to accomplish…writing. I’m definitely writing now. What I’m doing now is editing a short story I wrote some time ago, I’ll post it soon. I also, gladly remarking, have some feedback from some past brain excrement that I’ll share here. Until then remember this: You’re only as important as you are you…are you?

-xkp

Fuck thyself and thou shall be fucked. October 15, 2010 (7:38am)

And that's why it really hurts

Too much of nothing gets you...October 14, 2010 (6:41am)

       When does it begin, the decline? Is it when you're born? Is there a structure of life where good becomes better and best out ranks all, until you lower yourself toward death? Is it slow rise, slow rise; reach-reach, accomplish, then: fall, falling, failing, flattened, failed? Not a test, a pop quiz, a chance to live or the best chance to die; to end? Fuck, I'm not looking for answers, you eager-to-answer twit, I'll live what I have left to live then glance at my notes to prove that I did.
      Pardon the gap; excuse the space...this place has me confined and determined to pace. The mind is tricky, but trickier to ourselves...to ourselves? We share with others, selectively, and not...to some degree: I'm what I show to you, 1/4 to her; less to him, less always of me.
       I don't know anymore, no really sure I ever did, but quitting is easy sometimes, but harder some other times as well. Staying with quitting is like staying with not quitting, that's really annoying. Expecting what one expects of another depending on what you've let them expect...not unexpected, but left to...

        Excuse the gap; pardon the space...its hard to think clearly when the mind continues the race.

(My possible fiction)-

"I am Not"

The monster I am, the monster I am; this is part of the monster I am.

 It’s not quiet in here, it never is. There’s a peaking of an idea; the scream of a dream, the blinding memories trying to escape, but none ever find a way out. What was the name of that girl I kicked out of my house two years ago for calling me a cry baby? I was so drunk I really didn’t even know she was there, until…

“Thank you for choosing Captain’s, how are you today?” Disgusted and afraid, because you’re a stranger, I don’t like strangers and here I am going through another spike in my darkness. I’m thinking about doing that one thing you can only do once and no one forgives you for doing. I think I’m not going to be able to pay my rent on time again and…

“I’m fine. Can I get a number one with lemonade please?” How have I made it this far? Why did I make it this far? I haven’t done enough good to deserve this extended life. Possibly, life is your punishment and not a gift. That girl crossing the parking lot is fucking hot!

“Will that be all for you today?” Why don’t I ever have my wallet ready? I’m going to have to lift my ass, release my foot off the break, hold the money and steer the car to the first window and if I don’t do it quick enough I’ll start panicking because I’m not that guy that holds up lines. I should be more prepared. This is ridiculous, I have to shit. Only one more day of work (you don’t work), its work.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Six dollars and 30 cents at the first window, please.” I wonder if she’s a pet owner, the girl working the window, I bet she is. She’ll cry when her beagle dies, but is that worse off than someone who neglects an animal and feels nothing. Comparatively, there is more to lose being compassionate than there is being apathetic (this is a tired thought), I’ll stop then. “Hi, six-thirty,” christ I never park close enough to that window, it’s about as far away as the life I’d prefer to have. “Here you go, have a nice day.” Don’t drop my change, don’t drop my change, don’t drop my change. I can turn the music back up. Two factors that never happen simultaneously: the cute window server and them noticing that you’re listening to Soft Bulletin. You’ll sometime get one part of that equation and then she won’t notice the music and this isn’t the place for such come-ons and nonsense. Food; drive away, I wonder if I’ll still wanna jerk off as bad as I do right now? The music should be turned up louder; I don’t need it, but I’ll smoke a cigarette."

Samples always taste better in twos

-xkp

         

Fucking touch pad laptop!! October 7, 2010 (8:06am)

The shower thoughts were pretty sweet, mostly gone now though, with the exception of something someone said the other night aloud that has got me almost laughing at my own generic thoughts. She said: “you’re gonna live longer than you think and at a point in your life you’d better start taking care of yourself otherwise that long life you didn’t expect is gonna suck even worse.” I guess people have such lives that they forget that there are other people who’ve been through so much more and lived and lived and lived, damn that’s nauseating. Maybe that’s why smart people marry? I’m not smart nor do I think I’m going to die early in life, save “divine intervention” or the law of the ‘verse. But I do feel I’ll live for some time beyond my histrionic predictions, but I’ll live as I want not as I feel I need to. I’ve meandered, or strayed, or gone of in a direction I’d not planned to go, no apologies but plenty of…this is straight from the lobe and if you don’t want to be exposed, wear clothes. This is me disrobing; hold your applause and gag reflexes…time to fast forward this rewind, I’ll accept your best guesses.

Always for less,

-xkp

i hate this fucking computer! I just wrote a thought, accidentally did something with the touch pad and lost the thought! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

October 7, 2010 (6:49am)

    I have this feeling (not that one) that I'm doing this wrong. There just seems to be a knock at my brain's back door (giggle) and it wants me to rethink what I'm doing here. Am i supposed to be detailing my thinking, my days, my ever (I meant ever, not every) dulling moments? Today I woke up (shitty) and made toast, I don't make toast, not recently anymore. Toast makes me want eggs and eggs makes me want bacon and if it weren't for bacon I wouldn't know how to live. Today I showered (well that's only interesting if you haven't showered for several days), well fuck. The shower does produce some interesting thoughts and I'd probably be able to keep more of those thoughts if i wasn't so paranoid that someone would hear me having those thoughts and then exploit them in one way..or many others. I think I'll go shower now then come back and post again.
Surprisingly yours,
-me

October 4, 2010 (9:01pm)

Another boring correspondence displayed eagerly for gratitude (damn this is hard. I’m trying to write using the alphabet in succession as the first letter of each word). Historically I jam keen lessons meticulously nearing other possibilities, quite repulsive. Some things usually veer when Xeroxed; yes, zany.

OK I’ll definitely have to practice that a lot more with a much better setup (thesaurus; dictionary, lots of erasers). Possibilities are endless; materials can be as well, it all depends on what you don’t mind using and determining what will be using you…stupid! Fear of a ghost, coast-to-coast, loss of hope and no it doesn’t make any sense, but we’re not breaking a dollar here, just clarifying confusion by confusing, biting the dog whose hair bit us. A braless strap, pure crap and other things as well. I’m Paging Doctor Fuck and prank calling your subconscious hoping for a reaction, that’s some satisfying attraction, retracting lacking love for, yourself.

I realize that some, if not all, of this doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but the idea is to be writing regardless of material. By now you’ve gathered that it is not all gold, closer to lead shavings more than anything, but nonetheless, still, at least it is an attempt to put thought to page. Yes I dream, as do you, of the day when I can plug a USB cord from my noggin to my computer and record thoughts; I hope there’s an edit button, don’t want you to know exactly how this spoiled brain works. Fuck I don’t even want that much knowledge of myself…in fact I’m now scared a little bit about that sort of technology actually becoming available before I leave this life. Fucking self induced panic about something that doesn’t even exist yet or may never in fact be created, happens all the time, doesn’t it? Sitting at a red light: at first you’re enjoying the music, noticing yourself dragging on a cigarette, then as you change perspective to ash, you see the passengers beside you; ‘they look scary’, you might think. You look away quickly, because you don’t want to be caught leering and accused of being odd or weird or prying; which we all are. ‘Stop being so paranoid of who you are’…that’s how you talk yourself down (stop talking to yourself), but then some memory you’ve suppressed for years works its way in and the anxiety goes deeper; ‘how could I have done that!?’ might follow the thought; you shake your head physically, a feeble attempt to extricate the thought from your head. Looking around you hope no one saw you the way you saw the guy behind you picking his nose, but he knows he doesn’t care if someone did, so why do I? (I know interchanging the “I” and “you” as the subject is a no-no, but it was what I wanted)

See how that worked out? Went from nearly not having any material to streaming a paragraph I could almost tolerate. Satisfaction is accumulating in my head and shrinking my worries just like chemo would cancer (I'm my own cancer's chemo; that's a tad fucked-up). Both aren’t good for you, but one is better than the other, I think or not, I should stop now before I’m even more behind; that sort of behind you get when you actually think you’re ahead. Even if I am behind now at least I know my place to be tangibly accurate instead of disillusioned and sad. I’m stopping now, I promise. Quitting this still would be nice, but I won’t, for you, but don’t tell anyone…I won’t either.

-xkp

October 1, 2010 (9:20am)

That’s what the darkness feels like, were you listening? There may be cringing, but what I’ve said is inaudibly disgusting. Trying hard gives a result of perish and shame. Can’t you respond? Aren’t you fond of what you can relate to? No, absolutely not, you want fantasy; those things you can’t see, beyond you and me. A time stamp pressures you to remember where you were when I can never remember being. Details and obsessions; she and he felt the way I felt, gosh…we’re the same.

December 5th 2009 (7:09am)

I’m empty, soulless and tired. I have little interaction, socially, outside of work and the obvious unhealthiness of it is eroding any confidences I have. Being this way to me is tolerable or at least acceptable personally, but when it breaches from the internal and leaks out for others to notice I retreat deeper within myself. It is disgusting, nearly intolerable, but the pattern follows the life long behavior and slowly I love it. Drawing from the pain is easy and even easier is the ability to transform it into mental events or scenarios that never take place and are always of the darkest nature. Troubled by what I can’t stand to be a part of and fear its altogether absence sends me reeling into depths that seem too gone to get away from. I know nothing else; though I am not ignorant enough to think it’s going to be such a constant state of emotional torture, I still can believe I won’t hold on to anything greater than the darkness I wear as a ring.

I shopped to feel better: does this beat drinking? Trading evils, bartering with anything to alleviate shame and disappointment with the person I call me?

Understanding what Isaac Asimov said about never having writers block because he was so curious about so many different subjects gives me hope. The kind of hope that I’ll someday write stories that rape the optimism from my readers and leave them feeling something strong and perverse about what they’d thought they’d had a confident grasp on.  I am surrounded by books about so many different subjects that could very easily provide me with material to prevent the block only to be blanketed with dust and neglect. If there was a switch I’d flick it, a torch to light and I’d ignite it with my eyes closed just to taste my potential for the seconds I savoir them.

Perfected Faults

When a thought drops of mine

It’s in your hand before the floor

I know when I tell you something

I don’t need to say anymore

Like explaining at length

I’m conveying your strength

I’m weak and you know

You-to-me you show

You see me at my worst

It hurts, but it heals

I’m clothed and peeled

Opened best when sealed

In your figurative arms

Disarmed-because you make easy

I make my problems

You want to solve them

I hate to wish for me

This one is for you

Those times I see your feelings

Hiding in your eyes

Is he one of those guys?

You’re one of those girls-

The axis of my world

Familiar as hell

Similar to smell

Like pennies, copper, and blood

Burning matches the way you should.

Why wait?

 Words whisper

Cry late

Absurd sits near

Laugh laughter sideways

A craftier craft than realized

Genuine generosity over exerted at times

It’s not fine to cross lines

Try selfish sometimes

Pry hellishly till you don’t bleed

Dismantle this man till…

You don’t need

Or that pseudo strength

You-to-me you show,

At length

You’re weak, I know

It’s OK

 Minds are always flailing:

That’s part of the pause

Memories are forever sailing.