I wonder what you’re doing
I wonder where you are
There’s oceans in between us
But that’s not very far
-Puddle Of Mud
I said early on, that I would never put anything other than new stuff on this site. I don’t think I realized how difficult it would be to work, live, and create new content every day. I was doing it to prove to myself that I could write. It didn’t need to be brilliant, or even good…my first drafts are seldom good. With luck and tinkering and humility and amputation, they become good over time. But again - daily creation is difficult. Because without going back to edit, or to re-work, re-think, and re-tool what i’m working on…I never really improve upon it.
Now, not much fiction has gone up on this site…only the Carnival category holds the first piece of fiction i’ve posted. So tonight, here’s another. It’s something i’ve been working on for a while…and i’m putting it here so that I can see it in a medium other than Microsoft Word. This time around…i’m doing it for me - and not for anyone that might be reading. It might not make any sense at all, and frankly, I’m ok with that. You all take care and have a great night. Oh - and if you’re reading it - please let me know what you think. I have 2 fairly rabid fans. One posts to almost every single entry I write- - and the other one, who wishes to remain in shadows, emails me daily. I thank you both. So here is a tiny chunk from the huge volume of work, passionately entitled, “A Life Lived Poorly - tales from time and time again”
The phone rang at three in the morning. That’s never good. No matter what you’d like to believe…no matter the fantasy you’ve crafted in your mind about a long lost love, or about winning the lottery, they vanish in the second before you have to pick up that phone.
It was Gary’s mom. She was calling, at this late hour, to let me know that Gary had died. See, it wasn’t his fault really. He wasn’t to blame. At least no more than when he got hit with the side-view mirror of a jeep that drove to close to him while he jogged in the street…and no more to blame than when a pigeon scared both he and his bike into a parked car, breaking a headlight, a reflector, and his right hand…and certainly no more to blame than when we broke his arm, after sliding in, of all things, dog crap. No, no more at fault than any of those times. He was camping, and there was an accident.
I’ve pissed myself…been pulled over for speeding…punched a girlfriend….fucked a stranger…stolen candy…and thrown up in a police car. ALL ACCIDENTS…but none of them killed my friend. I didn’t trust her use of the word…it just wasn’t potent enough.
I didn’t know what to say to her - she was crying - and alone - so alone…immediately I thought that i’d run over there to comfort her, and hugging and comfort would soon lead to tongues and necks and my hand on the curve of her divorced-and-oh-so-perfect-ass. I immediately became ashamed and forced my mind in a different direction. Gary was an only child, and his father had died years ago. She needed more than my twisted mind…she needed more than my curiosity regarding what she tasted like. “Alex, honey….I need you to deliver his eulogy. You’re the only one who really knew him. he loved you - we both did,” and then she was gone.
I looked around the room - it all seemed foreign. Nothing seemed real or live or there, on any level. I got out of bed and started touching things. My computer, the lamp, a book. And then I just started to cry. To weep, really. My dog, sensing something wrong, moved in closer. Nice on a winter night.
continue reading "Everything’s So Blurry"