a rainy night spent in kneepads

i crouched on the floor, wood covered with a bright green tarp. spread out all around me was a vast array of things i have saved for just this kind of rainy night. the clock on the stove glowed a defiant red number, and i looked away quickly. numbers mean nothing tonight. i had spent the better part of the evening speaking with a friend of mine who just happens to understand this. the insane need for toothbrushing, the three a.m. outbursts of creative energy, the dawn light creeping in and stealing the magic. like a vampire, i feed off of the heavy raindrops and the slight creaking of the walls, the inaudible rhythm of my neighbors making love. i hung up the phone and took stock of the room. drums, guitars, an accordion, pastels, paints, an old suitcase, a few wooden wine boxes, a drawing of a goddess on a scrap of old foam board, a big piece of canvas for a mural piece, toolbox, spray adhesive, markers, jimi hendrix playing, little dog trying to get into everything, and me.crouching in kneepads wondering where to start. i have been working on breaking the mold...turning to subjects and mediums unfamiliar and challenging. the night swayed, pregnant with water and storm and emotion. i decided i needed to stand in it a little while, hoping to stave off this craving for a cigarette. i know it is unwise, but once in a great while it feels good to smoke outside in the rain. i had heard keef on the phone earlier take a drag and exhale. i admit, i held my breath and then exhaled when he did. strange things, those little cancer sticks.

next door ashley agreed to have a cig with me, and we all shared some wine and some words. i watched them like they were a movie, parker holding her on his lap under the big umbrella. the rain came down and we sat there in our little island, smoking and speaking our minds. it is such an inspriation to me to see her and parker in love the way they are. a perfect fit. i found my next project.

a different story, part one

ahh, it had been awhile. it had been so long since i felt primal. i walked carefully now on the damp carpet, smelling the renewed scent of dog piss from tenants past. fuck, i thought. i just spent fifty bucks on cleaning carpets than now smell disgustingly fresh. fresh with piss from untrained dogs of the past. fishing aroundin my pocket my fingers met with the object of my desire, a lighter. the incense wasn't gonna cure the problem, but it sure was gonna hide it for a minute. i peeled off the wet socks soaked with carpet cleaner and ancient dog piss. damn, i said. time to make something of myself.

the thought has been brewing for years now, almost a decade. i turned twenty eight and realized i have a gerbil wheel life. now, i don't discount living in the moment, going on adventures, being where i need to be, but jesus man. i am in a rut. the waitressing has kicked it, the bills have amassed in a proportion i can't even begin to handle, and the lessons of the past recklessness have surfaced with a venegance.

suddenly the smell of dog piss and nag champa doesn't matter. suddenly the fact that i want to create again makes me euphoric. without the former crutches of paint and brush, i am writing my art. i have been writing all night, and i can't seem to stop. all these scenes are spilling forth. i feel like writing a script...i feel like writing a distortion of my life, i feel like watching some more horrible soft porn and turning it off again. really hbo? man, you waste my time.

i turn to the sacredspace of the mind, the fertile soil of the untouched libido, the crossed boundaries of intimacy, the fragile sense of control. tonight i pioneer into my purpose, my past, my future, and into art. for art's sake, and for all of our sakes.

the insolence of abstinence, part trois

the small blue vw purred to life in the parking lot, and the three of them sped off into the night with a bottle of whiskey, cranberry juice, and a very expensive guitar. it would prove to be a costly night on many levels.

the girls sat in front while the pirate occupied the backseat next to his precious guitar. she felt a probing secretive hand moving between the console and front seat. in her mind, she knew it was a dangerous situation, but she couldn't help herself. all the words in the world couldn't justify the betrayal of her friend, and yet her lust consumed her. his fingers secretly twined in hers as her friend drove on toward her house. a small twist of a hand and he had replaced her silver turquoise ring with his skull ring. sly move, she thought. the ring he took had been her grandmother's ring and there was no way she'd let it out of her possession. not for long, anyways. as long as long as we exchange rings, we'll see one another again, they thought. and next time it will be alone.

the car slowed and she pulled her hand away, feeling the warmth recede as they parted. he handed her the goodies and grabbed his guitar as they made their way up to the house. her footsteps slowed as she took in the clear desert sky. oh, you guys, look. the three then stopped and turned skyward. a slight glow from the stars cast shadows outside. i've never seen so many stars, she said. years of living under the marine layer had clouded her. years of being single might have clouded her even more. she felt his eyes on her back as they walked into the house and she headed straight for the kitchen. him music is amazing, her friend said. her guilt battled her self righteousness. as if on cue, he magically produced a cd of his latest work. happy birthday, he said quietly. she took it from his hand, well aware of her friend's eyes burning into her skull. fuck.

i'm gonna make some bloody pirates, who wants one? she asked gaily. at this juncture it was redundant. three strong cocktails appeared swiftly, and they sat to watch his performance. not knowing what to expect, she was immediately impressed with his talent. this wasn't some amateur wannabe. this was infact, a true flamenco artist celebrity. he looked at her quickly before concentrating on the fluid extraction of sound coming from his coupling with the guitar. the women held their breath and tried to remain strong. both wanted him in the worst way. to complicate things further, the women had been lovers once in a drunken rendezvous years before. the tiny room was empty but for a table and three chairs. how appropriate, she thought. he had one under his foot as he played, and she watched his body arch and move with each tone, each stroke. the guitar had becme a woman. it had become her. it had embodied her friend. it encompassed all of making love through music. damn, he was good. the icecubes in her glass danced in the candlelight, making soft amber reflections and she thought to herself, i am in a dream.

the serenade dimmed and finished after a hour or so, and suddenly the room shifted again into an uncomfortable space. would the pirate take her? take her friend upstairs? take them both?

the insolence of abstinence, part deux

recounting the evening now, it seemed so far away. indeed, it had been nearly half a year ago. the details surfaced with each sip of wine, and she worried it would stain her teeth. i wish i had white in the house, she lamented silently. infortunately it was too late to get anything else, and she bent down to the laptop. these were her favorite moments. it might even be better recounting the memories than actually making them, she thought. the screen glowed a comfortable android bluish glow. the stereo pulsed with guitar, and she thought back to that night. thingshad been awkward as soon as she made the joke about the "bloody princess". suddenly the shift in attention made everyone precarious, but it was her birthday and she hardly noticed. i'm sure the story is different from the other perspectives, but who really gives a fuck? it's her story to tell, she told herself. she still hadn't talked to her friend, and it had proven to be an incredible night on many levels. what her friend had failed to mention was that she was still interested in the musician/pirate. she told her they had smooched a few times long ago, but it was all old history. she was on to another lover. game on, then, right?

one look at the situation and she knew it wasn't over in her friend's mind. his sharp nails dug into her back as she leaned in for a forbidden kiss. the liquor and music and his musk ran through her head. he reminded her of a vampire. the kiss was warm and soft, just a slight bite on her bottom lip as he pulled away. she breathed in quickly as they parted, looking at him. i must have you, he said. suddenly it was last call and decisions had to be made. i want to play for you girls tonight, he said. she ran her tongue over her swollen lower lip and tasted a bit of his kiss. she wanted him to come in the worst way but feared the alcohol and jealousy from her friend would complicate things. besides, she was staying at her friends house overnight. they had no place to go to be alone if anything were to happen anyways, as it was a two level loft studio.

her friend pulled him into the car, telling him to come over in a velvety voice. oh fuck, she thought. what do i do now? the buzz started to kick in heavy, and she got inside the car. carpe diem....here we go!

the insolence of abstinence, part one

it was a quiet sunday evening and she laid on the couch wearing a brown nightgown. there were more than enough cheesey movies on the tube, and she was better off writing her own drivel than watching more if it. one swift click and the room fell dark and silent. her freshly whitened teeth ached and she ran her tongue over each one. she remembered how her ex had stressed the importance of whitening her teeth. it may have been one of his fetishes, come to think of it now. but that was years ago. somehow, certain aspects of fallen relationships stick with you, and this was no exception. the surround sound roared to life and she pushed the play button without picking a track. the house echoed suddenly with flamenco guitar, and she thought back to the man who had played the music for her on her birthday. oh, fuck. i might need a glass of red with this, she thought. she recalled his foot resting on the seat of a chair, his long nails scratching and plucking the strings of a beautifully inlaid guitar. from under a leather brimmed hat he looked at her cautiously, playing the most incredible music she'd never before heard. someone in town had told her he was a friend of yanni's...and later she began to realize that a private in home concerto was nothing to discount. but we are getting ahead of ourselves.

it was hard for her to feel truly impressed. fame, fortune, beauty,immense wealth...all the key ingredients did not phase her. it would be nice, but it was the poets and writers and composers and artists and entrepreneurs...it was the real person who caught her attention. like attracts like, they say. in this case, he saw her before she even knew what was coming. his music spoke to her before she had heard it.

ironically, it was her birthday and he was a part of her present. her friend had wanted to introduce them and after a fine dinner the three of them met at the most fascinating bar in all of old sedona. (wink). he bore an uncanny resemblance to johnny depp, and this pleased her more than she cared to admit at the time. it certainly pleased him, for he played it up with pirate quips and a pinky ring emblazened with a bone skull. what a character, she thought. it's been done already, dude. her imperviousness melted after he brought her a shot of jagermeister and ordered himself a "bloody pirate". inwardly rolling her eyes, she later laughed aloud when his drink arrived in a foofy glass and was alarmingly "pink". it's more like a "bloody princess", wouldn't you agree 'mate'? they immediately roared with uncontrollable laughter and the wall of pretention fell without notice.

in fact, the only one who noticed was the third wheel who had before their meeting considered herself the copilot. suddenly there was an awkward silence coming from her friend, and then a further shock when she started singing opera in the middle of the bar patio. the pirate looked from woman to woman and then quickly decided to order another drink. the singing was indeed beautiful, but it was a ploy for attention and she listened carefully as she picked up her purse. i'm gonna get another drink, she said softly. the pirate watched her go and turned to the songstress. as she left the patio she didn't hear what he told her, but she gathered her friend was uncomfortable. now is the perfect time to leave them alone, she thought somewhat discontentedly. after all, he was supposed to be her birthday present.

she plunked down inside the bar and ordered a shot and a beer. the old man sitting next to her looked at her with interest, but so did all old men in bars. the band playing was actually quite good, as she was surprised sedona had so much musical talent. it was a perfect place to reflect on what was important. before she was consumed in her thoughts the old man extended his hand and offered a name. they struck up a conversation and she mentioned the fact that her town was burning down. all the freeways are shutting down and the fires are expected to burn to the coast. they are close to my home and all of my loved ones are there...she started to get teary eyed. the old man signaled the barkeep with a wiggle of his finger and more shots appeared. the familiar licorice flavor rushed to her head and the slight burn delighted her senses afterwards. thank you, sir. now what is it that you do?

he paused as if to drunkenly appropriate his thoughts, and then resigned to the truth. i make ears, he said. what? yes, i make prosthetic ears. and limbs. so you're a prosthetist? he blinked uncertainly. how did a drunken artist thirty years his junior know his profession? don't worry, she assured him. i went on a blind date with a doctor who made fake feet. that's as far as we went, but halloween will be fun for his next date! they both laughed, and she took a long swig of the brown ale in her hand. it was an old standby, and it was doing the trick. what a birthday, she thought. i am all alone in a bar with an old man who makes fake ears and i am drinking....just as her thoughts turned south a hand slid around her waist. mon amour, a voice said low. lips pressed deep into her neck and left with a slight nibble. shivers ran down her core and he pulled away and she looked at the pirate. uh,oh, she said.

part deux to follow

sober interpretation of the truth

we all do our fair share of making what some call "mistakes". i prefer to think of them as lessons, but to each their own. i have been brewing with ideas lately, most of which include shaking off being so scared of...everything. what a realization to wake up one day and see that you are the only one holding you back from your wildest dreams! i am so comfortable here in san diego, my little routines in places and community nestled close. so comfortable, in fact, that i channel all this bullshit into behaviors of distraction. the truth of the matter is that i am not happy. i am afraid of love, even though that is what i crave the most. i can be irresponsible, defensive, manic, and depressed all in one day. the human condition is just that...spirit housed in an individual body. i feel so optimistic and focused on life, then weeks pass and i just want to give up. i ask myself if it were up to me right now, where would i be and what would i be doing? then after pondering those thoughts, how does one get there?

i have an amazing network of friends here, and the weather is oh so comfortable. maybe that is the problem. cost of living is insane, i work just to survive, and i float here in the sea of dreams with not much wind. i have been considering moving north and going back to school. my brain feels mushy from underexposure to new ideas. am i running away from home again?

there are so many things i'd like to do with my life, yet i am falling short and stagnating. it is hard to really face myself and not stick my ostrich head in the sand for another year. i caught up on bills today and realized that i have a lot of growing up to do. i've been offered advice from a hundred people but it really boils down to knowing what i want and going inward and outward to get it.

drunken interpretation of truth

forgive all the misspells////
i have found the truth.

viloletta divot

the club face dug deep into the fairway when he swung. just a practice swing, but still a large swath of grass flew up and away. a patch of exposed earth remained like a fresh wound even after the second swing connected with the ball. like a rocketship, the tiny white ball exploded in an exponential curve out of sight and then reappeared some three hundred yards away. her eyes were trained to follow the path and she waited expectantly for it to land. far away from where they stood, it made an inaudible thump on the green, rolling closer to the hole than either of them imagined it would. "hmmm, nice shot there." the very feel of grass under her feet reminded her of twenty five years prior. dressed in black slacks and a yellow collared shirt, she strode to the tee. every male eye followed her steps, wondering if they might see something different today. it was a crisp afternoon, about 60 degrees and lightly breezy. the club felt light in her hand and she held the ball in her hand with the tee protruding betewwen her gloved fingers. head down, eye on the ball, easy swing, let the club do the work. her grandmother's voice melded with her father's in her head. the group behind held their breath like little children on christmas.

as if in slow motion, her left arm stiffened and drove downward in an arch. her grip was comprised of two hands intermeshed perfectly at the pinkies. the titleist number 3 swam into the sky, flying like a crescendo until it took a downward toll. thump. it landed not far from the green and the spectators exploded in appreciation. not bad, even for a woman. a smile graced her lips as she deftly grabbed the broken remnants of her tee. i guess i still got it, she thought. in a swift motion she returned the club to her bag and held the top of the golfcart, swinging into the seat. it had been a few years since she'd played, and yet it came flying back. the cart lurched and they took off for the green. seconds later, nine iron in hand, she recounted the taste of reward. flashing back to age nine, she grasped the nine iron and looked around at the semi circle of students surrounding her. with an inward knowingness, her joints staid loose and she choked up on the club. the motion was swift, with a short backswing and a quick follow through. it felt almost like a hatchet, she thought. the ball sailed dead on toward it's target, knocking over the tin can in the center. astonished, the pro came over and congratulated her. the wooden spoon was shaped like a spade and she dug into the tiny cup of strawberry and vanilla swirled icecream. the willows on the course swayed in the lakewinds, and she felt so proud. approaching the green, she could almost taste that icecream again. this time there was only her colleagues, but it felt the same. choking up on the club, she debated using a pitching wedge. what i didn't know then won't hurt me now, she thought silently. creating a mental space, she sent the ball in a gentle arch and it fell a foot from the hole, rolling in and sputtering against the plastic.

they howled in approval, and she felt crowds cheering from a different strain of reality. the fork in the road reappeared in her head, sending her into an old place of decision. "you could go pro," they said. "keep at it and you could be on tour by the time you're eighteen." as a nine yeart old girl, the pro tour seemed farfetched. and even so, it seemed far less glamorous tha being an author, a poet, an artist, an actress, an anchor on channel four.

the chemical smell of fertilizer brought her back out of deep thought. she just birdied the hole and it was the first time she's done that in years. fuck, man. it got her to recounting the favorite sounds in her life. the clarinet, first heard on the disney channel. the colors of the cartoon were still etched in her memory. what was that cartoon movie about hunting the wolf, anyways? all she knew was she had to capture that sound.

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the stage lights burned down on her heavy black concert dress. god this thing is fucking horrendous, she said to herself. her armpits dripped with pubescent sweat. the lights swelled and the audience disappeared. her legs reacted before her mind, conditioned to his appearance onstage. "good evening, ladies and gentlemen. it is my priveledge to present to you this year's final concert." with that, he motioned for them to sit and stood facing them next to his podium. a flitter of amusement creased his lips, and he inhaled sharply. she knew what that meant. a thin cool ribbon of precision moved through the air, tuning the ensemble to concert c. he stomped his foot in approval as he mounted the podium, raised his baton and looked at her. inhale. the tip of the baton cut down like a knife and she began...
the music flowed like a river of feelings out of a lovestruck bard and the bottom of her clarinet moved in slow circles as if to coerce it out further. eyes closed, he spun the air into a fevered pitch, horns protesting as cymbals crashed. timpanies moved like thunderclouds as the orchestra groaned, much like sailboat at storm. lost now were the feelings of being chucked into her locker by the jocks. gone now were the sneers of passing cheerleaders as she made her way with clarinet case in hand. tears started warm and thick as lights poured down and he stroked the air and brought such beauty from the band. evoked such beauty from her, just a child.
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"and how is everything," she asked. her pseudo tuxedo had a few butter stains and her smile was wearing thin at eleven p.m. the restaurant had closed an hour prior, but they still managed to squeeze every last drop out of her patience. "oh, it is wonderfull," her guests babbled. "and you were so right about the blue cheese crust!" she inwardly rolled her eyes and choked back the bile rising in her throat. she had been vegetarian for years now. " i knew you'd enjoy it," she forced the words out of her mouth with a wanton smile. turning away, her arms felt numb from the eighteen holes of golf the day before. she had only been able to play fifteen, as the carpal tunnel had been setting in from years of waitressing. she walked despondently toward the kitchen, wondering where life was really going. one hand grasped her opposing wrist firmly and alleviated the pain. suddenly the restaurant was filled with a familiar sound and she slowed her pace. glenn miller's orchestra was playing one of her all time favorite songs....moonlight serenade. in her mind her fingers danced on a bed of keys long forgotten and she sighed. what a journey, she thought. maybe i'll buy a clarinet on ebay tonight.

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the trees moved languidly in a shadowy semi-tropical gust of wind. they looked like a painting, she thought. i should paint. instead, she brought her wine glass to her lips and inhaled the aromas. a deep bouquet for a white, she thought. my, how things have changed. long gone were the nights of scotch and cigarettes. now she was watching the rain and drinking white wine (alone). the top of her sweater rested on her lips and she brushed them against it. how i'd like to share any of this with someone who would get it. the thought made her rethink her choices in men. in women. her mother had apologized years ago, telling her she might just be ruined. i've loved you as no partner ever can, nor will. i've given you everything i could give, she said. the top of the fleece felt rough and warm. if i exist, then there must be someone out there who will undertstand me, too. the rain drove lightly into her leg at an angle. it feels good to be alive.