16 - Rearranging The Furniture

     "Just hang it a little further to the left."
     "If you are going to be so goddamn picky about this picture why don't
you do it yourself?" There were days when I wondered if all of this
bullshit was worth it.
     "It's just too heavy for me you know that." She put on her sweet voice
again. I couldn't take the sweet voice, it always made me weak.
     "Besides it's your apartment.  It's ultimately your choice."
     "How much further to the left?" I could feel her smile burning the back
of my head.
     She refused to live with me. In her mind for us to live together would
be pushing the envelope. She wouldn't date me either.  I never
understood how that worked.  She wouldn't have an intimate relationship
with me because we were able to have a conversation.
     She had no problem rearranging the furniture. I really couldn't blame
her. The apartment was looking better.  Furniture arranging together
isn't a commitment, it's more like an idea of what the commitment could
be like.  It's a test of your ability to compromise.  Now buying
furniture together, that's commitment.
     I moved the picture just a hair to the right as I thought about her
current boyfriend.

15 - Short & Sweet

    "My life is far too short to read this tedious bullshit you send,"
she said unsympathetically.  "I don't care if most it is true.  It's too
wordy. You say the same thing time after time.  I'm not saying that it's
bad, but come on!"
    She was beautiful, intelligent, and a writer far beyond my talents.
She was also completely uninterested in me.  That always sent the
machines in my head into overdrive.
    "You wanted my opinion I gave you my opinion."  I always asked for
her opinion when I needed a reality check.  It rarely ever bounced.
Mine usually tapped the clouds twice and then skimmed across the ocean.
    "This is why I love you," I thought out loud, " not in the biblical
sense, but in that let's-get-naked-by
the-fireplace-and-stare-into-each-others-eyes kind of way."  She wasn't
amused.  I like that too.
    "Did I mention that you're an asshole?"  She said with a hint of a
smile.
    "Yeah, about 35 times.  Look just for you I'll keep the next few
entries short and sweet."
    "I'll believe it when I see it."

14 - The Beautiful

     There is no limit to the comprehension of the mind.  Those who do not
believe in it's abilities are their own worst enemies.
    The only way to defeat the beast is to confront it head on.  The
beast expects you to crawl and vomit from fear.  It loves the fact that
you will go hours even years out of your way to avoid a thirty second
conversation that could show you to be a better person, much stronger
than you ever imagined.
    Do you do that?  Do you let fear run some aspect of your life?  What
scares you?  Is it death?  I doubt it.  Death is the most peaceful end,
as far as we know it.  There is no great conflict.  The decisions have
been made and you are not responsible.  This is something that is beyond
your control.  You will not be to blame.
    I think living scares people.  The thought that you are ultimately
responsible for the decisions that you make and the way you live your
life is far more than some can take.  Most people are content to live as
victims; sheep following the herd.  They have the audacity
to wonder why things don't work out as planned, why life never treats
them fairly, why things don't go their way.      Please don't let
yourself be one of these weak links.
    Don't be confused.  It is time consuming to constantly be on top of
the game and we all let ourselves slack.  The way to do it is not to
become the slacker that people compare their failures to.  Example:  My
life might be in the toilet but _____ is doing absolutely nothing, or
______ is a useless human being.  We all know some name that we could
use to fill in the blanks.
    I think truth scares people.  It all comes down to following rules
that govern our conduct as human beings.  You don't have to screw people
to get ahead and you don't have to be a doormat for people to like you.
Be honest with your friends and be true to yourself  and you should be
ok.  WARNING being honest will probably limit the amount of friends you
have but you will have good friends.  Those who don't like you will
still possibly respect you.
    As ominous as it may all seem it is still beautiful.  I see the
darkness through the beauty only because I can see the beauty in the
darkness.  I could tell you the truth but that would be too easy.  Maybe
you'll think of me when I'm gone.  Maybe you'll realize what drove the
machines.  Maybe one day you'll figure out why the rains fall so hard
and why the river runs so deep or maybe you will just go hours even
years out of your way to avoid a thirty second conversation that could
show you to be a better person, much stronger than you ever imagined.

That Beautiful Black Man

13 - Self Help Mode

    Some have asked if I have ever been in love.  The answer is yes of
course.  I actually remember telling a dear woman all of the reasons I
could marry her.  I wish I could tell you all of them but that was just
too long ago.
    Matters of the heart have always been less than a mystery to me.
Talk.  that's all you really have to do.  Don't assume that your
relationship is so perfect that you will just magically know what the
other wants.  I have come to the realization that I am lazy.  I refuse
to play the simple minded game of emotional power.  I want to be very
cut and dry when involved with someone.  I will try to help with the
needs of my significant other but I cannot read minds (not all the
time).  I must be communicated with.  I am as simple as a six year old
sometimes so you might just have to say it more than once.
    Oh yeah, the sex can't suck.  Bad sex is worse than no sex.  If it's
bad let your partner know or it will just get worse.  (Oh God I think
I'm in Self Help Mode ... Somebody shoot me.)
    I have watched couples make the strangest yet most perfect
connections and I have also seen people attempt to polish shit.  At
times I am unsure of what category I fall into.   I do know that I will
not attempt to polish shit.  This could turn into a tirade but that is
something that would take up the next week of The Days and we all know how
long that can be.  My tirades are also much more entertaining in
person.  If you've seen one you know exactly what I mean and if you
haven't seen one you may have heard about it.
    I think about these things because I'm getting old.  I am the old
guy at the club.  I passed the phase where I can walk by a mother
(late 30's -40's)/daughter (20's) and look at either one.  I have the
thought "Yes, this 22 year old girl is beautiful.  She may have great
enthusiasm but what can she bring me to the table, experience wise, that
can rival the 30-35 year old woman who has stood the test of time?  When
the sweat dries what else does she have to offer?"
    What is the test of time?  If you are 22 and you look good that's
good.  You're 22 you had better look good.  Late 30's early 40's is more
of a kick in the balls.  Around this time the bills have piled up,
you've hopefully slowed the drinking or drug consumption (because God
knows getting up in the morning after coma drinking now is a harder than
it was then), and though the bills are up there, quite possibly
something is about to be paid off.
    The pressure has increased just a little.  If you still have time to
look good ... more power to you.  You're doing better than I.  Maybe if we
just talk that last mystery will be solved for me.  Who knows?

That Beautiful Black Man

12 - Stutter Stepping

    Some days are just overwhelming.  I very rarely check my own mail.
I have it delivered and picked up because I don't have enough time in
the day to get to the post office.  The important things that must go
out are handled with the utmost care.
    I occasionally wake up early enough on a Saturday (or crawl home
late enough on a Friday) to take care of my own postal duties.  One
Saturday I was lucky enough to get to the center just in time.
    I opened the sunroof and let the gentle rays caress my newly shaved
head.  My eyes hurt too much for contacts but the overlap shades worked
just fine on my glasses.  The sun moved across the revamped center of
town like a gentle wave, stutter stepping only for the occasional cloud.
    This is the typical quaint New England town everyone knows far too
much about everyone else and is always amazed that someone knows
anything about them.  Someday I hate this area.  Other times I realize it's
the place to raise kids.  They get a good education (hopefully),  you can
sleep through the night relatively carefree, you should get out for
at least ten years, and buy property (or in some cases inherit it) when
you are established.
    I opened my mailbox and quickly leafed through the bills and junk
mail deciding what would and what wouldn't get paid that month.  Tucked
between the various papers was a small letter with paper that looked
like blue satin.  The handwriting was elegant and unfamiliar but in the
return address section was neatly written the letter T.
    I crossed the walk way to my car.  I went over my mental Rolodex of
T's that have passed through my life and cross referenced that with the
women that would still write.  The numbers were staggeringly small but the
handwriting didn't match any of them.  Some days you are never prepared
for the surprises life has to offer.
    The letter was from Tina (reference The Night).  She kept my business
card.  I only know this because she returned it with the letter.
   "Hello My Beautiful Black Man,
        This is the last letter that I write from the United States.  I
        just wanted to let you know that your memory will stay with me forever.
        I think that if we had met at some other time and the situation were different
        we may have been quite a compliment to each other's lives.
        You were the perfect person at the perfect time.  I have never
        felt so alive.  I must thank you for listening and for loving.
        I don't know how to say this gently so I'll just say it ... I
        was married two weeks ago to a man who is my soul mate that I love and
        care for deeply.  By the time you receive this letter I will be back in Vietnam
        beginning my life again.  I wanted to let you know that somehow you helped
        me make this decision and you will never be forgotten.  I will remember your
        hugs and your strength.  I will never see you again but I will stay with you
        forever; only you could see the life force dancing behind my eyes and mirror it's
        joy.  Only you.
        T"
    I sat in my car for the next two hours as the sun moved across the
revamped center of town like a gentle wave, stutter stepping only for
the occasional cloud.

11 - The Angel

    "Do you want to die? ANSWER ME!! DO YOU WANT TO DIE!?!!!"  There seemed
to be no difference between the angel and the beast.  The naked genderless
being stood before me.  There was no emotion in it's gaze.  There were no
pupils to look into.  I opened my mouth to speak and a burning sensation
began at the base of my chest.  It was too painful to be a simple cough.  I
felt as though years of filth were scraped from my lungs with each hack.
    "Is this how you want to spend your final moments on this planet?"  Each
time I opened my mouth to answer, my lungs would bark and spew the sludge
that coated their insides.
    The garbage basket near my bed was lined with plastic.  The bottom was
filled with year old newspaper.  I always prepared when I got sick but this was different.
    Over the past few weeks I had seen more people than ever pushing or
carrying O2 tanks.  I had seen various reruns of my favorite TV shows and
they all had to do with tobacco induced cancer and I didn't care.
    Once again my mouth filled with sludge and I spat into the wastebasket.
I was beginning to care.
    "What more do you need?" It's voice rumbled.  I opened my eyes to show I
wasn't afraid and was shocked to see my Mother.  She came with a vaporizer
and hot wet towels.  The towels were for me to hold over my mouth and nose
as I inhaled.  She felt the moisture in the towel combined with the heat
would loosen the phlegm in my lungs.  Good mothers are hard to find.
Cherish them for they are the greatest source of wealth you will ever have.
    "You left your front door open," she said touching my cheek.  I closed
my eyes to see the beast/angel and was surrounded by blackness.

    The breathing came easier and the coughing was less.  I thought about
the genderless, clawed being that appeared the day before.  For the most
part our perception of what angels are is limited.  We wish them to be
beautiful, saintly creatures that come to protect us and whisk away our
problems.
    If you have ever read the Bible or if any ideas have been explained to
you, you would see that angels are Gods warriors.  It was brought to my
attention that every time an angel appeared, the first words uttered were
"Do not fear me."
    I dream differently in the United States.  In Europe the dreams are of
angels standing in all of their alabaster glory carved from a wall of pure
marble surrounded by a gentle mist.  The rivers run clean and the life force
is unending.
    In the states, dreams are flashes of colors that bleed together.  Today
my dreams were interrupted by the cleansing of sludge and the undying ache
of a nicotine fit.  The life force was indeed strong but it's energy was
spread in too many directions.  My lungs burned for a cigarette.
    I stepped from the bed and reached into the breast pocket of my
pinstriped navy jacket.  I held a Turkish Gold in my hand.  I looked to the
wastebasket and saw a layer of filth.  With wobbly steps I stumbled to the
bathroom and dropped the cigarette in the toilet.
    "Do not fear me,"  I thought.  "Today begins the world anew."

10 - The Swarm

5:15 am

     She left quietly in the early morning hour.  The air was crisp and
clear.  The smoke from the Turkish Gold danced in the slight wind,
moving in gentle spirals.  I inhaled deeply and washed her out of my
mind as she drove back to her apartment.
     The Angels came to me and with them they brought the gift of
relaxation.  The light of the sun brought them to my doorstep.  Her rays
were direct and deliberate.  The day was too young for the heat to be
unbearable and the recent cold spell led one to believe that summer was
never to come.
   
     The smoke moved differently.  It had become such a part of my
nocturnal being that it was now unfamiliar.  The sun betrayed it for
what it was, an escape.  This was my way of coping without coping, a
temporary distraction to ease the mind.
   
     As I watched the smoke dance in the sunlight, I noticed it was
joined by a partner.  The little yellow and white suitors moved in
unison with the grayish tension that I released through my lungs.
It had been years since my allergies kicked up so I had no fear of
vile sneezing attacks or heavily watered eyes.  I now took time to watch
the pollen like a small child enjoying it's carefree frolicking.
   
     The Angels seemed to pass deeper into my soul as the heat from the
heavens intensified.  The sun's full glory shone as she rose,
evaporating the morning dew and removing the darkness.  Even the shadows
could hide no secrets.
   
     I watched the ballet for a moment more and then retired the smoke to
the road.

7:30 am
   
     When I stepped to my car to get another cigarette I realized the
pollen had begun to swarm.  It was no longer the casual dance partner
smoothly executing a step-ball-change, but an aggressive suitor;
jealously believing it was entitled to more of my time.
   
     The day was gradually warming.  The Angels riding sunlight had
brought the temperature to 61º F already.  The tickle in the back of my
throat as I lit my cigarette was a shock.  This was always the first
sign of a nasty allergy attack.  I tried to laugh it off and light one
of my last three tobacco sticks.
   
     The wind blew and with her came a wall of pollen.  I inhaled deeply to
get that first drag of smoke and was bombarded with a shower of yellow
invaders.  The sneezing was uncontrollable.  The cigarette fell to the
ground and the sunlight caressed my back and bald head.  I wiped the
tears from my watering eyes and made it back into the comforts of my
apartment.
   
     I filled the cats bowl to the brim, I changed her litter, and gave
her two days of fresh water.  I called my mother and my sister to let
them know the situation.  The last time I had an allergy attack that
started like this I was in Germany.  The last thing I heard before I
passed out in Germany was "Nici, he stopped breathing.  I think he's dead!"