"I don't know what the fuck to expect out of life. Be selfish."
Pat was tall. Pat was gangly. Pat was goofy. Pat was talented. Pat was hilarious. I'd like to say he was unoffending and innocent, but its not entirely true haha.
But Pat was above all else was fun.
I still can't get over that word, "was." Merely putting him in the past tense brings tears to my eyes. After a whole year, it's still tough to believe he's gone. When a young person dies, its inevitable to think about what could have been. This is a poisonous train of thought I think. Instead, we should concentrate on what Patty offered to us all: weed
I'm kidding of course (although it is kinda true). But what Patty offered me that sticks out in my mind the most was hope. Hope that you could live your life on your own terms and make it work. Hope that life could be truly fun and carefree. You just really don't meet people like that very often. I don't at least.
My life has been a shithole much of the time since he died and I wish I could blaze up and bend his ear about jobs, breakups, housing, happiness, despair, bands, shows, friends, the lack thereof…
Anything I guess. I'd give anything to just be able to chat with him about whatever. He could always make me laugh and cheer me up. I've been living in San Francisco for so long that I got used to thinking of him in an "out of sight out of mind" mind-set. What a fucking waste. Oh that I could call him just to catch up! Sometimes I can trick myself into believing that it's still possible. Not a good idea cause I get real sad afterward.
Two words send shivers down my spine when I think about Pat: What if?
Just six little letters that truly haunt me. That kid had MASSIVE upside. His reign of awesomeness was only starting.
A note to Kat, Ethan, and Eileen, today you do not walk alone in your grieving. While you are Patty's blood, his family is numerous.
"May I now say a word to you, the members of the bereaved families? It is almost impossible to say anything that can console you at this difficult hour and remove the deep clouds of disappointment which are floating in your mental skies. But I hope you can find a little consolation from the universality of this experience. Death comes to every individual. There is an amazing democracy about death. It is not aristocracy for some of the people, but a democracy for all of the people. Kings die and beggars die; rich men and poor men die; old people die and young people die. Death comes to the innocent and it comes to the guilty. Death is the irreducible common denominator of all men."
-Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Cheap lips, soft eyes, lost in the most blinding lights
As cold as those first nights alone
As the second best he'll become
Sleep deep, girl, dream well
That night, I think he cried himself to sleep
Just maybe, he felt more than we could ever know
And I think he pulled that trigger to empty that memory
I think he cut the weight to end the floods of you
Let him soar, let him ride as budding gravestones do
Just sleep, girl, just dream well
I tell you what kids; Jessica and I have been broken up for I don't even know how long (it feels like forever), a few months i guess. But I tell you what, you know what I miss the most? I miss the freckle on her lip that hardly anyone ever notices. I miss the way she sleeps with her mouth just slightly open. I miss the silly little dance she does when she's giddy. I miss the way she talks to the cats.
I miss the little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about. The ones that made her my girl. That what made me feel like she was my soul mate. And believe me, she has the dirt on me too. Little things I do out of habit. People call these things imperfections but they're really not. Its just who we are. I cherished those character foibles and the fact that she put her guard down enough to let me into her world meant a ton to me. Life is a beautiful thing because we get to choose who we let into each of our own bizarre little worlds. Lord knows I'm not perfect and I'll do you all a favor and let you in on a secret: nobody is.
The real question is, "are you perfect for each other?" I honestly thought we were. And sure, maybe I was wrong. But the only way you can truly know for sure is if you give it a shot. Even though I hurt right now I'm not sorry for anything. Believe you me, you'll have your bad times just like I am right now. I like to think that its a wake up call to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to. You can fail, as long as you're trying hard. But there's nothing worse than regret. We gave it a good shot and for most of almost seven years it worked out pretty fucking well. We lasted longer than either of my parent's two marriages. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not haha.
I know I've pissed and moaned a lot on here about how shitty I feel about the whole thing and how wronged I've been but in all honesty: it was still worth it. At some point, and I freely admit that I totally missed it whenever it is that it happened, her feelings about me changed. That's her right as a human being, to live her life however she sees fit. Its just harder to reconcile that with how I still feel than I thought it would be. Come to think of it, I don't know how I thought it would be. I guess when you're in love you just don't think about these things.
I don't really know where I'm going with this but it just feels good to get it down. You know? I haven't been writing as much and its good therapy. Now every time I get frustrated I can read this and say to myself, "take it easy mike. You're gonna be ok."
Even if i kinda don't buy it.
anyone know wthat the middle part means?
"Let us die, Let us die
Then dying we reply,
oh dont you tell us
about your suffering,
now look in our eyes-
look in our eyes.
Let us be, Let us be
Our closeness is such that
where ever she rests her head
in the softness underneath,
She'll feel me and you'll
Je leverai les yeux a toi-
J'ai change cent foi de nom
Je leverai les yeux a toi-
Je n'ai pas d'espoir.
When you laugh you'll feel
my breath there filling up
your lungs. And when you cry
those arent your tears but Im
there falling down your cheek.
And when you say you love him
taste me, Im like poison on
your tongue. But when your
tired, if your quiet, you'll
hear me singing you to sleep."
you know, the one not in english?
With haunted hearts through the heat and cold,
We never thought we could ever get old.
We thought we could sit forever in fun
But our chances really was a million to one.
The bees were back. They were back and they were pissed. And yet, for some reason the boy was fairly calm. It had all started innocently enough: his little sister called to check in with him.
He told her about what his days were mostly like with the shit shoveling, the hauling, the phones calls for Mr. Obama, and most recently painting his cousins house. Then he eagerly asked how San Francisco was, for he dearly missed his home city in the bay. He missed the crisp autumn weather, the architecture, his friends (both the good ones and the fair-weather), his job, the bums shitting in the park, the shitty shitty hipsters and hippies, etc.
“Things were good,” she said. She had seen the woman he quixotically loved at a warehouse party of her friend. I asked her if it was uncomfortable at all and she told me it was not. They had always gotten along. Then she inquired about one of our friends that was at the party that creeped her out. He was standing with our group but he wouldn’t come over to her or talk to her. I asked her to describe the boy and when she did, she accidentally dropped a bomb on her brother.
He was the one. The one man the boy cared about her not seeing. This man had essentially destroyed that which was most precious to him: the absolute trust he and his love had forged in the fire of almost seven years of, blood, sweat, and tears. He had pleaded for her to spare his feeling and not see this one man but clearly she had blown him off.
It didn’t really hit him as hard as he expected. He was numb for the moment. After all, it was just another sign that this woman not only no longer loved him; she no longer cared to even to show him a shred of respect.
The boy had thought a lot about all the things that went wrong in the relationship he swore to himself he held more dear than anything in this life. Things that he was too blinded by complacency to see in time to save himself. He had been contented to a detriment. He had been negligent. He had been stagnant. He had been dull.
But two things the boy had always been were loyal and honest.
That clearly didn’t count for anything. There was no hope for this. She hated his guts for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He even dared to believe it was entirely possible she didn’t know either. But one thing was clear; he had to stop being in contact with her as much as possible. This would be no easy task as the boy was neurotic and weak. His naggingly quixotic feelings about this woman had not gone away, his mind was just now beginning to try to override his heart.
He thought about the time a month ago when made a weak attempt at ending his life. He remembered the emotional pain, washing over him like a tidal wave: torrential, concussive, and unbearable. Thank god it was one more thing he failed at for he now saw the foolishness and selfishness of such an act. “No, not this time,” he thought.
Florida was working.
Dinner was incredible. They ate together for the first time what seemed like forever. It was a vegan feast. She was an incredible cook considering she hadn’t been cooking vegan for very long. It’s a misconception that vegan food is always bland. Using the correct spices, it’s actually quite capable of taking the palette to new heights. Suddenly he felt a poke at his leg. He ignored it, not even knowing where it came from. Again and again the poking continued getting more severe.
He woke up, head pounding. His uncle stood over him, “time to wake up,” he said. He sat up like some kind of robot and mechanically started to put the bedding away. He had been sleeping on the couch because the girl was sleeping in the bed. He didn’t care much, he had been homeless for sometime before coming out to Florida so he was used to couches. Plus, there was simply no way he was going to let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.
Chivalry wasn’t dead yet, he was keeping it on life support.
Speaking of the girl, she was still sleeping. “How come I have to get up,” he wondered to himself. It seemed and apt question as there was nothing crucial going on. His aunt made coffee but no breakfast. Usually it meant there was a foreclosed house to clean up for the bank but that was not the case this morning. Even though there didn’t seem to be any need for him to be awake, he was in their house and figured he had better do as they pleased.
After coffee he put on some work clothes and hit the stalls. There were only a few horses left because his aunt was suffering from fiber mialgae and therefore could not work as much as she used to. It simply hurt too much. He started as he always did: shoveling shit. He had done a ton of shit shoveling in his life. He family, though not well off, had actually owned a horse earlier in his life and had also sent he and his sister to a daycare that leased a ranch with about 20-25 horses. So he had a fair bit of experience doing menial tasks around ranches. He never asked to be paid for said work because of all the kindness they had shown him: housing him, feeding him, entertaining him, and humoring him.
After cleaning the stalls he relined them with sawdust and went inside to see if there was any paid work to do. There was so he left his now dirty clothes on, got another cup of coffee, and went into the bathroom. She was in there wearing nothing but a towel that barely clung to her still wet body. She was breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted her badly but things were too complicated to really make a move. Her counterpart was the extremely jealous type and he didn’t want to start drama in his aunt’s house. Not to mention, he was planning on leaving to Italy after the election in a little under a month. He figured she would probably stay as she had nowhere to go and maybe he could make something happen then. Maybe.
He and his uncle went to work. When they came back home his two new friends were working at their office and his aunt was sleeping. He felt really bad for her. She was in constant pain; she moaned reflexively all day cause she was in so much agony. She could have started a racket with all the drugs she was prescribed. Although the truth be told, not having health insurance almost certainly meant she was cutting corners with treatment because of cost. He took a shower as his uncle cooked up some hot dogs and Wisconsin sweet corn. He felt much better after finally eating.
He read until that giant ball of fire in the sky set. It was a breathtaking sunset, a sublime harmony of pinks, yellows, and oranges splashed against the clouds. He watched it set the earth on fire and waited for night to come.
Night indeed came and he found himself staring at up at the moon, now only fifty percent of its former glory, wondering if she was staring at the same thing 3,000 miles away. The answer was almost certainly a “no” for any variety of reasons, most of which he would just as soon not think about. He idly wondered if he would dream the same dream. Disturbed by both the lack of answer and why the hell he would even think about something like that, he crushed out his cigarette and went inside. He made the bed, laid down, and closed his eyes.
“Here goes nothing.”
The light coming through the window was piercing, insufferable. There were voices too. Conversations in hushed tones so as not to wake the boy that worked to no avail. And a smell. The boy simply refused to open his eyes but it smelled sweet and inviting, like home. He couldn't quite make out exactly what they were talking about but one word jumped out and bit him: pancakes.
Like the waking dead the boy shot up. There were pancakes to be had, coffee too. Yes another day in sunny Florida. He had invited two kids from the Barrack Obama campaign to stay with him as they had been staying with a 300+ lb. 58 year old women who lived with two dogs in a single mobile home. The girl told him the toilet was so dirty that she had to hover above it so as not to contract any weird diseases that could be lurking on the surface of the seat. After she told the boy the story about the women trying to get her into a threesome with a crackhead, he offered up his aunt's house to them. He knew his aunt and uncle would go along with it once he explained the situation and sure enough they did.
The guy was the field organizer of the volunteers. A 24-year-old born in Jordan to an Arab father and an Italian mother. He was passionate about organizing and mobilizing the people in the area for Mr. Obama's cause. This was especially noble considering the political climate of the area, which was overwhelmingly republican. When he got the job as an organizer they asked him where he wanted to work. He replied, "Anywhere that's a challenge." So they sent him here to Pasco County. Aesthetically he took after his mother, I surmised, with blue eyes and light skin, he certainly didn't look like he had any Middle Eastern in him.
She was his on again off again companion of three years. A 21-year-old beauty, with long black hair, long legs, and piercing blue eyes. Her father was no longer speaking to her as he was a staunch republican and had brainwashed her as such. She had supported George W. Bush. Two times. She had followed her guy here to Pasco County from West Palm Beach where they met. Obviously there was some reverse brainwashing going here cause how a person could go from a hardcore political right worldview to and equally hardcore left paradigm so quickly is totally beyond the boy. "I've seen the light," she said.
Now he wasn't terribly sure about this but it seemed doubtful to him that any 21-year-old had really "seen the light." But then again, maybe the boy was just jealous cause he sure as hell never had.
Having drank three cups of coffee and eaten 3 pancakes it was time for a cigarette. The boy grabbed his shitty three-dollar sunglasses and stepped out into the warm Florida autumn. It was nice out not too hot not too humid. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. "Where had it all gone wrong?" he thought. One day he was living the life and the next, a world of shit. He had had it all: a smoking hot girlfriend, the love of his life and his best friend. One of his oldest and best friends as his housemate, a three-legged cat whom he loved with all his heart despite the fact he was an ornery son-of-a-bitch, not one but two jobs at awesome nightclubs in the best city in the entire nation. Next thing he knew he hit a rash of bad luck starting with getting mugged and climaxing with getting dumped by said love of his life. He was homeless, heart broken, and flat broke…..
Staring up at the sky too long made the boys eyes hurt so he rubbed them and looked down upon and red ant's hive next to the loveseat at the edge of the swimming hole. He kicked at it just to see what would happen. Predictably the ants swarmed out and ran around, hysterical to defend their home and queen. There was something abstractedly political about the whole thing but he didn't really care enough to flesh the idea out.
The girl and guy left to do what political people do: hassle both decided and undecided voters mercilessly. He would join them later but there was work to be done and he preferred the kind of work that actually pays money; the boy was funny that way.
Later that night was the first full moon he's seen in a very long while. There was so much light pollution in the city that one had to go to specific spots if they wanted to get a real look at the moon and stars. But here in the Florida country, the whole ranch and meadows were lit up like dim daylight. So bright in fact he was reading a book of short stories by moonlight. He had never read by moonlight before and thought there was something vaguely romantic about it. The horses grazed lazily near the house. His aunt pretty much let them go wherever they wanted, as they were nice, docile horses. "Very well behaved," he thought. "Probably because they knew a sweet deal when they saw one, horses are smart that way."
There was something therapeutic about being around horses. Their presence soothed him as well as the bees swarming in his head, heart, and belly. He hadn't been riding yet but he had earned his way into their good graces thanks to a steady regimen of apples and carrots. They now followed him around even when he had no food. They were beautiful creatures. Fancy was a brown morgan; beautiful face, small frame, and a wonderful disposition. She was the one he would ride if he got the opportunity. The other horse, Gypsy, was a black thoroughbred. Much bigger than Fancy and had a bad temperament from being spoiled her whole life. She too had a beautiful face and mane but had been lame or semi-lame for most of her life. This meant she hadn't been ridden in some time and subsequently decided she was off the hook forever.
Heidi the dog snapped the boy out of his thoughts with a lick of his hand. He responded with a scratch of her head. She had shown up out of the blue according his aunt. She was very skittish and typically did not trust men at first. We deduced that a man had beaten her earlier in her life. However, thanks to proximity and the boy's kindness, they had grown close over the course of the last week. The boy's aunt had won her over with sausage biscuits from McDonalds. "It seems McDonalds can serve an altruistic purpose after all," he chuckled to himself. It was an idea the boy had long ago abandoned.
He took the last drag off his cigarette and polished his beer. He looked up from his book and into the row of large windows on the side of the house for signs of life. He found none. Everyone was sleeping except for him.
"That's just fine," the boy thought and started another story.
this is from today. well, yesterday now i guess...
Today was a very good day. Which was crucial cause i had a really rough night.
But first: yesterday.
Yesterday started off like everyday so far. My aunt woke me up earlier than I'd like for no real reason. We went shopping for groceries for the evening as well as the weekend as we'll be entertaining guests for football on Sunday. She made lasagna for that night and gumbo for the football game. We went to my cousin Nicole's house that she and her fiancé just bought. She has a kid now, Caroline. I'm guessing she's a bout two and totally cute.
You know how there's super ugly babies? I was dreading having to lie and be like, "aw, she's so cute!" and then totally cringe at the abject lie on the inside. But thank god for small favors, she's totally adorable. She took one look at me and started crying. I mean, she threw a fucking tantrum.
This face a swear……it's no wonder Jess left me.
My cousin Nicky is hilarious. She's pregnant again and totally hormonal. She bullies her fiancé around mercilessly. She calls him names, mocks the way he talks, the whole 9 yards. And the finniest thing is that he totally takes it. Not a word from him. What a doormat haha. Anyhow, turns out she's a republican and mildly homophobic and racist, like most people in Florida. Like she doesn't mind gays, blacks, muslims, and latinos singularly but in big groups? Forget about it. I don't mean to bash her, she's awesome but I just haven't seen her in so long it came as a bit of a shock. Florida is racist and homophobic, just in case you didn't know. It is around here at least.
I got to shoot guns after that. My uncle has a rifle and a shotgun. Rifles I've done but shotguns never. It was awesome. I mean, there's something about firing a big ass gun like that that is all encompassingly satiating. Sliding the shell in, flipping the barrel shut, cocking the trigger, the shock of the recoil, the sound, the sound the shell makes when it hits the pavement…
Too tired to write more. I'll fill anyone that still gives a shit on today, tomorrow.
so i've been mostly blogging on the space but fuck it. i can copy and paste. right? i'm living in florida for a bit. this was posted 2 days ago. funny, it seems like forever. time passes real slow in the country.
So I made it to Florida. After 2 crazy days in Santa Cruz mostly drinking myself into renal failure while trying to say by to the right people I figured I'd better get my ass back to San Francisco so I could do double the goodbyes in half the time. The night before I had to fly out 6:30 am I met some people at mission bar. The turnout was good, drinks were had, and I had a decent buzz on by the time I had to leave at 11pm so I could pack at johnny and jess' house (formally my own and where all my crap is) and get to my mom's house by midnight.
She actually gave me a curfew, can you believe it? My mom hasn't given me a curfew since I was 16 or so but she insisted I be at her house by midnight so I could get some sleep. Ya, that wasn't going to happen. I wanted to see Jessica before I left cause I'd only seen her once for about 3 minutes since she shed me from her life. So I waited and waited and called and called to no avail, she had been drinking, I had been drinking, and she figured that'd be a recipe for disaster. Maybe she was right but I was extremely upset regardless.
So I "packed" and drank more.
Packing tip: don't do it drunk. I have 1 pair of pants, 2 shorts, 7 t-shirts, 4 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of shoes, and 4 underwear. No toothbrush, no body wash, no towel, etc. I didn't even know what I had until I opened it up that night. Most of it was dirty too as I didn't have time to do any laundry and most of what I took was from my little "I'm homeless" bag. No worries, most of that stuff can be bought at stores around here.
Well not really around here. I'm at least 10 miles from anything you could consider a town of even a village. I'm 20 or so minutes from Tampa where the devil rays are battling the Boston red sox for the American league title and a bid to the world series. The closest would be San Antonio.
No, not that one. The one the spurs play for is in Texas.
This one is tiny tiny tiny but I has an ok taqueria and more importantly a post office so I can send you all the snail mail I drunkenly promised you all I'd send. Beautiful houses here. Old southern houses strait out of a cheesy romance novel. There's nothing cheesy about these houses though, they're begging to be painted on canvas. Wrap around decks, all two story with the columns in the front like the white house.
The closest real city is Dade city, roughly 9-10 miles away. Its nice I guess. Kinda reminds me of riverside for some reason but much much nicer, tons of palm trees and truly green.
As any triple a magazine will tell you Florida is extremely hot and humid. When I first got in at 5 pm it was 95 degrees with 85 percent humidity. At 10:30 it was 80 and 85. You could ring out the fucking air like a towel I swear to god. It's also insanely flat.
My kingdom for a bike.
not a real smart idea for a guy trying to lift his spirits.
so to sum up my worst month of my life i...
-got my house-mate's car impounded (300 something dollars)
-got mugged (170 something dollars)
-lost maybe the best job i'll ever have in the city
-got snaked out of the cassanova gig (by a fellow co worker no less, ouch!)
-and dumped by the only woman i've ever truly loved.
i'm not generally the "oh god why me" type but shit, i do find myself shaking me fist at the sky and screaming at god, "what else you got motherfucker? you crippled me financially and maimed me emotionally! what's next a fucking car to hit me so i'm destroyed physically?!"
i'm so sad and angry and frustrated i don't even know what to do with myself. and if i hear one more person say, "don't worry man you're gonna be fine" or some other variation on the "its always darkest before the dawn" bullshit i might just go off myself.
i've been thinking alot about moving. out of the city. i can't afford to live here by myself. like at all. but mostly its that i can't stand to see her with other guys which is totally gonna happen. i mean, i just really really couldn't take it. i would have married her. i would have had kids with her. i would have grown old with her.
but that's not enough and truth be told, it probably never was.
how should i act next time i see her with some hipster douche with a shitty mustache? i'm not sure but it's not gonna be productive.
who said, "love is all you need"? john lennon?
well fuck you john lennon. what a bunch of garbage.
lost 300 dollars that i had in my back pocket ready to deposit in the bank. fucking perfect.