failure

It was here we sat and talked. Well, you were sitting in this seat, I was on the other side of this corner. All the same, we talked like we've talked before at so many bars. I would've thought, that night, that it was you seeking the countertop and stool setting, but my nerves were being calmed too. I was happy with alcohol in my system, untrusting I am of who it makes me sometimes. And we have had some great memories, at these bars.

I would build a fortress of a relationship with you out of all our empty pint glasses. Our elaborate decoration the clinging of suds on the clear glass, like the thoughts I had that slipped away. The things I had to say but was never given the chance. All of my regrets would be plain to see every time I looked at us. But this monument of leftover good intentions would be impossible to clean. And now what's stopping me from smashing all the false supports keeping us together?

At the very least it's starting over, but it's much more like moving on. You may not deserve my obsessions and niceties, but you do deserve to know an honest man. I don't care about your past enough to not care about your future. But, I don't care enough about your future to not care about my own first. Best intentions are not always enough. Honesty doesn't get you everything you want, only peace of mind. Don't forget that you can make that for yourself, and it would only be your fault to let someone steal it away. The trick is to not stop trying for more.

Even when you fail.

acknowledgement

"Five Little Graves" by The Ivory Coast

is there any way to know that I'm lying,
that my best foot is forward
and that I'm really trying?
must be the face that I make
when I'm straining to keep you
the distance of what I'm really thinking of you

it's the end of the affair
I'm so glad we could come to terms
with the worst part of ourselves
with the worst part of ourselves

is there any way to know that I'm lying
that my best foot is forward
and that I'm really trying?
must be the face that I make
when I'm straining to keep you
the distance of what I'm really thinking of you

I'm so glad we could come to terms
with the worst part of ourselves
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense

I'm so glad we could come to terms
with the worst part of ourselves
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense
outliving the original feeling that
made it all make sense

the moment you start thinking about her

Because all of the ways you think she could help you are really ways you need to help yourself.

Because the songs she played for you would be great even if she wasn't the one who played them for you, but she did and that's better.

Because she's flawed, and all you can think is that you're flawed too.

Because you have faith in her even when she doesn't have faith in herself.

Because all of the ways you want to help her you can't.

the moment you stop thinking about her

When you realize that her making you a better person was just you making you a better person.

When you realize that her favorite songs were not your favorite songs, but your favorite songs of her's.

When you realize that the reasons why you were meant to be together were not the reasons why you were meant to be together, but reasons that you wanted to be the reasons why you were meant to be together, because you wanted to be together.

When you realize that you want to be together and not because of reasons that you want to be the reasons why you are meant to be together, but because you want to be together.

boots on a stump

The first house west of Woodward on some street in Ferndale (Saratoga, I think) has a pair of boots fastened in some fashion to a stump that's painted white sitting out front. The stump is tucked just under the edge of the bushes at the front of the house. This made me think it was put there just as the boots obviously were. When I saw them today, the boots were colored green from a recent lawn mowing. I couldn't imagine any other reason for such an arrangement than a dedication to a friend who had passed away. Whether or not that was its meaning, I was touched by the potentially intended sentiment. I thought about this maybe dead man (or woman) in the past standing on the stump, previously rooted in the house's backyard - maybe his own. On Friday or Saturday nights this guy would love to elevate himself several inches above his gathered friends and make some special announcement. Maybe he was famous for telling stories on that stump. He would stretch tall to demand attention and bend low to whisper at a dramatic moment in his tale. Or perhaps the stump was a shared stage for joke telling and karaoke; retired now. The white paint on the stump made the boots stand out, rather than blend in with the wood underneath. It seemed a fitting tribute.

the Quiz (a work in progress)

1. What do you want to do before you die?

I want to see Abu Simbel. I want to ride the subway in New York. I want to run a marathon. I want to be put up in the hospital. I want to have a piece of my writing published. I want to write a song. I want to eat sushi in a restaurant in Japan. I want to feel like I have no responsibilities. I want to see the band Halloween, Alaska live. I want to get married outside. I want to see a live platypus. I want to finish a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle all on my own. I want to meet Simon Pegg. I want to survive an entire day eating nothing but bananas. I want to compile a decade's worth of monthly playlists. I want to own an electric car. I want to brew my own beer. I want to own and read every book by Kurt Vonnegut. I want to sleep for fourteen consecutive hours. I want to steal a street sign. I want to try curling and feather bowling. I want to visit Easter Island.

(6/11/2010)

Effulgence records

When I was eighteen or so I started my own "record company" called Effulgence. My logo was a bold-faced asterisk, and I numbered my records eff001, eff002, etc.

Of course, I had no connections with actual bands or actual music production equipment. My fun with this idea came from a keen interest in compiling mixes of my favorite songs into well-segueing playlists to fit 80 minute CD-Rs. I got the moniker from a poem by a friend/online-crush named Laura who lives in Vermont and lost my attention when I learned she drank. Mark's Hard Lemonade and an affinity for Jack Daniel's... two things that have plagued me ever since. She was the first person to give me a mix CD - for Christmas - and two songs from it still stand out in my mind: "Pretty Girls Make Graves" by the Smiths, and "Beautiful Freak" by Eels. The latter was the final track on the disc, and I believed that she wanted to be the freak: gorgeous in my eyes, and my eyes only, because one source of affection was all she needed. I spent some time combining spectacular songs into an anthology of my emotions in musical form. I decorated it with a large sharpied star, added eff001 in the bottom-right corner and mailed the CD to her; or I didn't mail the CD to her. In a haze of whiskey it's difficult to remember. In the following months, through AIM conversations I came on too strong. We grew apart, and at the time it was devastating. I have never been able to separate myself from moments of extreme heartache and longing. Everything exists in that instant. If I have any sort of good fortune it is counteracted by my inability to see my feelings in future-tense. I can plan for financial stability but my emotions are the shotgunned side of a dog whose caught rabies and still just won't die before another chance to sink his teeth in.

So several things stayed from that assembled selection of memories. I still make mixes. In fact, that aspect has been magnified. I burn a new CD every month. In my own way of accelerating my life, each new collection is more my thoughts and hopes in lyrical form. Beside, my ability to crumble at the feet of love has driven deeper. Living in the moment has left me trapped in the moment. Effulgent, I am, in making love my priority.

For all the CDs I've burned since eff004 - or wherever I left off - Effulgence records is no more.