Friday, September 16, 2005

Blending the Stroke.

To an old relationship, an old lover who knows too much.

Ahem.

On Black

Why you gotta beat me like that?
Why I gotta return and return and return to this shit?
Yes, why?
You’ve caused me immeasurable harm.
The money. The time. Oh, the wasted time.
You’ve taken what matters most to me: my pride.
No, not really. No one can do that to me.
But you DID set the stage for me to give that shit away.
Like a con game.
Like date rape.
Like a man who wants to believe he knew what he was doing.
When he obviously didn’t.
And yet my companions and compatriots are drawn to you.
They think you’re so funny and charming.
They do whatever they can to be near you.
They love the way you make them feel, how you see only them.
But it’s their reflection they see, not your eyes.
You have eyes for no one.
You are no one.
You are a dead relationship to me now.

On White

But you are so pretty.
So graceful in your movements and so well respected.
So cultured and educated!
And your cooking is beyond compare.
When we’re together, I feel like it’s all for me.
Like I’m special.
Like what I do matters to you, and when with you: everyone else.
We have so much fun together, you and I!
We never needed anyone else back then.
Just us.
Alone together, passing our days locked in constant caress.
That sounds really gay, but you know what I mean.
We’re more than that.
We’re more than ourselves when we’re together.
Like Wonder Twins, when we unite… it’s so on.
I still dream about us.
All the time.
Even though years have passed.
I will never get completely over you.
I don’t think I want to.

On Grey

Really, this is ridiculous.
We keep doing this to ourselves.
To me.
I keep doing this to me.
Because there never was an “us”.
And that’s okay.
Sure, we had some great times.
And we’ll have more, if we see each other again.
But we’ll never be as intimate as we were then.
We were new to each other, and that has weight.
Well, you were new to me.
You had seen guys like me a million times over.
Old hat.
And that’s fine. I hold no grudges, for that is who you are.
And I still love you anyway.
I cannot help myself.
You will always be carried in my soul.
But we will never carry one another again.
And I know that now, more than I would admit before.

Thank you for everything NYC, you filthy bitch of a fuck hole place that I cannot help but love with all my might with every bone and every fleshy cell of my body. Fucking fuck, you can be such a shit sometimes. Such bullshit... Such. A. Shit. And so can I.

Okay then. Now that I have that out of my system, let’s stay friends in the grey. Cool? Cool.

Love,

Me (you asshole)

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Saaaaaay WHA?

I have successfully returned from a couple of weeks out and about. I LOVE to travel. Seriously, it makes life in a smallish, townish-type city worthwhile. It helps to relieve the pressured, sinking feeling I begin to acquire after being planted here for so long. Perspective is a great gift that you can give yourself, for free, just by paying some attention to wherever you happen to be. My travels, lately, have not been fruitful in the same ways as they were before. I’ve been picking up a-lot more thought than airport trinkets and hangovers. I’m not sure how I feel about it all just yet.

Regardless: lots of recent traveling!

Two weekends back: Amarillo for a wedding. Fantastic wedding between two fantastic people. I seriously doubt they would ever read this blog, so I do not feel obligated to give them a whole-hearted shout-out. It would be a lost sentiment. Suffice to say, they were worth me driving over 1,300 miles round-trip, through shit-hole north Texas towns, while gas was cha-chinging between $3 and $3.30 a gallon. And I would do it again if requested. My love for them runs that deep.

Moving along.

MY LORD, Amarillo is an interesting place. If you’ve never heard of it, you are far from alone. Most of the modern and moving parts of the world have not either. But here in Texas, Amarillo is a pretty sizeable fish. Thar be oil in them thar plains.

I don’t really know the complete history of the city, nor do I particularly care. It’s in the middle-of-nowhere panhandle (insulated from the outside world by the sheer and understandable disinterest everyone else has in visiting), there’s an obscene amount of oil money there (held by like, ten families), and it is quite possibly the most conservative place I have ever had the displeasure of hearing people express themselves in. One comment I heard (NOT overheard, as this comment was specifically directed to me for response):
Well, you know, the real shame about the New Orleans “situation” is that a city like that, with, you know, “elements” such as those who stayed behind, is that it’s kinda like a rock. New Orleans is. And when you pick up a rock, well, there are cockroaches down there, hidden most of the time. And it’s a shame that this is how we have to see them.
Whoa. That one really threw me back. I said nothing in response. What the hell can a person say to THAT? I mean, all cities have their share of disenfranchised, underemployed, addicted, criminal, or just plain lazy people. And… uh, so what? Takes all kinds in this world, and to even try and classify such things based on CNN coverage seems beyond brash and cavalier. Hell, it borders on straight-up, textbook prejudice (potentially racially based, depending on what video footage or personal experiences birthed her insect metaphor).

Well, if I could have gotten over the shock of the thing, I suppose I could have asked what I honestly wanted to know: “are you seriously comparing those who are stuck in New Orleans to filthy insects which we only associate with disrepair and waste? ‘Cause that’s mad-fucked-up if you are.” And it would be.

And I think it was.

She was in her late fifties I would guess. Very well-off. Probably educated up to at least the lower collegiate level. Hell, she is probably fluent in French and collects genuine Egyptian obelisks (along with an astonishing amount of Elizabeth Arden interior d├ęcor, which as a side note: makes me want to vomit in a cotton candy gin while tightening a vice on my dick - it's that unpleasant for me). But obviously not terribly active in the day-to-day workings and recalculations of a modern and moving society composed of an ever-increasing and ever-heterogeneous mix of races, nationalities, and socio-economic backgrounds. In other words: at the risk of fighting accidental ignorance with brazen ignorance, I pose that her viewpoint is not a minority viewpoint in Amarillo. Further more, I am tempted to believe that such an insulated community, having more than enough financial resources to avoid coming to terms with the real world can and will remain that way. I see no motivation in and amongst similar populations for advancement in perception. If your Daddy (Pappy, Lord of The Manor, whatever) or your Daddy’s Daddy was a bigot (as historically, most of the white folks you’ll ever meet are familiar) and you essentially live in the same if not MORE comfortable environment touting as much… then I’m just not sure how something so culturally anchored would miraculously fix itself. In an experience vacuum.

And it worries me quite a bit.

We live in a Red State. Texas is blood-red-Republican, politically. Now I take no issue with our state’s political leaning, regardless of my personal feelings, because I do believe in the rule of the majority… to a point. If I lived in a place where the MAJORITY of the population beat their dogs with aluminum bats and believed that the Chinese were all too mentally deficient to live outside of holes in the ground… well, that would kinda fuck up all that faith in the “will of the majority” now wouldn’t it?

Sometimes, I wish there were some sort of requirement, as awful as it sounds, which provided a measure that would ensure that anyone in a position of authority, political influence, or financial wealth, had to have a testable understanding of the necessity and beneficial interest behind diversity: different countries, languages, customs, religious practices, skin colors, sexual preferences, favorite Star Wars movies, whatever.

Because it seems to me that with the influx of that information and experience comes understanding. And with that understanding, comes acceptance (NOT “tolerance”, which to me is a bullshit word used to establish majority/minority relationships, which is hollow unless you intend to capitalize on those lines, making it an even deeper bullshit word) which leads to collective involvement, which eventually leads to a reasonably educated and rational political base. A well-groomed, intelligent, and logical political base which will make decisions without being confused or manipulated by the use of subtle metaphors which may or may not be dehumanizing for those who lack the means to rebut.

Better yet, a well-groomed, intelligent, and logical political base which would never say something so casually callous. A political base that would know better than that. Better.

But for the record, all the friends of the happy couple were cool as shit. Well, except for that one dude who smoked with me out front when everyone else was too scared to look like a dirtbag in front of the families (who all smoked it up after they got blasted). He was cooler than the rest of them.

Word.