I feel nothing

I Feel nothing.

the hard normally uncomfortable chairs that makes my back and ass hurt with equal intensity, created to look inviting, inviting enough to have a coffee and look out over the book store, but designed to be just comfortable for 5 minutes after which you feet fall asleep.

But tonight, I feel none of that.

I feel nothing.

The young beautiful people with there perfectly smooth skin and beautiful teeth just inside those desirable lips, and wonderfully rounded body parts, sometimes they show just enough of their firm flat stomachs by taking a long stretch while arching their back, reaching their arms high in the sky which leads to fantasies of the unmentionable pleasure felt when there is skin on skin.

but tonight, no one evokes such feelings.

I feel nothing.

Reading about and seeing pictures of exotic cars and the frustration of the present with the overwhelming regret of past choices that force me into fantasy for escape (like winning the lottery) and the sorrow so overwhelming that I would normally take a big swig of the too hot, too bitter coffee just to focus on the physical pain instead of the mental anguish of the present, so I can forget just for a moment how life really sucks.

but tonight, I feel none of that.

I feel nothing.

flipping through the art magazines, seeing in incredible creativity, and sometimes the anger, and fear, and lust, but more times than not feeling confused, and a longing for talent, and a regret that is a hole in my core, for not having talent like that.

but tonight, I feel no envy.

I feel nothing.

A group of teenagers harass me as I go to my car, one boy steals another boys hat and offers it to me, another stands in front of me and put is on my head, and asks for 20 bucks. The disgust mix with fear and frustration, usually caused intelligible words to come out, it doesn't matter the kids call me names and give me a little shove, then take the hat back, seems I got the worst of the deal,

but tonight there is no rush of adrenalin, no self talk of "I should have"

I feel nothing.

Phoebe and Jack

cant stop

gotta look

got to have...

I cant stop its driving me crazy

the beauty

the perfection

the mystery

I need to be near

its driving me crazy

every time he walks by I have to look,

and inhale deeply in futile hope, to feel his scent. To inhale his very essence.

he is cautious of me, because he thinks I will hurt him.

last time I got him, I did not hurt him, I just brought him close to me

so I can feel him,

smell him,

gently put my mouth on him

and yes I did lick him and slobber on him

but I didn't hurt him,

he says i would have if those people didn't stop me.

"stay away"

"leave him alone"

"just don't worry yourself about him"

that's what the people say.

but he is so,

so,

so in-describable,

when I look at him my soul stirs in a way that words can't describe

he is so much of everything I like,

I've got to have him.

He has to like me,

if I can just get him alone again I can tell him

and if he won't listen

at least I'll be close.

and if he won't listen

I will pin him down and inhale his beauty

and if he won't listen still

I will be the last thing he sees while i crush the life out of him

slowly,

lovingly,

feeling like I have never felt before.

cut the crust off please

little miss white bread

with her turkey and tasteless white-cheese on white bread

pouts to the man across the table

"the crust is too hard" she whines "please cut it for me"

he comes to the rescue with knife and slices

slices off the crust

slowly precisely as if he has planned this moment,

fantasized about slowly with surgical precision

cut,

cut

cutting

first one side

then the other

then flip her over

and cut more

and finally cut the last time.

and the woman asks "whats the matter, you look so sad all of a sudden"

he replies "sad, no, just deep in thought,.. dear"

and as she begins to eat her now crust-less sandwich he savors the crust

the part of the sandwich that she will never know about and with it his fantasy continues.

addiction

the image is burned into my very core,

every where I look I see it

when people talk I think of it

when I'm alone i long for it,

I play with fantasy of it during the day

intelligence is no match for the emotion

the computer screen shows it to me,

and blurs the spreadsheet that I am working on.

then for a moment, brief though it is, I get relief

I can think again, I can see the bright blue skies

I feel the loving hug from my family

and I feel regret and guilt

and it starts to come into view,

I try not to look at it

and I feel frustration and fear

and waves of hopelessness pound me

and it starts to call my name

and I try not to hear it

and I try to remember the love of my family

and I try to remember the happy times without it

but again everywhere I look I see it

there are no words to explain it

its image is burned into my core.

I need to do this lady

"I am getting to drunk to drive home, can you help?" says the lady sitting next to me at the bar.
A slightly classy joint, where they have replaced live musicians with a mellow sound system that has a great mix of mellow jazz, Frank Sinatra, Stevie Wonder, and Tony Bennett.

Looking for small talk, she sees on the TV above the bar, a show about golf lessons and asks me "What are they doing?" as she scoots a little closer to me.

I reply "it is a golf lesson, and yes he is really hitting the ball, but it goes into a net, and a giant projection screen makes it look like he is on an actual golf course"

She makes a joke that is funny only to her, and gently touches my leg.

We make small talk, and she is looking at me intently, and twirling her hair with her fingers. She rocks and laughs and touches me again, and again, and again.

In conversation I can see that she is truly one of those stupid, inexperienced people that has used her firm smooth body, cleavage, and perfect lips to get what she needs in life.

Some more TV watching, comments on music, and small-talk about movies. Some time passes and she makes the statement again "I am getting to drunk to drive myself home"

I look and see no evidence of a wedding ring, even when you take one off there is a tell-tale indentation or a subconscious touching of what is no longer there.

During the minutes that pass I see she is not drinking that much, well not drinking as much as a person "to drunk to drive" would drink. The conversation goes to the deal she got two meals for the price of one, and tells me she is between jobs.

Seems to me asking a stranger to drive you home is an invite to have one night of shallow intimacy.

So wanting to keep conversation going I ask her "What brings you to this restaurant's bar in this part of the city tonight?"

She said "She had dropped her son off at the gym around the corner, and while he is working out she decided to come here." Which totally contradicted all of the signals I had been reading. One night stands and children don't go together.

I feigning interest asked "Oh and how old is he?"

She answered "He just turned 18 yesterday, yeah he is not my little boy any more."

With that she ordered another glass of white house wine, and while sipping looked straight ahead at the meaninglessness of all the alcohol bottles lined up so perfectly in front of the huge mirror.

As I looked at her beauty, my eyes gravitated toward her face as she sipped her wine, and saw her as her, not as one night of meaningless intimacy.

She is lonely, and so desperately wants someone in her life.

Her little boy is turning into an independent man, and will be leaving her soon. She has nothing left in her life, no career to push out the lonely feelings, no person to come home to, no one to be home for.

She feels a loneliness so deep, so debilitating.

Not knowing which way to turn, she tries what worked almost 19 years ago.

Silence

he always wanted more out of life than his parents could offer him.

so as a teen he stayed in shape strong, flexible, no extra fat

he needed to be prepared for his future

although he did not know what that would be.

high school years were normal, well normal for high school

experimenting with different people

looking for different highs

trying to avoid his parents

he really liked movies and saw where money could fall from the sky

he was a mediocre actor

but took drama all years of high school

and was even in a few plays

once he had the lead role,

he liked the attention that gave him,

he liked pretending to be something he knew inside he was not.

he acted the leading man

strong

secure

a person that liked, loved and respected himself.

but he was none of those things

he was young and strong and fit

a beauty, handsome

anyone seeing him would think so,

a swimmers physique, is how one described him, although he did not go into sports.

lost at 18

high school over

parents divorced

no money

no prospects

he thought about how to get out of the place he was in

bouncing from parent to parent as they tired of his moods

he really liked acting, but the one thing his parents Could agree upon, was that he could never make it into the movies. He would scream back how wrong they were, that he would make it big and they would be sorry for trying to crush his future.

he stopped talking to both of them and moved out of their little town to find success

he tried,

auditioned

pleaded

practiced

and found nothing,

and then one night while he was trolling the internet for escape

he realized exactly what he should do

he saw a small movie company in his area and he applied,

his good looks and youth were all they needed.

for very little they paid him a lot

so he went back

they asked him for more and he gave it uneasily but they paid him very well

so he went back

having pushed him this far they pushed him the rest of the way too his future

a future of acting

a future of lots of money

and it was his dad that stumbled on to one of his movies,

who then told his ex-wife his acting was not all that good, not bad, but not great

but he was very beautiful on the screen

and she said well did you bring the movie with you, I only get an occasional "I'm alive mom" he didn't tell me he was in a movie.

and the father said, " I don't think you will want to see this one, I know I did not"

and she said "well no matter how bad it is, its still our son, we should be proud"

and the father sat there looking at his ex-wife thinking of their little boy, and the childhood, the messy divorce, the infidelity,

and after a long silence the man had the look of extreme sorry, and shame

and inhaled deeply

and exhaled long and slow

and the father said "our son is the star of a gay porno..."

Write

and here to be with himself the lost one stays distant

not present

dissociated

displaced

distant from the beauty so close and all around.

the happy energy

the beautiful skies

the kids playing

the grass, still green.

the leaves of bright crimson and reds and yellows

hiding from the pain of loss.

Oblivious to the humor of a woman in incredibly high heals trying to walk down a very steep hill while trying to control a baby stroller.

He stays inside his cell phone

texting

sending pictures and movies of only scenery, with no one in frame, no candid shots.

the good is since he is alone, he doesn't have to ask a stranger "can you please take a picture of US in front of this railing?"

with no one else to text, the flat lifeless boring pictures, he slowly becomes aware.

aware of the beauty

aware of the humans taking a moment to enjoy life.

aware of his own pain

he seeks escape, but there is none.

so he must face himself and write.

One of the Regulars

At the main yuppie shopping drag sits me, one of the regular observers to the hustle and window shopping, searching for my next reality.

I sit outside by the, little, local coffee shop, they have several blends that are very good. With all them damn Starbucks around, all the really good coffee shops are disappearing.

I'll tell you and everyone that asks "THIS is the BEST STREET, I LOVE it here, you will NEVER find me at a Starbucks, I'd rather be dead with a splitting headache than even sit outside a Starbucks. Starbucks is SHIT.

The people on the street shopping, make the street a community of safety. Old houses turned into quaint little shops and restaurants. People walking, saying hi, dogs on leashes, kids being kids. There is no other word, other than "community" to describe the feeling. Those big shopping centers where all stores are massive cross-country exactness - each one is the same, people crammed together inside, no one smiling.

I'll tell you and everyone that asks "this street is COMMUNITY, DOGS, KIDS and SHOPPERS, you will NEVER find me INSIDE one of those huge shopping centers, where SORRY losers shop"

On the street you have other regulars like,

The kids that bang on overturned plastic tubs to make some cash for their mom,

Over there is the flute player, with his hat turned upward on the side walk with hopes he will play in a concert hall one day.
The "rasta man" is set up with his trinkets for sale and peace and love all around.

And next to me, ever wareful of the local police, the lady with no legs selling her roses for $5 each.

"Not a bad markup" I say to her.

She just grunts back looking up and down the street, calculating the best place to be, yet a place to push her electric buttons to get her out of sight of the local cops.

"so do you live in the neighborhood, or do you need to travel far?" I continue with the one sided conversation.

She says nothing.

"listen girly, just because you aint got no legs aint no reason to be high-hattin me" I said to her.

With that comment the Rasta-Man comes over and spouts out his "hey man there is too much negative energy, that is your fellow human, can't you find any love in your heart for her?"

I yell "this street is for all,... NEVER get INSIDE my space man, you Rasta-man freak", then I look to the girl and yell at her "hey girly, do you care that I call you girly"

Then I grunt at her.

She still sits there and says nothing,

but the Rasta-man can't leave well enough alone and eggs me on.

So I yell "Rasta why don't you go to Starbucks and drink their SHIT"

I take a deep inhale

Spit on the ground

and continue yelling "this is the BEST STREET just and leave us"

Then I whisper "hey girly, sorry, sorry." The no response forces me to yell, "SORRY, girly I said SORRY"

Then the Flute player hearing me apologize to the wheel chair lady, comes over to see if I wanted to hear any song I say "THANKS man, this is the bests street.

Community that what it is, there aint NEVER a better place than THIS STREET. Them Stupid malls and the SHIT Starbucks got nothing on THIS STREET right here. Where people care and it is a COMMUNITY!"

Then the boys come on over to keep the beat for the flute player, I say "you are just KIDS,... little. I am SORRY, SORRY I said SHIT and all that crap, but sometimes the others gets INSIDE me and I just gotta Yell. I LOVE this STREET so much.

Then all of a sudden that no legged freak disappears, as does all the other peddlers, and I look up and see a young man walking over to me, SHIT, I think to myself cops,.. I LOVE this STREET and don't want to be locked up INSIDE some hole, but he is not wearing a real cop uniform.

he asked me "hey old man, where are we?"

I respond "We are here you punk KID, on this STREET with the row of stores, most of which I remember when I was a kid, they were houses. Now they all gone,.. and just people and stores and concrete."

"Do you know who am I?" the stranger said.

I replied "you don't look familiar, you the grandson of one of my dead friends or something?"

"no sir, i don't believe my granddad knew you" the stranger said and continued

Then I looked real hard to see if I could recognize him from somehwere and then I said "It looks like you are wearing one of those uniforms you get at the halloween shop, its not Halloween, what the hell you wearing that for?"

The stranger said "It is a real uniform, sir, I am part of the mall security and the manager of the Starbucks called us, with a complaint that you were yelling and talking to yourself and it is scaring the shoppers"

Saturday night

Satuday night

at the end of my day with tea and toast

thinking of the horrors I chose Not to do today.

I sip slowly sipping, thinking of the so many times today I did the right thing, the expected thing.

At work I was cordial and helpful, energetic and happy

- and wondered if a co-worker's incessant chatter would stop if I threw a computer monitor at him.




I held the door for the old lady and her grandson,

- and wondered what she would do if I knocked the kid on his ass

I waved on the idiot that doesn't know the rules of a 4-way stop

- and wondered what he would do if I T-boned his car.

I went shopping at the orange-box hardware store,

- and wondered what they would do If I walked right past the cashiers and went out the door with my partially fill shopping cart.

I bought a box of girl scout cookies,
- and I wondered what her self-esteem would do if I told her that her girl scout vest looks stupid.

I got into my car,

- and wondered what the person next to me would do if I slammed my door into his car.

I saw a really beautiful person,

-and wondered if they'd enjoy me grabbing their ass as much as I would.

I let the cat out,

-and I wondered if it would be eaten by something tonight.

as I get into my jammies,

- and I wonder how many adults call them jammies

so on this saturday night I sit thinking of the horrors I did Not unleash upon society,

-and i wonder why didn't I....?

thanks nick

tormented by myself there is no escape.

rage so strong
hurt so deep

and I die a little more every day I think of you,

and,...

I think of you Every day,

you haunt my dreams

you monopolize my thoughts

triggers of rage and disgust and regret and hurt at even the slightest scent reminiscent of you.

and my life is torment with no escape.

if only

if only

if only i could torture you the way the thought of you,

is,

to me,

pure anguish.

but I must live with the fact that there is no death slow enough that would fill the abyss you left inside me.