bad music

And as I walk in the parking lot this rattling assaults my ears

loud

Over Booming Bass
Rattles emanating from a car parked

No way to avoid it I must walk closer to the noise and I find that each of my steps matches the over-amplified thump coming from that car.

I think to myself that it must be some punk-teenager thinking that he is making the world a better lace by sharing his shit music, and willing to fight you to prove it.

Or maybe it is some gang-banger, that wants people to look at him so he can glare back with the vile and evil look of a deranged homicidal killer.

Or maybe it is some kid from the ghetto trying to compete with the middle class that come to this shopping center, angry at his own misfortune.

Finally I am close enough and can't help but look,...

Look at the car to see who parks and has the intense selfishness necessary to pollute the air with this crap for music, played on a sound system that would distort a simple middle-C on a piano.

And to my absolute surprise I see no anger or threat, nor do I see selfishness.

I see a moment in someones life that will be remembered, a time that cannot be replaced, a moment of pure spontaneity and delight.

What I see is a boy in the front seat of a car bouncing and singing to the song while his father has joined in the sheer enjoyment of the moment, by singing the chorus with his son and rocking to the beat.

Talk maybe cry

and the adult child sits with her parents
most likely before church starts
the tension so thick it can be seen across the restaurant
her mom does not approve of her skirt
her dad does not approve of her choice of make up


mom and dad look at each other with the 50 years of marriage, they need not say any words
but the look which clearly communicates their intense disapproval of this child is felt deeply by the child
although a woman now in her 30's she still needs them
needs their love
needs their understanding
needs them to not look at each other that way, as if she was 10 yrs old and doesn't know what "that look" means

and she thinks to herself "why can't I just get the nerve to say what is so embedded in their look:
LOSER !
FAIL AT EVERYTHING
NOT MARRIED
NO RELATIONSHIPS
A JOB THAT SUCKS
AND HAVE NO FUTURE"

But her thoughts are broken by the breaking of the silence when her mom says "that's a colorful skirt dear, where did you get it?"
The Dad oblivious to his wife's cattiness adds injury to to the insult just thrown and says "It looks nice but don't you think its a little short?"

and with that the woman hears a pin drop on the other side of the restaurant.

and the three of them sit quiet, waiting for something to save them from this torturous morning. And for what seems like an eternity-was really only 30 seconds, before a little boy screams "I WANT CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES, NOT EGGS!" the demand punctuated by a plate hitting the floor.

and the dad say "sounds like someone is a bit over stressed, maybe got up too early today and is still tired"

and the woman says, "If I did that you would have drug me to the car and beat my ass till I couldn't breath let alone talk, then you'd beat me again when we got home for making you embarrass yourself"

and the mom says, "now dear we were firm with you as a child, but it wasn't all that bad"

and the roles firmly embedded, the child in her 30's takes heed and says no more.

The abuse was real,

but no one talks of it, so it is always there,

a simple thing talking about the wrongs of the past, we as humans need that, we need to know others feel with-us, and if both are lucky tears will be shared.

but no one talks of the past, so it is always there,

and the woman sits with her parents before church the tension so thick it can be seen across the restaurant.

a private moment in public

And the going-away-dinner at this very fine, expensive restaurant, comes close to the end.

Conversation stays light and airy with the under currents of the impending sadness.

the little kids run around

and the teenagers act like teens:

tough

harassing the little ones

annoying the adults

and bouts of intellectual acuity and real empathy-and-compassion

Then one of the teenage boys can't handle the sadness that is

as obvious as would be a hole in the floor where once stood the kitchen table

and breaks down slowly,

almost imperceptibly at first,

the feelings show first in the down turned eyes,

The controlled quivering of his lower lip.

Grief and Loss fills his soul for things not yet real, but it feels as if the very heart of the family is being ripped out.

Then he moves closer to the one soon to depart for parts unknown

And the-one gently touches his chin as if to transfer pure energy and love in hopes of calming the anguish in the boy.

Then the teen boy with a few drops of tears, buries his face into the-one's hand.

The-one looks deeply into the boy, to try to help him maintain control, this is America after all, and boys that are almost men are not allowed to cry.

The emotion of the impending grief is too overwhelming for the boy and he throws away all the societal bullshit rules, "not in public", "don't make a scene while we are at 'this restaurant'", the embarrassment, fear of ridicule, and the greatest lie; men-don't-cry.

And the boy moves into the-ones lap, hugging tightly, crying.

The boy hangs on not wanting to let go, his body trembles and with each inhale almost convulses to catch his breath between the crying that does not seem to have an end.

This very private moment shared in public.

andrew plays with himself

Computers
I hate them
but they allow a creativity not otherwise felt
a satisfaction that can fulfill the lonely
a release of stress
a release of angst
a release of frustration

yes a release of frustration
computers allow you to
to,..
well,..
how should I say,...

Play with yourself.

yes computers allow that,
you can do as your fantasies dictate
and the computer obeys

set up random
set up repeat
find new ways to feel

take your time
relax and let the computer do some of the fantasy for you
then let yourself become part to the moment to feel like you have not felt before.
hold back,
don't let the end come so quickly,
after all its not like its a 2 minute song on the radio.
quiet down


Imagine there are real people that think like you,
But know you are different
and go back to your computer for comfort and emotion

Play with yourself using computers, you should be so lucky to be able to.

hey perv, I'm not talking sex I am talking talent and genius

go to ted.com and check out

Andrew bird's one-man orchestra of the imagination

http://www.ted.com/talks/andrew_bird_s_one_man_orchestra_of_the_imagination.html

he records music on the spot and lets the computer play back so he can play with, well I guess I should have said,.. acompany himself.

I need t cook some corn chips.

and the weeks, have turned to months,
the normal excuses bombard
too hot
too cold
too much rain
not enough rain

and I succumb to the fantasy that something else really matters
and I feel day by day my core becoming a blob a mass of flesh rotting
or at the very least waiting to rot - off my bones as I turn into nothingness

Despair and Depression are the only thing that is real,
house a mess
kitchen full of dishes
lawn needs cut
car awfully dirty
but at least I took a shower today.

it is those little accomplishments that keep me going
a shower today, so today people will not wince at my stench
today I can walk knowing as I pass by people they are not talking about the cloud of odor that follows me.
today I don't have thoughts so full of death and despair
today I feel good enough to give my dog a pat on the head, for which he is ever so grateful.
today I see the sun is shining
because today is a successful day, I set a goal; to take a shower. And I did.

so that is the first hour of the day and it was good.


The start of the second hour of the day I make it out of the house not seeing the dirty dishes in the sink, the carpet that has not been vacuumed in 8 months, the ashtray overflowing and spilling on to the coffee table and on to the floor.

I made it out of the house and saw the sunshine and it felt good against my now clean skin.
Knowing the mess my car is both inside and out, I decide to walk to the bus stop to go to the store. The graffitti and grim and bums and homeless at the bus stop is a much happier place than the inside of my car.

On the bus and someone actually sits next to me, and begins conversation. .... light, casual, meaningless dribble that people do when they sit next to strangers and the stranger does not stink so bad they fear puking.

at the start of the third hour
I leave the bus and go to the store, I know the food in my house is old and moldy or freezer burned and horrible tasting, so I take my few dollars and a shopping cart and in that big clean, brightly lit, well air-conditioned super market, and I wander, looking at the cereal, and the ice cream and the bakery section, the ethnic food section, and I pick up items look at the price closely and say - it may spoil on the way back home- and put the item down.

I only have a few dollars for groceries, and seeing those around me with shopping carts filled to the brim and overflowing, I wonder what that must feel like to have a grocery cart full of food that you will take home and eat..... To eat it you must cook, to cook you must clean, and I,... I have pots and pans and plates all of which are in the kitchen sink smelly, slimy, moldy.

Why don't they have a kitchen sink full of mold, I wonder to myself, and then I remember the item on top of the pile of dishes in my sink is a frying pan, that gives me the clue of what I need to buy.

Corn chips in the bag cost almost 6 dollars, but corn tortillas cost 2 and oil cost 2, of which I can make bags and bags of corn chips because I already have the salt.

At the start of the fourth hour of the day, I get on the bus with my tripple bagged groceries, the $15 spent fits very nicely in one bag-- actually it takes up less than half the bag but I asked the store clerk to put the plastic bag in another plastic bag, and that double-bagged bundle into a third - I did not want to take any chances.

There was a homeless teen on the bus, you know them, raggy clothes, snot dripping from their nose, scars on their arms - they hate their life and try to run away from it, but you are always stuck with yourself where ever you are.

At the start of the fifth hour of the day I walk into my house and think, I really should:
wash the dishes
vacuum the floor
clean the bathrooms
clean the dogpoop from the yard
wash my car
clean the inside of it out
wash some clothes
empty that ashtray.

Overwhelmed I go to my clothes strewn room, slip into the sheets which were recently washed 3 months ago, and pet my dog. The room is dark so I can't see the mess I am, and my dog likes me, so I must be OK. I fall asleep.

At the start of the 16th hour of the day I awaken ready to change my life, I get out of my room go into the kitchen and wash the frying pan, a bowl, a knife, a spoon and the cutting board -- all that I need to fry some corn chips for dinner, with a side of cottage cheese.

Today was a good day I washed five items, but somehow my sink is still piled high with dirty dishes and I have nothing clean.

He pinched me

Even though he is almost 10 he is still small and helpless
and during this early-morning family outing to get coffee and scones
he has fallen asleep next to you on the couch.

your work responsibility causes the need to leave.

so lift him carefully to your shoulder to protect his innocence.
and to the car, the family walks.

his arms cling to your neck
the protective strength you feel
feeling his warmth and total trust in you
his legs flopping with each step you take
so you slow to protect his slumber state


the older brother, almost 15 yrs old trailing behind on the way to the car,
pinches the sleeping child hard
hard enough to startle
hard enough to welt
hard enough to cause uncontrollable sobbing

As the father you scold the 15 yr old.
"that was not funny"
"why did you do that?"
"what were you thinking?"
"I'm really disappointed in you" this last statement directed at the soul of the 15 yr old.

The mom is oblivious
to busy in her own reality
busy texting
busy face booking
busy farmville -ing
busy twitter - ing
busy google - ing
busy hiding
she did not want to come at all
she lives in her own world
distant and isolated

She does not see life as other mom's
although plenty of food
her kids go to school without breakfast
although plenty of clothes
her kids go to school dirty

her defense: "she does not sleep well, and can't get up in the morning to be with them."

but she sees not the cause is her awakening at 3:am nightly.

for her husband 3am
is believable lies told by her
"I just needed some water"
"I hoped to read myself to sleep"
"I have an upset stomach"
"I heard a noise in the boy's room and was checking on them"

for her 3:am
is selfishness and power
it is adrenaline and control
it is for secrets
"he doesn't know what I'm doing, he's asleep"
"if he didn't like it he would tell me"
for her it is justifications
"tonight I'll just look and not touch"
"tonight I'll Just touch, only with my hand"
"oh, tonight I went too far, tomorrow I won't do anything"
"next time I won't li
"next time I won't
"next time
"next time
"next time
and
"next time,.....


for the almost 15 year old
3am is
feeling confused and scared
... hopeless ....
feeling alone and helpless
... dirty ....
feeling powerless
feeling betrayed by his mother
feeling guilty for hating his mother so,
feeling betrayed by his dad, cause he doesn't see what is going on.
betrayed by himself for NOT telling her to stop IT.
betrayed by his body that responded to something that feels so horribly wrong
he feels tortured.
. he feels numb mixed with bouts of horror unimaginable,....


And in the daylight the almost 15 yr old now trailing behind the family on the way to the car, after the impromptu family outing, was re-living the previous 3:am.


if one could rate the horror scale,... last night,
last night would have been the worst,

because the outrageous evil of his body almost caused him to cum at the lips of his abuser.


he sees his little brother
innocent
helpless

and he thinks back to the first 3:am,...
and realizes that his little brother is as old now as he was then.

a thought causing crashing waves of concern, confusion and overwhelming helplessness,..
"Has she started doing it to him?"



the older brother, almost 15, pinches the sleeping child hard
hard enough to startle
hard enough to welt
hard enough to cause uncontrollable sobbing

he knew his father would scold.
"what were you thinking"
"you should be ashamed of yourself"
"I'm really disappointed in you" this last statement directed at the soul of the 15 yr old.

And the almost 15 yr old inhaled the disappointment, like he had been underwater for 5 minutes and needed air.

The shame of self-inflicted guilt of hurting his little brother was like his intestines turned inside out and his mouth filled with the taste of shit and bile..


And breathing in the dad's disappointment, and tasting the shit and bile,
at this moment,
is easier to live with than his thought that,..

even though, 15 years old, he can't protect his little brother from their mother.


***

the name

"gross" is what my dad called it,
my mom was totally disgusted
his dad just sighed at us as if that was enough to change things.
his mom left years ago, on his 11th birthday so we couldn't freak her out even if we wanted to.

We have a garage band this summer and we are sounding great. We even had one of the "popular ones" ask us to play at a party he was having, actually his parents paying for, out in the sticks.

Some covers, but a lot of our own guts and sweat.

Other kids are just stupid.
Parents-for that matter-all adults, -- not much better, except when you need a ride or some cash for shopping, then the parents are the best.

our music is real
its about the love of our life,
the unjustness of being grounded,
the bully that no one likes
that really queer kid - you know the one that think he's straight when he is obviously Soooo, gay.
the homeless ones.
the hungry.
the addicted.

So many songs have that stupid predictable repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, ............ everyone play your instruments Loud - then END-song.

Some of the songs our parents liked, how disappointing it was for us when they asked us to "please play that one song of yours that starts and ends with a guitar solo."

It took real pain to create the one my parents liked so much. no formula, no copying, no "influenced by", just me being me.

Then you have that cherub-faced kid that sang a Lady Gaga song and now has a new record label funded by Ellen.

Life is so unfair.

I wonder if its worth the fight, or should we just be like everyone else??

So that's where our name came from we were looking for something different, a little bit meaningless, not real, memorable, and- how did my dad put it,.... "gross"

We need to be us, you'll know our sound when you hear it

and you will remember our name

Thank to Michael,

you'll remember our name.




"Carbonated Afterbirth"

looking for some relief

I am lost there is something deep inside not willing to show itself
I stay stuck and in pain waiting for it to show

but relief is nowhere near
the forced tears, the therapist said to try is not working for me this time.
the porn is boring
the thought of drugs does not excite me either.
I am looking for the words to give me relief from the stress and pain of life.
but no magic to be found on-line.

No food can fill the void.

I call a friend but she is not home, so I feel so alone.

I rock like an autistic idiot and hope for relief, distraction or death

But none will come, the past is too strong and it pulls me into depression.

The past needs to come out, but I am afraid
afraid of the pain
afraid of the truth
afraid if my new-found friends shun me.

the music can't get loud enough
the pictures dark enough
the stories sad enough

I am still stuck with me.

Exercise can't sweat it out
Can't fall a sleep to let sleep hide it from me.
the hot line just put me on hold.

no one to talk to
nothing to stop me this time

my knife collection so large, I leave it to my son's
my car, paid in full, I leave to my daughter
the insurance will take care of the house for the wife.

not much else to do,


except of course,...



to stop living.

Dharavi

and the bright blues and reds of the pictures of the small portion of a town are very appealing and beautiful. the high gloss of the National Geographic photographs legendary; 

does paint the town in a pretty light. pictures of the adults working kids playing a girl in a dress the occasional close up of an old person's weathered, life spent, face you know the one I'm talking of, a man that looks to be 110 years old, 

wearing non-American headgear (towel-head, you might say). a man that has been through life and has kids, grandkids and great-grandkids to his credit. he has seen it all and his face shows the pains, and each hardship cut into the deep cracks in his cheeks.

 the look that half says "whats the big deal I'm just me" and half says "I have lived through more horror than you can imagine" There are plenty of words to go with the pictures, but nobody really reads when there are pictures - whats the point? 

 Dharavi - a slum, full of poor who wash their clothes in sewer water. aerial shot of the cardboard shacks inches apart. dirty people in a dirty part of a city as if this is the only city with its shame contained to a few square blocks. kind of easy to view the pictures in the magazine and talk of the sadness in distant countries while drinking a latte looking out the window of the coffee shop. but not easy to see those children sitting in the grass while a homeless woman, their mother, stands in the middle of the road with a sign pleading to be pitied, helped, and most of all acknowledge.

dead dog

my dog is still alive.
a disappointment,..

sort of.

I was hoping for some break in my otherwise mediocre life.
a little bit of fear
a little bit of adrenaline


is he breathing?
what do I tell the kids?
how do I lift the lifeless body?
That feeling of what once was life now heavy in my hands, .....
where would I carry him to?


but no, he met me at the door, all happy to be.

I wish I was.