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Once there was a man named Steve (⌐ ͡■ ͜ʖ ͡■) and Steve didn’t know what to do with himself           ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He knew he needed [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅5̲̅0)̲̅$̲̅] to live, yet he could even barely build an Ikea shelf.         ლ(ಥ Д ಥ )ლ But one fine day as he was walking by the Gym ᕕ( ⁰ ▽ ⁰ )ᕗ he heard a pleasant melody that awakened something within him ♪♬༼ ⨀ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿⨀ ̿༽ He followed the alluring sound until he reached double doors, and there he stayed ┬┴┬┴┤(・_├┬┴┬┴ for with his lack of skill, he was afraid they’d call him terrible names (⊹◕ʖ̯◕) But before Steve knew what was happening, the music took hold and to the beat, his foot began tapping. At first he moved stiffly, his gyrations lacked confidence ┌( ಠ_ಠ)┘But soon he learned well, and he was beginning to dance! ~(˘▾˘~) (~˘▾˘)~ Before he knew it, Steve was moving like a pro, ┌(▀Ĺ̯ ▀-͠ )┐ grooving and jiving like he was born for it from the get-go. ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ  Steve finally felt proud, his faith had been renewed. And that’s when Steve had a brilliant idea, he would start up his very own dance crew! ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°) They practiced and practiced, and soon they were put to the test, against the best the city had to offer, and Steve told them “No less”. For Steve was not scared, he was ready for anything (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง and he went bravely into the competition where the crowd’s cheers were deafening! His team danced like they deserved the win, and the judges agreed ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ *Ten points!* But the opposing team got angry, filled with hate and greed (っ-̶●̃益●̶̃)っ୧( ಠ Д ಠ )୨ ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)        ┌( ◕ 益 ◕ )ᓄ But the judges weren’t having it, they sent them on their way. Though not before those greedy baztards flipped the judges table out of the way (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ But Steve was not perturbed, if anything he was triumphant \ (•◡•) / And from that day on, Steve had it planned. He would forever be a dancer, and as a dancer, he would be grand ᕕ(⌐■_■)ᕗ ♪♬

Emoticons courtesy of dongerlist.com and their MANY emoticon options

This is in no way meant to be grammatically correct. This is just me having fun with text.

I woke up today in the green fields of May, with you lying close to my face. As I ventured into your eyes something had closed behind them. You admit you’re shattered inside, that somehow there is no more light to be shown through your eyes.

“The sun never shines on closed doors” they say. Let me in and tell me of your sins, let the gentile blade of your finger cut along the stubble of my face, and I’ll show you I am no longer afraid of whatever may hide within. Let my rough hands be cleansed by the smooth silk of your armor and open your doors once more.

You brushed my hand away with a smile on your face, and I knew you couldn’t be opened so easily. We end with a sigh as we stare at the sky in these green fields of may, yet the sun never shines on closed doors.

 

Author’s note: This passage was inspired by Flogging Molly’s “The Son Never Shines on Closed Doors”. A beautiful song, speaking of the doors we close and the importance of keeping them open to the world. 

It’s early Fall, a morning streaked with overcast clouds and a slight fog just burning off into atomic form, a calm morning; no wind to speak of, no whisper of wisdom to give a sign of anything to come. I always liked these mornings best. They let me think freely with my head on the passenger window peering into an apparent Mobius strip; everything the same as it was the day before. Same action seekers soaring down the lane on their fixies, same freshie’s starting high school over-dressed, same jocks pushing around the unfortunate few (happy it wasn’t me), same stoners with the same spaced out expressions, same shit different day; I just hope something will happen. Some change of color, or brightness or transparency, whatever; a break in the strip. A change in my life, I sought. What it is I am looking for, I haven’t a clue.

Then I heard my dad, Bill, shout something from the driver’s seat. The guy’s got a hair trigger.

Whoa! How is she not freezing?! Look at those shorts. Daisy dukes in October? Uh-uh.” He sighed, shaking his head like any disapproving parent. “Kids these days.”

Wait who?…” I said, intrigued.

I glanced to my left where he was pointing. I saw her walking across the street towards the school; beige shorts (Not actual Daisy Duke length. Not even jean material. I questioned Bill’s knowledge of The Duke Family), a white blouse underneath a navy blue pea-coat , fair skin, and a gorgeous shade of wavy brown locks slinking past her shoulders.

She carried herself effortlessly. Unlike all of the dreary faces around us, bitten by the cold, tired from a homework load they still aren’t quite accustomed to; she stood tall, unafraid. I tell you, she could have fallen down from heaven for all I know. Are teenage angels common? Heh, better to leave that one alone I think.

For whatever reason I thought about the time I’ve spent in Sunday School learning about Heaven, Hell and the power of prayer. Those countless hours learning biblical mantras and eating Styrofoam wafers may have finally paid off. Maybe prayers do get answered once in a while.

Apparently I was staring away slack-jawed because my dad was trying to get my attention…

Hey, hey. earth to Gerry, come in Gerry” he snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. My daydream interrupted.

Um… yeah, weird. Never saw her before.” Smooth Gerry, real smooth. Bill grinned.

My eyes traced her path. I really had no idea who she was but she couldn’t be a ghost; we both saw her. Is her presence a sign? Are angels usually visible to humans? Is God trying to tell me something? If so, some instructions would be mighty helpful big guy!

My dad pulled into the parking lot as she was walking toward the administrative office and she looked my way; we met eyes for a moment. She smiled, I felt weird. I think I smiled back, I can’t be sure. My facial movements were foreign to me in that space of time. I wanted to be sick, but at the same time I wanted to dance and sing and write mushy poetry for her.

I cowered down into my seat, lowering myself out of view; better choice. It was too much; how is a teen supposed to deal with emotions he’s never felt before?! C’mon now.

I felt like a fool though. I hope she didn’t get a good look at me. I bet I looked like one bowing out like that. The opposite of what I need: Someone else to think I’m a freak. I took a quick peek, to see if I was in the clear. The office door was closing. I saw her figure disappear behind frosted glass; her silhouette swaying back and forth, back and forth….

Who could she be?” I mumbled to myself; louder than intended. Only now remembering where I was. Bill had a smile from ear-to-ear.

Well little man, it looks like you’ll have all day to find out. Now, get out of my car and learn something useful. Women don’t appreciate a dumbass. Just ask your mother, I’ve been trying to get her to appreciate me for fifteen years.”

Yeah, thanks pops. I’ll see you later. Good luck with Mom.” I gave my eyes a nice roll. Appropriate sarcasm requires appropriate sarcastic gestures: It’s just a fact of life.

Hey now! Don’t get sore on me. I say that with love little man. Just tryin’ to wake you up”

He smiled one of his ‘lighten up little-man’ smiles. I tried to copy and paste the expression. I probably just looked ill.

I got out of the car and glanced around like a frightened Prairie Dog just in case the specter-girl materialized behind me. She already came out of left-field once. In the clear ole’ boy.

My dad tooted the horn as he drove his puke green (he claims it’s British racing green) ’78 VW bug out of the parking lot. It drew a few snickering faces my way, a greeting almost: welcome back to high school Gerry, only three years left.

I walked on…

It all started the day my dog died… his name was Dionysus, my mom named him. She’s a big philosophy geek, he gets mentioned in text a lot.

I didn’t mind the name so much when I found out who the guy was in Greek mythology. I thought it suited Dino well; he was a born party animal! I mean, he made a lot of noise, ate far more  than his fill, and went after just about every schnauzer, terrier, poodle... Let’s just say he got more action with those dogs than I did with my upright, smooth skinned counterparts. And he only got to explore the world on walks in the neighborhood or in his sneakier fence tunneling operations.

Shit, I was supposed to talk about something…

Oh right!

Depression. And I mean DEPRESSION.  Capital-D. Who could have guessed that would do it? Dino’s passing. Better question, who would’ve said I was anything BUT depressed before the fact?

I’ve faced deaths in the family, love interests turned mortal enemies, friends betraying friends, hell two of our family’s faithful companions had been put to sleep before we even adopted Dionysus.

I’ve cried in remorse, fucking terribly, balls to the wall baller-session after my Grandma passed away (my dad’s mom).  Drunk, and putting a cherry on top at an open-bar for my friend Sandy’s graduation (No one was carding, I indulged); literally pouring down the shame.

I was thinking about the day before my grandma left for Europe; again. Once again, her and my grandpa made the annual visit. She had made that trip so many times, I thought nothing of it. It was just another few thousand frequent-flyer miles and a carry-on full of California staples to share with our eager relatives across the deep blue. I never saw her alive again.

I started crying after toasting my last swig to her. I thought a lot of how my Grandfather might have felt, watching his wife fade away, helpless, but being there for her. I know he was strong, or tried to be. You can’t blame anyone in that position for freaking out , but I like to hope he said some loving reassurances to keep calm. Never giving up hope, trying to get to the hospital in time. I tried to imagine the last smile she may have given him before letting go, just to say “it’s okay. They have Bingo in heaven. I love you”. I hope. I also never drank heavily again. Thanks Grandma.

I’ve been down in the dumps, yes. No denying that. And you wouldn’t believe me even if I swore otherwise. You might say I was depressed since the day of my grandmother’s passing.

Not really in a dangerous way though (my therapist claims otherwise these days). It was this dull aching that never subsided. It didn’t freeze me in time so that I couldn’t see the future anymore. But I guess I wasn’t “okay enough” with the idea of a no-grandma-filled future. I had trouble accepting it. But a switch flipped; like any prideful alcoholic, I claimed myself to be a functioning bag of self-loathing. I picked myself up by withered handle, found a little thing called Mary Jane, and shit, life, went on; down some pesky river in Egypt.

Writer’s note: I hope to post an update to this story once a week. With a full time job and school to commit to, it will be difficult I am sure of that, but I will endure to the end. May you all enjoy and have a wonderful New Year! 🙂

The other day a good friend of mine approached me regarding an idea that he was very enthused about pursuing. So naturally, I was curious to see what it was that had him sending me three-page text messages containing what seemed to be a plot of some sort..

Well, he wants to create a devilishly haunting video game. One that will have the player quaking in their boots with each step they take. So to sum things up, he asked me to write the back-story for the game. Basically giving the characters some meaning and some information as to how they ended up in the position they are in during the game.  He gave me general guidance on how to write the intro and then essentially allowed me to have free reign.

So I thought it would be cool to post up our progress on my blog to get some exposure and potentially get some input from others who may have pointers or opinions on detail orientation etc. I hope you enjoy what we have so far! 🙂

P.J.- We were on the road again, Jane and I. Rebels with a cause; trying to find our own way through this frigid world we call “home” with nothing but the miserable hand we were both dealt to keep us moving. The night was pitch black, as if God forgot to pay the power bill and Zeus had no mercy for those afraid of the dark. No lightening, no stars; all on the night of a new moon. Just the rhythmic raindrops pelting my windshield and the sound of a bewildered jazz musician crooning his sorrows through the air-waves. Needless to say, I had been white-knuckling it all night.

Jane, was fast asleep in the passenger seat; lulled away by the smooth rhythm of Good Year tires gliding over a freshly paved road. Sweet, innocent Jane. She is all I have left in this world, and sometimes I feel as if I’ll never be strong enough to keep her safe. I look over and see her little hand cradling a picture of the family we used to have. The family that gave us everything they could, and asked for nothing in return.

Our mom, dad, our LIFE, all gone. Wiped out in the blink of an eye just weeks before. It happened on a family vacation. Apparently my mom, dad, the grandparents that haven’t succumbed to old age, and my best friend, Darryl were all going to surprise me with a visit on campus in Oregon. You know, the whole “familial-support” thing. I guess they really wanted to see me succeed, or they just wanted to drag me back home.

Alas, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Those answers –along with the only people in the world who cared for me– are lost in Rogue River after careening off the bridge in what was called a “freak-accident”. Maybe forever, or maybe until next week when the National Guard launches their State-Mandated search for the bodies. I hope they don’t find anything; maybe it’ll let Jane, hold on a little while longer.

I’m not holding out much hope though. It was a two-hundred and fifty-two foot drop (said the police report) to the bottom of a river that travels for miles with white water’s ranging from a babbling brook to a raging torrent; eventually dumping everything it consumes into the Pacific. It was a miracle that Jane was spared the horror in the first place, therefor I refuse to dwell on the specifics.

She is all I worry about now. My Aunt, Rose was in charge of caring for her during the Family’s visit. I guess Jane, had been having trouble coping with middle school. She didn’t make any friends, and the popular snobs tormented her to the point of retaliation. I thank God, every day since then; If she hadn’t punched the head Cheerleader’s lights out, I may have lost all sanity when the Sheriff’s department reported the nightmare that I am still trapped in. My parents forced her to stay home as a punishment. They said she would have to “wait ’till Christmas to see your big Brother”. Well, I guess Christmas has come early this year. God damn that jolly fat man. 

 

This is something that I wrote for my creative writing class as an exercise in sensory detail. Now this is something that any writer can do and I promise you it will be a good relaxing exercise for those who feel their work may be lacking some detail to really tie everything together. Or you may just want to do it to kill some time and enjoy the scent of your favorite candle  while you write. In my opinion it really helps to keep your eyes closed when you write everything down because you really allow the scent of your chosen candle to transport you to an entirely new world. One you may have never visited before. Or one that you know like the back of your hand. Either way, I hope you all enjoy the passage 🙂

As I close my eyes, I sense a faint light in front of me. The source comes from a fluttering flame, attempting to find a balance in its chaotic existence; burning its wick without fear or choice of an inevitable end. I imagine the color of the glass enclosure; simulate for the hue of coconut pulp, and inside lays a molten wax of similar origin.  I am sure a factory in distant lands used some of the precious coconut meat to extract part of this fragrant bouquet gently massaging my olfactory receptors. The scent takes me back to a beach of an exotic locale as a motion picture plays behind  closed eyelids. I can feel the sand bursting between my toes with each step as I make my way out of the warm, translucent water. With each bound, I grow closer to an intoxicating aroma filled with fresh coconut –as mentioned -, pineapple and a slight citrus note here and there -a tangerine tree maybe?- at any rate it seems to be coming in and out of range with the ever-changing sea breeze. Back to reality as I open my eyes and see the white-glass candle sitting in front of me, still lit with determination. The sea-breeze turns out to be just the buffeting fan in my room. As I blow the flame away, it smolders and gives off its last remnants of the tropics as the emblazoned wick returns to its black, carbonized state.