sense

i should really be studying. however, i felt the need to resurrect this post instead of worrying about my grades. fuck, i’m dumb.

eh, let’s kick it old school. “sense”

—————————————————————————————————

The sun was in his eyes. It didn’t matter; she was there. “Hey beautiful,” he said to her. She became beautiful. He wielded that power. She smiled and walked towards him.

“Why do you always say that to me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Because you are.”

“I came by to see you the other day. They said you left early.”

“I had a meeting. I didn’t know you were coming by. I might have stayed a little while longer.”

They stood there. Facing each other and talking. Nothing else seemed to matter. The sun began to set. Bathed in half-light; they moved closer together. Talking. Smiling. Laughing. Closer still. She could smell him. She closed her eyes. She began to think.

Her watch beeped. She opened her eyes. “It’s getting late. I should go.” She slowly turned around.

“Wait.”

She turned back to him. Her sunkissed hair covered part of her face. He raised his hand and gently brushed it away. She didn’t resist.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“What?” she asked.

“Searching me out. And then leaving. You don’t seem to sway in any one direction. This isn’t making sense.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“I know what would make sense.”

“…I can’t”

“Yes you can. We-”

“No. He died. I just, I don’t know.”

“It’s been three years.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“It’s supposed to mean maybe you should start looking out for your own happiness again. I’m not telling you to forget him. You should never forget him.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. You know, I’ve lost people close to me too.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve still been left alone with no explanation. It didn’t make any sense. And it hurt.”

“I know. It’s just that…that…” she paused.

“What?”

She looked at him and didn’t say anything. He spoke first, “What are we doing here? What is this leading up to? I can’t keep doing this.”

She took a deep breath and did not speak.

“There are some things I know I will never come close to understanding. Some things I will never see.” He whispered, “This is not one of them.”

He held out his hand.

breakfast at (kate’s) tiffany’s

in honor of mlk day (this story’s date) and in honor of a night that may have beaten mlk day (last night):

I kicked my feet through a pile of leaves as we walked to her car. A few clouds were overhead. A chilly breeze blew through my tousled hair. “It would have been a perfect morning for a run,” I thought. “Not today.”

“You alive?”

“Barely. My head is killing me.”

“Want some aspirin?”

“Sure.” She went into her room and brought back a bottle.

“Thanks.”

“Want some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

Sourdough toast and eggs over easy. I haven’t had eggs over easy in years. I moped up the leftover yolk with my toast. Her dogs begged the entire time.

“We should get you home.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Ever really has to pee. Hopefully, she hasn’t eaten all the cereal.” I put my shoes on and walked to the door.

It was sunny outside. The clock read 7AM. And I felt…perfect. “How the hell is that even possible?” I looked at the bowl beside the couch. “What are those black things? Beans? Nice. Oh, corn too.” I walked into the kitchen and cleaned out the bowl. I found a rag and cleaned up the mess I had made on the rug. “I have to pee.” There were 4 closed doors. One was Kate’s room. Two others were bedrooms. And the fourth was a bathroom. “I might as well wait it out.” I took a sip of water. That’s when the headache came roaring in. I instantly felt like shit. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. “What the fuck is that?” It was too dark to see. “Oh, it’s a dog. Bunny.” I was on an unfamiliar couch. “Here it comes again. Where’s the bowl?” I puked. I puked again. It was over. No it wasn’t. I reached for the bowl and tipped it over. “No time to worry about that now.” I puked for a third time. I fell asleep.

Kate helped me out of the car. She was too small to pick me up so I crawled to the door. I puked in her flower garden. I made my way, with plenty of help, to the couch.

“I’m taking your shoes off.”

“Where’s my bucket?” I was handed a bowl and promptly started throwing up.

I finished my second Mojito. We were talking at the bar. Everything was fine, and fun. Then without warning, the world instantly turned on it’s side. “I don’t fell so good.” I somehow managed to get to the bathroom. Amber was there, I think. Maybe she came later. Either way, I was on the floor of Prague’s bathroom.

“Dorian, you need to puke.”

“I know. I can’t”

“Yes you can. Here let me help you.” She stuck her finger in my throat. Actually, she slammed her finger into my soft palate. It hurt.

“Let me do it!” Nothing happened. I continued to hug the toilet. And then it came. It was both wonderful and terrible at the exact same time. And I kept going. And going.

“You need to get your hands off of the gross bowl.” I removed them only to put them back.

“You need to get up.”

The bathroom was on it’s side. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” She tried lifting me. I didn’t budge. She tried again. Her efforts were in vain.

I managed to get myself up.

“We need to go. Your ER friend is waiting for you.”

“One more minute. I just need one more minute.” I wasn’t going anywhere. That was when I was lifted into the air. I was being carried through the bar.

“Wow, you’re heavy,” said the unnamed strong-man.

“I weigh 160 pounds,” I said gingerly.

He put me down. Amber helped me into Kate’s car.”

“Just take me home.”

“My place is closer.” It wasn’t. But we went there anyway.

3 Wicky Wacky Woos later life was good. And fun. It was only 10pm and the bar was closing. Some other people were at Little Prague. It was time to leave. We forgot to tip our bartender, who we named “Harry Potter.” Even though he looked like Snape. Kate and I walked up to the bar inside of Prague, “I’ll have a Mojito.”

I got to Cafe Bernardo early. No one was there so I walked around the block, twice. As I passed the door  of Bernardo’s for a second time I heard my name.  It was Amber. I turned around and we went inside.

poetry

i don’t think i need to go into this one as i already did.

—————–

can you feel it? the teen angst?

i was going through my desk and found something my mom sent me a while back. it was an envelope of things i wrote when i was younger.

i was in high school we were visited by one of the writers of a tv show (spin city). for that day we were to write, in any form, about something that bothered us. a few would be selected and read by the writer. i don’t really know what that was supposed to accomplish. but as usual, i just went along for the ride.

i chose to write poems about my dealings with the orthodontist and his technical minions. i hated them so much. they were just dickweeds, every single one. at the time of writing, my braces had only just been taken off, and i was wearing a retainer. my troubles with the dickweeds were not quite over.

as i looked at the folded and slightly crumpled piece of paper, i wondered if i still had the “original” copy on my computer. i wanted to see the creation date. i did have it. unfortunately it was dated 2003; the date was quite wrong. i was able to find at another piece i had done around the time of the poems. it was dated around march 2000. these writings had made it through 4 computers, countless crashes, and reinstalls of entire systems. i think that’s pretty damn impressive.

and if you were wondering, yes, my poems were read to all of the classes. i wasn’t very happy about it.

Dorian Jacob
period 4
What bothers me

Here is a series of haiku on the orthodontist

the orthodontist’s office
my mouth fills with pain
they treat me like i’m stupid
yet i must go back

the orthodontist
you tell me i’m wrong
stupidity i need none
be a real dentist

broken retainer
don’t need a new one
it flips when i talk with it
sixty dollars please

broken retainer revisited
sixty-two dollars
it’s just a piece of plastic
i will make my own

hemisphere

i’ll try to dig into this one soon…

actually, i’m not ready to do that just yet 6/1/2009

hemisphere

the room was mostly empty except for a few random items. the sun was low in the sky and cast an orange hue on everything it touched.
“why did you take me here?”
“you needed to see it.”
“her apartment?! i’ve seen it before. i used to live here.” “remember?” i said sarcastically
he didn’t say anything.
“so what now? is this supposed to make it all go away? is this closure? i am all done?”
“no one has seen you for two months.”
“you’ve seen me.”
“yeah. i check on you once a week to make sure you are still alive.”
“isn’t that good enough?”
“i heard you were using again.”
“i thought you said no one has seen me.” how would they know?” i cocked my head slightly to one side.
“are you?” he said in as serious of a voice he could muster.
“what do you think?”
“you don’t need that stuff-”
“don’t need it? i don’t need it?! what the fuck do you know about that i need?! huh?!”
“you need to get back into the real world. you’re going to get fired. you’re going to get kicked out of school.”
“why does that matter to you? why am i so important?”
“because i care,” his eyebrows moved close together.
“no you don’t.” i shook my head from side to side.
“oh great.” he threw his hands into the air. “here he goes. dorian is the only one in the world that cares about people because he puts everyone first. the only one that knows what it’s like to feel pain . the only one that can save the world. because he’s lived a hard life.”
“shut up.” my upper lip curled.
“no.”
“i told you to shut up!” a small trash can was near my feet. i picked it up and threw it against the wall. “you don’t know what it’s like. you have no fucking idea what it was like to be me! to not have a father. to live on food stamps. to have your own mother hauled away by the cops the day before your 17th birthday to a god damn mental institution! you had everything. you had a family. and money. everything you have now, and ever had, was given to you. you didn’t work for any of it. everything i do is an uphill battle. all you ever do is talk about your family’s giant house and huge piece of land. you rub it into to mine and everyone’s faces. and you know what? no one fucking cares about how rich and great your family is! it’s so fucking disgusting how self-centered you are!” my chest was heaving and i began to feel warm.
he drew his lips into his mouth and was quiet.
“yeah. the truth sucks doesn’t it?
he continued to remain silent.
“why the hell did you bring me here?!” a screwdriver lay on the counter. i threw it at the bathroom mirror. the sound of shattering glass broke him from his silence.
“what the hell are you doing?! someone’s gonna call the cops!”
“and what? are you afraid to go to jail for breaking and entering? destruction of property?!” i picked up the screw driver again and jammed it into the drywall.
“i, i just want to help you!”
“help me? ok.” i smirked. “then wave a magic wand and bring her back. bring her back to life. that will fix everything. can you do that? can you?!” i started sweating profusely.
“no.” he said quietly and looked towards the floor
“then you can’t help me!” i pulled down on the handle of the screw driver and ripped a large hole in the wall. “there is nothing you can do!” i did it again. and again. it became hard to breathe, and the world started to spin. i muttered something neither he nor i could comprehend and fell over.

i was out out for three days. i hit my head pretty hard on the way down. no one was at the hospital to greet me when i woke up.

that was two years ago. i’ve tried to find it since then; that sense of belonging. however, every time i do it disappears as quickly as i find it. there’s nothing holding me here. not anymore. it’s time to leave.

the phoenix

while lurking through the aether of the old blog i found some stuff that i wanted to re-introduce to the world. you see, that stuff, while on the internet, will never be found by anyone. therefore, it will never be read by anyone.

not even googlebot has seen it.

that’s not how i write. so i’m bringing it back. not all of it.  just the stuff i think is worthy, or at least interesting.

take the post below. it’s clearly two juxtaposed stories. they were never meant to be together. in fact, they were written a year a part from each other. but during my depression-induced insomnia phase i combined them.  the result was a much stronger piece than either of them standing alone

sq rt( 16)
He woke to the sound of some terrible song from 1985. The bed was empty that morning. It had been empty for some time; it was all he thought about anymore. He walked into the kitchen. “At least those two are happy,” he thought, as the dog and cat were enjoying their breakfast.

…
3/28. It was the most important day of his life. The day that changed everything.
(wow)

I guess she didn’t see me.

“I think it should look like this”
“You have a Super Nintendo?”

Friendship. Farmer’s Market. House watching. Summer school. The trust built. It was fun.
…

After work ended he went home. On the drive back, the cars danced their ballet. They darted and weaved with impeccable timing. He used to enjoy it. Now they were only in his way.

…
12/11 “I’ll protect you”
We drove down the state. We laughed at the “fog.” She held him.

“Do we?”
“We can’t”
“I know”
“Are you mad?”
“No”

“Are you sure?”
(he nodded his head)

It continued to grow.
…

He fumbled with the door key. After he had made copies, it never worked right. It was dark inside. The envelope was still on the counter; it had been there for three days. It was a small business envelope from the school. He knew it could mean only one thing. He picked up the envelope and tossed it in the garbage.

…
“…never tell you things…”
“I love you. I love you. I love you”

“It has to be here.” He went through everything. It only made things worse.

“San Diego”
“See You Next Tuesday”

The beach was beautiful. He thought she was too.
“C’mon I want to see the shark.”
(Looking at the jellies)
…

…
Overreacting
Compromise
Yelling
Effort
Ignoring
Overreacting

“Not enough time…”
“…force myself to be around you.”
…

It was nearly 3 in the morning by the time he made it to the empty bed. He wasn’t very tired though. He closed his eyes. The alarm sounded at 6 am.