So someone wanted to read my old writing and I couldn't link them because everything was hidden. So I opened up a few entries just for ease of linking in the future. Reading these entries made me reflect on the 7 years I've used this site (the last year and a half being completely inactive). And I guess that reflection is like reading a book, or rather a chapter of a book. It's been a chapter of my life. And like any writer, I guess I should say goodbye to some of the characters in this twisted play.


botd - Atlantic City! Hit me up when you want to go again.

brettthebrat - Brett, your adventures will forever amuse me. You know how to reach me.

caruh - Carol, I find myself wondering how you're doing. I hope things have gone well for you.

conflict726 - Andrea, you were always a good friend to me, sorry I disappeared.

darkentries - Xenia, you've always been special to me. I know you think that my complete fall from the world is a sign of not caring. It's not. I don't know why I'm not around anymore and if I had some good answers you'd be the first to get them. Somewhere along the way my world shifted and I changed and I just couldn't hang out online any longer. I hope you still remember me fondly but I understand if you don't.

gypsygurl/save_roxie - Lia, I'm glad you found happiness and I do miss you.

harlequinlocke - Amauri, keep fighting the good fight (sic). I'm sure I'll make it back to NYC and you, Rob, and me can tear it up again.

kryptique - I hope the love that you found is still strong, you deserve it.

lilwith - My female counterpart of ups and downs. I didn't know you long, but I'm glad I met you.

lolina/slowbyrn - Shannon! You still have to put up with me. Not as much as we'd like. Sometimes life gets in the way.

maur - Robbie Pooh. Much like I said to Xenia, my disappearance shouldn't be a reflection of what you mean to me. Hopefully I'll do a better job of staying in touch.

mikomi_san - Mel, I know you're not on here anymore, but you've always been one of my favorite people in the world and somehow we still manage to cross paths. If I believed in such a thing as destiny...

neithy - I haven't talked to you in ages Minna. I hope you've found the things you've looked for.

nightmareelegy - I'm glad you and Lia found each other.

piercedspirit - John, glad I got to talk to you recently about the apnea. I missing a lot of the music you used to send me. I should probably hit you up for it again.

shinyness - Chels! Sorry I broke our LJ buddy pact.

starrynight123 - Snow!!!!

thesaber - Still waiting to see that kilt in person.

tranquilstar - Moving to Europe sucks. I think you should move to Ohio.

wybo - Well Chris, I guess I'll never be published. ;-)




Well I've started a new blog. I've tried the blog way, and the no blog way. Neither seems to work. I've found though that I do better with an outlet. I just don't feel right coming back here. It's hard to explain I guess. So I put the final touches on this chapter and wave goodbye.

Take care everyone.

~fin

7/13/2006

I never wanted to be in the way. From the time that I was born I never wanted to be a burden or trouble for anyone. I've often discarded the things that I've wanted or needed in favor of those things that I felt would be in line with others' comfort. Maybe I'm a martyr. It's all a part of me.

On the plane I was in the way. The pure width of me made sure of that. As I tried to scrunch myself as tiny as I could possibly get, I was constantly wary of any discomfort I brought to the poor girl unfortunate enough to be sitting next to me. When I booked the ticket I tired to choose an aisle seat where the window seat was already taken. That way I stood a better chance of no one wanting the one vacant seat in the middle for the four hour trip. No such luck. Not for me. What else would I expect? Will I did have a single seat on the short, first leg of the trip, but I'd have gladly traded that for the longer journey.

Most of my friends and family wrongly assume that my hesitation for flying is that I feel cramped int he seats. In reality, it's the cramping of others does it. I sit in the terminal and feel that all eyes are on me. Everyone staring and praying to God that they're not the unfortunate soul that wins the fucked up cramp lottery.Their eyes are on me again as I walk down the aisle looking for row 36. As I pass them I imagine that I can hear their sighs of relief. Their eyes burn into me and it stings. I never wanted this.

About two hours into the flight my legs begin to spasm a bit. They cry out to me wondering why in the hell I'm squishing them to one side for so long. But the pain in my legs is a fair trade for the pain in my head and in my heart. I wish I could become even smaller in my seat. I hope that I can fade into the background and be unnoticed. And I wish for the clock to wind faster. Einstein postulates that time is relative. I have lived through the proof. The last two hours become a battle between the aching legs (and now screaming back) and the small shred of diginity left inside of me. All the while my thoughts drift between what the girl next to me might be thinking and the huge space in between the small girls in front of me with no middle passenger. Then like to interlocking schools of fish, the thoughts collide and I wonder if the girl wishes she had booked row 35 instead.

When we landed my relief was short lived. I could only think of the journey back and the next poor person that would have to bear the burden of me. Sometimes I hate myself. The girl couldn't quite get to her bag in the overhead, so I grabbed it for her and lifted it down. That modest payment was the least I could do at that point. She thanked me and I told her that I hoped I hadn't crowded her too badly for the past four hours. She gave me a suprised look as if to say "whatever do you mean?" I know better though. But I appreciated her kindness anyway.

A friend of mine made a post on the forums I frequent. And it sparked a response from me. The following is the post and response:

The Post

It sucks to be a girl, talking to all my close girl friends, they are all pretty so they each have legions of guys who have crushes on them, then they get acused of leading guys on because guys refuse to pick up on subtle hints to back off because they dont want to believe them and the girl is too nice to give the harsh reality.


So I am sorry to all the girls.

And to the guys, take a hint, you, if you are honest with yourself, know if a girl likes you, really know, if its a grey area chances are she dosnt, move on, dont try to win her over, just move on.


Im sorry for the male species again, and im sorry you cant pee standing up, cause that would royally suck.


My Response

It’s dangerous to generalize in this situation that guys “just don’t get it”. It’s equally dangerous to assume that said girl has truly hinted her intentions, or lack thereof, to the guy. But even if she had, there’re some factors involved that pertain to the differences between men and women.

In my experiences, both personal and observed, I have found there’s a fundamental difference in the way men and women choose their potential suitors. Now the following statements will be for most girls and guys, not necessarily all. For all of their “guy” faults, such as being obsessed with physical features, guys are more likely to have a girl “grow on them”. A girl they have known for a long time, with absolutely no attraction, can often be seen in another light. Internal ideas about the opposite sex are very dynamic and fluid. Whereas most girls seem very rigid in their assessment of the guys they are attracted to. A guy they view as a friend will most times always be viewed as a friend. And guys they would date, will always be guys that they would date. There are seldom occurrences where a girl will see their friend in a new light and spark a new attraction. It happens, but not as often as the other way around.

Where is this leading me? Well some guys don’t “get the hint” because they view the world through their own eyes and ideals. And those ideals justify that someday that fantastic friendship can be sparked into a romantic relationship. Hence the desire to “win her over” as you put it. But sadly, it will very rarely happen that way. And I don’t say that as an insult to females. Perhaps they are more rigid because they understand better what they are looking for in a partner. Guys tend to have some retardation of their emotions and desires beyond frivolous physical needs and take a little longer to understand themselves and what they seek. I think girls tend to know that a lot sooner. There’s the old adage you see in movies and television that a girl knows if she’d ever sleep with you in the first 10 minutes of knowing you. While that’s a bit too simplistic for me, it does have some merit.

I will reiterate, this is not all men and all women. There are always exceptions to the rule. But the rule is pretty prevalent in my observations.

There is always the anomaly of the girl not being truthful with all involved too. I have seen this often. The girl will tell guy A that she’s told other guys she’s not interested and they just don’t get the hint. But in reality she enjoys the attention that she receives as it helps her confidence and self worth. I’m not even sure if some of these girls realize what they’re doing. Human nature is a funny thing. But there you have several guys all thinking the same thing about the other guys. When in reality, it’s her causing the confusion. And while her intentions may not be filled with malice, it can cause a serious rift. Now some people may say she’s “playing” all the guys. But again, I feel that’s too simplistic as I think in most cases, the extent of damage is not known or understood.

Then finally there is what you’ve alluded to, the clueless guy. Some of them just refuse to live in reality. But these guys aren’t really a friend. Whatever is driving them, loneliness – desperation – jealousy, it certainly is not out of love or genuine interest. Any true friend will sacrifice their own selfish desires for the happiness of someone they care about. It will sting, it will cause self doubt, but it will be the path chosen.

This could be long or short, I'm not sure. I know I have a lot swimming in my brain, how much I get out remains to be seen. It will probably be choppy and I will not put it behind a cut. I'm sorry if it fucks up your friends view. I'm a rude bastard though.

Been really wanting to write lately but I really have little to say. Seems to be a curse. I need a muse. I think I may have found one by reading someone else's blogs. Paths are strange sometimes. Mine certainly is anyway. Sometimes I sit there and wonder where this loner mentality of mine came from. I wonder if it happened when I was a young adult. I wonder if it's just manifests itself at different points in my life. But part of me believe that this tragic personality flaw has always been a part of me. I was always the child in the corner alone from time to time. Reminds me of a summer camp story. Care to listen?

I try to remember when it was exactly that I went to camp Y-Noah in Akron Ohio. My best guess though would the summer between 4th and 5th grade. It was my first camp expirience though. I know I was still good friends with Chris & Andy. We were the amigos back then. We were inseperable at school. We all played soccer & baseball. We even all wrestled one year. I'm not sure who's idea it was, but that summer we all went to camp. We were all in the same cabin. That summer I learned a few things about myself.

I've always easily made friends. But not that summer. I'm not sure what it was about me, but the other guys in the cabin simply hated me. I've racked my brain for many years trying to figure out just what I did to those guys and I can't come up with a single thing. I know I was short and pudgy at the time and perhaps that just made me an easy target. I don't remember names (except for one)but I can still remember all of their faces. There were 3 main ringleaders. The first was Craig who was your prototypical alpha male even at that young of an age. The second was a bigger heavy set kid. The third was a kid a year older than the rest of us, but very small and had a huge Napoleon complex. All I know was that I was ostricized that whole week. They would make fun of me, exclude me, and a few times even tried to beat me up. A group of six of them cornered me outside of the cabin once and two of them held me. I guess Napoleon was going to hit me while Craig and Heavy held me. I'd like to say I gave them the look of death and they thought better of it. I'd like to say that Chris and Andy stuck up for me. I'd like to say that one of the counselors came to my rescue. None of that is true though. I didn't cry. I didn't beg to be let go. I just stared blankly at them. And maybe it was the stoic coldness in my eyes that made him not want to punch me anymore. I just know he couldn't hold my gaze. And they let me go and never harrassed me again. I was still an outcast, but no longer under fire.

The rest of the week I kept to myself. One night Heavy and Craig had a split in their reign. I have no idea what it was about, but in the dark they questioned every boy in the cabin about whose side they were on. They got to me and asked. I told them they all hated me and it didn't really matter now did it. Andy whispered to me from the other bunk that he didn't hate me. And I just ignored him like I didn't hear him. I knew he didn't hate me. He just abandoned me. We were forced to write a letter home that week. My letter to my parents was sunny and warm and told them about how many friends I made and what a great time I had. Years later I tried to tell them how much I hated that place. But they refused to believe that a child of my age could have been such a good actor. They have always underestimated me in some ways.

What did I learn? Well I learned that often times I am destined to be alone. Most people will never understand things about me. Hell, I don't even understand some things. I also learned to not count on people. Andy & Chris abandoned me to fend for myself. It was easier for them to blend in and not draw attention to themselves. Things were never the same between us and by the end of 6th grade, I rarely spoke to either. In 6th grade I was harrassed by Bill Bregant. He was a year older and one of those kids that matured physically before everyone else. He was nearly six feet tall. He never grew again after that. But none of my friends stuck up for me. In 7th grade there was a kid named Ken Admire that was held back several years. He was 15 years old when I was 12 and towered over me. He got it into his head that he wanted to beat me up. Me and two friends one day decided to walk home from school across town. We walked along railroad tracks. Well Ken and his henchman saw us, followed us, and attacked me. My friends just stood there. In eighth grade, three 10th graders were hanging out at the middle school after school during our play practices. My friend Jason said something smart ass to them. Somehow they thought it was me and began to threaten and harass me. They tried to trap me several times to beat me up. Jason never fessed up to saying it. None of my other friends ever tried to stick up for me.

Countless times since then people have spread falsehoods about me to mutual friends. Those people do not stick up for me. It's easier for them to not get involved. And I take it "like a man". And I move on. Something happened recently which I will not get into. But I have had a group of friends that I've become the outcast from. They're all fairly nice to me, but because of a rift with one person, I'm again ostracized. I'm the elephant in the room.

My entire life I cannot remember one person that has ever stuck up for me when the chips were down and when it counted. Sure people take stands when there's really nothing to lose. But when it comes to something important, I am not important enough to risk things for.

Where has all of this lead me today? I really don't know. I do know that the loner mentality is still prevalent in my day to day activities. And there are times when I just want to escape from everyone. Every day it gets harder to convince myself to stay. It's harder for me to not pack up and start somewhere else halfway across the state... the country... the world. But if there's one thing I have figured out, it's that it won't matter where I go. I'm still Doug. And Doug is easily discarded. I'm vaguely remembered and normally used up. None of this is a pity party. I am what I am. And life is what it is.

In the end it's me. And I guess I can always be comforted in the fact that I have figured things out about myself that most people spend a lifetime never seeing about themselves.

Orion's belt loomed over the western sky. A cold night air brought the clear sky with it erasing the wisps of clouds with the skill of an artist's brush stroke. He sat on the rock looking out over the water. Only a slight trace of a silver moon was visible. Was it waxing or was it waning? He could never remember. Standing now, the rest of the moon could be made out. A darker shadow across a blackish purple sky. And a great nocturnal bird soared across the silver slice. Swaying as the wind picked up from Northeast his knees started to buckle. And the weight of the sky brought no answers, only solitude.

FRIENDS ONLY

I refuse to be made a spectacle to point at and mock. I have left a few entries open to give a taste for my writing. If you'd like to read more feel free to add me and comment here or email me at mylostelegy@yahoo.com. Otherwise, this will be the last public entry... ever.

I'm sorry for those people that liked to check the site occasionally.

Take care everyone.

~Elegy

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!

--- Edgar Allen Poe (The Raven)


And today I drove. The sky was gray and overcast and a turn in the road there stood a single tree with only half of its leaves embracing it's old gnarled branches. These leaves were a fiery crimson and contrasted the dull like shattering glass in a quiet room. And a large black bird, perhaps a Raven or a Crow, alighted on its peak. I slowed down to look and the black bird raised it's wings in triumph over me and lifted its great beak into the air and let out a piercing "caw". And times stood still for an eternity as the bird spoke to me. If only I could discern speech from native tongue, perhaps then I could hear what the bird was trying to tell me. Time started again, as time always seems to do, and I drove around the corner. And the bird took flight behind me and I could almost hear its cries to me.

And in the end it's only answers that we look for without knowing the questions. Confusion overtakes assumption and dances around on the edges of our sanity. And the answers drive us as the question escapes us. And that Raven mocked me, knowing full well that I could not hear what I did not want to listen to. And that tree mocked me with all of it's beauty captured in it's own death. And time mocks me as it passes us by, always changing. And that Raven knows the answers. If only I could find the question...



EDIT: I'm going to be using this for the beginning of a new story. I'm playing with the ideas right now. I think I'll tell the story from this man's view through a journal he keeps. More info when it starts to develop in my brain.

Heading west on 303 back towards Hudson. A light dinner is in my belly, protesting its existence. All dinner long I sat and thought. I shift into second gear and Amsterdam by Coldplay comes on my stereo.

Come on, oh my star is fading
And I swerve out of control
If I, if I'd only waited
I'd not be stuck here in this hole

My eyes squint as I peer directly into the setting sun. Everything has an orange tint to it. The orange ball of gas seems to have caught the trees over the horizon on fire. Thoughts of her race through my head as I pop the clutch and shift to third. The sun sets upon my heart and the engulfs it into its orange flames.

Come here, oh my star is fading
And I swerve out of control
And I swear, I waited and waited
I've got to get out of this hole

Fourth gear brings a cool breeze onto my brow. The beads of sweat left over from a hot and sunny day began to disappear like magic. I can smell the last remnants of summer and the onset of autumn. Oh how I love the autumn. It's my favorite time of year. It's the only good part about living in Ohio.

But time is on your side, its on your side, now
Not pushing you down, and all around
It's no cause for concern

The cars heading east all fly past me in a hazy blur of orange and fleeting summer. I pay them little attention and continue to think of her. A smile plays itself across my lips. And the orange glow kisses them. I shift into firth gear and chase the setting sun.

Come on, oh my star is fading
And I see no chance of release
And I know I'm dead on the surface
But I am screaming underneath

The train tracks are ahead and I downshift to slow down. I briefly remember childhood full of tracks and how I used to be drawn to them. I'd walk for hours following the trains. Part of me wants to stop the truck and walk these tracks, but I pass by as my shocks absord the uneven hit. And my childhood disolves in an orange haze.

And time is on your side, its on your side, now
Not pushing you down, and all around
No it's no cause for concern

A steady climb up the hill in fourth gear makes the sun disappear over the horizon. The orange glow has no effect on the clouds behind it. They turn an interesting purple. And purple makes me think of her again; most things do anymore. I rub my eye and shift back into 5th near the crest of the hill.

Stuck on the end of this ball and chain
And I'm on my way back down again
Stood on the edge, tied to the noose
Sick to the stomach

Amazingly, there is still no traffic in front of me, so I push the speedometer up to 65. The breeze is intoxicating and the sun has resurfaced over the trees. Absently I reach for a cigarette and try to light it. The wind prevents me so I set it back down. I pull up to the stoplight at Stow Rd., downshifting as I go. A silver minivan pulls next to me into the turn lane. I reach back down and light my cigarette.

You can say what you mean
But it won't change a thing
I'm sick of the secrets

I look over and a little boy in the minivan is staring at me, wide-eyed. Something about him draws me. I smile at him and wave. His face lights up and he begins to bounce and wave. And then the minivan pulls off and I continue my voyage towards the sun.

Stood on the edge, tied to the noose
And you came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose

As I approach my turn towards the school, I put out my cigarette. And I reflect on my noose. It wasn't long ago that I thought there was no way out of the noose. But she certainly has set me free again. And I smile one last time.

You came along and you cut me loose

As I pull back into the school I know that it's time to work and downshift my mind accordingly. But I know my mind. And in an orange haze she'll be racing underneath.

When I was a child of impressionable age
Long before I had felt real love or rage
A teacher asked us all to reveal
Which animal's traits we'd most like to steal

Each child went quiet, deep in thought
As we struggled to remember things we were taught
And one by one, as the teacher would plea
Each child explained what they would choose to be

Some wanted to be a bird flying high in the air
Darting throughout the clouds without a care
Or perhaps a regal jungle beast
Where everyday is a lazy feast

Others wanted to be a bear, horse, or wolf
Anything with strong muscles or a hoof
Or to float in the deep sea like a fish
The teacher applauded each and every wish

But then it was my time to stand before them all
And to hear my echoes down the hall
Oh did that pretty teacher writhe and squirm
When she found out I wanted to be a worm

"A worm? What a silly little notion."
She claimed without much emotion
"What joy could being a worm possibly bring?
It can not swim or fly or even sing?"

Anger squinted my eye and then two
"I'll tell you what a worm can do"
And I began my argument with 10-year-old grace
In attempt to wipe that grin off of her face

"A worm can burrow deep into the ground
Where by very few can I ever be found
I will only surface in times of dark and rain
I have no nerves, I will feel no pain"

"And really, isn't a worm just like us now?
Burrowing along until we're sliced by the plough.
Asexual and multiple hearts, lonely I'll never get
As each day I have my ration of mud and shit."

And the class just stared without a word
As I described the sweet pain of being food for a bird
And the teacher just watched, smypathy bereft
And promptly gave me my very first "F"

I've been working on a short story for quite some time now. And I finally got it done. This is only a rough draft and will need to be editted, but I could use some input or at least an audience.

It is currently 3,111 words. So read when you have time to sit down and read. Thanks in advance and I hope you like it.

( The Diner )

So I've stared at this screen for several days wanting to post something. And when it was all said and done I knew I'd be posting tonight. I posted last New Year, so why not? I read back on that post and I'm suprised at my unbridled optimism (or whatever facsimile it was). And one thing remains the same. I don't know what to think about this day.

I've always thought this was a "couples" holiday. And I guess it never really bothered me all that bad until now. At the last minute this year, I decided I wasn't going out to "party". Not this year. Not alone. So I made a brief appearance at my parents house and I came home. I went for a long walk and at midnight I heard the firecrackers. Whoopeee. Another second of another minute of another hour of another day of another year. Whoopity fucking do.

And so I layed out under the stars. It was cold but not too cold. And I saw Orion's belt and Orion had no answers. Am I depressed? Am I sad? Am I angry? Am I lonely? Fuck it. I don't know. And damn anyone who wants answers from me. I don't have them. Not for my questions and not for yours.

My world has now officially split into fantasy and reality. The fantasy of what I want, and the reality of what I am... And I read my entry last year again. Where did that optimisim go? Maybe it went out the door in my summer of hell. I don't know. So little makes me happy anymore. But I'm not really depressed either. I'm just... numb. The reality of fantasy has spit in my face.

What if someone is broke and has no car and no job? You need money to buy a car. You need a car to get to a job. You need a job to have money. So you need to love yourself to recieve love. But what if all you need is for someone to love you to show you that you can love yourself? Can you like yourself and not love yourself?

So should I make resolutions? Should I set goals? Should I write them down? Does it help? Someone answer me. I have so many ideas. But I have them every year. And every year I fail at them.

And so I look outside one last time. And the great truth is bestowed upon me. I ended this year just as I started it. Alone and cold in my basement typing on a computer. And just like that, this post is done.

Feliz Año Nuevo
~Elegy (aka Doug)

If you could read my mind love,
what a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie
about a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
with chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me
and I will never be set free
as long as I'm a ghost that you can't see.


And she left today in the snow. I started her car to warm it up. I brushed the snow and scraped the ice. I cleared off the headlights. I carried her bag and put it in the back seat. I charged her cell phone. And the snow fell around me in bars. Unbreakable. And I remember watching the movies. The heroine comes back, realizing everything she's wanted is standing in the snow watching her leave. I remember those movies and how they make you cry.

I spent two nights of fitful sleep. I watched her lay beside me, just my friend. I felt her breath. I heard her breathe. How I wanted to wrap my arms around her. For once I curse my large bed. Instead I watched her sleep, loving her. I can still smell her on my pillows, on my blanket. It's the smell of heaven, it's everything I've ever wanted.

I can hear a sad song carried through the wind. And it mourns the passing of my soul. And the fear blinds me in a cold and white prison. I stand outisde awhile longer waiting for her car to pull back in. It never does. The sad song mocks me.

We talked of things the whole weekend and I danced around the truth. Through the bars of ice I couldn't tell if she understood or not. And my friends think I'm crazy. "If it makes you so sad when she leaves, why don't you tell her?" Well they don't understand. That brief moment of happiness... The regretful shard of hope... It makes all the pain worth it. But only if she knew the blood she draws from my inner being.

I look into the sky as she drives away and I pretend to hear her car echoing back to me. But this is no movie. The director can't change any of this. Instead of her coming back and embracing me... instead of her giving me but one kiss to kill me for eternity... instead of all of that... I stand alone. And I ask the sky, and I ask the movie, and I ask the song, and I ask my white cell why. A single flake of snow must have dropped in my watering eye.

Sean, Matt, and I decided to shoot some pool tonight.

Heard "Sweet Caroline" on the jukebox and it reminded me of the movie Beautiful Girls. I love that movie.

Saw a girl I used to know. Her name escapes me and I'm not sure she recognized me. I knew here when I worked at Perkins. I was 20 at the time. I was going to ask her out, she seemed to be my type. Then I found out she was only 15. Now I can't remember her name. I think it was Amy but I really am not sure.

Sean left and Misty showed up. Listened to her babble for a bit. Heard "Life by the Drop" on the jukebox and I drowned out her voice with the music. Poor Matt had to talk to her though.

Matt finished a cigarette pack and I tore it up piece by piece and laid it out in front of me. Misty gave me a funny look but Matt didn't. He's the only one who doesn't. Well Shannon doesn't either. She just patiently waits for me to finish and then she builds houses out of the pieces. Symbiosis at it's finest.

Heard the song "King of Pain" and it reminded me of Lisa. When we were in high school she was playing the album and this song came on. In one moment her brow furrowed and in a low voice she told me that song always made her think of me. I was the King of Pain. I think she was the only one that realized how depressed I was.

Drank a few cokes. I know myself too well anymore. Liquor would have been bad.

Rode home with Matt. He asked how I was doing. So I lied. I think he knows anyway. But he doesn't look at me funny.

There's a little black spot on the sun today
That's my soul up there
It's the same old thing as yesterday
That's my soul up there
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
That's my soul up there
There's a flag pole rag and the wind won't stop
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before in the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

In the car They talked a long time. They talked of Their paths in romance. They talked of Her dating His friend. They talked of Her sister being in love with Him. They talked of secret crushes never being shared. And it was a sad talk.

And later They danced at the after-hours party. It was suppossed to be a joke because of the cheesey music playing. But She danced closer to Him than He expected. So He went outside.

Too much history with friends and family and paths of romance.

So when He left They hugged as They always do. Except this time She squeezed a little tighter and held on much much longer. He turned His head into Her and His lips barely brushed Her neck on the way through.

And it was all just a goodbye because It could never be. A cool breeze on a late summer night and a lonely drive home.

So I had a private conversation with myself. And it went something like this…

Me: “Penny for your thoughts?”
Myself: “A penny? Can’t I even get a fucking dime?”
Me: “Hey we’re poor you know. How about a nickel?”
Myself: “Fair enough.”
Me: “So how are you feeling?”
Myself: “Like a deck of cards.”
Me: “Huh?”
Myself: “You heard me. Got something in your ears?”
Me: “Well, uh, technically, I’m looking at this, so my ears aren’t affected. But that’s besides the point now isn’t it.”
Myself: “Fair enough…”
( More Talking to myself )

the Romantic looked up and all around
his own lost soul was all that he found
neither the moon nor the stars would save him tonight
and this last time he'd lost any will to fight
too many times in vain had he bled
Is it any wonder the Romantic is dead?

the Skeptic only laughed with a maniacal grin
"It was a matter of time before it would consume him"
and the Cynic had only a few short words
"I knew what demise he was always heading towards"
but with no sympathy or empathetic words said
Is it any wonder the Romantic is dead?

the Hypocrite cried when she heard the news
said all the right things, even played the blues
she sang all of the hymns and made a show as she wept
the Hypocrite even shared the secrets they kept
but none were true, and no honest tear shed
Is it any wonder the Romantic is dead?

silent moans swept across her mouth and face
as the First Love remembered a final embrace
words recalled on top of sorrowful breath
candlelight entombed with the passing of death
the man who she loved, was not the man that she wed
Is it any wonder the Romantic is dead?

they all gathered at his final place of rest
all brought memories and dressed their best
they filled the room and told stories of past
but hollow emotion seems to wither so fast
he always loved green, they dressed him in red
Is it any wonder the Romantic is dead?

the Romantic was buried into the ground
his own lost soul to never be found
with a casket came reprieve from lonely days
memory dissolved by a cold faded haze
too many times in vain had he bled
You are the Reason the Romantic is dead.

Another year come and gone. Another day, another dollar. A time to sit back and reflect on the gains and the losses. A time for rebirth. A time for dying. Out with the old, in with the new. I never really thought about the clichés before. And I’m not really sure how much they mean to me now. I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. I just can’t seem to grasp the concept. Is the resolution supposed to last a year? Or does it reflect on something longer? So many people and so many empty promises to oneself. If nothing else it makes the gym commercials popular around this time. The nicotine patch becomes a big seller in January. And there’s not another good excuse to get drunk until March.

For some reason though, I’m caught in the moment. I have plans for myself this coming year. I wouldn’t call them resolutions, more of a redirection of sorts. For several years now (more than I care to count) my life has been in a downward spiral. I’m not sure when the avalanche started, but it certainly has picked up steam. An animal will gnaw through its own leg when caught in a trap in an attempt to free itself. And I think that I’ve finally gnawed through my leg. A feeling has been building for quite some time now, and I’ve grown tired of it. The first of the year seems to be just a coincidence. The time has come, and the time is now. If only I could figure out a way to regenerate my leg.

I noticed something tonight. In all my years of going to bars, I have never seen a bar fight on New Year’s Eve. Not even anything close. People seem to be much friendlier with others. Is it bad karma to start of a new year with a fight? Or are people just too tired by now? Maybe it’s because the drunk guys all want to sit around and watch the college football bowl games tomorrow. I don’t know.

I can’t listen to Auld Lang Syne without thinking of Dan Fogelberg’s “Same Auld Lang Syne”. We drank a toast to innocence/ We drank a toast to now/ And tried to reach beyond the emptiness/ But neither one knew how. Such a sad song. Makes you wonder what opportunities you’ve left behind. Reminiscing turns to nostalgia. Nostalgia turns to pain. Sometimes it’s best not to carve those bones.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to feel around this time. It’s supposed to be such a romantic and magical holiday.

He has another drink. She decides any guy will do. He finally has the courage to talk to the girl. She waits for the cab. He wishes they’d stayed at the other party. She really likes this bar. The band plays on. He’s not sure why he came. She wishes that she were with someone else. The bartender serves up a few more drinks. He really likes the funny hats. She is fascinated by Dick Clark. He doesn’t know how he’s getting home. She misses her friend who’s gone. The line for the bathroom inches forward.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to feel around this time. Is anyone?

I used to be superstitious as a child. I figured if one year was good, then the next year was bad. It actually worked for awhile. But now I can’t remember if it’s the even or odd years that I like best.

Raise your glass, the time for rambling is over.

Happy New Year.

---Doug

nos·tal·gi·a Pronunciation Key (n-stlj, n-)
n.
A bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past.


I recently got knocked on my ass. I wasn't prepared. It wasn't a prizefight, a street fight, or hell, even a watergun fight. I got punched right in the face by a gigantic fist of nostalgia. In a lot of ways it was more forceful than a physical fight. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Part of me has never liked the fact the past can effect me in ways the present and future never will. I'm not fatalistic by nature, but I'd much prefer to believe in fate than ghosts from the past. Bittersweet...you're damn right bittersweet. Nice job Webster. Let me explain...

I was at a little convience store today purchasing a coffee and a pack of gum. The store didn't carry the gum I normally have so it took me forever to peruse the available selection. Does anyone realize how many different brands of chewing gum there are???? But I digress... At any rate, I'm minding my own business when nostalgia buts it's ugly head into my life. I am overwhelmed by the wonderful aroma of my first love's perfume. Yes, my girlfriend 9 years ago. I was so startled that I backed up and right into the girl. The blonde wisps of hair fooled me into thinking that I had stumbled into the past through some abnormal vortex in time and space. But, alas, it was not her (for better or worse, I have not quite figured out). I apologized in my sheepish way and forgot to buy chewing gum. I paid for my coffee and left. Stuck inside my car I could still smell her and I drifted back in time...

Your first love... I know I won't do this justice. My words are too ordinary. But your first love burns with an intensity that only teens and young adults know. It's a drug that hooks you, uses you, and abuses you, and you enjoy every moment. My first love was also my first time to consummate that love in private. I've never been so excited and so scared all at once. I imagine someone jumping out of an airplane feels the same way. Longing to pull that ripcord, but fearing the end of a wonderful ride. I loved her. I loved with her. I loved. Small things will be forever burned in my psyche. Songs that I'll never be able to listen to, books that I will never read again, and perfumes...perfumes that will knock me on my ass.

I wonder what happened to her. What is she doing? Who is she with? I want to call her up and tell her how much she shaped my life. I want to hug her one more time. I want to share my darkest fears with her like we did in a thunderstorm under the shelter of an old bridge. I want to love like I did back then. I'm nostalgic for that love. I wonder if she thinks about me. Am I just a romantic? Does she remember how I smell? Is she halfway across the world right now, bumping into a guy that uses my cologne? Does she want to call me too?

The nostalgia does not make me want to get together with her. It makes me want to relive the past. The past is never the present. The two don't get along; they can't be in the same room. You can't go back. That's not a bad thing though. Nostalgia changes the past. It makes the colors brighter. It wipes away the tears, it makes new tears. If I called her, it would be awkward. We'd only have the past to talk about. The road forked, and I didn't follow her. But our footprints were side by side for a while.

I sit here and I can still smell her. Not the girl I bumped into, but my first love. It's hard to tell now if I can still smell her perfume on me, or if nostalgia is just playing with my mind. I know I'm slightly melancholy though. Melancholy...with a smile on my face.

Bittersweet.

I leave the cold night air and enter into the local club. I’m greeted with a loud thumping and a plethora of aromas lingering. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust and find the bar. Every stool is taken and I squeeze in between the two most non-threatening individuals I can find. I order a drink. I don’t know if it’s the bartender, the loud music, or me but what I ordered is definitely not what I’m drinking. Oh well, not like it matters anyway.

First Drink

I hover around the bar, trying to find a place to sit down. Conversations play around my ears. The girl in front of me parlays her low cut blouse into a free drink from the guy next to her. He’s got one thing on his mind, and she obviously has something else. Her impatience grows and eventually she turns away and never looks back. Not to be outdone, he shakes of the blow to his ego and moves down the bar somewhere else. Quickly I stake claim to my place to sit and watch the action from the corner of my eye. Free drink girl has scored a shot of some liquor de jour from another unsuspecting male. Now it seems she’s moved to me. “It’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”
“No.”
I don’t make friends easily I guess. In a huff, she’s gone and is quickly replaced by a guy who obviously has had too many already. He thinks he knows me and calls me by the wrong name. Through is blathering I can’t make out anything around me, so I order another drink and excuse myself.

Second Drink

The pool tables looked inviting. Maybe I could play a game. I sit in a chair near the tables. Every table seems to be filled with the same guy cloned over and over. All eyes stray to the dance floor and a few even start grooving right there at the table in between shots. None will have the courage to actually get out there and dance. This seems to be the safest haven. An argument breaks out two tables over. Through four letter expletives I can see that it’s all bark and not bite. There’s just enough posturing to keep everyone’s pride intact and the tension lifts. Everyone hulks over the tables and I see none inviting. Perhaps I’ll play another day. I wouldn’t want to disrupt their safety net. A few look at me worriedly as I head back for the bar.

Third Drink

It’s a little more of a struggle to order the next drink. The bar seems to be two people deep at every turn. Patiently I wait, while watching the bartender. He obviously has a preference to serve the young ladies huddled in their protective herds. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to wait on me either. I decide to order a different drink and in an ironic twist, I get the original drink that I ordered. Maybe I’m ordering the wrong drink or maybe the bartender doesn’t know the difference. Either way it’s ok. A table opens up in the corner and it’s a perfect view around. I make my move and grab the table before anyone else. The essence of the club bombards my senses and I feel dizzy. Through the haze of smoke I can see the dance floor. Through the endless thump of the bass I can hear all the hip-hop from fifteen years ago to today. Across the cigarettes I can smell a thousand perfumes, the scent is nauseating and yet somehow charming. The black lights, the strobe lights, and the dirty hanging lights cast the desired effect. No one actually can see what anyone else looks like. It’s safer that way.

Fourth Drink

The obviously overworked waitress comes by to take my drink order. Judging by her face she’s mid-twenties. Judging by her eyes she’s over fifty. The leers from the men, the jeers from the women, and some unseen pressures at home have made her sad and left her without hope. She has a job to do though and she’s obviously anxious to get my order out the way. I order and she’s back quickly. A hefty tip lights up her face and I realize she may be younger than I thought. In a flash and a thump of the bass, she’s gone. My eyes scan around me and see a pregnant woman. I damn her for being around all this smoke. I damn her friends for not finding a different source of amusement. Ingrates, all of them.

I fix on the dance floor and I see all those that I’m familiar with. There’s the girl in front of the mirror watching herself dance. Occasionally her eyes flick around the room to see who else is watching her. There’s the guy that simply tries too hard. He’s swaying back and forth trying to grind on anything he can. He’s oblivious to all those that mock him. They’re all there and none of them are me. The faces change, but the roles stay the same.

Last Drink

The waitress returns with another drink that I didn’t order. She says it’s on her. I thank her and slide a tip on her tray when she’s not looking. I’m not here to take her money. I realize that people are starting to look at me. Or maybe it’s the paranoia induced by four and a half drinks… Which ever is the case, I do know that I don’t belong here. I’m not like them and this is not my scene. And I fear that they know this. I’ve invaded their world, a world where they were safe. And I’m obviously not welcome. I finish my drink, grab my coat and head for the door. In the foyer is a drunk girl talking on the pay phone with her boyfriend. She’s crying and her friend is telling her to hang up on him. I leave the foyer and two guys are brawling in the parking lot. I walk right by them as the police pull in. I find my keys, give the engine a turn and pull out into the cold November air.