Fri, Oct. 21st, 2005, 10:04 pm
I want the music to make me cry again, to make me feel something. It has been far to long since I've been moved, since I've heard anything. Perhaps I haven't been listening, perhaps I've closed myself off, perhaps I'm using to many commas.
The last song to move me was from Vincent Gallo which seems to me a strange feat seeing as how self-involved he is as an actor, artist, and musician. I listened to the song "Falling Down Billy Brown," one night in the dark and cried, I can't give any reason why aside from I felt compelled to. It has been sometime.
Maybe I haven't allowed myself to openly cry, maybe I've shut myself off. I'm no longer the man I used to be...for better or worse. Those days of searching, seeking, my future are over, I am who I am.
Tue, Jun. 28th, 2005, 12:29 am
We've been storing our music collection in MP3 form, 1200 albums at our grasp and very few we still give the listen on any given occasion, but I was importing The Secret Stars into my iPod and I got to listening to it, and I got to thinking about us. I remember having this album for nearly two years while I hid from myself in the great white north, I got to thinking about when we first met. I've never written about our meeting and now warrants a better time than any.
I moved back to Wisconsin for lack of anything better to do. I was living in my one room introspection, getting the itch for new surroundings, when a friend from my High School days came back in contact with me. We had a long time back discussed making a screenplay and ultimately a film together. Initially I was weary, I knew what a slacker he was and that there was the possibility of nothing ever getting done, but my want to hit the road once again overtook me. July 1st I caught a Greyhound bus out of International Falls, MN and made way for my Uncle's house in Iola, WI where I had grown up. A new begining just what I needed, or at least thought I needed.
It should have been a sign when I couldn't get ahold of Adam, my new roommate, for about three days. The cell phone number he gave me belonged to his on again off again girlfriend for which he had a son and she hadn't heard from him in a week. Meanwhile I am stuck drinking Busch Light with my cousin each evening and shooting guns, not usually my fare but it cuts the boredom when stranded in a town of 1200.
Finally, after calling every friend that would still return my calls, I found Adam at a mutual acquantances house, Apparently he had been sleeping on his floor for a few days and forgot I was coming into town, Tim came and picked me up and I said good-bye to the one-horse town of Iola for the half-horse town of Scandinavia population 625. We hung out for a few days, playing video games, drinking shitty beer and surfing the net, much like we did in High School.
While I was hitting music sites Adam told me of this site called Spark. Spark was a site where you supposedly meet interesting people, make friends, and the such, I thought it intriguing and looked into it. I would later find out it was a meat market for malcontents. Through my search I would find Blackdreams, she listened to the same music as I did, dug the same films, and as a plus she was femaile.
I should point out here that I wasn't looking for a girlfriend, mind you at this point I hadn't had a legit girlfirend (non-sex related) in about six months. Immediately I was smitten by this girl though, it isn't often that I find people that dig my tastes, so I left her an e-mail. At this moment I wonder what Jack Kerouac would think about correspondance through electronics. Back to the point; Blckdreams never wrote back and I had, for the most part forgotten about her.
Back at the ranch; Adam and I made no progress on our film, he lacked the motivation and took my easily distracted self with him. He was back wiith his girlfriend for whom he had a child with and we were all looking for a place to live, but again his lack of motivation left us where we were. And where were we living but a trailer park with an immigrant woman from Thailand who was a great cook but a fucking nutcase aside from that.
Needless to say she and I didn't get along well and it wasn't long before I needed to find a new home. I was about to pack it all in when Adam told me that he had a guy he went to school with in Appleton that would take me in. What he failed to mention was that this "guy" had been discharged from the Army for a chemical imbalance. I moved in and I regreted it from every day on.
I owned nothing, sleeping on a sofa-sleeper that had a bar that met the small of my back causing me to dread sleeping each night. We didn't have a phone, we didn't have much furniture, all there was was cable and computers. The computers usually off limits to me so Paul, my roommate, could play Everquest for about nine hours each day. I was miserable, I longed for my leacking cabin roof, being without electricity and rolling cheap Indian tobacco.
Then I got a reply from Blackdreams, two months had passed, but it couldn't have come any sooner. We exchanged messages, I spoke of my disgust for Appleton she her hated heartbreak with her ex-boyfriend. After a week or so of back and fourth she decided I was harmless, and I you could see me you would wonder what took her so long. We commited to meeting on Halloween.
October 31st came as slow as it could, but it came. I was handing out bags of frozen peas and packets of old jello to the kids when she came buzzing at my door. In a panic I threw on the cleanest shirt I could find on the floor and met her in the front, we went ot her place. Now I know what you may think happened but it didn't, a Rebecca says she didn't want it to happen. Regardless we became friends quickly, sipping coffee until three in the morning. She brought me home about the time neither of us could keep our eyes open...I could only muster a hug, though I know now I could have gone in for the kiss, Nevertheless, we made plans to hang out soon. And we did, later that week and later, and the following week, until we were meeting every couple days.
Around this time my ex-girlfriends came out of the wood-work, one shwoing up to my work out of the blue and the other with an e-mail. I kept seeing Blackdreams (Rebecca) but I became pre-occupied with the flame of former lovers. By this time I could tell that Rebecca wanted something more, but my heart layed with the familiar not the new. Rebecca wanted me to be with her but I couldn't without pondering what once was,
It all at one point came to a fever-pitch. Rebecca and I went to Milwaukee for a concert and one of the ex's was going to meet me there. I, and in retrospect it was an asshole move, ditched Rebecca for this girl the entire evenng. Well until the girl ditched me for another guy, my heart was shredded. On the ride back to Appleton I lamented and questioned whty Rebecca was being so silent...I'm an idiot. No more than a week later I up and went back to Canada.
Originally I was going to Minneapolis to see friends and spend Christmas with my family, but once I made it to the cities I decided that I had worn out my welcome in central Wisconsin. I hadn't said a proper good-bye to Rebecca and I still had a few of her CDs, this being one of the more important. Whenever I missed Rebecca, whenever I missed drinking coffee until the early hours of the morning, I would listen to this record and laugh, or cry, whatever mood caught me.
During this time she made numerous unsuccessful attempts to get ahold of me, mainly through e-mail, but I ignored them. Why I brushed them off I'm still not certain I attribute it to fear and more to failure, the fear that she was in love with me and my failure to notice and make it on my own.. Eventually I called her. Eventually we moved in together. Eventually we started a family. Eventually I realized she was the one I wanted all along.
Tue, May. 3rd, 2005, 10:51 pm
I've been in a mood lately, a funk is what it can be better classified as. Lonely, I guess would best describe it. Rebecca has felt distant, perhaps of my own doing, perhaps that she and I see so little of each other these days.
I, and she, have different work schedules these days. I work the classic Eight until Five and she the more unorthodox Seven until Midnight. I got a job working at a call center as a Inbound Billing Support agent for a postage company and Rebecca has her old job just with adjusted hours to fit mine with enough time to eat dinner. My funk's origins lie in the fact that we only have dinner.
Sad it sounds that I miss being unemployed, seeing her morning, noon, and night, with little to worry about except setting enough money aside for our rent. It sounds like a big deal, especially when you have a child to raise, but not when the one you wake to is the her the one that is SHE. I left her a note one evening expressing my wish to be by her side when we awake, but she didn't read it until the next morning. That last sentence should speak volumes of our passing nature these days.
I hate being the only witness to those cute moments with Jonah, the kid. I hate falling asleep in an empty bed. I hate the fact that I long for that goodnight kiss. I hate the fact that I have to sacrifice time with MY family in order to make ends meat. I hate that I know that I have become an adult; Yet I regret nothing.
Tue, Mar. 1st, 2005, 01:30 pm
To all those who still read this journal, and there are very few of you, check out livejournal community Norgporn. Norgporn is a site that a friend of mine came up with to celebrate all that is fun, sad, and just plain wrong when it comes to nudity. Plus, where the hell else would you get to see a naked wizard, and a man smearing meat on his body while wearing a plastic moustache. Not since Smoky and the Bandit has there been anyone you would rather see keep his clothes on more that Dom DeLuise.
Wed, Feb. 23rd, 2005, 12:07 am
I speak of them little, at least in the present tense, my parents. They live eight hours from here, not much a drive but so much so that it can hamper spontinaity. However; their distance isn't so much me putting it between me and them but them and me.
My parent live in Northwest Ontario; I live in Central Wisconsin, I grew up here, they raised me here, they moved just before I became an adult. I lay no blame, they hated their position in life and it was warranted, my father in a factory and my mother in sales...dead end jobs. Them realizing this they decided to sell the childhood home and move to the "Great White North."
They had bought a small resort, a mom and pop joint. They make very little money, never as much as they would wish, but they are content. They haven't any bosses, they haven't any deadlines, they only have each other and the need to keep on for one more year.
I admire them, their sacrifice, they could have settled for the status-quo but they didn't. They could have waited for "that" raise, "that" promotion, but they didn't. They made the choice to go it alone, to carve their own niche in time, and they may never make it but they know that they made a running go at it.
They waited nerely twenty years to realize their dreams; How long will it take me? My parents lived on a whim and have done such for my entire life; Am I capable of such things? LIfe is nothing but what you make of it, and I only hope I can make it what I want it to be.
Fri, Jan. 28th, 2005, 10:23 pm
You could see the heat ripple of the pavement, and as beads of sweat rolled of the profiles of our skin we drove. We drove not so much with reason but to leave where we were, deep in the ghettos of Chicago. I was eight years old and never had I yet been exposed to fidgeting men selling oranges by the roadway, never had I seen the hustling and scheming that came with such a city. I was eight years old and I still had my faith, my innocence, I was eight years old when I lost hope.
Chicago was, as stated, sweltering that day, or at least that's how I remember it. My father pointed out landmarks, he always made sure to go out of his way to show us kids the beautiful side of the cities we passed through; the Sears Tower, Wrigley Field, the canals running through downtown. I was awestruck, growing up in a small town I rarely got to see only that which I was exposed to through television, but nothing that T.V. or my parents could explain to me would prepare me for the scene that surrounded our destination.
To backtrack I should tell you that my Father owned a trucking company at this time, a very unsuccessful trucking company. So unsuccessful was it that when school let out we would pile in the semi and set about the country, in the present time the idea sounds romantic, but there isn't anything romantic about showering with 15 other burly truckers. I digress.
We were hauling potatoes to later be made into chips and french fries, we were trying to leave our surroundings as soon as possible. At a stop light a man who had obviously seen better days climbed onto the cab and washed the windows, my father gave him money, I think it was more to get him to leave than generousity. Pimps, pushers, prostitutes gave us the eye as we passed by, I thought nothing of this at the time, I barely noticed. I barely noticed until I saw her, the lone woman that stole all that i thought was pure and made me ask myself for the first time, "why."
On the way to our unloading site we had to drive passed a series of semi-domolished buildings. The buildings stood tall and broken with plastic sheeting waving in the winds of elevation, most were empty except for one. I looked at the crumbled walls of the behemoths and saw nothing, saw nothing except a mother on one of the floors in a rocking chair feeding her child.
I couldn't say a word, I couldn't tell whether or not she was crying but my idea of drama hopes she was as I know I would be in such a situation. I attempted to point her out to my parents and siblings but again I was speechles. We kept driving but still 13 years later I can't forget her, can't forget her weathered face, one that had seen many more years than I ever will, can't forget the almost rythmic pattern of her rocking, can't forget that it was a flash of seconds and I still remember it like yesterday.
Thu, Dec. 16th, 2004, 05:50 pm
I came home from work, I found her in the living room rocking the child to sleep with the not so soothing sounds of The Stooges, it was then that I knew that no matter what the future brought all would be fine. It was also then that I realized that my child, if he can fall asleep to Iggy and the Stooges, is going to be pretty fucking hardcore. I used to nap to Mr. Rogers, and take it as you will, I reflect that in my personality to this day.
Tue, Dec. 7th, 2004, 12:17 am
I'm sure she will read this, if not in the next few hours someday soon, but it's not the reason I write. I write because I feel compelled, I write because the words need to be put down and there is no better time than the present. I write because I only need to say I love you and she knows what I mean, but three words do little justice. This is the story of the paragraph I have just written.
I'm often ashamed, ashamed to admit that we met by way of the internet, I never wanted to be THAT guy, but to fully disclose I wasn't looking for what was to be what it was, I was look for what it used to be. I found a girl, I have always managed to get along better with the opposite sex, and she peaked my interest, I sent an e-mail which went unnoticed for a few months, and when I had written her off she responded. On her site, her livejournal, I kept tabs on her in the mean time as she, as I said, intrigued me. There was a break-up, a loss of virginity, a moving out from her parents house, a wonder on my part of who this woman was.
Her first response to my aged message was elegant, though filled with spelling misstakes, I now know that this is her nature, We kept our correspondence short and sweet, and agreed to meet soon. I hadn't any friends in the area, and quite depressed about where I was, so I more than eager to meet her.
The day finally came, Halloween, and the door bell rang, she was as I imagined her sheepish and nervous which was a turn-off, I once preferred my women head-strong, but this wouldn't foil our plans to see the town. I learned that she had lived in the same town all her life, that she had a similar upbringing as myself, and shared in most of my interests. "What a woman," I though when she dropped me off at my apartment. Her insecurities still bothered me though, I wanted someone without the baggage I had, and have, encountered through my nomadic life so far.
We found time for each other at least once a week from then on, I could sense her growing affection, and I was just waiting for her to break from her self-concious shell, which wouldn't happen during the time of our personal interactiion, it took two years of phone calls and stumble fuck drunk words to even break the surface.
I, howeve,r will not forget the first time I foolishly realized that she loved me, not foolish meaning that I wish I hadn't come to this conclusion but foolish that I should have seen it sooner. I got comp tickets to go down to Milwaukee to see the Crystal Method, whom I was never a fan of but knew that she dug the electronic side of music. We made plans to hit the city, along with two other of her friends who I had met on a few occasions, but just as I thought it was to be just us I recieved an e-mail, an e-mail from the girl I call my first love
She went on about how she still loved me and wished we could be together...I melted with such possibility. We met up, the experiment failed, she seemingly went home with someone else, and I of course comiserated the entire trip home. I now know how selfish my pining was.
Rebecca (she) was silent the hour back to Neenah. No matter how much I naively poked and proded home I couldn't get answers why she was so silent, stupid me. Less than a week later I moved back to Canada, not knowing that I had found the longing love I was looking for. I hopped a Greyhound for Minneapolis, and I thought that it was the last I had seen of the Fox Valley, how wrong I was.
Milwaukee came next, that story I will save for another day, but suffice it to say it didn't work out. I loved Milwaukee but the city, or at least my roommate, didn't love me. Before I could be run out of the town she (Rebecca) called and saved me from my self-destruction. I met her cousin, a nauseatingly cute two year old that wanted nothing more than to wrestle around with me as I tired to comb her uncles overwhelming record collection. I admit now that I felt uncomfortable, I met her family wearing two day old pants and a ratty black shirt I reserve for laundry day. We slept in the same bed that night, thick with sexual tension without sexual contact, and I went back to Milwaukee only to retreat to Cananda a few weeks later.
Back in the Great White North that was so familiar to me I was once again alone, drunk, and looking for a way out. This want went on for nearly six months when she made the call I was waiting for, not neccessarily from her but the call in general, the call offering a new setting in which to live Two years and twelve times, I had moved, perhaps a record for a twenty year old, but never learning from my mistakes I accepted Rebecca's invitation and grabbed an Amtrak to meet her.
The rest of the story is filled with confusion, sex, and more confusion. Suffice it to say that I have regrets, I have burned my bridges and turned my back on many once were friends, but at least I now know where home is. It took me nearly three years to realize but home is wherever she rests her head at night.
All of this retrospect, all the looking back I can do, has me realizing that Rebecca knew all along that one day we would be we and us would be us. The idea frightens me, it lets me know that she has and will always be smarter than me. And it lets me, no allows me to ask a single question....
Rebecca Will You Marry Me?
I know I'm not presenting you with a ring, only words, and more than likely poorly written words as I haven't read over what I've put to the page, but it took me so long for me to figure out that I wanted was you and I don't want it to take just as long for me to realize that you are all I need.
I think this the perfect format for such a proposal, well really the only proposal, given our past. If you should want me to get down on one knee just say so and I will, but I wanted to attempt creativity. I apologize if I failed as I know you have always wanted some grand gesture, but I find it difficult to find the words to say when I can spell them out all the better.
Rebecca, I love you, and as far as I know you love me. You see through all my flaws and call me on them asking me to be a better man than I portray myself to be. For that I can ask for nobody better than you. And I ask again, "Will You Marry Me?"
Wed, Nov. 24th, 2004, 06:43 pm
I remember when the Berlin Wall fell, I re-call where I was and the thoughts I had as I witnessed it much like the rest of the populous, as a special report on the nightly news. My family and I sat glued to the television, the sights, the raw emotion as men wielding hammers without the sicle proceeding it, brought down an ideal, a government, an institution. My father made sure to tell us of the impotance of this event, I could only cry.
On that day over one decade ago, the Cold-War ended and over Thirty-years of American ended with it. German citizens, of both East and West Berlin, chipped away at the concrete wall, weeping, knowing the importance of what they saw happening before them. My little brother was disinterested, my older sister asking numerous questions, I sat quiet trying to take in all the images, it is probably one of the few times I have been able to sit silent without inner-commentary distraction.
Later that evening I drew crude pictures to detail what I thought I saw, my mother wept when I brought them to her proud with stick figures and fists in the air coloured black and red. My father wondered what was next to come, where would the world lead with a Communist super-power weakened, for this I was to young to answer. Now, however, I am old enough to know that it lead to no good.
The United States would become the lone super-power, and later abuse any credibility we have as such. For the better part of the '90's we were merely a military of humanitary need. Now, post 9/11, we are a force to fear, even when it comes to our own citizens wanting to display their distaste, distrust, and dissent when it comes to decisions that are supposedly made on our behalf.
These words I write are long over-due, I have been verbal regarding them for quite some time but have found little need to get them down for the public to see, but I want to make it clear where my loyalties lie. No more than a month into our Presidents re-election I see nothing but more of the same, and I am afraid. For the first time in my life I am afraid of the power that one man commands.
Will we, one day, dismantle the walls of our supposed freedom? Will our children, or children's children paint pictures of the day the "thought" they were free? I haven't answers to these questions only commentary involving more questions, but I am prone to thinking that Lenin was once believed to be a great leader, as was Alexander the Great, Atilla the Hunn, and the varuous Caesers of ancient Rome. One day our empire will topple, this is inevitable. How it will be looked upon by our future history remains my final question.
**Sorry for getting political, I walked home from work today and these thoughts were all I could ponder during the one mile stroll in freezing temperatures.**
Mon, Nov. 15th, 2004, 07:07 pm
My grandfather disappeared once, well more than once but I say once for the progression of the story, packed a small bag , hoped in his truck, and wasn't seen for several weeks. An instance such as this would have been of concern but he was known to vanish for weeks at a time. I was to young when this had happened but I remember, at three, my mothers stress taking it's toll.
I would find out, some years later, that he would take up residence in Superior, WI, live out of his truck and collect cans along the freeway for food. That is at least the story that I have been told, but I still wonder what it was like, and furthermore what drove him to it. I imagine a grey-haired man huddled over burning trash-cans, starving, but not desperate enough to go home to his wife and kids. What could go so wrong that hunger becomes a better option than the family life? It may have been mental-illness, perhaps a fear of the life ahead. Given the events of his later years I will side with the former rather than the latter.
My grandpa. Charles, would eventually find his way home. He would pull into the dirveway, open the door, kick off his boots, and mention nothing of where he had been nor would my grandmother ask, his fist had met her face enough for her to quit caring. They would sit in silence, watching the television, and pertend that nothing had ever happened. Their children, my mother and uncles, would do the same.
Several years went by before Charles left again, everyone thought it was out of his system, until one morning when my grandma (Helen) woke up once again to an empty bed. At first she shrugged it off just as she did all the other times, that was until she realized his shoes were still on the welcome mat, his truck in the driveway, and his shotgun gone. For the first time in their marriage a missing persons report was filed, and true worry engulfed my family.
My mother was short and quick to tears, in retrospect it is understandable, but as a seven year old you haven't a clue why you feel as if you are being punished for asking, "what is wrong." My father, after Charles had been "gone" for over a week sat us kids down, I have an older sister and youger borther, and explained what had been going on while asking us the entire time to remain patient for my mom was scared. "She doesn't mean to hurt you, to take anything out on you right now. She is frightened that she may never be with her Dad again," he rationalized to us, again we were young, but I would like to think we understood as nothing was brought up about Grandpa's disappearence, even when it began to appear on the nightly news.
Two weeks had gone by and still no sign, a body, a phone call, a father once again walking through that door to make like all was well, nothing. My father, hearing my Mother's weeps and prayers in the mid-morning hours, decided he would walk every acre of my grandparents land until he found some sort of sign, or found nothing at all. On the fifth day I told him that I wanted to help, that he was my family to and that I should help, he must've taken pity on the tears in my eyes or perhaps just wanted a second pair of them, but he decided to take me along...I wish he hadn't.
What I saw that day will haunt me forever. A body decomposing and a head no more than twelve feet away doing the same. Grasp this if you can, a seven year old stumbling upon the body of his grandpa, the man that always had a toy for him when he came to visit, the man who would throw him in the air and always catch him just before he crashed to the floor, the man who would let you in the toy closet even though Grandma said it was off limits, this same seven year old staring at maggots eating through that man's flesh.
Nothing was the same after that day, I was less innocent, my mother broken, and his name rarely mentioned unless one of us kids brought it up. We moved on, my grandmother re-married, my mother seems happy though more fragile, and I am the cynic many know today, Grandpa Chuck I hope has finally found his peace, be it rotting in the ground a dark a solitary life or heaven (if there should be one.)