Something Different… Q & A… Nothing Has To Change…

Game 2… We are playing The Ungame once again… Let’s get right into this…

Question 1… If You Could Hang A Motto Or Saying In Every Home In The World, What Would It Be?

These are some long ass questions… maybe it is my fear of speaking in front of people… but if I was playing this game with actual people… I’d have quit on turn 1… This one is easy and hard for me… easy because it comes from the same source and the same song… hard because I don’t know which line I would choose… I can’t even decided which line to tattoo on my body… The two lines tearing me apart are… “Not all martyrs reach divinity but at least you tried,” and “Get off your fucking cross.” Both lines are from the Tool song Eulogy… I have them written on nearly everything… I have “Get off your fucking cross,” written on my keyboard… it helps me write… motivates me… brings me back to reality… reminds me that I’m not fucking special… I’m just me…

and right below where I rest my keyboard I have a piece of tape with the words… “But at least you tried”… Which is actually something I put down during my dark times last year… when I was feeling sorry for myself… feeling like a failure at everything… that line really stuck with me through those dark days… that line helped save me among other things… that line gave me a lot of strength to believe in myself… I will fail… I’m going to fail… I am failing… but at least I fucking tried… what else could I have really wanted out of this day, but a chance?…

Question 2… What Do You Like Most About Yourself?

That I don’t like myself… it allows me to be very critical of myself… allows me to tear myself apart… and not feel bad about it?… I’d say I’m pretty normal in that I don’t like myself… at all really… don’t like my name… don’t like how I think… don’t like what I waste my time doing… if I could tear off my own flesh and slap on a fresh one… I don’t know that I wouldn’t… but at the same time you have to make the best of what you got… so that’s that… if I had to pick a body part though… I’d have to say I have some pretty amazing legs… no one is ever going to see…

I was watching this reality show or documentary when I was younger… what’s the difference anymore?… and there was this guy who was going to get calf implants… because he felt like his legs weren’t the way that they need to be… drama… drama… drama… big reveal… his legs looked basically like mine… except fake… that made me feel pretty good… was still a hundred pounds over weight and ugly… but I had legs someone was willing to pay to get… look for the positive in everything I guess…

Question 3… If You Could Have Been Someone In History, Who Would You Have Been?

You’re look at it… I am history in the flesh… haha… I’m confused by this question actually… am I supposed to pick a person I could have been or am I supposed to pick someone I would have wanted to be?… If I am supposed to pick someone I could have been… then that is stupid… because there is a reason they are part of history… there was something about this person that made them unlike anyone else at the time… in few cases something made them unlike anyone else ever… does that sound crazy?… am I avoiding the question?… is saying Jesus… hitting the nail on the head a little too hard?… : )

Let’s get off that fucking cross for a moment and assume they want me to pick someone in history I would have wanted to have been… how does one make a choice on who they would be… money?… power?… courage?… selflessness?… That is such a hard question to answer… I think I would want to be someone who made a difference in everyone’s lives for the positive… Someone like Martin Luther King Jr… Susan B. Anthony… someone who fought for civil rights… for everyone not just themselves… I think being selfless… is so admiral… should be celebrated more… because we as humans are very selfish… so to be so selfless… to give so much… to care about more than just me… goes against our very nature… I would want to be someone like that… to get in their head and see how they think… see how they see the world… feel how they see the world… even for a day…for a moment… would really be interesting to me…

Question 4… If You Could Change Your Age, What Age Would You Rather Be?

I’m shuffling this cards better next time… way too much reflection for someone who doesn’t even like to look into a mirror… depends… would I just be younger now or would I have to be my younger self?… younger now with all my thoughts and feelings would be ideal for me… though I think my wife and daughter would find it creepy… going back and starting at a different age that I was before would be so shitty… more so if I knew what was already going to happen… through out all the negative shit that happened to me… that I have been through in this life… could you fucking imagine the torment of knowing you had to wait even a year for the internet to become a thing?… holy fucking shit… I’d rip my god damn hair out…

I mean I’d have to actually watch a movie?… and not search Wikipedia to read ahead… I’d have to actually watch a film without knowing the trivia from IMDB?… I could only talk to someone I could find in a phone book and even then I’d have to call 15 Smiths before I got the right one?… Shit I’d have to actually leave my house to do anything?… Anyone born in the last ten years and beyond needs to change how they greet us old timers… “Thank you for your sacrifice”… should be the first words out of their mouths every time they see us… and you are very welcome… (seriously though… how are any of us still alive?)

Question 5… How Would You Describe Peace?

Peace would be… an operating table with an endless supply of bodies… instruments… and time… : )

Question 6… Make A Statement About Beauty.

It’s not what you think it is…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… I Remember You…

I Remember You

“Meghan is that you?” She turns as though my voice is familiar and yet somehow distant.  We lock eyes, “No one’s pronounced my names right in years.” She stands in front of me after all these years later. “I’m sure they haven’t. I’m sure you made sure they got it right in the end though,” I say to her. She gives off a fake friendly laugh. A chuckle really if you should be so lame. She follows it up with a smile, “You’d be right, but then you always were won’t you?” I don’t smile because it wouldn’t be who I am in the face of the past. “I missed you too,” I lie because that is who I am. It’s been so many years by choice and vast amounts of distance. Why she is even here in front of me is puzzling on its own, but here she stands none the less. Though in a way this all is just petty. Her need for childish attention drove us apart. Made us two very different people and in the end made us nothing more than friends of the past. How we related in the first place is beyond me. Even now after all these years I still don’t really miss her. I still don’t really care, but being human of course I do in some sense.

“How have you been? How was California?” I ask her. She thinks I care. I can tell by her surprised look that she thinks that I have been keep tabs on her. “California was good. A long time ago, but it was good. Super expensive in the end so I had to get out of there,” she keeps her answers vague and short. It seems so out of place for her to be here. I can’t tell if she’s sure she wants to see me or why she would want to. I’m past history. A foot note in her life as she is in mine. The last time we spoke we didn’t because I walked out. Walked out of her life as if she didn’t matter and in a way she didn’t. I didn’t feel guilty then because I thought I never see her again. Yet as she stands before me I can’t say the same thing. Guilty feelings about how things ended so many years ago in Washington. “It is crazy to see you here of all places,” she finally breaks the silence growing between us. “Never thought you would move to Texas,” she adds. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d live here either. Haven’t been here too long though. Did a spell in New York for a while and then ended up here,” I answer. “New York is where your mother is from right?” She remembers and I node my head. “Yeah, my wife’s family is from here,” I tell her like I tell everyone. A constant denial that I would move here by any other choice. “So you live here?” She asks me like a detective trying to get the facts straight. “Yep,” I say confused to this line of questioning.

“A bit of a cliché don’t you think? Ever think of someplace to go without training wheels?” Lighter, can of gasoline, and check mate. Her true colors begin to shine in the mid afternoon sun. No one likes to think they can’t do it on their own. No one likes to feel as though they need mommy and daddy to support them. No one likes this idea especially not her. “My wife’s idea,” I say as though I had no say in the matter. A half-truth repeated so many times in my head, but really what was I to do? “I’m sure it was. She still leading you around like you are an alpha male, but really you are nothing more than a puppy on a very short leash?” She always knew the best ways to make it hurt. Her words could be like poison or a bed of nails. A talent really that few of us can pull off as well as her. A talent only possessed by demons and devils, but a talent none the less. “I am my own man,” I say even if it comes out hollow. I stand by the words in my head. “She doesn’t influence me to do anything I don’t already want to do.” She smiles as my statement, “Spoken like a true married man. A little bit Stockholm syndrome rehearsed, but I’m sure they are all your own words in the end.” She thinks she has me against some sort of theoretical ropes. This is always how she, how we talked to each other. A match of wits always trying to out maneuver each other. “You never did approve of relationships much,” I say bouncing off the ropes. “You got me there,” she puts her guard up. Ready for anything I take my swing. “Is that because you are a lesbian or because of something else?”

“This many years and now you want to get personal?” She asks me deflecting my question. She is right though it has been many years. Many years of a lot of things being left unsaid, unanswered, or unspoken that drove a wedge between us so long ago. “I was only asking considering,” I begin to say. “Considering what?” She questions in an almost hostile tone. Maybe my verbal punch did more damage than I thought? “Considering you are always on the move. Never staying anywhere long enough to be a part of anything,” I say to her. Giving away the fact that I have been keeping tabs on her. From a distance and never reaching out, but paying attention none the less. She looks solemn to my response, “Long enough to know anybody. What about you? Always moving yourself.” She turns around on me. “Time and money are two very different things. Yet they go together as if they are meant to be,” I respond. “Deep, you been working on that for a while now?” She asks me. For the first time I smile, “No, I’m a writer now. It comes naturally.” She lets off another hollowed laugh, “Any self-obsessed asshole can be a writer so, I’m not surprised.” A talent or a curse I can’t decide anymore. A talent or a curse. “Well it’s my dream so thanks,” I respond slightly wounded. “Are you really hurt or are you just playing the part?” She asks with venom dripping from her teeth.

“The part I guess,” we lock eyes and neither of us have much left to say. There should be a million things to keep us talking for hours, but in the end none of them really matter. Too many empty silences in this broken down conversation. Too many I could give a damn ideas and thoughts. If I cared enough. If she cared enough. We could let them all go and be civil. I don’t care to bring up the past, but here it stands before me. Right in front of me as though a distant memory of the past and the present have collided. The silence between us is deafening and yet neither of us can walk away. Drawn together by some cosmic need to stand in this very place. Locking eyes and staring into each other’s soul looking for anything that could resemble what we are looking for in this situation. I find nothing, but there is something that tells me she hasn’t reached the same conclusion. “I have AIDS,” she says with actual sincerity. “That’s why I have been moving so much. Not getting to know anyone. I want to protect myself from letting anyone new in. While taking in everything that I can before it is all said and done with. Making the rounds so to speak. Making my way around this world to figure out my place all along,” she lays out all of her cards before me.

“But you are a lesbian, statistically this isn’t even possible. Well it is but more unlikely,” I try to rationalize out loud. “Just because I’m gay,” she breaks down. Her tears trickle out one by one before becoming streams on her face. “No one wants to be gay. We lie and say we do with our parades and our words, but in reality we just want to be normal,” she cries. “Being gay is normal,” I say as I extend my hand to her shoulder. She pushes my hand away, “No, no it is not. Being gay is not normal. We make it seem that way because we want it to be normal. I only wanted to be normal. Be seen as normal by everyone. So I gave it a shot. Found a man at a bar and played the part of the normal woman. Guess what I didn’t think to ask? Guess what didn’t cross my mind as I laid there trying to be who I was supposed to be?” I don’t answer her questions. I only listen. “I lost, I lost it all, and now. Now I’m just trying to do it all before I’m all gone,” she chokes out. Too much emotion. I’m not good with all of this. Being silent is what I am good at. Distant and far is the only approach I know. “Sorry,” I say as though the word could ever wash away all of her troubles. That the word could solve anything at all.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” she spits back into my face. “I was only trying.” But she cuts me off. “Only trying to what? Care? I know that you don’t care or give a damn about anyone or anything. You like to be distant. You like to be away from people. It lets you think that you are better than everyone else,” her voice echoes in a loop. “This is different,” I want to say but she’s not listening. “I should have never told you and you wouldn’t have never known. It was great to see you again,” she says before storming away from me. There I stood not knowing what to do. There I stood in my past as the present spun me up in a giant web. I never saw her again. Only in my dreams of our last conversation. So many things I should have done differently, but in the end all I will have are these memories, this horrid dream of her.

I walk down from the podium and make my way down the aisle until I find my seat. The long hard benches that make up the church. Solemn and crying as my words still dance in front of me. The mask is off the monster and I don’t like what I see. What I’ve always seen. The reasons I am the way I am. “Would anyone else like to say a few words about the departed?” echoing through the hollowness of my soul.

This is actually a story from my forth coming novel… I would have put up an image of the book cover… but I am still trying to figure that out… I have a title… but I am not really ready to reveal that at the moment either… Unless I already did… haha… I have been busy working on that… and other things…

So… why am I posting this story if I am not ready to share anything surrounding it?… I actually found this story in my random files to save… it was originally going to be just for the website… but it fit in nicely with my ideas for my next novel… though I have no idea where yet… I write very much backwards and forwards… I also over write… I’m sure a lot of us do… whether it makes it in the book or not is a question for the future…

So this story… what is real… and what is fiction… I’d say 50/50… but it doesn’t matter because in the end… after it is all said and done… it could be 100% false or 100% true… and still work… sounds easy enough… nothing easy ever really is though… I actually based this on a few people I know… a few things I went through… a few conversations I actually had…

I like this story because as we transition into a better society… there will still be a lot of questions about what is right… what is normal… that was the part of the story that stood out to me… that I liked… Meghan had doubts that she was normal… and she was… perfectly normal for who she was… but sometimes society and those close to us have a way of making us feel like we aren’t… even the strongest person can succumb to the pressure being exerted all them… I’m not going to sit here and preach… not my place in this world… I’m not even going to say you have to “love” everyone just because… but you don’t have to hate them either… something to think about if you haven’t already…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… New Year’s Eve…

New Year’s Eve

“You know what the best part about New Year is?” The question hangs in the air. An open wound dripping from her face. “I could give a fuck, you fucking piece of,” she is cut off. Silenced by a dirty finger on her lips. Her own blood and who knows what else. “Now, now it’s best you listen rather than blurt out useless words that hold no meaning. For warning the next time you speak to me like that I’ll cut off something that matters not simply bust you up side your head,” he tells her. A fire burns in her eyes as she snaps her powerful jaws at the dirty finger. Useless attempt to hurt her captor. He doesn’t say a word at her sad attempt to hurt him. With a look of disappointment displayed on his face he plunges the knife in his hand into her leg. Precise he misses anything vital and inflicts a pain that she can only imagine is the beginning of the end. Screaming, crying her pain takes over her emotions. Breaking the tension and the air that he has been trying to create. He grabs her by the back of the head, “I’ll ask you again. Do you know what the best part about the New Year is?” A dirty mix of snot and tears falls from her face as she speaks, “Can you. Can you take the knife out of my leg?” He touches the handle of the knife ever so gently. “There is a long answer here as to why I can’t and I would love to explain it to you, but I’m not really all that interested. So the short answer is no,” he takes his hand off the handle of the knife. “The resolutions,” he announces moving on from her disobedience. “Take last year for example my resolution was to not kill anyone. Worked out for a time, but let’s face it a wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf. Is he not? God you whimper a lot,” he complains. “I can’t help it. My leg hurts so bad,” she cries. He caress her hair, “Sweetie you haven’t even begun to understand the word hurt. Now where is that darling friend of yours?” He grips a handful of hair. “I don’t know,” she says through tears. “Not good enough. I’ve been watching the two of you for a time now. Don’t think I don’t know any and everything about you. Your girlfriend is never late and today of all days she happens to be late? Consistency the world runs on consistency,” he says to her. “I don’t know,” she cries once again. “Please don’t hurt her,” she begs. “Please don’t.”

“So what’s the plan this year?” Her hand is intertwined with hers. “I don’t know really. I was thinking this year we could have a calm night at home. Watch the ball drop or something that normal people do. What do normal people do?” Her girlfriend asks. “What do boring people do?” She rephrases the question. “I have no idea what boring people do. I want to go out. Do something exciting,” she smiles. “I’m sure we can find something to do,” her girlfriend reasons. They stop just outside of her apartment building. They kiss passionately. “I guess I don’t have much time to show you the time of your life,” her girlfriend jokes. “Nope, not really,” she smirks. Her girlfriend lets out a sigh, “I’ll see you tonight then?” She smiles and puts her arms around her, “You better.” They kiss once again before parting. She watches her walk away before entering her building. A man waits in the driver’s seat of the car nearby. Rolling the passenger window up. He waits some more. Waits for the right moment.

“Can’t hurt what isn’t here. So where is she?” He asks impatiently. “She should be here already. She should have been here by now. She is never late,” she tries to reason. He grabs the handle of the knife and moves it ever so slightly. She screams out in agony. “Now there is no reason to lie to me. Lying to me will only bring you pain,” He says calmly. “I didn’t lie,” her tears dripping off her face. “She is never late?” He questions. “Unless you are speaking of a different woman. Then you of all people should know she is always late,” he releases the handle of the knife. “How the fuck long have you been watching me?” she asks. “Long enough to know everything I needed to know. Long enough to know that no one is anywhere to be found. You’d be amazed the amount of information people are willing to give. I mean willing. Not knife in your leg willing, but pretty close. People never shut the fuck up really. They just talk and talk. About anything and everything,” he lectures. “Kind of like now?” She asks. He smiles under the mask, “There we go. That’s the kind of wit that will get you far in this game. Quick. Always be quick. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you.” She looks puzzled, “What is that even supposed to mean? Besides you know one is taking advantage of me.” He pretends to be pondering something. Acting out all the nonverbal expressions hidden behind his mask. He rubs the chin of the mask. “Are you sure?” He asks. “I mean where is she?” He wonders out loud. “I don’t fucking know,” She screams agitated. “Really? Because I think you do. I mean I know I do. But between me and you where do you think she has been spreading her legs lately?” He asks. “You are fucking sick to think that I am going to play along with your stupid little games,” she says in a pissed off tone. “Oh, you are going to play the game,” he says as a matter of fact. “Why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction?” she asks. He reaches for his bag resting next to her chair. His breathe brushing up against the skin of her leg. “I’ve been telling the truth. I have been talking,” she pleads in a panic. He pulls a camera out of his bag, “You seems rather nervous for someone who doesn’t want to play, the fucking game,” he mocks before laughing. He holds the camera out for her to take, “Go ahead take it.” She dead stares into his masked eyes. “My hands are bound,” she reminds him. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t want to see what I’ve got anyways. I mean you don’t want to play the game. You don’t want a chance to live,” he repeats back to her. In one quick motion he pulls the knife out of her leg and presses the blade to her throat. “So what is it going to be?” His voice deep and serious. “Are you going to play the game or am I going to slit your throat and fuck the wound while you slowly bleed out?” Her words are barely audible. Somewhere between a whisper and a cry. “Speak up or forever hold your peace,” he shouts. “I’ll play the game. I’ll play the game,” she shouts each word and each breath pressed against the blade. “Good then let’s begin,” his voice completely different as he takes the blade away from her throat. “How have we already not begun?” she questions as blood seeps from the wound in her leg. He shrugs his shoulders, “Because I make the rules?”

“Your whole life is based on rules. When do I sit? Where do I sit? What are the rules to sitting? Just relax. Go with what feels right. Be yourself,” the woman before her says. “I think you mean what is the proper etiquette to sitting,” she responds back. They both burst out into laughter. “Of course you would focus on that and nothing else I said,” the woman smiles. She puts a puzzled look on her face, “Did you say anything else?” The woman takes her by surprise into her arms, “I could say or not say anything to you, and still find things to not say to you.” She kisses the woman, “Good.” A server walks up to them. “Excuses me ladies your table is ready.” He walks them through the dining room of the restaurant. They take a sit at their table and he hands them their menus. “Your server will be with you shortly. Is there anything I can get you to drink in the mean time?” he asks. They order drinks and he walks away. She looks over the menu. Eyeing something light for tonight. Talking as she reads the menu. The woman keeps taking glances just past her. “I said do you think I should have the salad or the salmon?” she asks again. “What?” The woman asks burning holes into her menu. She glances behind her to see what her girlfriend was looking at. She doesn’t see anything beyond more people eating and drinking. “Did you see someone you know?” She asks. “No, I thought I did. But I didn’t,” the woman says quickly. “Okay,” she says awkwardly. “So should I get the salad or the salmon?” She asks one last time before picking the menu back up. “Which one do you want the most?” The woman ask. “Neither, what I really want is the nachos with extra shit,” she jokes. The woman smiles but even a blind man could see she is somewhere else. “Then get the nachos with the extra shit,” her girlfriend says. She puts the menu back down, “What’s wrong? Where did you go all of a sudden?”

He snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Did I lose you there for a second?” He asks. “If you know where she is. Then where is she?” She asks. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says before closing the knife and putting it in his pocket. “First I have to ask though. Where do you think she is?” He asks while turning on the camera. “I’m not even sure I want to know as much as I think I do,” she says in a low tone. “Well that’s not an answer,” he mocks. “She is probably with some whore right? That’s what you want me to say. That is what you want me to believe. Let me guess you got some photo of some hot bitch with her head between my girlfriend’s legs?” She says through gritted teeth. “I’ve got something better than that,” he moves the camera preview screen just in front of her face. It takes her a second to focus on the tiny image. “That fine looking bitch sure does have a pretty hairy ass,” he jokes. Her face is filled with confusion. “Seems your girl needed a little bit more than you could provide,” he offers as a relief. “She said that was her brother,” she says out loud. He flips the camera preview back so he can look at it, “Nope, that’s not her brother. I have seen her brother. Not in the same night mind you. But even creeping through his apartment in the dead of night. I can tell you that is not her brother,” he says. “You fucking think? Jesus what the fuck,” she screams in agony. “Damn, that really wasn’t the reaction that I was going for. I almost feel something. I almost feel bad, but mostly I feel jealous,” he says tapping the side of the chair with his foot. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She asks. “I mean here I am. I got you strapped to a chair, I put a knife in your leg, and I was already to torture you for hours. I mean hours to get a scream like that out of you, and all I had to do was show you a picture? I really need to up my game,” he says before flipping through the other pictures on the camera. They sit and stand there awkwardly. The sound of the next photo button filling in the silence of the room. “Did you want to see this one where she shoves his whole dick in her mouth? I was able to get a before and after shot. Like going in her face was fine and then taking it to the point of tears. It looks pretty sexy to be honest. I got this other one where she is sitting on his face. Did she sit on your face too or was that more of your thing? Maybe she just needed a new kind of domination? I don’t know how that works really. I’m not going to lie. I don’t know. I’m not good with relationships or human interaction for that matter, but how does that work? One is the man, one is the woman, or you are both women?” He keeps pressing the next button. “What the fuck are you rambling on about? We are both women asshole so, we both play the woman. Is this insanity really part of your sick twisted fantasy?” She asks annoyed. “Not really. I’m kind of torn really. I did all this research and all this planning. I’m not feeling it. I felt it when I stabbed you in the leg. Maybe I need to do that again?” he questions. “You already broke my heart. What difference would it make at this point?” she asks. “That’s it? You just want me to kill you? No passion, no rage, no god damn fear. How am I supposed to work with that? I mean you want me to stab again? That’s really what you want right now?” He asked confused. “Yeah,” she says. “Jesus Christ,” he screams. “We were supposed to get married, she said she loved me, she said that she wanted kids, and it turns out all of it has been a lie from the start,” she thinks out loud. “What do you want to do about it?” He asks. “I want to kill the bitch. Rip her heart right from her chest. Just like she did to me,” she says intensely.

He walks over to her and begins to untie her. “What the hell are you doing?” She asks. “Well you can’t kill her strapped to a chair now can you?” he asks. “I guess not,” she says stretching her arms. The feeling comes rushing back into her hands. They sting like pins and needles as he unties her ankles. “Sorry, about the leg,” he says in an embarrassed tone. She smiles, “I’d like to say it happens, but honestly this is a first for me.” He smiles back under his mask, “This is a first for me too. I usually don’t relate to the victim so much, but for some reason this time I really do.” They sit and stand there awkwardly for a moment. “So are we really doing this?” She asks. He nods his head yes. “So what is the plan then?” she asks. He lets out a large sigh, “I guess drive over to her boyfriend’s place. We might have to take them out of there. Not sure what the visitor situation is over there. He doesn’t have a roommate or anything so, that is pretty convenient. Do you think you have the will power and the strength to stab her? I mean with your leg and all?” He asked genuinely concerned. She looks down at the bloody mess that is her jeans, “It hurts like hell, but I think I can manage. I’m going to have to change my pants before we go though. The adrenaline has to take over at a certain point right?” He takes the knife out of his pocket, “The adrenaline is the best part. The feel and the rush of it all. Here you are going to need this.” She takes the knife into her hand. “Thank you,” she says looking down at the knife. “Hey, no problem. Again sorry about the,” his words are cut off as she rams the knife into his throat. The knife lodged at an awkward angle from his throat to his spine. His knees buckle from the weight of his own body. He falls down to his knees and she catches him. Supports his weight and hers with the one good leg she has left. “I made a resolution last year too. One I failed at until today, but where does it say you have to complete your resolution before the day ends? It doesn’t. Lucky for me or unlucky for me. Depends on how you look at all I guess I’m not as weak as you are. My resolution was to not follow the rules. Go with what feels right. Go with what feels like me. So thank you for helping me complete my New Year’s resolution,” she pulls the knife out in one swift motion. Blood sprays all over her one clean pant leg. The alarm on her phone starts to go off and she lets him fall to the floor. He digs and scratches at the carpet in agony. She walks over to the kitchen counter placing the knife next to the phone. She swipes the alarm off with her bloody finger, “Looks like you ran out of time to complete yours.” She limps her way to the door dialing the police as she does, “This pants are fucking wrecked and there is no way in hell I am getting the deposit back on this apartment. Fucking asshole. Hello.”

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Chewing On Glass Presents: Bobby…

The man shakes as he speaks his words more transparent than his presence. His needs outweigh his wants by now, but it is all trivial in the end. We wanders from table to table on the outdoor patio. He wants someone to listen to him. “God is good,” I can hear him say from the next table over. He has a speech rambling in his head only the audience isn’t willing to listen. He is off to another table talking to himself as he goes along. Explaining his speech on deaf ears and intoxicated minds. Taking the appropriate amount of time with each thought, each word as though anything he has to say is important. A girl at the next table goes down the rabbit hole with him, but she soon comes up for air and walks away. So he moves on. He is a disciple of God he proclaims as he reaches my table. I inherit my new role in all of this with grace. Something is off about him and I don’t think it is the alcohol. Jesus he repeats. He is the disciple of Jesus not God. Though Jesus is God he explains. He seems confused as to what even he is saying as he says it, but I listen all the same. Who am I to turn away a fellow story teller? He engages with everyone at my table. More so than I have for the past few minutes. He takes a seat in the empty chair at our table. Uninvited but not pushed away. He found what he was looking for in us. An audience who can’t look away. He sets the scene, lays out the characters, and tells us his tale. A tale of heart break, a tale of pain. It is a story that is easy to judge after the fact, but you know that during it all there was, was pain. Love is fickle in that way. Intense, everlasting, all that there is, and after a time it is nothing at all. A mistake, a bad decision, a waste of time, but for some that time never ends even after the fact. Insert Bobby, insert God, and insert the reason he sits before us today. Drinking is not new to him. Drinking and science is what lead him here today, but like most people around these parts God showed him the way. A woman left, the woman left him he stresses with every little detail. He was sad so he drank. Tried to drink the pain away. He was successful for a moment in time. Only he tried to do something else that night, drive home. Illegal enough of an activity to call his actions stupid, irresponsible, dangerous, and yet we haven’t even gotten to all the details. Drinking plus heartbreak plus speed can only equal one thing to most of us. Lucky to make it out of the wreck alive if not destroyed. Lucky that no one else was hurt or anywhere near his selfish act. Bobby found something he didn’t know he was missing until then. Bobby found God or so his story goes. As he thanked him with a prayer between sips of beer. Didn’t thank science or the doctors. He didn’t thank the people around him that took care of him while he recovered from the horrible accident that left him with irreversible brain damage. No he thanked God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. He finishes his beer and gets up from the chair. Asks if we found Jesus? Before wandering off once again. In search of a new audience to hear the same speech repeating in his head.

This one is pretty dark… very different… and Bobby very much exists… I meet him for a brief moment… almost seven years ago… while going through my notes I found my notes on the evening… my friend at the table told me after he left… that this would be a good story… so I wrote some notes down… left it at that for almost a decade… one because I buried the notes… and two because I didn’t know how to approach the story…

It isn’t my style… especially back then… back then I had no style… but I knew that, that wasn’t the style I was going for… recently I had a change of heart… I found the notes and I set out to finish it… it isn’t long and it isn’t epic… but it is real… I don’t know if Bobby still walks the earth telling his tale… I hope so… but just in case… here it is…

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