Good Morning, Heartache (Part 2)

7 04 2012

Good Morning, Heartache (Part 2)

Before you read the next part, play this video.  It will help enhance the mood while you’re reading.  However, if you are like me and are unable to concentrate on words while listening to music, then don’t play it.

The two boys stare at each other.

“Ah wahh?” was the last thing Heath uttered.

“Your name is Heath, right?”  Jake goes on to describe in fairly good detail about how they had met that one day almost a year ago through Jake’s old classmate.

“I vaguely remember that…” is all Heath has to offer.  No matter.  As long as Jake doesn’t come across as a big weirdo, that’s fine by him.  After their brief re-introduction, they don’t speak to each other much.

At the write-a-thon, Jake is introduced to a few other of Romulus’s friends, including Mozilla and Chihiro.  Remember their names because they come up again later in the story.

Everything goes fine.  Jake speaks to Heath in Arabic (and Heath replies in English, but that works too) a few times, but not much really happens between them.  The problem is that Jake has never been the kind of guy to ask people out, particularly in person.  His sense of gaydar is all but defunct, and thus, approaching boys has never occured to him.  But since Romulus is gay, there is a chance Heath could be as well.  Jake decides to test this out in the best way possible: greeting card-writing, of course!

On the last day while, Romulus and the rest of the friends are out getting inspiration from the night sky, Jake, Heath, and his best friend Chihiro are left at Romulus’s place.  Jake scribbles and scribbles in a small blue notebook, while Heath and Chihiro chat away.

“I wrote a greeting card about you.”  That’s Jake speaking– or rather– blurting out loud.

“Oh really?  What’s it about?”  Heath inquires.

Jake fumbles with the pen in his hand.  “I… I’ll read it to you.”  He takes a breath and begins.

“Roses are red, violets are blue… Please can you tell me if you like dudes?”

There’s an awkward silence in the room as Jake finishes.  Heath and Chihiro look at each other, then giggle.  Jake shakes his head.

“I know ‘blue’ and ‘dudes’ don’t rhyme… but I mean what I asked.”

Heath smiles.  “Well, what do you think?”

“Well… you’re friends with Romulus, and he has a lot of gay friends, but that doesn’t mean anything.  Also, I not-so-secretly anymore stalked your facebook page last night and saw that you’re a fan of Dan Savage, but lots of heteros like him.  So in conclusion… I don’t know.”

Heath smiles again.  “Well, you are correct with those points.  But yes, I am gay.”

Jake feels himself sigh with relief, and manages a smile.

A few days later, after having exchanged messages on facebook, the two decide to hang out.  Jake suggests going for milkshakes, which is secretly his way of asking guys out online (although it has never actually worked up until this point).  They hit Mary’s Hamburgers and settle down for some drinks.

“Are you out to your family?” asks Jake.

“No.”  Jake’s face falls, as he remembers how unhappy he was with Dorian.  “But I want to soon though.  I’m out to friends and all, and if someone asks, I won’t hide it.”

Jake nods.  He remembers how difficult it can be to come out in general, much less come out to parents.  The fact that Heath is out to friends is already a big step.  Jake learns that Heath has been studying at the same school for a year, in biology, specifically, botany.  When he talks about plants, Heath really gets into it, speaking about how gymnosperms are just so damn cool (and not because the word “sperm” is in the word).  For someone his age, which is to say, two years younger than Jake, Heath is quite intelligent and seems mature, which impreses Jake.

The two finish their milkshakes and head off.  Seeing as how this whole date was orchestrated by him and his romantic mind, Jake proceeds to lead Heath to a nearby hidden secret.  In between a row of houses is one of the city’s treasures: a small garden of a variety of coloured flowers.  Jake had discovered it months ago, and it was his quiet place to think.  For a while, it became his place to dwell on Dorian but he eventually decided that associating negative thoughts with sucha  lovely place wasn’t a good idea.

“Have you ever been here before?” Jake asks as they get to the small garden.

“No, I haven’t.”  Heath’s eyes are everywhere, absorbing all the life around him.  Jake sees this and smiles, knowing he’s done good.  For a second, Jake hesitates, then cautiously puts his arm around Heath’s shoulders.  Heath doesn’t move, and Jake interprets this as a good sign.  It’s the first real intimate contact the two have had.  The two sit in the clearing for a few minutes in peaceful silence, with the wildlife of birds, bugs, and wind rushing through the plants as their soundtrack.

“Hey, that’s a bleeding heart flower!” Heath leans in to examine it, breaking their embrace.  Jake watches Heath giddily caress the plant, talking about the species and all this random trivia about it.  The greeting card writer and the botanist, he thinks.  Us.

After spending some time in the garden, Jake asks Heath if there’s anywhere he’d like to go.  Heath says no, which is perfect, since Jake has more plans up his sleeve.  Jake leads Heath over to the local music store, where they go up to the third floor– instruments.

“I don’t know how to play any instruments,” confesses Heath.  “Except if you count the recorder.  And I’m not even very good at that.”

“Hey, recorder’s better than nothing.  I think everyone should be able to play at least one instrument.  It would change how we’d all look at life.”

They finally stand in front of the accordions, possibly the most misused instrument out there.  Jake picks up a snazzy, bright green one, and puts the straps around his shoulders.

“Wait, you know how to play this?” Heath asks.

Jake smiles.  He takes a breath, and sings while he plays, his breath almost moving in time to the compression of the reeds:

I first saw you at the video exchange.
I know my heart and it will never change.
This temp work would be alright if you called me, you called me,
I lie awake at night for you, and I pray.

We cross the deepest oceans, cargo across the sea,
and if you don’t believe me, just put your hands on me.
And all the constellations, shine down for us to see,
and if you don’t believe me, just put your hands on me.

When Jake’s done singing Vanessa Carlton’s “Hands On Me” (you didn’t think he wrote that, did you?), there’s a few seconds of silence before Heath claps politely.

“That was great!” he says.  He puts a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

Jake merely blushes.  “I’ve been playing for a long time.  I just felt like playing that for you.”

“Well, thank you.  I really appreciate it,” says Heath.  “Hey, I’m actually going to meet some friends– Chihiro and Mozilla, you remember them, right?– to catch that latest zombie movie, you know, the one where the zombies are all old people?  Did you want to watch with us?”

Heath and Jake are off on the streets again.  It’s late in the afternoon now, but still quite warm for a fall day.

“You know, I would, but zombie movies just aren’t my thing.  Makes me hungry after watching one.  I’ll walk you to the theatre though.”

As they make their way to the theatre, Jake reflects on how things have gone.  He’s spent the day with this young, unbelievably cute boy, who, for whatever reason, seems to also like spending time with him too.  How many times has that happened?  First date success, it seems.

Inside the theatre, Heath’s friends Chihiro and Mozilla await him.  Jake says hi to them, and wishes that they enjoy the film.  Before he leaves, he turns to Heath and opens his arms, gesturing for a hug.  Heath embraces him, and they hug tightly.

“I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

“Yup.”

With that, Jake leaves the building, hearing curious murmuring and whispering behind him.

To be continued!





Good Morning, Heartache (Part 1)

6 04 2012

If you ask me or my friends, we will tell you that one of my characteristics is being honest.

A little while ago, I started writing an entry on my blog titled “The Scientist’s Experiment.”  It’s still in my drafts, incomplete.  It is unfinished because I have been trying to convey my thoughts in a somewhat prose-y, poetic way, while trying to say everything it is I want to say.

A friend told me a while back that I should write out my feelings on paper– no prose, no poetry, just write them all out, however you feel.  It would make me feel better.  And so I did.  Did I feel better?  Perhaps.  The thoughts certainly came out faster when I didn’t have to think about how to phrase exactly what I wanted to say to fit what came before and what would follow.

But I decided at the least minute to fuse the two together, so it’s not just an emotional unloading.  So for all those out there, here’s a story for you.

Good Morning, Heartache
by Aaron Chan

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Jake.  Jake, like many queer young boys, took in the idea that gay boys were supposed to find love after coming out.  It could also be that Jake was simply a romantic, but in any case, he longed for the day when he would find someone he could love and be that wonderful boyfriend he so frequently saw in C-grade gay films, and lackluster Hollywood rom-coms.  He thoroughly believed in the tradition of winning back someone by way of bouquets of roses, silent messages via placards during Christmastime, and admitting one’s faults after an exciting airport chase.  Although Jake is not very social when it comes to meeting new people, he finds talking to people one-on-one just fine.  Unfortunately, not many people happen to waltz up to the quiet loner standing in the corner of the room and start a conversation.  No, siree.

I know it can be strange to imagine, but Jake has always felt the need to love someone.  He can’t explain it.  The best I can do is this: some people claim they were born to be engineers; some say they “knew” they had to help people in developing countries.  For Jake, he always felt that he wanted to love someone.  It was as natural a goal and instinct as wanting to be a mother, or writer, or voting for the Green Party.

People always say, “you don’t need a man to make you happy.”  Okay, well, women typically say that, less for men.  Although Jake knew this had to be true, he couldn’t help but feel he did need — or at the very least, want — to love someone.  It was as if there was a piece missing from himself that could only be found when he found someone.  Corny?  Yes, a bit.  But it was life for Jake.

During this time, Jake also begins to develop his insecurity.  His lack of finding anyone remotely interesting who was interested in him makes him feel like a freak, like he’s not attractive.  Granted, he is mainly looking online and you know how shallow people can be, but still, for a dreamer and a romantic like Jake, it still hurts him every time he messages an interesting guy and receives silence.  At the same time, the only attention he seems to get is either from said older, usually white men who seem to have a fetish for young guys, or, less often, from guys so jacked up on testosterone they can’t communicate with more than a grunt or, in Internet language, “sup?”  Sure, some attention is flattering but after a while, when it’s all he gets, it made Jake feel as though he was doing something wrong, or else he just really destined not to find anyone.

Fast forward a whole bunch of years (because the life of a tween is not that interesting).  Jake, now a young man, finds that someone messaged him on an online dating site he signed up for.  What a revelation!  After weeks, months, years of being unable to find any sort of gay person, this guy, who appears to 1) not be a creepo old guy, and 2) have a good grasp of basic spelling and grammar.  So Jake and this guy, Dorian, meet and eventually start dating.  It seems they have a lot in common, and things are great.  Jake’s insecurity starts to disappear, as he is finally with someone interesting, someone worth dedicating his time to.  Ah, young love.

However, things don’t go exactly as Jake thinks.  Dorian is really busy with school and preparing for lots of plays at the university.  He’s so into what he does and is so good that everyone in the Drama building knows him, and he continuously gets requests from everyone to help on this project or that one.  Since he can’t say no, he accepts, leaving little time for Jake.  Oh, and Dorian is in the closet (no one in Drama would ever suspect him!), so all of Dorian’s friends that Jake meets know Jake as a “friend.”

Despite this setback, Jake convinces himself that it’ll be okay.  After all, Jake is patient and still that romantic I mentioned earlier, and he believes that Dorian is worth being with.  So Jake continues to be Dorian’s “friend.”

Eventually, Dorian and Jake decide to break up.  Dorian admits that were he to stay in the city, he would never come out, and although Jake truly cares for Dorian, he can’t take being known as another friend the rest of his life by his boyfriend.  Moreover, it’s gotten to the point where Dorian and Jake only meet once or twice a week– because of Dorian’s busy play production schedule.  So they part.

The piece is gone.  Suddenly, Jake feels alone, his goal for love thwarted.  Although it was a mutual separation, he still feels as though he has failed in some way.  The insecurity comes back.  He believed he was lucky to be with Dorian, now Jake sees his relationship as proof that nothing good can stay in his life.  Anything that makes Jake happy is temporary, especially love.

Calendar pages fly by.  Jake is alone, still thinking profusely about Dorian.  Instead of thinking about all the good times they had together, Jake ruminates about how he’ll never have them again with Dorian, and what went wrong.  It’s just his way of thinking.  Dorian, on the other hand, seems to have no problem getting on with life after Jake’s departure.  Jake can’t understand this, and realizes later that he does in fact love Dorian.  Unfortunately for Jake, it no longer matters– Dorian is just too busy to respond to any of Jake’s messages or emails, and I’m sure he conveniently ignored a bunch too.

It takes Jake a good while to get back on his feet.  Even though Jake and Dorian were only together for four months, Jake let himself get immersed in this first love.  All of Jake’s friends tell him that that dream guy that Jake has been fantasizing about all those years is going to find Jake sooner or later.  After all, they say, Jake’s a kickass boyfriend.  Good things happen to good people, like, all the time.

Press the fast forward button again.  A little more than two years later, Jake is more or less back to normal.  He’s back at school, has taken up writing witty greeting cards (“You’ve graduated high school?  Join the other 5,389,284,203,298 in human history!”), and no longer dwells on thinking about his ex.  Dorian can go suck it, for all Jake cares (although since Dorian’s in the closet and had disclosed to Jake that he wouldn’t have sex until he was back in a relationship, he probably isn’t sucking any). During all this time, Jake tries to date but it seems the town is in a drought; there’s a shortage of average, interesting gay guys in the city, it seems.  It’s discouraging, to say the least, but Jake figures trying is better than not.  So he keeps at it.

One day, Jake submits his greeting card inspired by Dorian (“I don’t tell you enough how amazing, fantastic, loving, wonderful you really are… but at least I’m buying you this card.  So when is it my turn?”) to the town’s annual Greeting Card-a-puhlooza.  And his card gets in to the expo!

After his card is showcased in front of a live audience and Jake talks a bit about how he came up with such an idea, he decides to head over the afterparty to meet the other cool, witty, snarky card writers.  At this party, a young, also queer guy comes up to Jake and starts yell-talking to him over the uhns-uhns-ing beat of trashy music.  His name is Romulus, and he and Jake hit it off.

Being a romantic (and a tad desperate, but more romantic), Jake instantly imagines Romulus as a potential boyfriend.  But as they get to know each other, Romulus comes off as something better: a true gay friend.  Although Jake is a little disappointed, he is more than thrilled that at least Romulus is an interesting gay guy who isn’t into camping out to see the next Sex and the City movie.  Besides, Romulus is way too busy with his day-time job as a flame-throwing, homophobe-vanquishing superhero anyway.

Romulus invites Jake to help out with his own greeting card party.  It’s been a big passion of Romulus to write greeting cards but he’s always put it off for one reason or another.  But no more!  He’s decided to have a three-day greeting card write-a-thon, and has invited some other friends to help out too.

Naturally, Jake is more than willing to help.  When he gets to Romulus’s place on the first day, he sees a guy who looks familiar.  And since Jake has a creepily good facial recognition (I say creepily because a lot of people might find it creepy but if you think about it, it’s actually quite impressive), he instantly remembers who this guy is.

Heath.

Now we have to rewind a bit.

Flashback!

While Jake was at school, he was taking an Arabic class.  One day, he and a classmate had to work on a project together.  The classmate told Jake that he was in the library “with my friend Heath.”  Thinking nothing of it, Jake went to the library and found the classmate sitting with a guy named Heath.  Since Heath was fluent in Arabic, he was able to proofread their inferior project so that they wouldn’t look as stupid when they presented it.

Heath was short, with short dark hair, and super skinny (but not anorexic skinny, thankfully).  He and Jake didn’t talk much that day, and when Heath was done with their project, Jake left.

End of flashback!

Now standing before him was the same Heath, who looked the same, even after almost a year.

“I know you!  You’re Heath!” exclaimed Jake, demonstrating his awesome memory.

“Ah wah??” said Heath, naturally confuzzled.

And that was the start of the romance to-be.

To be continued!





Aha.

2 06 2011

I’m sure no one really cares, but I couldn’t think of anything else to write for today anyway.  Well, I had been writing a gay romance story for the past week and I managed to finish it and submit it.

Yesssssss.  Fingers crossed for some good news!





The Haunted Circus

29 05 2011

Written sometime during Grade 5.  I got an A but now, typing it up, so many plotholes and questions.

The Haunted Circus

Once there was a bunny named Bugs Bunny.  One day, he went to the circus.  There was nobody inside so Bugs phoned the police.  The cops told Bugs to run out.  Just then, he heard a noise.  When the bunny reached the police station, the cops were gone!!!  The next day Bugs Bunny went to the circus again but with his pillow.  When he got there, there were a lot of people and what looked like ghosts!  Some of the people turned around and looked at him.  They all had freak eyes!!!  Bugs rubbed his eyes and everybody was gon!!!  He looked down and saw some sawdust.
“Hmmm….,” thought Bugs.  He ran down and saw a projector.  Then the next day, Bugs caught the bad guys and they were some cops.  he explained that the ghosts were made from the projector.  The sawdust was for making gold.  Then Bugs slept with his favorite pillow.

The End.





Progress!

25 05 2011

Got a little more than a thousand words added onto my story, and not crap like yesterday’s stuff.  No time to write anything more as I’ve gotta go to bed soon, but it’s lookin’ good!





All staring at the computer screen and no writing…

24 05 2011

…make me go crazy.  I’ve spent a few hours today sitting in front of my computer, trying to push myself to write out a short story for a fairly well-known (at least to me) anthology before the deadline on May 31st, which is in exactly a week.  After getting some ideas by posting something on my facebook status and doing lots of thinking about what makes a good gay romantic story, I came up with a simple story but just the act of writing it all out and going into detail is really daunting.  Sure, I want to be a writer but it’s such an undertaking that even when I write something like a short story, I feel like things go so slowly.  Self-motivation is key, and I know that, and I am motivated but I sometimes I question myself as a writer in the middle of a project (such as this one) and then I don’t feel like I can do it, and all these questions come up…. anyway.  I’m sure it happens to every writer.

Long story short, I guess what I tried to say in that big paragraph that I could’ve said in a few words is that I don’t feel like I’m a very efficient writer.  It takes a long time for me to get anything out, and as someone who considers himself to be efficient in most things, I find it to be a problem.





The Tide is High

14 05 2011

Written during one of the workshops of the New Shoots program in high school, and is one of the few things I wrote during high school that I am somewhat proud to share.

The Tide is High

In, out.  In out.  The water runs up the sands on Io Beach, then retreats, like a scared fourth grader who has seen a spider.  But it comes back, stronger than before, only to fade back again.  And along the shores, I sit and watch my free movie.  The sun warm me in such a way that I think my soul is even warm, or that could be my getting a sunburn.

“Jane, let’s go!  The water is, like, totally making my hair dry out!” screams my friend Fiona.  She emerges out of the water looking like Aphrodite (at first glance) but as she gets closer, she resembles something closer to Medusa.

I sigh.  “Alright, Fi-ho-na.  If your hair that much to you.”  I get up and shake out the sand that has traveled to my underwear, all the while hearing her shrieking, “No!  I so do not have split ends!  Noooo!”

Back in my room, I’m alone.  Now I can finally focus on my homeowkr.  ya… I pull out my geometry homeowkr.  I know all about special triangles, but for some reason, I can’t focus.  Another sigh.  I pull out my yearbook and flip to a bookmarked page.  Ah… there he is, again.  Just like I remember him.Well, I actually look at this picture every day, so I don’t know how I wouldn’t remember him.  The picture consists of one guy sticking his index finger up his nose while a few of his friends laugh.  I smile and stare at it dreamily.  Oh, how I long to be that beautiful finger in that beautiful nose.  Seriously though.  I’m that desperate and brainwashed, just like every other 15 year old teenager who reads Cosmogirls.  Chris, oh Chris.  It’s you I want.

****

My brother and I both like the same girl.  How screwed up is that?  Then again, we’re twins, so that might explain it.  At school, I’m walking down the hallway and I see her.  I have to avoid seeing her in order to not let my brother know I’m seeing her.  Believe me, he knows these things.  He knows everything.

But not today.  Today, I have the confidence and strength to talk to her.  And give her flowers and chocolates.  After all, it’s Valentine’s Day.  I just hope my bro doesn’t find out.

Suddenly, she comes out of the Math room.  I follow her but can’t seem to call out.  It looks as if I’m stalking her.  Be brave, Anthony!  Be brave!

“Jane!”

Wait.  That wasn’t me.  Wait, it was me.  Then who…

In front of me is Jane.  And directly in front of her is Brian, my twin.  What are the chances we both said her name at the same time?

He’s carrying flowersand chocolates in his hands.  How lame is that?  So it’s just three of us standing in the hallway.  Like a triangle.  A special triangle.

[I think I was trying to write something about triangles and geometry but I didn’t have time to incorporate it.  I like the idea though!]





Article (part 2)

13 03 2011

“Jeez, hurry up, Jeremy!  What were you doing?  Daydreaming?”  I looked at her and then at my books.

“Yes.”

When I got home, I had to immediately go to my room.  My parents told me that I ihad to finish my homeowkr before dinner, and if I didn’t, I had to finish after.  But this time, I just lay on my bed and thought about Sean.  God, how much I loved that boy, even from the first time I ever saw him (oh yeah, I’m gay if you haven’t already noticed).  Yet, no one would ever know how much he meant to me — well, except Chelsea.  She knew about me already.  I was relieved she was okay with it and wanted to come out to everyone.  Nevertheless, there was just no way.  My parents would kick me out, my school would hate me, and not to mention Sean might hate me!  I glanced around my room and thought about how boring my life was.  Something needed to happen!  I knew just what to do.

The next week, when issues of Teenink were distributed throughout our schooo, I waited anxiously at everyone’s reaction.  I looked for and found Chelsea.

“Have you read my new article?” I jumped up and down like a 12-year old schoolgirl.

“No, but I will now.”  She grabbed an issue her from locker and found the correct page.  I gave her a few minutes to read my article.  When she finished, she gave me a hug, which was surprising to say the least.

“I’m so proud of you, Jeremy.”  I took a breath and let it out.

“So am I.”

That scene right there was actually the only good thing to happen to me that day.  The rest of the student body all stared at me and uttered hate words to me, though most of them I didn’t even know.  Somebody spray-painted my locked with the word “fag”.  Hmm… perhaps coming out was not such a good idea after all.

I returned home after getting beaten up, robbed, and yelled at with hate words.  I expeccted some opposition but like this.  My nose bled as I walked into my house.  Immedialy, my dad asked me what happened.

“Oh nothing.  Just got the crap beat out of me!”  My mother, who was in the next room, came, took one look at me, and ran for the first-aid kit.  I sat down on the couch in the living room.  I asked my dad if he loved me.

“Yes, of course I do.  What happened?”  At that moment, my mom came downstairs and started cleaning me up.  I asked her the same question, and she replied the same.  They both stared at me strangely, but concerningly.  I took out a copy of Teenik and showed them my article.

After they read it, they looked at one another.  Again, I asked the same question.

“Do you love me?”  I was surprised how well they kept their anger in control.  My parents got up.  My mother started crying while my father answered.

“I think you know the answer.”  I couldn’t tell if he did or didn’t by the tone of his voice.

“So yes?”  My voice came out weak.  Without answering, my father lead my mom out of the room.

In the bathroom, I was so angry and depressed at the same time.  My parents didn’t understand.  I could hear them saying how they didn’t want me around.  My dad said something like kicking me out.  The phone began to ring.  My parents ignored it, and I did too.  I took out a razor from the cabinet and cried.

Eventually, the answering machine picked up.

“Jeremy?  Are you there?  Well, I guess not.  I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for what you’re going through.  What I’m actually getting at is… I really like you.  I want to get to know you better… well, I hope you’re alright.  Oh!  And about what you said about me in the article… I love you, too.”

Click.  Sean hung up after I slashed myself.

[That’s the end of the story.  Typing this up, there are a lot of corrections I want to make but I decided to leave it in the original form.  Maybe I’ll edit this for later.  Oh, and I got 5 out of 6 on it.  :)]





In the Mind of a Wise Idiot

4 03 2011

While in the New Shoots Creative Writing program in high school, I think we were supposed to write something performance-y or at least something that our mentor, whose name I have forgotten… no!  Ben!  Yes!  Ben was supposed to look over and give comments.  I went through a phase in high school where I thought that writing the most random things that came to mind equalled great poetry.  How very, very wrong I was.

This initally consisted of 3 pages, both sides, of the most random things I could think of.  Some were inspired by what was around me, mainly Math class.  Of these three pages, I then took passages from all three and condensed them into one prose/poem thing.  There’s no story, so it’s not really prose but it’s not structured like a poem (then again, free verse = anything).  I remember thinking this was the most brilliant thing I had written.  How Ben was able to read and make any sort of sense of this is beyond me.

In the Mind of a Wise Idiot

 

“Not at all”, he said to me as I wondered what it would be like to finally taste the sweetness of his lips.  Don’t tell me I’m dreaming again, I think to myself.  Well, how can I be dreaming if I can think?  Maybe it’s that even the first time I saw him that it changed everything for me.  The randomness of school makes it impossible for me to do anything.  At all.  At all, at all.  Somehow, I find myself wondering about him all…yes, all!  The times are changing; perhaps I will feel different tomorrow.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps he will finally notice me…

 

Why am I so scared anyways?  It doesn’t make sense, well…we’re all scared of something, especially the truth; it blinds us, it tortures us, it shows us things we’re hiding from All!  this time.  And yet we can’t seem to accept it!  It is like we want another reason, but we are given the reason; we just refuse to believe it.  How stupid of us, all of us.  Why are we all! so stupid?  It doesn’t make sense.  Then again, nothing ever makes sense.  It probably never will.  We will all! continue to blind ourselves from the truth that we refuse to believe.  I don’t understand.  And I probably never will.

 

I wonder if I should do anything about it.  About what?  There’s nothing to do and nothing anyone can do.  Well, except for both of him.  Perhaps he’s scared.  Perhaps he doesn’t know if I am or not.  Perhaps he himself isn’t.  Perhaps this, perhaps that.  Only time will.  Tell me what you think.  Make sense of ALL!  Look, there he is again.  I think he was looking at me. But I didn’t look back.  Should I have?  Who cares anyways?  But it’s not impossible right?  I don’t know what to think anymore.  Should I keep chasing after him, or in that case, anyone if I don’t get high?  Hmm…maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe I should stop.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop, yes…that sounds quite right.  Hmm…everything seems so wrong.  What is right?  What does it mean?  The brightness of his shirt is overwhelming.  Who is this?  Who are you?  Who is everyone?  Who is anyone?  How do we know who we are if nothing is right? Math is stupid and endearing ’till eternity.

Nothing can escape a black hole; its black, black, black heart swallows all.  This reminds me of when I thought about not breathing ever again before.  Nope, not fun at all.  Why don’t everyone just shut up?  Please, shut up!  Get out now, you stupid opossum!  And stay out!  Don’t forget to shut up!  It makes no SENSE!  Yes, that’s what we all need; some sense.  How can I make sense of sense if I can’t sense it?  Hmm…perhaps my binder holds answers.  I don’t know anything. “Funner” is not a word, you stupid hoe.  I really should just stop because I’m not making any sense…yes, that word again!  I’m confusing myself.  What should I do?  If today is gone, would we be on February 14th?  Quite strange really, but maybe…maybe not.

I wonder if people wonder.  I wonder if people wonder about the same things as I do.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps they are normal.  Perhaps, no one is normal.  Perhaps we are all queer and I’m normal.  Perhaps my people are the normal ones.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  That seems to make so much more sense…there’s that word again.  No!  My god!  Your god sucks!!!  Math sucks.  Here sucks.  Do I suck?  I don’t know but probably.  Imagine all the people, living in hell.  That I can do.  Hmm…cards can be fun if you’re a hobo.  The pink fluffy bunnies will continue to hop until their legs fall off.  Alive, then dead.  I wonder about him and the future.  Perhaps it will all! change.  Perhaps, perhaps not.

Wow.  I am so obviously sane.





Homeless

13 01 2011

There is no title, no indication of when I wrote this, but judging by the inconsistent verb tenses and meh writing, probably in my creative writing group in high school.

Homeless

“Next,” I thought to myself as I put the lid back on the garbage can.  I casucally strolled over a few feet away and lifted the next lid.  The stench of seemed to be a combination of eggs, cigarettes, and diapers greeted my smell receptors.  However, I was immune to the stench now; there was nothing I hadn’t smelled before.

If I sound like some kind of hobo, you’re wrong.  I prefer the term homeless person, a person simply without a home.  It was about 3:3 in the morning and yes, I was going through people’s garbage.  Well, actually, I enjoyed spending time around this certain house so much that I would consider it to be my “neighbor’s” house.  So far, the only items of any value were a half eaten banana, a pair of socks with small holes and of course, cans for refund.

So anyhoo, I was going through my usual garbage when I spotted something sparkling in the moonlight – or rather, streetlight.  I carefully shoved aside the piles of garbage and suddenly stopped.

It was a butcher’s knife.  And not just any butcher’s knife; it was covered in a red liquid and had a faint odor of copper.  Could it be blood?  Maybe?  Could it be ketchup or tomato sauce?  Maybe, but why would anyone cut ketchup?

I told myself I didn’t see anything and just continued on with my routine.