Falling Away

For years he walked against the wind, struggled against life’s gales, fighting for each step. He would turn his head from side to side straining to draw breath at times as he shielded his face from the stinging reach of his mistakes, and when the wind turned to a lesser breeze he’d look skyward for a light to show him the way, but all he found was reflections of shame.

He would sit down then, hunker in and wait for the storm to pass. Then when it did and he could stand and see around him all he saw was nothing, he couldn’t see into the future and he couldn’t see into his past, all there was, was nothing. He failed, failed to progress, failed to attain, he failed to be anything but present.

Like so many the present is unaccounted for, they wander between what came before and what happens next. Never knowing their fate, always looking for the solid, steady ground below their feet, which always seems to be there…until it isn’t.

When that moment comes and it always does, you have choices to make; you can surrender and fall away or reach out desperately and grab hold of the very edge and hang on. Then you fight, you fight with everything that’s left, you fight and claw and battle against gravity. You pull and struggle, and you as your fingers bleed and become cold and frozen and the feeling in your legs dissipates quickly you get angry and you spit as you cry out for a chance, just a little opportunity to show you have something left to give.

When you dig deep enough and you find that small flame buried somewhere in your soul you suck it in, and use it and crawl from that hole and roll over onto your back, exhausted, and weep. For you just learned that there is fight in you yet, that there is something worth saving and you love it and caress it and as you lay there contemplating the present, you realize that the clouds that kept your world dark and empty have begun to thin. You see blue sky and know there is something in your future if only you strive to put it there, there is something and you will find it.


The Strange Presence of a Man

Every morning he awakes in a strange home, he showers in a strange bathroom, he brushes his teeth and shaves the face of a strange person, there is something recognizable about the guy staring back at him through the mirror, as though he’d known him a long time ago. He makes his coffee and eats his breakfast and goes to work. He spends 8 to 10 hours a day working at the same place he has for the last 16 years. When the business day is over, he gets into the same car he’s driven for years and travels a strange route to the strange home he goes to sleep in every night.

When he remembers things, when he smells certain things that spark echoes of experiences past, the feelings attached to those echoes, seem different, they seem almost false, like they belong to someone else. As he gets out of his car and walks to the strange mail box to get his mail, his shadow keeps step, but it is only reminiscent of his self, even his shadow seems strange. When he lies down at night, in his huge strange bed, as he closes his strange eyes he begins to dream, in which he is always standing at the helm of a small ship, like a long sailboat. He stands gripping the cold teak wheel in his hands that never feel strange in his dreams. Looking out over the bow of his craft, he can’t see through the thick fog, as he glances side to side now and again he catches glimpses of shoreline both port and starboard but never fore and aft.

In his dreams he never questions where he is going, he just keeps moving, and the fog collects on his cheeks and rolls down his neck in clean, translucent droplets before soaking into his shirt collar. The only sound being that of the otherwise still, quiet water as it washes along the hull of his boat and forms a settling wake off the stern. There is an air of patient excitement for what lies ahead in the cool, bright, enveloping whiteness, and as he turns to look back there is an unsettling notion of darkness that stains the fog left behind. There is no strangeness here on this vessel; there is no pain, no sadness, and no loneliness. There is just present time, an existential existence, a sentiment of being present for the sake of it.

And so he dreams, and when he wakes, he opens his strange eyes, sits up and stands at the window and looks out at the strange tree in the backyard. There is no boat, no vessel to quietly drift upon, and as strange noises slowly collect in his ears, so does pain and loneliness and fear followed by desire, and hope and a sense of wonder and desperation.

The Naked Truth Part Two (2)

This is the second excerpt from my “The Naked Truth”. Read Part One first if you’ve not done so. It’ll make more sense…well maybe …ha!

I’m in trouble, not the kind of trouble that you get into when your little sister tells mom you’ve stolen from the cookie jar, or even the kind that gets you invited into the bosses office because you told your immediate supervisor to go fuck himself. No, I mean trouble like I am standing completely naked in front of a classroom full of female college students in an art class and a young, dark complected girl with long black hair and gorgeous eyes is chewing on the end of her pencil as she stares wildly and intensely up at you. There is that feeling a guy will get when the blood begins to rush to certain areas of the body and there is no turning it around, well there I am, she’s hot, she’s playing me and although I am enjoying the attention I am also trying desperately to think of something horrible and ugly and gross and it isn’t working. Suddenly a voice from a Monty Python movie echoes in my mind…”run away, run away”. Only in this scene there isn’t a crazed blood thirsty rabbit, instead its eight inches of crazed blood thirsty manhood.

At this point I am only 2 minutes into my 5 minute pose and God help me if she does the tongue thing I’m screwed. So I avert my eyes, I’m looking far off into the corners of the room, but unfortunately like all men, there is some dumb biological bullshit thing that makes us do shit we know we shouldn’t do. It’s the same thing that makes us look directly at the sun when we step outside and are surprised by how bright it is. So my gaze begins to drift again, and that same girl whose sitting there straddling the painting horse, is now leaning forward, with her blouse gapped at the third button and her cleavage exposed, pointed straight at me, and just as if it were scripted, I look at her eyes and she smiles a wry smile out the corner of her glossed mouth and licks her bottom lip.

The sweat starts to roll down my back at this point and my scalp grows itchy as my groin is flooded by every last drop of A Negative I have in reserve. I’ve got one minute left in this pose and I can feel the King, yes I have named it the King, please as if you don’t have your own over achiever pet name for the little monster, the King begins to coil like some Cobra from the Indian flutists snake basket in the town bazaar. I’m begging God at this point, and then I thought to myself I wonder if Jesus ever had this problem, out roaming the streets in his sandals and robe checking out all the faithless prospects, I think there was a reason his posse were all men, because every time he got together with the first twelve who happened to be the backup singers for the Original Temptations, they didn’t get any work done and they weren’t drinking the dudes blood either. Let’s face it; he’s Gods only son, I don’t think he would’ve let his familial prodigy strut around without a magnificent package.

Suddenly I heard some commotion and looked down to see the girl walking out of the room, I looked down ever further and noticed the King has retired for the evening, ahh religion has its way doesn’t it, I was proud that I could handle the situation but felt bad at the same time for feeling pride over not sporting a rager. I’m confused and relieved.

You might think that modeling is all glamour, spotlights and applause, you might also think that the girl on the other end of the phone when you call the dating night life hot lines is actually as hot as she appears on TV, well you are either stupid or sadly mistaken my friend. Fact is I was looking for a part time job to cover the costs of some ungodly expensive special diet dog food to put in my rescue poodle’s fancy dish when I came across a Craig’s List ad for modeling at the local university, yes I was on Craig’s List, me, the cop acting like an underage girl fishing for perverts and that guy trying to sell his booger art. As unglamorous as that is it wasn’t as bad as my first gig at the Lutheran College.

to be cont…