looking for a title
Winter
It was cold today, like many other days with the lake effect blasting it's western winds on the small little city. A town, miniature in structure and complexion. Covered by woods and streets, lights and ponds. It stood mighty and quite, in the early morning the snow which fell like leaves in the fall reflected off of the rising sun. the conductor of the morning rose his baton, and in one sharp motion his right hand rose toward the dormant trees, and the music came. The slow, and precise balance of snow flakes fell, and with the solitude of dawn, the world woke for another day. Occasionally, from my porch I can see a little family of white tailed deer. The older doe who stood and stared at my little porch with this panglossian emotion painted, that revealed to me something mirror like in expression, on her face went about gathering as several of her young jumped and hooped in the snow..Usually, I sit on the porch in the morning smoking cigarette after cigarette trying to break some world record or to shorten an already fleeting life. But today was not so usual, the deer didn't show their tiny heads over the snow-covered grass. Everything was silent, there were no sirens in the distance, no honking horns or laughing children walking to school jumping in the puddles of the melting snow. The short-haired husky to my right, gave way to her weight and flopped down. Pushing her head away from her tail far enough to lick the frost off the railing of the porch. Not noticing the deer in the distance, yet admiring the sher freshness on the frost and it's resemblance to the color of her eyes, an arctic blue, that con'd even the strongest of the human race into parting with his most prized and costly passions, food.
This complex, or apartment, was nothing special, it might have been the dream of some developer to put man back into nature and forced nature to grow to his own manufacturing. It stood exactly in the middle of no where, between the lights of the city in the north, the blasting engines of the airport in the east, and to the south there was nothing, a doleful harmonious mixing of snow falling on land; this might have been what god intended, but it was not for me. And the west there was water a mariners dream to sail into a large vacancy that was nothing. The husky, lifted it's self up, stretched it's body out like it was contemning to go into the perfect downward dog stance and shuck it's head so vigorously that spit hit my ankle. I noted this all in my journal, this was for a moment the best place to write, to explore what seemed just life, and the connection and expectations around it. In my little place at the moment I can here the upstairs family, the Lindens, sleeping while the child cries just a little, it seems that the window is open slightly. And downstairs there is nothing but the sound of soundlessness incarnate, a hard and ominous lingering of the past.
I'm sitting it's the the dead of winter and I am writing about how cold it is out side and how much i seem to hate it here. Yes, for those of you who don't know this is Michigan, I've lived here most of my life, there is nothing poetic or nostalgic about this weather. It's pretty cold outside, not common cold weather, but death from mere insainity cold. Yet, i can tell you this, cause for some reason at the moment i am just going to pore everything out, everything. I am no longer gonna hide. No longer will i vomit out metaphor after metaphor, you don't care and i don't think i have the time or the energy to tell this story to you in this format. But please if i go on some metaphysical journal through the English language, please stop reading, shove whatever you can find next to you, down your throat and kill yourself. Seriously.
So as i think i was saying, I've lived here in this state, for god knows how long, ever day i get more rooted to the ground it's so hopeless and empty yet i put that smile on and i walk out the door every morning thinking that one day it might change something might change, that some choice i make will lead me down some glorious path. That has yet to come, obviously, that is a fucking pipe dream. What is real? is that at the moment i am in my very small and quite plain apartment. there is dog hair every where and in everything, Just the other day i noticed some on my razor, i got scared for a moment, i looked at it, thought about it and continued to shave. Pretty sure that Cassey, is the cleanest thing in the house anyway.
So where does that leave us. Yes since what i am going to tell you is based in some truth, biased truth, i will tell you that when i write in this book, journal, live feed...whatever the fuck you want to call this piece. I am writing to you as Sancho, I've always had this love for that name. it's Spanish slang for "the other man". Honestly, and i am going to speak very frankly to you that i am the other man. I am the man that's fucking your wife, that's smoking a bowl with your daughter and at the time thinking about turning out your son. I know that it pretty hard to figure out that i'm an Asshole. I enjoy it, though i may at sometimes live in this life of quiet misery, which i call the night. In the day i am one cluster fuck away from ruining the your life and getting in a seven car pile up.
At the moment i am in this awkward transition in my life. Not that am i boy or a man transition but that of staying or going. i know I'm a man, i act like a man and at the end of the night i know that i am seven inches wider than any man i know. That is possibly the only thank that i will give my parents, thank you Mother and Father for making me that one night, I am always in indebted to you and the Trojan company for making sure to poke that little hole on the gold wrapper of pleasure. *Takes a Bow*
IN a few weeks I'll be twenty-one, In America, that's the golden age. If i were Spartan i would have killed forty or so men by that time. If i were a Victorian I'd probably be so tired and poor that drinking would be the only reason for me to live. But since i am an American i can take pleasure in the fact that the system can hardly regulated itself and i have been going to bars, fucking whores and snorting blow like Santa on a weekend for the past five or so years. Thank you, I am happy. But no i am excited to be able to cross that imagery line at a casino, or actually have something to do in Chicago, other than taking numerous pictures of myself next to that big reflective ball and posting them online as much as possible. So that people know that i actually have a life other than, other than. Hm , other than drinking and smoking, committing a horrid amount of discernible things.
But to take a serious note for a moment, i am in a transition of love. Or infatuation, One or the other. Staying or going. that hopelessness that empitiness is still there. I am writing this to play out a decision. I am met with so many open ended questions, so many choices. that lead to many ending that it's hard to figure out which path to follow. So should i start from the beginning, with my birth and my childhood. Or should i start in the meat of the question.
I am a Homosexual. I am Gay. I am a Faggot. To me these are three different types of people. I have meet all of them down line. The Homosexual who considers himself this laissez faire bohemian of a movement of Intellectual elites. the gay guy whose life is filled with simple hedonistic pleasures and the Faggot the group of uptight self-righteous bitches, who play game after game. Who completely separate themselves from social circle and the whole culture and find that in the end they are lonely and straight, most of them belong to Log Cabin.
Now, i am not meet with many choices here, i can not say truly if i was ever in love with any of these boys, but in the end they left. Like everyone they were not there for me when i needed them, they weren't there to take any bottle away or tell me to stop. they could not handle the swing of my mood in the seasons, the frozen stare the buzzards of my reflections. So like all trash i through them out, i cheated. I fell for someone else and become more and more distant, so as which their wouldn't matter. Known of them every came back, they left as did the day and the season.
Kail
When i was young, Like very young the internet was this new thing. I was just a child and i thought being able to watch cartoons all day long on one channel was pretty aesthetically awesome. But when we first got our computer i was stuck on that old DOS-operating system where the screen could only be seen in black and white, or if you were lucky and had a older cousin like i had, Jumps for joy, she was a bitch, pretty sure i still have the burn mark from playing "Guess whose Gullible" with the fireplace and the iron. But in the end the marks basically went away, but not the pain in my Soul, if you ever read this i just called you out. *payback, woot!*
But the internet, that was something else, that was this organic thing that took up your phone line. As soon as we got, meaning my grandparents and i got America On-Line, but mostly on Hold. I was thrilled, school was the only place i could tap into that place. That virtual world, it was like going in a video game, when you signed on the the computer froze and all of a sudden the white noise, which you fucking couldn't turn down. Do you know how annoying that was, when i was twelve trying to look at porn on the computer in the middle of the night and through the whole house you could hear someone Shh-ing into a brown paper bag with a microphone right next to them. I had to go to the bathroom and making noise with the sink and toilet so no one knew what the hell was going on. I hated the fact that the computer was located in my grandmothers room, right next to the master bedroom. And on top of the noise the computer made at one in the morning the floor boards came alive with the cheeking and cracking.
But after the five hours it took for the damn thing to go online. I was meet with the most confident and soothing voice of a man that i will never know. A man that probably isn't real. that "you've got mail!" guy was the excitement and pleasure of almost every wet dream i had as a child. i am not saying that i had many, but if i were to have one, then yes, he would be the man. But hopefully he looked like the one guy from the blues clues show, you know with the blue dogs and off beat songs. I know that you know and i know that you just had a flash back. I am awesome Mission Accomplished.
At the time, there nothing really special i could do online, i was a child. I had no term papers, nor articles to read. there was no Facebook or Myspace, no Wiki to look up facts about who shoot Kennedy, or when the next TLC album was coming out. There were only two things and that was tons of porn and chat rooms. This was what made the net, the net. that you could go online and find help on what your were feeling. i had no idea that i was a labeled homosexual, when i was a twelve year old. But i knew that i could spell, and i had a pen name. Sancho, came alive when i was child, i crossed chat after chat talking and taking in as much information as i could. I talked to girls and boys, i was meet with a lot of older gentlemen callers that wanted my number and location. Of course, i lied but i was amused at the fact that i could have been abducted, and kidnapped maybe even saved from the consistency of normal preteen life.
so i after weeks and weeks of logging on and off ant random times during the night. i found someone, i had used the internet to find a boy, i was apart of the internet dating scheme. it's very awkward to think about that now, but in a way how else was i going to find anyone that was like me. there were no role models in the 1990's they were scared of us, they were scared of me. I am a product of a generation after the neo-plague. His name was Taylor, he lived in Vermont.
I lived in Michigan, he in Vermont, we were Children. We had no idea what was going on, we had no perspiration of time and space. The Net brought the cold winds to your lap, that frozen world was there in front of me and in front of you. As we are speaking now that arctic animal sits frozen, conserving what energy it has for the Spring. But like all things there had to be a passing, i had no way of seeing him, in faith i fell for him. IN faith i grew to love the idea of him. two little penguins crossing the ice to find some connection in a world becoming smaller. But after time things fall apart, like the melting of snow in February so did we. But he left me one simple and flake that i could take with me.
He gave me Kail. At the time, i thought nothing of it, but the sacrifice of faith lover to give another to another is pretty poetic. So what did i do, i committed to my snow flake, we talked over the phone for hours and hours, something that i soon would come to enjoy. He lived in the City and and i in the Burbs. Both had the skin to match our moods, both brothers. A black boy, child, flaming black child, who on the sight of him caste me out like Judas at the last supper. I had to get use to the Nature of our lifestyle.
On our first meeting, we went to the movies, the Fairlane movie complex in Dearborn. If you aren't from the Detroit area, i would advise you never to go into this place. Yes, the city does have a high population of Arab-Americans, but that is not the reason. Actually, that was the reason i couldn't come up with anything other than that. I have a chaotic affection with being rather racists and pithy at the same. Again if you are offended, Eat Dick.
It was cold today, like many other days with the lake effect blasting it's western winds on the small little city. A town, miniature in structure and complexion. Covered by woods and streets, lights and ponds. It stood mighty and quite, in the early morning the snow which fell like leaves in the fall reflected off of the rising sun. the conductor of the morning rose his baton, and in one sharp motion his right hand rose toward the dormant trees, and the music came. The slow, and precise balance of snow flakes fell, and with the solitude of dawn, the world woke for another day. Occasionally, from my porch I can see a little family of white tailed deer. The older doe who stood and stared at my little porch with this panglossian emotion painted, that revealed to me something mirror like in expression, on her face went about gathering as several of her young jumped and hooped in the snow..Usually, I sit on the porch in the morning smoking cigarette after cigarette trying to break some world record or to shorten an already fleeting life. But today was not so usual, the deer didn't show their tiny heads over the snow-covered grass. Everything was silent, there were no sirens in the distance, no honking horns or laughing children walking to school jumping in the puddles of the melting snow. The short-haired husky to my right, gave way to her weight and flopped down. Pushing her head away from her tail far enough to lick the frost off the railing of the porch. Not noticing the deer in the distance, yet admiring the sher freshness on the frost and it's resemblance to the color of her eyes, an arctic blue, that con'd even the strongest of the human race into parting with his most prized and costly passions, food.
This complex, or apartment, was nothing special, it might have been the dream of some developer to put man back into nature and forced nature to grow to his own manufacturing. It stood exactly in the middle of no where, between the lights of the city in the north, the blasting engines of the airport in the east, and to the south there was nothing, a doleful harmonious mixing of snow falling on land; this might have been what god intended, but it was not for me. And the west there was water a mariners dream to sail into a large vacancy that was nothing. The husky, lifted it's self up, stretched it's body out like it was contemning to go into the perfect downward dog stance and shuck it's head so vigorously that spit hit my ankle. I noted this all in my journal, this was for a moment the best place to write, to explore what seemed just life, and the connection and expectations around it. In my little place at the moment I can here the upstairs family, the Lindens, sleeping while the child cries just a little, it seems that the window is open slightly. And downstairs there is nothing but the sound of soundlessness incarnate, a hard and ominous lingering of the past.
I'm sitting it's the the dead of winter and I am writing about how cold it is out side and how much i seem to hate it here. Yes, for those of you who don't know this is Michigan, I've lived here most of my life, there is nothing poetic or nostalgic about this weather. It's pretty cold outside, not common cold weather, but death from mere insainity cold. Yet, i can tell you this, cause for some reason at the moment i am just going to pore everything out, everything. I am no longer gonna hide. No longer will i vomit out metaphor after metaphor, you don't care and i don't think i have the time or the energy to tell this story to you in this format. But please if i go on some metaphysical journal through the English language, please stop reading, shove whatever you can find next to you, down your throat and kill yourself. Seriously.
So as i think i was saying, I've lived here in this state, for god knows how long, ever day i get more rooted to the ground it's so hopeless and empty yet i put that smile on and i walk out the door every morning thinking that one day it might change something might change, that some choice i make will lead me down some glorious path. That has yet to come, obviously, that is a fucking pipe dream. What is real? is that at the moment i am in my very small and quite plain apartment. there is dog hair every where and in everything, Just the other day i noticed some on my razor, i got scared for a moment, i looked at it, thought about it and continued to shave. Pretty sure that Cassey, is the cleanest thing in the house anyway.
So where does that leave us. Yes since what i am going to tell you is based in some truth, biased truth, i will tell you that when i write in this book, journal, live feed...whatever the fuck you want to call this piece. I am writing to you as Sancho, I've always had this love for that name. it's Spanish slang for "the other man". Honestly, and i am going to speak very frankly to you that i am the other man. I am the man that's fucking your wife, that's smoking a bowl with your daughter and at the time thinking about turning out your son. I know that it pretty hard to figure out that i'm an Asshole. I enjoy it, though i may at sometimes live in this life of quiet misery, which i call the night. In the day i am one cluster fuck away from ruining the your life and getting in a seven car pile up.
At the moment i am in this awkward transition in my life. Not that am i boy or a man transition but that of staying or going. i know I'm a man, i act like a man and at the end of the night i know that i am seven inches wider than any man i know. That is possibly the only thank that i will give my parents, thank you Mother and Father for making me that one night, I am always in indebted to you and the Trojan company for making sure to poke that little hole on the gold wrapper of pleasure. *Takes a Bow*
IN a few weeks I'll be twenty-one, In America, that's the golden age. If i were Spartan i would have killed forty or so men by that time. If i were a Victorian I'd probably be so tired and poor that drinking would be the only reason for me to live. But since i am an American i can take pleasure in the fact that the system can hardly regulated itself and i have been going to bars, fucking whores and snorting blow like Santa on a weekend for the past five or so years. Thank you, I am happy. But no i am excited to be able to cross that imagery line at a casino, or actually have something to do in Chicago, other than taking numerous pictures of myself next to that big reflective ball and posting them online as much as possible. So that people know that i actually have a life other than, other than. Hm , other than drinking and smoking, committing a horrid amount of discernible things.
But to take a serious note for a moment, i am in a transition of love. Or infatuation, One or the other. Staying or going. that hopelessness that empitiness is still there. I am writing this to play out a decision. I am met with so many open ended questions, so many choices. that lead to many ending that it's hard to figure out which path to follow. So should i start from the beginning, with my birth and my childhood. Or should i start in the meat of the question.
I am a Homosexual. I am Gay. I am a Faggot. To me these are three different types of people. I have meet all of them down line. The Homosexual who considers himself this laissez faire bohemian of a movement of Intellectual elites. the gay guy whose life is filled with simple hedonistic pleasures and the Faggot the group of uptight self-righteous bitches, who play game after game. Who completely separate themselves from social circle and the whole culture and find that in the end they are lonely and straight, most of them belong to Log Cabin.
Now, i am not meet with many choices here, i can not say truly if i was ever in love with any of these boys, but in the end they left. Like everyone they were not there for me when i needed them, they weren't there to take any bottle away or tell me to stop. they could not handle the swing of my mood in the seasons, the frozen stare the buzzards of my reflections. So like all trash i through them out, i cheated. I fell for someone else and become more and more distant, so as which their wouldn't matter. Known of them every came back, they left as did the day and the season.
Kail
When i was young, Like very young the internet was this new thing. I was just a child and i thought being able to watch cartoons all day long on one channel was pretty aesthetically awesome. But when we first got our computer i was stuck on that old DOS-operating system where the screen could only be seen in black and white, or if you were lucky and had a older cousin like i had, Jumps for joy, she was a bitch, pretty sure i still have the burn mark from playing "Guess whose Gullible" with the fireplace and the iron. But in the end the marks basically went away, but not the pain in my Soul, if you ever read this i just called you out. *payback, woot!*
But the internet, that was something else, that was this organic thing that took up your phone line. As soon as we got, meaning my grandparents and i got America On-Line, but mostly on Hold. I was thrilled, school was the only place i could tap into that place. That virtual world, it was like going in a video game, when you signed on the the computer froze and all of a sudden the white noise, which you fucking couldn't turn down. Do you know how annoying that was, when i was twelve trying to look at porn on the computer in the middle of the night and through the whole house you could hear someone Shh-ing into a brown paper bag with a microphone right next to them. I had to go to the bathroom and making noise with the sink and toilet so no one knew what the hell was going on. I hated the fact that the computer was located in my grandmothers room, right next to the master bedroom. And on top of the noise the computer made at one in the morning the floor boards came alive with the cheeking and cracking.
But after the five hours it took for the damn thing to go online. I was meet with the most confident and soothing voice of a man that i will never know. A man that probably isn't real. that "you've got mail!" guy was the excitement and pleasure of almost every wet dream i had as a child. i am not saying that i had many, but if i were to have one, then yes, he would be the man. But hopefully he looked like the one guy from the blues clues show, you know with the blue dogs and off beat songs. I know that you know and i know that you just had a flash back. I am awesome Mission Accomplished.
At the time, there nothing really special i could do online, i was a child. I had no term papers, nor articles to read. there was no Facebook or Myspace, no Wiki to look up facts about who shoot Kennedy, or when the next TLC album was coming out. There were only two things and that was tons of porn and chat rooms. This was what made the net, the net. that you could go online and find help on what your were feeling. i had no idea that i was a labeled homosexual, when i was a twelve year old. But i knew that i could spell, and i had a pen name. Sancho, came alive when i was child, i crossed chat after chat talking and taking in as much information as i could. I talked to girls and boys, i was meet with a lot of older gentlemen callers that wanted my number and location. Of course, i lied but i was amused at the fact that i could have been abducted, and kidnapped maybe even saved from the consistency of normal preteen life.
so i after weeks and weeks of logging on and off ant random times during the night. i found someone, i had used the internet to find a boy, i was apart of the internet dating scheme. it's very awkward to think about that now, but in a way how else was i going to find anyone that was like me. there were no role models in the 1990's they were scared of us, they were scared of me. I am a product of a generation after the neo-plague. His name was Taylor, he lived in Vermont.
I lived in Michigan, he in Vermont, we were Children. We had no idea what was going on, we had no perspiration of time and space. The Net brought the cold winds to your lap, that frozen world was there in front of me and in front of you. As we are speaking now that arctic animal sits frozen, conserving what energy it has for the Spring. But like all things there had to be a passing, i had no way of seeing him, in faith i fell for him. IN faith i grew to love the idea of him. two little penguins crossing the ice to find some connection in a world becoming smaller. But after time things fall apart, like the melting of snow in February so did we. But he left me one simple and flake that i could take with me.
He gave me Kail. At the time, i thought nothing of it, but the sacrifice of faith lover to give another to another is pretty poetic. So what did i do, i committed to my snow flake, we talked over the phone for hours and hours, something that i soon would come to enjoy. He lived in the City and and i in the Burbs. Both had the skin to match our moods, both brothers. A black boy, child, flaming black child, who on the sight of him caste me out like Judas at the last supper. I had to get use to the Nature of our lifestyle.
On our first meeting, we went to the movies, the Fairlane movie complex in Dearborn. If you aren't from the Detroit area, i would advise you never to go into this place. Yes, the city does have a high population of Arab-Americans, but that is not the reason. Actually, that was the reason i couldn't come up with anything other than that. I have a chaotic affection with being rather racists and pithy at the same. Again if you are offended, Eat Dick.