(no subject)
I.
she was up on the rooftop drinking a milkshake. i was down on the street dancing alone. rolling up my sleeves. it was quite the hot june afternoon, after all. i was shuffling my feet in a smiling city full of tourists and their gaggles of coin tossing children. i always started a little after noon when the hotels emptied out. id strum my quiet guitar and howl at the scared old women. it was always a quarter or two here, a dollar and some change there, some pennies just for pity every now and again. once it got late i knew i could always rely on the drunks to misplace the larger bills. my given name was horace, but nobody ever called me that. ever since i was a kid everybody just called me "harvey." so there i was, just another awkward beggar on the corner of 1st and West Broad. and there she was, another angel in the sky watching over me. if you could call her an nagel. and i suppose you could, but i never would. not after the last few months. not after every minute that followed the snapping shut of my guitar case that evening.
II.
"what's your name?" i managed to pant while tugging at her tangled auburn curls. it was truly a trivial question for i knew she couldnt answer. she only pulled me closer and "oh yes!"ed. i honestly regret that night. that night the girl with no name fell asleep in my arms. i couldnt sleep. i couldnt wake her up. i could only paw at her gently and run my fingers through her hair. i still remember the stale smell of hair dye and cigarette smoke. if only she had rolled over and opened her eyes. we could have talked all night. i wouldve liked that. but instead i clawed my way out of her bed and fumbled around in the dark for my pants. as i pulled them on i sighed, and i havent stopped sighing since.
III.
"do you believe in fate?" he inquired, never looking up from his obscure tattered old paperback, only drowning his inquiry in large sips of hot expensive coffee. "fate?" i replied. a simple reply, yes, but i hoped it would suffice. he paused for a moment; dylan always was a thinker, one of those great unnoticed geniuses. he just kept quiet and kept pondering. that was his gift. it was a beautiful gift. he looked up at me and his mouth ung open. his head rolled and his eyes found mine. "you know...fate." touche. i always knew it would never be that easy. this was our game. we played it often. we palyed it well. now was the time to choose sides. it truly didnt matter what i personaly belived about fate, it only mattered which position i chose to pursue. worn out from the previous nights activity, i opted for the easy arguement. "well, yes, i suppose i subscribe to the school of thought that insists that all of our actions are predetermined. our lives just glorious yet trivial puzzle pieces falling into place. take for example all of the circumstances that made this arguement possible: our stumbling into one another some odd eight months ago, a meeting we couldnt have beginned to plan, our similar backgorunds, our shared interest in scrabble and your need for a place to stay and my convenient vacant guest room. look at us now, the best of friends. brothers, even. engaging in the same nonsensical debate that sparked our interest in one another in the first place. since that time we have had hundreds of debates on hundreds of topids, yet the subject of fate seems to rear its head every week or so. its as if we have no power over theis lingering question. it asks itself. the entire universe exists only as question upon question. there is only one outcome. only one answer. the world couldnt hold itself together if there were an infinite number of possibilities. it could never suffer that weight. i know i couldnt. there is definitely something larger than us holding this elaborate storybook of life together. we only follow its well written lines until our sentences end. that little blac kdot, that is death. i rattled all of this off only as an opening statement. i knew he'd spend the nevx few minutes picking it apart. it was this willingness of ours to accept the possibility for truth that kept us truly satisfied while truly full of questions. assumptions disguised as anything else only make people miserable. and ive seen plenty of miserable people. i was once one of them.
IV.
"what about responsibility? can i really be punished for something i have no control over? ther's no balance in your system!" it was true. i knew it. dylan knew it. but every arguement has a flaw or two. usually more. just like we all have a flaw or two. usually more. we never argued to win an arguement. we only argued to keep our minds alive. we still dont pretend to really understand anything. dylan and i lived in an old house miles away fromthe city. those dull tall pine trees protected us from the outside. ew never watched much television. we screened our calls. we were a very cautious bunch. always. all three of us. our third was an olive-skinned, well-built egyptian scholar. a novelist. a well-dressed, suave egyptian novelist. he was, on the surface, very depressed most of the time but deep down inside he was just like dylan and i, alive. and everybody knew it. occasionally we'd gather in more crowded places and the crowds, they knew. they could sense it. we were different and they all wanted to know our secrets. we sould teach the willing. theyd spend long evening at our secluded ocuntry home absorbing, listening, learning, and some nights even speaking (if they were bold). we would stack books from our extensive libraries for them to study. our advice was, and still is, very simple: seek.
V.
amon never spoke much about egypt. we never supposed he had a reason to hide anything. it turns out we were wrong. i wouldnt say he kept secrets, i would just say that we never dwelt on the past. we never looked too far forward or too far back. we lived for here. we lived for now. we realized long ago that its all we ever have. amon, at some time or another, had some kind of close complicated relationship with the dying girl. even now i find long strands of her hair in my bed....as i suppose everyone does from time to time. suffice to say, we all got to know the dying girl very well. especially dylan, which one might suppose would drive his close friend amon mad, him being formerly attached to her, and all. she made it quite a habit to occupy ample portions of all of our lives. but people like that only fuel the pens of suave young egyptian novelists like amon; and while i know he suffered, he always remained composed. (composure being a skill we three kings had mastered.) the dying girl swore she wanted to love life. i suppose if that was true yo ucould call her our third devoted pupil. those first few shared wuite an enlightening era. i hope that they all realized that.
VI.
our first young student was just that, young. he was just a child but he was eager to learn. probably the most eager. his eyes got wider around us. he called any place we were "heaven." before us he was lost in a sea of self-mutilation and the dumbest of dorm life debauchery. but he never found love in any of that. he continued to seek, and there it was amongst the moths and flies and junebugs. there it was on our fornt porch from dusk until dawn. there was no danger with us for we truly loved and nothing excites the young like love does. they will follow you anywhere for love. they will bend this way and that for love. they are empty vessels waiting to be filled.
[the rest is missing.]
she was up on the rooftop drinking a milkshake. i was down on the street dancing alone. rolling up my sleeves. it was quite the hot june afternoon, after all. i was shuffling my feet in a smiling city full of tourists and their gaggles of coin tossing children. i always started a little after noon when the hotels emptied out. id strum my quiet guitar and howl at the scared old women. it was always a quarter or two here, a dollar and some change there, some pennies just for pity every now and again. once it got late i knew i could always rely on the drunks to misplace the larger bills. my given name was horace, but nobody ever called me that. ever since i was a kid everybody just called me "harvey." so there i was, just another awkward beggar on the corner of 1st and West Broad. and there she was, another angel in the sky watching over me. if you could call her an nagel. and i suppose you could, but i never would. not after the last few months. not after every minute that followed the snapping shut of my guitar case that evening.
II.
"what's your name?" i managed to pant while tugging at her tangled auburn curls. it was truly a trivial question for i knew she couldnt answer. she only pulled me closer and "oh yes!"ed. i honestly regret that night. that night the girl with no name fell asleep in my arms. i couldnt sleep. i couldnt wake her up. i could only paw at her gently and run my fingers through her hair. i still remember the stale smell of hair dye and cigarette smoke. if only she had rolled over and opened her eyes. we could have talked all night. i wouldve liked that. but instead i clawed my way out of her bed and fumbled around in the dark for my pants. as i pulled them on i sighed, and i havent stopped sighing since.
III.
"do you believe in fate?" he inquired, never looking up from his obscure tattered old paperback, only drowning his inquiry in large sips of hot expensive coffee. "fate?" i replied. a simple reply, yes, but i hoped it would suffice. he paused for a moment; dylan always was a thinker, one of those great unnoticed geniuses. he just kept quiet and kept pondering. that was his gift. it was a beautiful gift. he looked up at me and his mouth ung open. his head rolled and his eyes found mine. "you know...fate." touche. i always knew it would never be that easy. this was our game. we played it often. we palyed it well. now was the time to choose sides. it truly didnt matter what i personaly belived about fate, it only mattered which position i chose to pursue. worn out from the previous nights activity, i opted for the easy arguement. "well, yes, i suppose i subscribe to the school of thought that insists that all of our actions are predetermined. our lives just glorious yet trivial puzzle pieces falling into place. take for example all of the circumstances that made this arguement possible: our stumbling into one another some odd eight months ago, a meeting we couldnt have beginned to plan, our similar backgorunds, our shared interest in scrabble and your need for a place to stay and my convenient vacant guest room. look at us now, the best of friends. brothers, even. engaging in the same nonsensical debate that sparked our interest in one another in the first place. since that time we have had hundreds of debates on hundreds of topids, yet the subject of fate seems to rear its head every week or so. its as if we have no power over theis lingering question. it asks itself. the entire universe exists only as question upon question. there is only one outcome. only one answer. the world couldnt hold itself together if there were an infinite number of possibilities. it could never suffer that weight. i know i couldnt. there is definitely something larger than us holding this elaborate storybook of life together. we only follow its well written lines until our sentences end. that little blac kdot, that is death. i rattled all of this off only as an opening statement. i knew he'd spend the nevx few minutes picking it apart. it was this willingness of ours to accept the possibility for truth that kept us truly satisfied while truly full of questions. assumptions disguised as anything else only make people miserable. and ive seen plenty of miserable people. i was once one of them.
IV.
"what about responsibility? can i really be punished for something i have no control over? ther's no balance in your system!" it was true. i knew it. dylan knew it. but every arguement has a flaw or two. usually more. just like we all have a flaw or two. usually more. we never argued to win an arguement. we only argued to keep our minds alive. we still dont pretend to really understand anything. dylan and i lived in an old house miles away fromthe city. those dull tall pine trees protected us from the outside. ew never watched much television. we screened our calls. we were a very cautious bunch. always. all three of us. our third was an olive-skinned, well-built egyptian scholar. a novelist. a well-dressed, suave egyptian novelist. he was, on the surface, very depressed most of the time but deep down inside he was just like dylan and i, alive. and everybody knew it. occasionally we'd gather in more crowded places and the crowds, they knew. they could sense it. we were different and they all wanted to know our secrets. we sould teach the willing. theyd spend long evening at our secluded ocuntry home absorbing, listening, learning, and some nights even speaking (if they were bold). we would stack books from our extensive libraries for them to study. our advice was, and still is, very simple: seek.
V.
amon never spoke much about egypt. we never supposed he had a reason to hide anything. it turns out we were wrong. i wouldnt say he kept secrets, i would just say that we never dwelt on the past. we never looked too far forward or too far back. we lived for here. we lived for now. we realized long ago that its all we ever have. amon, at some time or another, had some kind of close complicated relationship with the dying girl. even now i find long strands of her hair in my bed....as i suppose everyone does from time to time. suffice to say, we all got to know the dying girl very well. especially dylan, which one might suppose would drive his close friend amon mad, him being formerly attached to her, and all. she made it quite a habit to occupy ample portions of all of our lives. but people like that only fuel the pens of suave young egyptian novelists like amon; and while i know he suffered, he always remained composed. (composure being a skill we three kings had mastered.) the dying girl swore she wanted to love life. i suppose if that was true yo ucould call her our third devoted pupil. those first few shared wuite an enlightening era. i hope that they all realized that.
VI.
our first young student was just that, young. he was just a child but he was eager to learn. probably the most eager. his eyes got wider around us. he called any place we were "heaven." before us he was lost in a sea of self-mutilation and the dumbest of dorm life debauchery. but he never found love in any of that. he continued to seek, and there it was amongst the moths and flies and junebugs. there it was on our fornt porch from dusk until dawn. there was no danger with us for we truly loved and nothing excites the young like love does. they will follow you anywhere for love. they will bend this way and that for love. they are empty vessels waiting to be filled.
[the rest is missing.]