It was a clear day in Montana... Maybe it was Louisiana... I don't quite remember. My head had been pounding all morning. The tequila is reminding me of the awful mistakes I've made. The skies that pass are quite blue for such a cold day. The American life. Any type of weather passes these parts. Most Americans don't feel the need to go anywhere else and why not? We have it all here in The United States of America.

   Coffee... The only way I'll be able to keep a pulse today. Lots to do. Lying in bed the phone rings. It's the front desk. Some nice lady seems to have had not liked how I was consuming my alcohol last night. Maybe I was too loud. I do have to admit, I am a loud drinker. After hanging up the phone my eyes settle nervously on the coffee maker. The thing about that coffee maker is that it makes a very loud and irritating sound while it runs. My innards could not sustain such a fright at this point. I was falling apart but I needed to make that coffee.

   I got up and began to make the froth smell of coffee. I stare across the living room floor at the maker and focus on it's curves and small nooks. What could possibly be making that noise? Maybe I needed to get a new one but my finances aren't looking too good at the moment. The phone rings again and it's my brother Wake. Wake is a solid man. As a kid he liked to fish and camp. Anyway, Wake was looking for a pick me up and I didn't know what to tell him... I was all out.

   "Man, all I need is a bump. Can you help me out?" I listened to the scare in his voice. He was truly sick.

   "I thought you were over this Wake." I heard Wake take a deep breath. He's trying to think of something to say in order to solidify his need. "I'm trying." was all I got from him. He had me worried. As a brother I should be right? Who else does he have? I told him I'd pick him up in an hour. After hanging up the phone I realized I needed to pick up Sheryl... My beautiful but pissed wife. I always seem to find a way to make her day more tough. What's my agenda? It'd be nice to know so I could prepare myself for whatever beating or hell I'd be walking into come 2pm: Pick Up Sheryl Time.

   Riiiiiing dong boooon errr. Jesus. There goes that darn coffee maker. Always catches me mid thought. I step out onto the patio after giving the coffee maker a good mean muggin' and lit a cigarette. The morning smoke really cures the blues somehow. I'll still feel like crap after but the demons will rest for a while. A bird flies by. I always wondered if the freedom of flight was as good as it sounded. Having the ability to go anywhere is nice but maybe it makes it easier to just fly away from something you probably should stick around for. A turtle has a rough slow going time when he decides to scoot away from his problems. 

   Back inside the room I get dressed and hair combed. On my way out I run into Shelly. She lives across the hall. Wanted to know if I saw a package earlier. It's her way of asking me, "Can you do this for me?" I usually say I'll keep an eye out for it but today was different. I was gonna give it to her man... I was in no mood to be dealing with her lazy around the ugly bush stupid questions. 

   I was done. It stops now... And, no. That didn't happen. I didn't tell her how sick I was of her. I just kept on walking past her. Such an anger built up in such a short amount of time. My mind was running too fast for the morning. I needed to calm myself. I have to get my mail to see if the insurance policy that my father had will cover my surgery. I'm getting a hernia taken care of. More on that later. Must keep moving forward.

   Down in the lobby I hear some kind of commotion happening but it barely catches my attention. I need to get to my mailbox.

   "What the fuck do you mean the room's not there?" Someone was experiencing anger.

   "Sir, like I've repeatedly stated. The room has a problem with the pluming and the hotel is at capacity. You can stay at our sister hotel during the renovation." Professionalism can be mundane if you ask me.

   "All my stuff is in there. You can't do that!"

   "Sir!" 

   I turn the corner of the lobby hall and rush out of the spinning doors. Out on the street the traffic has climaxed to a rage. The energy of my surroundings is not improving. Horns blaring. Pedestrians maneuvering for their lives. I try and jump the street but a cab nearly takes my legs out from under me. I back up in shock. The driver has stopped right where I was standing. I look up towards him expecting a fight that I am not prepared for but the driver just angrily waves me away like an annoying fly. His car screams away down the street for his next costumer. I fear I won't have the will power to go through two surgeries at this point in my life. A precautious one never fly but it's the only agenda I can afford. Stick to the sidewalks.

   My pants begin to vibrate. Oh, man. The tequila is collecting it's debt in an evil way this time. Have mercy on my nervous system Sir. Drink. I promise to only abuse you in the classiest of ways from now on... My pants still vibrate. What is this madness? CRAP. Sheryl. I dig into my pocket and grab my vibrating phone. As I take it out a small piece of paper falls to the ground. I answer the phone and pick up the paper from the ground.

   

   "Hello?"

   "Where on earth are you Jacob?"

   The piece of paper has a number on it. A six digit number: 308297. The hell is that?

    "What?" Sheryl's attitude was not going to improve.

   "Oh, sorry. Um, I'm on fifth and Grand. Where are you?"

   "Jacob. I'm at the doctors. You were suppose to be here an hour ago. I've been calling you ever since."

   Three zero eight two nine seven... Birthday's? A date? Could be a cellmates number. Doesn't Alfred work in corrections? Maybe he could help me out. I'll give him a call.

   "Who the hell is Alfred? Jacob. I need you to focus. The doctor wants to know what blood type you are. Do you have any clue?"

  A ratched side effect of large amounts of alcohol and bendomazine. The ware and tare on the mind creates the illusion that one is speaking inward but in reality is speaking to all who can hear. I need to check the dosage on the bottle of pills and tequila.  No use explaining this to Sheryl. She needs answers and so do I.

     "Uh, yeah. Try B." A slight pause on the line.

     "...That sounds like a guess. Are you positive it's B?"

     "Ah, no. Try B positive. Yeah that's it. Hey, does the number 308297 ring any bells?"

     Another lengthy pause on the lone. I wasn't sure if I was giving something away like some special code or something but I had a feeling this number meant something. My stomach makes a begging scream for food.
     "Jacob..." A sigh of defeat comes through my phone. "Just make sure to be at Rachels tonight at 8pm. Okay?"
     "Alright but if anything comes up with those numbers let me ---..."
     The line ends. She must be having a bad day. I tell her to lighten up but she asks how could she with a maniac in her life. I didn't catch her drift but I still wonder to this day who that maniac is.

     I stuff the paper in my back pocket and walk into SAL's. The best damn sandwhiches in East Davenhill. Always been a favorite. Coming in I see three men seated next to each other by the bar front. Hardworking men I can see. I decide to join them but leave a space between them and I in fear they might not want such a close encounter.
     I take my seat and forward a good morning to my pending buddies. The one closest to me turns his head slightly and nods. He has a roast beef sandwich in front of him that has been halved by his mouth.
     "Roast beef huh? The best in town if you ask me." The nearest again lets out a nod in agreement. A couple odd seconds pass. I guess my opening line was too open. No response. I look over towards the other two gentlemen and notice the one furthest from me has on scrubs under his fall jacket. I see this as a possible in to some delighted conversation. I study my future words in my head. First lesson in precausiosness...: THINK BEFORE THY SPEAKTH.

     "Hey Doc, I was wondering about something lately." The three of them look up from their plates wondering what I talk about. Ok, must make myself clear and to the point. 

Summer Heat

      The feat of another summer troubles me deeply now that I've been faced with the first week back to a college I have yet to share a memory worth remembering. The searing walks along the blacktop layered parking lots spare me no chance to let my mind wonder like a child, take in the views watch the trees sway, wonder what it would look like if you were on top of that tree... Simple thoughts. Not today though. Not in this heat. I find myself breathing in crap and spitting out nothing more. Why do I always leave for class so early? To get ahead of everyone else? In a sense, I'm already behind going to a community college where all it takes is a pulse to pass. Money well spent. 

      As I crawl through the secondary parking lots filled with cars, who will most definitely cease to exist in a week or two, a small taste of frustrated anger crawls up my spine: the site of eager students walking to class... who, for some damned reason, don't have the same disgusted look on their face as me. Why don't they? Jesus, I don't know. Why is it so hot? The heat that pours down on my neck doesn't seem fair to such a fragile specimen as myself. The town should implement shade wherever a human might venture out for a walk. Those brave enough not to cower from the rays should do so knowing that whatever they do after this aggressive exposure, 'I will do in utter pain.' 20 minutes before class and I'm already entering the building. I sit in a car not 50 yards from my destination, why should I leave 25 minutes early? Ah, maybe I'll run into someone I haven't seen in months. I'll be very shady and act as if they were one of my imaginations that I can no longer see. I'm sure they'll appreciate that. 

Quick Stop On Duckner Street

          I hadn't seen him sitting there before when I came in for my morning coffee. He sat there, legs crossed, reading some polish novel. His shoes were colored an odd red, his tie an even grey. I locked sight on him as I walked passed him towards the Quick Stop on Duckner St. As I reached the door, he evenly tilted his head up from his book and nodded to me. I thought he was lost at first. Why would such an odd character be seated in front of a normal store such as the Quick Stop on Duckner.  I wondered if anybody inside knew who he was. I doubted it. So I stood there with my hand of the handle of the door pausing for a second, snarling at what I saw. I saw that his fingernails were cleanly cut. His hair had been freshly cut which pleasantly laid to rest on the collar of his black coat. His shoe laces were evenly tied. He dabbed his lit cigarette with care. Something was wrong here. Not long before my surveying of this unlikely customer of the Quick Stop of Duckner Street, Evan, owner of the Quick Stop, yelled to me from inside. "Hey boy, it's says PULL, not PUSH.' I slipped out of my concentration. I swung the door open to hear a piecing ring above the door. 'Ah jeez, whats with that crap Ev?' I tilt in pain gripping my ringing ears. Evan chuckles 'I kinda like it.' I shake it off and walk into the Quick Stop.

          The Quick Stop doesn't have much, but the people inside it serve as the reason I keep coming back. Its been here for 6 years now and has been on a steady decline ever since its doors opened. The smell of the place is quite comforting. It was once explained by a disturbed first time customer as smelling like a dead cow wrapped in a burning rug. I didn't understand it but it sounded right. It's a homey store. Right where we belong. I start to my left where the front windows are, when I see a good friend scurry across the floor. 'Hey Rattus!' He looked well groomed today, something was different in his stride. 'Aye pal! Nice to smell ya! Samantha's doin her thing again' Samantha, another regular, comes to the Quick Stop to play the jukebox and memorize the info on the albums. I chuckle as I glance at Samantha across the store then back to Rattus. 'Has she... You better stay out of it this time Rus.' Samantha has always had an odd talent. She described it vaguely one morning, saying she can feel and alter power sources. We all shrugged it off as some experience she once had in the 60's... She's a solid chick though. 

          I passed the magazine shelf that lay across the front wall. I usually take a look at whats new but today I had a different item in mind. Bullets. Thankfully Evan was able to pick them up from a local supplier. I couldn't find any decent stores on Duckner St that could supply me with my need. Many letdowns when living in such a small town. I neared the end of the isle when I notice the back of the freezer doors resemble a red tint. I saw her precious feet sit snug into bright red high heels through the glass. She wears them well. Her milk white colored legs travel far and dense up into a burgundy skirt that rests calmly against her upturned hip. 'Hey Gabby.' She smiles at my request for her attention. 'Hiya doll, how are you?' I look up and down once more to collect the moment. 'Im alright, bit hungry. But puttin' along. How's the freeze treating you?' The freezer, her favorite spot, is lined with sale slogans for drinks all over the glass. Her upper half is covered by a bud light stamp that she placed there for a mysterious effect,my favorite freezer girl. 'The Boondocks of this spot always keep my calm inatct.' She lands a wink and slowly closes her eyes to her default pose. 

          The sight is inspiring but I'm quickly pulled from my concentration by Willy, he's been her since the opening as well. Every day I find him in front of the muffin tray seeking the perfect one to eat yet never finds it. He screams 'I've found it! My thoughts can finally rest!' He startles Evan who looks up then shakes it off. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, the day Willy usually comes close to finding the one. Such an intimate seeker of the perfect muffin. I've learned much from him. I learned how to pick the perfect car. A 1998 red Chevrolet Minivan-Pickup with the speakers blown out, hub caps tossed, steering wheel torn to bits with one side mirror. A perfect fit for the Duckner St asylum. I turn down  isle 4 toward the middle of the store and find what I've been looking for. What I came here in the first place for. Sweet British Mark Sevens. They roast the best, slide down the pipe the best and release the best. I spot a big 7 on a white box on the middle shelf, just about to tip over the lip. I grabbed a full case of British Mark 7 .303, Full Metal Jacket. They are the ones that go down easier. 

          As I hold them in my hand the lights in the store growl a quick dim. Then again. They start to return with a pace that suceeds the normal brightness. They start to squeal with electricty. 'Damnit Samantha! I told you, stop screwing around with my lights!' With my reward right in front of me, my attention squints towards the front of the store. Evan has Samantha suspended in the air by her throat with his hand. She's hysterically laughing. Tears run down her cheeks. The lights dim again. I see Rus run through the isle towards the front where they are. Willy, gripping tight his muffin, never loses concentration of his catch. Rus gains the center of the floor. He gazes up at Evans strength, Samantha's shaking body in Evan's grip, 'That damn fool, she's gotten better ya know.' Rattus seemed scared at what he knew could happen yet contempt with what he saw, what he had been waiting for. Both Evan's physical strength and Samantha's mental strength can give quite a show when challenged. Nobody knows why she does it but she loves to press Evan on his poor wiring throughout the store. 

          Chuckling, Samantha struggles but whispers 'I can't change your strength darling.' Evan smiles with pride. His arm, popping with bloody veins, slowly lowers Samantha towards the ground. Her feet catch the tiled floor yet Evan's grip holds tight. 'My lights dim again without me touching a switch, you'll need Ruttas here to change your diapers hourly. Understand?' Samantha's grin slowly changes from a giggle to a thwarting stare. The lights in their sockets above us all being to vibrate in a impressive fashion. The light above the bathroom towards the back suddenly breaks from the ceiling, crashing to the floor. Two placed over the magazine windows crash to the tiles underneath, turning the whole isle dark. Evan growls, Samantha's throat still in the spectacular grasp of Evan's hand , 'I will devour every bone.' The light above me explodes with such force it blasts me to the floor. Bullets everywhere. I can't hear anything. I can see Rus still gazing up, his fearless gaze has gotten him into trouble before but this time, he doesn't have a choice, he must see. I scramble back to my knees from my back and start to crawl towards the front. My knees press hard into bullets lying on the ground, my hands show blood streaming down from my arm from somewhere I cannot identify. The lights that  follow me down the isle continue to vibrate and explode one by one. I am yelling at full force. I drop to the front of the isle. My forgotten senses from the explosions rush to me in an instant. Loud forceful screeches of electricity blind my sight with bursts of sparks flowing from the ceiling. Samantha's body has risen several feet over us. Evan has unhinged his jaw in preparation. His neck has grown two feet in diameter. The complexion of his skin is unrecognizable. Samantha lets out a demonic howl that turns her eyes blood shot red. Her hair has frozen in sight, stretched out towards the heavens. I can no longer hear, see or feel. The sounds and sights coming from the front of the store has truly crippled me. All reality is lost. 

          Only my mind is compatible with this mess. I remind myself of Gabby. She must be dumbfounded with terror; in total anguish of this happening, trying to contemplate everything with no comprehension of what is going on through the glass. I turn around and crawl down the isle. I search my front, waiting for the numb touch of the freezer doors. I can feel the ground thundering through my knees and the palms of my hands. Gabby must be close. I reach an opening and gather the freezer doors are close. I turn to the left and reach far out in front of me. I feel soft skin, rich silky, soft skin. It is Gabby. She's crawled out of her door and fell to the ambush of events. I push myself towards her to shield her from the hot searing sparks coming from the ceiling. I can feel her racing heart pounding against my chest as I hold her. Everything happening around me settles into madness. Vision lost. Hearing Lost. Everything is lost. I can no longer provide meaning nor reasoning from what's happening. Samantha and Evan have lost their bearings. They have finally met their ends. It has always come close but never this close.

          I suddenly hear the ring for the front door. Silence. It stops all action within the store. I open my eyes to a tiled floor littered by bags of chips, vitamin bottles, soda bottles and bullets. I feel Gabby holding me tight. Who is it? I find my knees and start to gather Gabby to hers. I pull her up and she's heard it too. We both look down the isle, afraid to look further. We both find our feet and slowly peer over the shelf of cookies towards the front door. The man in the black coat has entered. The man takes a few steps into the store and softly asks, 'Sorry to disturb you but, would you happen to know the time?' . I see the man has an average height, slim, medium build. He has an average chin, neck line, ear shape and eye shape. Willy looks up from his muffin towards the far wall which holds a clock. Blinking tenderly '3:45P.M. Sir.' The odd man surveys the store which has surrendered all normalcy, groceries scatters every inch of the tile, some isle separations have fallen over, an angered man with his large arm and jaw controlling the body of a girl who's fiery red hair sways in the breeze coming in from the opened door. His scan of the store stops at the front, down towards the floor. A rat scurries towards him a few steps. 'Is that all?' The man smirks at the greased rat and evenly nods. 'That'll be all, Good day.' The man turns and leaves the store continuing his stride down Duckner Street. Rus turns to Evan and Samantha who haven't moved an inch in shock, Willy and his muffin, Me and Gabby and shrugs, 'What a creep huh?'  

Soundless

           I hear something. It's close I can tell. It's sound is faint but loud in its proximity. Each day I wake up and it greets me with a blast. My room is dead silent; a silence that would cripple the agile mind. It makes me crazy; crazy to think I hear something that isn't there. My fan stands still with nothing to do. It should be on, but I've shut it off ever since this sound has crept upon my mornings. An unknown green light splatters the darkened room with such gravity, my head boils inside. Still, the sound continues. It has kept me awake all night, without awaking me. I know it'll come soon as I sleep. It slithers through my dreams, always a deafening obedience in it's presence. I sit here in complaint of the so called unknown.

          I sweep the blankets off my body in one swift movement. It continues. I swing my legs over and lift my head to a leveled position with the green light. I walk to and open the door for the release of my bowels when it suddenly stops... I pause in observation. The grip I hold against the door drops. My heartbeat strengthens. I hear the attic creek. No reason to double think that. I give my room total concentration.

          I turn around and enter the center of my room. Shades drawn, sheets spread a mess. My clock slowly clicks to 6:32 AM. I hold my breath to silent my innards. I close my eyes and search for total solitude. The sound starts again. It begins to thump. Louder and louder. My arms reach for something to catch, only nothing. I give my thoughts a rest. I complete total silence. I am naked of all inner distractions. I am outside my own body. I swim around the room with reliance on the dream I had earlier that night. I can see what I saw. A ravage sight.

          Gauntlets of sludge filled with mud and grime surrounding my bed, only the impression of my body lay clean. The sludge builds and builds with a furious skill. All is silent. I see a fine stray of light piercing through the shade. It's the rising sun. I walk through the sludge, towards the window. I open the shades and find the light ending at my chest. A loud crashing sound. My shirt burns through, opening my bare chest to the sunlight. I rip the burnt pieces off my body and stare at my chest. My hairs seize up in flame. The sun still spearing my chest. I try and look the sun in the eye. I become dizzy and look down to see a shape flaming through my chest. It burns in the shape of my heart. The sound becomes brilliantly loud. It seems to be coming from my mind, from my torso, inside my chest. The shape protrudes through my chest. It violently morphs into my heart, bleeding. It falls on the floor. I pick it up to find the sound severely loud, coming from my pumping heart. I stare at my bloody organ. I search for a reason why. How am I alive? I crave an end to this.

          I pick at my heart to find the source of this piercing sound. I find a pen on my desk and rip my heart in half finding a golden shine bursting through the middle of my chambered heart. I grab it in my hands and squeeze til my fingers bleed with pressure. My eyesight begins to wither, my arms seem weak, but my hands still tightly gripping the mass. I feel my body heating up, my veins expanding, the roundness of my skull imploding, my chest bleeding with fire. The sound screams through my entire body without remorse. I squeeze one more time and collapse to the ground.

          From the ground I crawl to my bed. All of my bones seem to have left me. All strength gone. The sound so strong my ears begin to bleed. I reach my bed, hold myself upwards in a slop of skin, blood and rotten tissue. I gather the strength to spread myself among the sludge that's engulfed my bed. It's covering me quickly, with an evil revenge of darkness. I look over to the green flickering light which spreads a bright shine of light throughout my room. I slap it hard. 5 more minutes until the next snooze.

My Place In Time

          I'm pretty bored nowadays so this is where the last string is. To write bullshit that wraps around the epicenter of, whatever. Great start. I'm not going to delete anything I write from now on because what I usually write first is what I really mean and want to say. It'll be weird and not constructed well but who cares? Maybe you, maybe me, but definitely not 'them'.

          I'm in Miami and a hurricane is approaching. That's fantastic because yesterday, Friday, August 24th 2012 was the 20th anniversary of the lovely Hurricane Andrew that I was also in Miami for. I was a grand total of 3 years old. I don't remember anything until I was 5, but I remember when I was 3 on August 24th 1992. I was locked in a closet with my brother, my cousin, probably my mother, and my dad. Sorry Mom. I should have remembered you but the memory is faint. Your heavenly comfort as a mother has always been a given so it sometimes blurs. But my father, I saw. I remember seeing him at such a young age because he was, literally, holding up the wall. It was jumping up and down while the roof was separating from the top of the wall which seemed to be laughing without rhythm.  The only words I remember speaking was to my brother which was: 'Hey, my ass is wet.' Yea, it was that intense.

         Hopefully Mr. Isaac will be just as entertaining without the bs. I want a real show. You can't expect me to be satisfied by showing yourself when I was 3, the cartoons I was watching were just as fascinating. What the heck happened to Barney? Drug trafficking?

         As I look around my room I notice the outside shutters I closed an hour ago. It's a sealant. An enclosed prison shielding me from God knows what. Maybe if I do enough push-ups, strap myself to a tree, I'll be able to show who's really the boss; Mr. Rick Ross. Why does my 60 lb less brother wonder how many push-ups I can do? I think it's an ailment to decide whether he's fit or not. I've shown him a great example of the failure he's running from. God bless his skinny soul.

         What an optical allowance beer labels are. Anyway. Given my state, I believe writing this should give you a glimpse of where I'm at in my life. BLAHBLAHBLAH Today I saw a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus rex to be exact, throw a first pitch at a baseball game on tv. Before that I was nonchalantly enjoying some bogus highlight reel of first pitches. I saw famous people throw 30 feet to the left of the plate, I saw the Kardasians throw hard sliders, I saw Keith Stone throw the perfect pitch with the perfect release, I saw George Bush, Bill Clinton, Barak Obama throw perfect strikes... I SAW A TYRANNOSURUS REX THROW A BASEBALL OFF THE MOUND TO A CATCHER. PERIOD! I was amazed! How?! WHY? WHAT?! How did they, wait a minute. Why did they have a Tyrannosur.. WHAT THE HELL? It came and went so fast my only reaction was to consider I had mistakenly taken acid with my coffee this morning.. The cup was abnormally small. NO! I saw what I saw!

         And that was your first lesson on babble writting. It doesn't matter what you write or how you write it. As long as it makes completely no sense, you're golden. HENSE the reason for this Blog. For all of you (singular) who read this blog, I hope you take a ugly angry dump tomorrow. PCE.

LB

Jesus Christ: We Should Let This Dead Man Sleep

          23. A lucky number some people say. An age that is expected to be lived without doubt. A meager age to all the elders. "You've only started living." I am 23. I hit that age when my Aunt showed me the cake she bought for me which had the number 23 on it. It was frightening to see a number so high placed on a flamboyant birthday cake. From my childhood, I can only remember numbers like, 9, 12 or 13 on cakes. Not 23. It seems irrelevant on a cake. What am I celebrating? Celebrations occur for those on-lookers to applaud the growing. But I have grown... I am grown. This cake in front of me symbolizes the death of youth. Embrace this year? Why? 

          23. I have grown to this number. I don't know if this number has grown on me, such like the other numbers. 20 felt like a tickle to the year of boozed crazed nights in bars. 21 felt like a blur that actually occurred in those bars. 22 felt like retired youth going to that same pond his dad took him for the first time to fish.... I had already been to that pond plenty. 

          23 feels like the unknown...  I'll just live my life as the numbers pile up. I'll have my 24th birthday which will come to a short lived surprise like 23 but work will still start on Mondays and end on Fridays. And 25 will come. Some things will change, I might have a car. My apartment might actually be acceptable to visitors. I'll own a dog, who cherishes my arrival no matter how grey or blue the day is. My visions might alter a bit. I might own a lawnmower. The cubs might win a world series. But that age will keep on crawlin' towards me, always on the lookout, always searching for me... Making sure I don't slip and let me know to always act my age.

          35 will come. Damnit I best have a wife and a kid on the way. No kid wants an old man as a father. 'How could such an old man teach me anything?' My American life will be on the way towards 40; where the middle aged man is crippled beyond recognition...  My dog will have long past. He was the reminisce of true love. I will always miss him. Without my dog, friendship dies. What am I worth? What is anything worth? I have given so much to society while giving nothing at all. Shouldn't I be rewarded? Or even Noticed? I wont die like this.

          55 will come with a crush. My life better be around perfect with plenty of relaxation. With no temptation of suicide or killing of my family for whatever they have caused me through the years. My house has been fixed multiple times with all of my friends' dramatically wrong inputs thrown to the side. I know wrong from right. It'll my Goddamn American right. 

          I'm on my death bed and the light never seemed so close. A time for reflection never seemed so irrelevant. I reflected all my life. Must I explain why it's OK for me to die? I don't need my families OK to. I just need a comfortable bed and a fan to dry the sweat accumulating around my brow... It's been there quite some time now. My wife folds over me in doubt of living on her own... She doesn't know it, but she has all this time. The garden will continue to grow. Our grandchildren will always need to be tendered to. Her book club needs her insightful input. And someone will learn to love her cooking. But I must go now. I lived on Earth and the Earth helped me follow my true intuition of free will. Free will to do whatever I please. Like the song that will be played as I fall into my endless nap; the nap I have been waiting for my whole life. No appointments. No phone calls. Nothing to clean. Nothing to do. That's how I liked it and I will forever now, embrace that.

Jesus Christ, we should let this dead guy sleep.

Tame The Beast: A Saga Without Remorse

          A savage beast stopped me in my tracks as I waddled towards my car at a deadly hour of the morning... At this hour, my brain had not yet regathered itself from its melted state a half hour ago, so visions were twisted. Sounds we're amplified. Feel was numb. My tongue was a mechanism gone unacknowledged throughout me... All was lost until this beast came upon me. 

          Fear shook through my heels. Instinct told me not to but I moved towards this animal not knowing what my body was doing... Yet, I saw myself grip the ego of this beast with my own eyes. 

          It's eyes saw through the degenerate in me. I felt it's solid statue crawl through my veins like an epidemic. Such a being thought never to exist on a Saturday morning! It has turned the fear in me, lose.

          It stood with a vengeance. Vengeance on my own LAWN? Christ! This is my land, creature. Only I, have the power to frighten, when on mine own land. The Nazi's didn't feel the power I feel for my own surroundings. But wait... It's moving. My thoughts - firing through my brain like a cowering school girl - may have tamed the beast. 

          Have I doubt? No. I am seeing what I sought... Total control without ever imagining it. It is vanishing from my grounds. You Savage Beast! Be gone! Oh, how I've conquered this animal, I shall conquer today with whatever it brings forth. I gave the morning a kick in the nut sack. Let's see what else this dreadful Saturday has in store... 

          Only time will tell whether this beast will morph into a slow driver in the left lane, or an invalid credit card keeping me from my addiction to tobacco. I know now, that whatever it is, I will overcome it. I have the power! No sympathy for the weak my friends... Only the afraid will fall and the fierce shall prevail. I know, now, that I am it! 

          I know now that nothing is unbeatable. This dreadful morning has turned into a delighted righteousness. Run away beast. This is ME, and I am here to stay!

          I unlock the door of my righteous vehicle and ignite it's power which surges from my foot to the top of my stimulated brain... ah HA! If only I could sell this power in a can... I grab the steering wheel and feel the rumble of the engine. This beast knows exactly how to tame it's competitors - with a blinker and an open passing lane, yes... I check my mirrors. Vroom! Vroom! 8AM has never felt so better...

          I pop that shifter into reverse and back out of that slightly titled driveway which is only meant for the best of drivers. No break, just gravity shall carefully handle this beast onto it's beaten path. Ah yes, a definite stop from backing out. I have the road in full view now. Today! will be the start, of the beginning, of the rest of my life... Shove that sucker into drive and... Stall. Fuel Gauge: Empty. 

          I know now, that I know nothing. 

Regen

          A pouring rain CONQUERED tuesday's innocence with a vengeance! Driving, swerving, swearing, focusing... My car was having heart attack and forgot to tell me. The steering well jolted, the breaks squealed, the engine belt whistled with its dying torque.

          Maybe the foot of water on the road had something to do with it... There's a shore line on 27th Ave and I forgot my trunks. Damn it Miami. A rotten taste exploded in my mouth as I noticed, where I had gone, to meet someone, was getting pounded by rain just like 27th Ave. Regen took control of my breathless car. Shall it take me with it as well? Abort!

          Tom Waits followed me through the drowning roads. He kept the sanity alive as everything around me slowly slipped deeper into a towering sight of confusion. Why must other drivers tempt the devil in this pouring rain. God doesn't like Gays or Miami. Sounds right.

          Home sweet Home. Not Alabama but this Home. In Miami.

What Tomorrow Brings

"As I get older, I get smaller. I see other parts of the world I didn't see before. Other points of view. I see outside myself more."

- Neil Young 

Timeless Tree

          I had elected to take two classes on Tuesdays that were three and a half hours between each other. I had seen it listed on the computer screen and it didn't look too bad.

 3:00pm - 6:30pm.

          'Hey I could go to the beach and take walks down the boardwalk and watch the wonderful ladies of Miami soak their bodies in the sun they don't really need cause man, their god-given genetics have given them all the color they will ever need. But that didn't worry me. Some women strive for excellence. I like that.'

          I thought to myself. 'But wait a minute. Three and a half hours doesn't go by so quick.. It actually takes some serious dedication for three and a half hours to seem like a breeze. If anything the first hour could seem easy cause of the hunger that would most definitely settle in and I could spend a good 25 to 40 minutes explaining to the 'wunderkind' behind the counter at Wendy's that 'No, I said an I'd like an Orange so-da, not extra onion in my chili, there's a buncha onions in there already genius'.  Shit. A hundred and fifty minutes to go and I'm full as a bear and I can barely move! I'm sitting in this car seat which doesn't require any movement but I feel the need to move but I can't! Damn you $1 Menu! 

          As the minutes drag on I find myself gripping the shinny cover of a daunting book named "The Devil In The White City", a book recommended and sent by mail by my mother who is an avid reader and if I'm in need of finding a great book, she's the answer. Oh this book has me by the throat - and the pages are turning as fast as these damn students leave the campus that imprisons me - they're probably thinking "Damn right I don't have to wait three and a half hours for my next class! I was prepared for my class selection! Muahaha" Damn them! First come first serve my ASS! More like... Ah screw it I'm lazy and I know it and its what put me in this god forsaken seat for the next 2 hours. Screw them.

          Cigarettes sure help. Maybe.. 2 minutes pass? After that its back to the drawing board. What to do.. What to do.. I've put my book down being that after the 45th consecutive page read I started to believe that I LouieBee was the devil himself, but left in this one of kind car seat and not 'The White City'. But I pick it up anyway. Why Not?

          Louie reads... Louie continues to read.. Turns the page.. Lights a smoke.. Read.. Windows down, pullin the smoke of my exhale in millions of directions; the White City is quite windy methinks. BLAST. Just a book. Then suddenly. Awkwardly. Unfortunately! This Security Truck comes riding up against my time consuming car and stops directly at my passenger window with a man who looks to be quite concerned of my presence here on his campus.

        "Whatcha doin here boy?"

I let out some already pulled in smoke.

        "Readin'"

Like he needed his magnify glass to find that out.

        "You go to school here?

No I'm sitting here, taking space up in your giNORMOUS parking lot, converting hot humid air into tobacco second hand smoke that I hope reaches your lungs only if these damn windows behind me were closed. But hey, I like the effect it has on my exhales. Screw him. 

        "Sure do, waiting for class"

Long pause. NO, not a dramatic Denzel Washington pause that creates tension beyond belief, just that normal real life pause that has no business being there but it is and its right there in my own personal time wasting space! Wait - maybe he's here to cheer up a lone student who decided signing up for classes a minute before they start was OK and he's here to keep peace.

        "Alright, you take it easy"

And he drives off. I keep my eye on that damn truck as he speeds off into the sea of parked cars. Them damned cars waiting for students to come back to them and allow them to drive them home. Only my car sits here to comfort my bottom and hold my pack of cigarettes that I seem to lose every time I want a smoke, yet its right there where I last put it. Damn these three hours have really put a toll on my finding abilities.

           I turn my head from the disappearing security truck to a small dangling tree in front of me that nests birds in it that don't seem to give a damn that I'm reading and continue to sing their songs. I see this tree as a part of my struggle; its all alone, far from campus, nobody to ponder its stranded beauty but mine own thoughtless struggle. Its a simple tree; special. Seems to hang there like its been for years.

          The Sun decides to take a break from its hiding willows and breaks this lonely tree's spell. It shines deep within its leaves which it inherits stripes of glowing fortune and value from the ground up. It sits there alive and breathing! The wind picks up and caresses the stripes of pure light to different angles that seek new territory only to find an abundance of new sought meaning. Life. This lonely tree is there just like I am there; to see its beauty when no one is watching. Life happens all around us when all is thought to happen by equation, or because 'thats just how it goes'. Just like the man that caressed my car with his mindless senseless talk. Yes. I am here. Just waiting and living.

What seems to be the problem officer?

(click image to enlarge)

         

Raging Road Rage Turned Off By... BIRD?

          As all South Floridians know, traffic during rush hour - especially on a Friday evening - can get pretty brutal and make drivers endure serious thoughts about population control.  You begin hearing your self ask:

   "Why won't he move?"

                                            "What's she doing on the phone at a time
                                                                    time this!? You need to focus woman!"
 
            It could be our wedding day, the day we win the lotto!, the morning of your new born's birth into this beautiful world where you believe "today, is a beautiful day and nothing can change that!" Then suddenly, you come upon a street full of full grown "babys" who have gotten their licenses, found jobs, bought cars and have decided that today -- "aint yo day".

(click image to enlarge)

            The sight of all these cars has ripped you down from that heavenly peace you once indulged and you are now looking the devil in the eyes, just hoping, for him to ask you to give up your soul in change for an open lane so you can get on your way!

          But for me folks. Today? I let the devil take his offerings elsewhere because once in a while I come upon something very brilliant and quite amusing to my inner child.

(click image to enlarge)

            A bird you may call it. For birders a: Cattle Egret (Bubulcus ibis) - some type of heron. That's what my barely two minutes of research on what the hell it was got me and if you believe I am wrong, please let me know, if you must insult me on my horrible identification abilities, read the beginning part of the sentence. What a wonder this little guy (or girl) was!

            He aimlessly waddled around the medium like a... lost bird? His legs came up high with every stride he took, as if trying to walk over long sharp needles planted into the ground. His right eye was trying to identify what the hell I was in and probably that I needed some air in my left front tire. His white feathers appeared to me as a white robe that he wrapped around himself as he left his nest just to make sure he wasn't cold during the nights flight. Such an innocent part of life in such a mad and angry setting such the one I was in. It was an eye opener and a definite look into what really matters: A good sound system for the long wait. ;-)

            It shed some much needed light on my then deteriorating state of mind. Although it brought a smile upon my face it soon turned sour. The heron who had seemed drunk, or frightened to death had been making much more headway than me. He didn't even know where he was going but he was getting their much faster then me and I had beef with that. But as the traffic started to move I snapped this photo because I wanted to keep this little guy as a reminder because although there are way too many people in front of you right now wasting space and gas, there's always something to smile or laugh at in your everyday life.

The Good, The Bad and the God Awful Ugly!

                    Crappy romantic comedies need the big speech at the end of the film by the main character (the boy) losing the one they're chasing (the girl). It basically wraps up the whole movie in barely 30 seconds - which is disturbing to how much these producers are paying for a whole movie production! You'd think they'd want every minute to mean something - but every minute before that speech is there so when the old western stand off style, horrible acting, waaay too much make-up MONOLOGUE SPEECH happens you know what the hell mister beautiful is talking about.

                    The audience believes this guy's world has changed for this women when all he did in the first place was not want her to date some OTHER IDIOT when how the hell does he have the right to says he's the best candidate for her?  Oh I know because he's sensitive, lives with his grandma, doesn't cheat in life and plays the guitar for kids with cancer. Right.

                    But this is what the people want! Because if it wasn't want we wanted, then the film 'INDUSTRY' wouldn't make those types of stupid, lifeless endings! Because lets face it. The film business is a BUSINESS! Not a cute movie set with artsy farsty artists trying to make a change. The "big cats" want to suck the system dry while the "small kittens" just want to imitate life. Sound familiar? Its what separates then 3 stars from the "why the hell did I just spend two hours watching that screen project images of steaming dog crap?!"

                    The good romantic comedies that don't have those 5th grade fantasy tale monologues have ending monologues.  Just like the crappy ones.

                    But as my readers, you always know there are two sides to everything. A good and a horrible (not 'bad' because critics will always be... blood sucking critics (; ). The forsaken and the forgotten. But you say Louie... what's your point here ? How do we know we're not getting spoon fed processed food when all we see is floppy and happy go lucky blonde have flirtatious nonsense with a side of hazardous  comedy?


                    Well for one thing, romance IS NOT FUNNY! It's deteriorating, draining, life changing, journey crushing, perceptions that yield to INSANITY! When did you ever hear your friend tell his horrific break up story break into comedic sparkle in his tale? NEVER!

SO! To review: Crappy romantic comedies have wonderful, understanding, truthful, witty and funny monologues! :D ( PLEASE NOTE: strong hint of sarcasm ) While the successful and inspiring romantic pictures have them as well! but you say! Louie, please explain this MADNESS!


                    When these monologues DO actually happen in these, great romantic films, you don't even know they're happening! Because your desperately listening and waiting for thar pure feeling you've never seen in action! Instead of saying "oh this is where the idiot admits he's an idiot to the girl he just wants to bang then wins 'the big game' and she falls in his arms because he's so cute and 'I forgive you!'."


                    From the beginning of the film you honestly believe that this man deserves a partner in crime, someone to share his adventures through life. We see he's not looking for a perfect girl to compliment is "cool" life. We see how his heart yearns for this women when a week ago he was dying inside slowly. He doesn't want to be her everything, he doesn't want to live a fulfilling life with her. He NEEDS all of it! And if he doesn't get her. All else fails.

                    This is what makes a picture great! The fact that the audience sees themselves in this character. The character who can't go on without her. The character who shows exactly what you were feeling 3 months ago when 'she' got away. When he couldn't see you like you see him.

                    The desperate need for their love presents itself on the screen so vividly that when you leave the theater, you've transformed into another realm but always keeping your heart and soul grounded so that YOU the VIEWER examine a deeper meaning of one self.

                    These films. They TEACH us... ladies and gentlemen. They give us hope, sorrow, pain and resentment. But they will always give you truth.

The Secretary

     A guilty pleasure? or a story of a wanted slave in need of a master? A cross between self-struggle and self-reliance with a side of sexual pleasure will grip us in ways that you wont want to miss; a side that we all have inside of our souls. A secretary searching for an out, a lawyer looking for his next thrill, the perfect romance in the caves of a demonic being; yet so appealing to us.

     The control in this film, the wanting of companionship of another human being shows us our true inner self to what we really want, but only in the depths of a dream. Or is it? She pleasures herself dreaming of coming into work late so that Mr. Lawyer can discipline her with slaps upon her behind. We see ourselves giving the lawyer a rotten piece of literature wanting our master to discipline us so that we see our redemption as a success. She yells for a calling, he denies with a swift non-reply, only dragging her closer to his grasp of total control. She needs the calling of a new beginning and comfort while he thrives on the need of a superior being.

     Scene after scene we grow to feel for her need, we grow sympathetic for her suffering not knowing where it stems from. But we need more. We need her to seek out her pleasures. We want to see how far this Lawyer man will push his prey, where will he take her next. He suddenly turns her away in a deep fantasy of reliance; dragging her deeper into his realm, or will it back fire? Will his obsession bring pain or relief to him? She is out of a means to rely on him and takes matters into her own hands, let the self mutilation continue; by smacking herself with the back of broom upon her behind. Is it the same? of course not.

     We thrive for the fantasy to continue through it's earlier norm. Her outside engagement grows limp. She wants what she gets from the office from her boyfriend but cannot comply with her unknown requests and becomes frustrated in how he acts like a normal male trying to satisfy himself; she only wishing for him to turn as red and demonic as her master lawyer. She dreams of her masters companionship, he hides his anguish and reels her further into his domain. Her outside relationship comes into contact with her fantasy. We realize the strength of this, and see her comply with her masters every wish. He tells her to obey his every command. She does. She exposes herself in a desperate act of compliance while he enjoys himself to a quick and expressive ejaculation. A strong point that throws us deeper into the fantasy. She sits there half naked, he walks away in fulfillment and hands her a forum to fill out... "bring me my sandwich" he says, is this an appearance of life itself?

     Are we tested through these frames to find the inner demon in our own self? Have we mutated so much to only look for what we want out of the other sex? This lawyer has and this secretary has completely accepted her masters wishes. Her previous life of abusing herself to hide her shame has completely vanished in her masters vision. She is the servant that entirely devotes her mind body and soul to her master. He has full control. Over her? yes. Over himself? No. He is consumed with his deeply rooted fantasy of ruling a human being which has made him into a living demon.

     This film shows us the real control someone can have over another, a metaphor for what some people live everyday. Plain reality. When we completely obey a certain someone, a career, a son, a daughter, we completely surrender ourselves. This film will grasp you in ways you already know but will be seeing for the first time. A script that is worth reading, a film that is worth watching; every frame. Every step of the way we are thrown into a different era of conflict. A film that is too much like our own lives. A film that is too far, yet too close to reality. Watch this film, remember it, and learn from it. Bravo!

The Second Stage

     The Second Stage of a relationship is a grind of two beings that is seen by most people who enter relationships but only a few gather the real meaning of this special time spent with your significant other. Its a pivotal point in a relationship that tests the boundaries of everything in the bind that the two have created. The grip you had on the vision of the person when you first met has changed drastically. It has morphed into something that is living or dying. You both should fuel each other in every way possible, whether it be in a negative or a positive way.  If they aren't then they're simple a rotting corpse that is in your way which is a violently cold way to look at it but it spits the truth in the face of people who need powerful advise.

          Your partner will show you things about yourself that you never knew existed. They will test you and try to break your walls down to find your core to see what its like in there. Will that core be able to handle a long lasting connection with loyalty and grace? Will she turn into a nagging wife that hates everything that you do with your friends and hate all of the TV channels you watch? This is the stage that all of this starts to come to the surface. It will take a lifetime to have any kind of results but you must take the first step.

          The man looks at many women out in the wild showing off their bodies and hanging around men who are free as could be without a care in the world. He's engulfed with envy. He wants what he had when those hard times come with your woman. It seems to clear that a life like that would be much more enjoyable than this hell your experiencing in your relationship. But when all the current emotions are put aside you must ask your self this question. Look at those women and ask yourself, Do those single ladies know how to make me laugh? Do they know all of my favorite foods and knows exactly how to make my day a better day when I'm feeling down? Will that girl flashing her breasts be honored to meet your parents that you've been talking about since the first time you met? Will she drive an hour out of her way to come pick you up when you've embarrassed yourself at work by getting fired and no one seems to think you amount to anything? Will that girl flashing her breasts wake you up in the middle of the night because you've seem to drift away in bed and wants your warmth? No. She just knows that your a man who wants to have fun and call it a night, no wake up call, just on to the next party.

          But your love, your queen... she knows you have a heart and a future that springs loudly with love and care. The thought of a future family scares the man to no edge but inside he's calm and collective with the thought of his love baring his child. He envisions it in her, he knows there's more to come in this life which will be conquered with her by his side. She feels safe in his arms. He feels loved and cared for.  This life brings so many questions with only a limited amount of answers but one answer is for certain. The most beautiful part and most crucial of this engagement of two souls relies on the simple act of acknowledging your love for one another.

The Horse Memoir

          I wish I could see the world as I once did as a child. Everything seemed so endless and possible. My dad was the strongest and smartest man alive and my mom the only human to actually resemble an angel. My twin brother was my partner in this vast world that hadn’t been discovered yet, we were willing to fall or rise together, no matter the result. 

          Every little memory that I carry to this day is there in my mind because of how new I was to the world. Seeing a horse for the first time was something I will never forget. It stood tall and strong with pride an agility of a king. Its soft silk skin ran down its back with its lightly tough tail of hair flapping in the wind. Its eyes pierced the land with precision as it calmly ate the grass beneath its feet. It stood from afar but it felt as it if was right next to me. I hadn’t made a sound since I laid my eyes on this animal, I didn’t want to scare it and vanish with its beauty behind it. I wanted to stay there forever to watch it grow into an old horse that told stories to its children who galloped around him just as I ran around my dad to show him my agility. I wanted the horse to be in love so they could sit there and be one. I wanted everything in my mind to become a reality so fiercely that I saw it as truth.

          It slowly started to creep towards the fence I was standing by but never taking its head above the ground. Its eyes kept scanning the land in front and to the sides of it, always chomping down hard at the grass and eating dirt as it popped up as well. Suddenly, it ripped its neck up as if to see a shooting star in the sky. It turned its head to the side with its eye piercing through the hills surrounding us. It made a grunt that sounded to come from way down deep in its body. It continued to grunt steadily for a couple seconds then in a fraction of a second leaped into a gallop towards the hill where it was looking. Its hair swayed in the air with freedom only birds can feel. Its feet in sync with its heart beat that pounded its body forward to the hills. Its nostrils opening wide to let every molecule of oxygen into its large inflated lung to export from its body in a bold fury to gallop even faster. It ran until I couldn’t see it no more. The horse was gone from my view forever. I would never see it again. I stood there staring into the woods praying for that horse to come back. But it didn’t. 

          The Earth suddenly got deadly dark and quiet with the breeze easily brushing against the leaves on the surrounding trees. I wanted the beauty that breathed through that horse back with all my might. I needed that horse to show me its beauty everyday I awoke, but it ceases to exist. But I am young! My heart pumps blood that is new and crispy, my lungs take in air with ease, my eyes view landscapes with innocence; they have barely seen the world that I live in. I still have thousands and thousands of sunsets, full moons and waterfalls to see. I will be married one day and look into the eyes of my newborn child and breath with my creation simultaneously. I will attend concerts that scream vibrations that pierce my mind like a lightning bolt. I will see a painting that’s worth forty five million dollars that describes the world between its four frames. The day will exist where I awake to a morning sun and realize I have made my life worth living every second, every breath with peace of mind. That day will come! This world is full of beauty that surrounds us everyday right aside us in our daily lives. We will create beauty; we will thrive from it. Parents will create beautiful offspring that will stride each and everyday with glamor. Our wives, our husbands will recreate the day they first met with each waking moment. The schools across the land will mold minds to create beauty within our future. But I stand there with a cloud of nostalgia climbing to its darkest peek as the sun goes to sleep and my vision deteriorates. The crawling dark never seems to forget to remind me that this day will forever resonate in my soul. It never halts to remind me that I will never see that horse again nor anything, as beautiful as that.

American Splendor

     American Splendor took us on a ride, a very real and harsh ride that gives the creatively inclined average man something to relate to. Harvey Pekar’s life was a definite roller coaster in every way. He took us to the depths of his lows and to the humble mountain tops of his highs. He first dreams of becoming a great comic writer like the greats he’s always read but soon finds a different road to go down. He sees his own everyday life as an adventure in itself. Living life is complicated and complex already. Why make it anymore than what it already is? He begins to write his daily life down on paper. Realizing its flow and truthfulness his good friend and comic writer wants to illustrate it, and BINGO! American Splendor takes its first leap into the world and is a slow but steady success.

     Harvey’s life begins to turn around. He has what seems to be a dead beat life. He’s a hoarder, divorced twice, circling around a soul sucking job as a filing clerk, a life where depression is served for breakfast lunch and dinner. But the success of his comic starts to shed some light on his dreary existence. A man who is among few comic writers who are thinking way outside the box has created art out of his own life! No special effects or stunt doubles, just Harvey and his day to day grind.

     A young lady who loves reading American Splendor comes into contact with Harvey. They begin to talk regularly. Harvey soon becomes very interested in meeting with this woman which they do and click right away in an awkwardly fashion. The other half of a man is a woman and Harvey has found his other half.  It’s the perfect storm, a woman in a man’s life; she’ll drive you to the edge of pain sorrow and guilt but then be there every time you fall to pick you right up. Can we get a rewrite? Don’t think so. But Harvey doesn’t seem to care. He’s found something worth getting up for.

     Harvey becomes overwhelmed with his new found glory; she must be there at all times. Like a kid with a new toy, until it breaks. But Harvey is far from calling his lady a toy, she is his muse, his creation within, she even appears in his comic book, in good and bad ways.  Their day to day relationship is quite odd, which is normal, but odd in a way that at first site is hard to swallow. It tastes like a friendship which has some benefits at times. At times she’s an angry sister who won’t get out of bed. The angry mother telling her son to CLEAN UP YOUR SHIT! But this is all accepted when we realize who this Harvey character is and who this lady is. They’re awkwardly perfect for each other in every way.

     Harvey’s success with 8 comic books seems to peak when he starts to appear on The Late Night Show with David Letterman which at first glance might look like a normal wacko vs wacko interview but in this one the audiences are laughing at Harvey, not with Harvey. A sad sight but it was the start of an age where ‘weird’ was selling on T.V. He appears several more times on the show, the audience getting louder and louder each time, Harvey trying to translate all that is going on around him.

     It all finally stops when David Letterman insults Harvey straight on while Harvey waits backstage to go on. Harvey reacts in a bitter aggressive way towards Letterman, demanding he be taken seriously, only getting a bigger laugh in return. No more Letterman appearances for Harvey. No worries, the American audience will have many wackos to be entertained by in the future, just another act expired.

     Harvey hits a brick wall with a tumor diagnosis. His wife tries to make the situation a positive one suggesting to Harvey that he write about his time with the tumor, every detail. Harvey declines, the wife decides to take it up in her own hands. Harvey goes through a deep spiral into destruction with the treatment and the fear of death. He begins to believe that he’s just a character, that American Splendor is his life and only that, a deadly reality that many realize.  Is my career my sole identity? Is the research and papers and books and libraries all I have to show in this life? What happens when I die? Does my character just die or does it live on to educate the uneducated? This is a crucial point in the movie. With this closing in on him and with everything else building up, Harvey Pekar hits his bottom. 

    Harvey survives his treatment and completes the book with his wife. They’ve adopted a lovely child along this experience and seem to be happy.  But the life of Harvey Pekar is never balanced, never certain. It’s always a struggle from day to day in his shoes. It’s a concept we all should adapt. Life is a struggle, a never ending test. It’s the small things that keep us going, keeps us making that step forward. We should never forget the people in our lives, or our dreams. Your life will most likely turn out totally different than you thought but it’s your life and no one elses, make it your own! Make it fun! Spontaneous! Make it last and unforgettable. Know that all of your wishes in life won’t come true but one thing you can count on is life. It’ll always be there for you to live, no matter what way you choose.

     Harvey Pekar chose his road that drove through a comic book store and changed it forever and this movie told me his story in an interesting unique and fulfilling way. I ask everyone to watch it in honor or to simply see ambition within the realm of uncertainty. Do something. Create something. Be something. Just do it!  

The Louie Bee

Julie & Julia

     Julie & Julia was a movie that flowed like its portrayal of delicious meals throughout its length. It showed us the true passion these two people had for their food and its role in their lives. The spectacular performance by Meryl Streep was beautiful; she told me who Julia Child was, she showed me the life of Julia Child and her passion for french cuisine. Amy Adams was a soulful young woman of 30 who was seeking a way out of her daily routine which consisted of boring phone calls to angry people. A young woman who had friends that were only invested in their own lives who only saw their own path in life as valuable. She took the world on and decided to follow the footsteps of Julia Child's cookbook to show that she can complete something in her life with the help of her hungry husband.

     The film was filled with sequences of Julie and Julia following their passion to seek something new, to find their love at the bottom of a stew. We saw their differences in time and in culture but both from the same American soul. Julia from California living in France trying to make her change in french cuisine bumping into many obstacles that made her ponder her passion. Julie riding against a wall that always shouted at her that she was unable to complete this task, that she couldn't blog her way through Julia Child's cookbook! They both ventured through these obstacles seeking their bright light at the end of the tunnel with the support of their loved ones. Even Julie's cat helped her with a recipe that was pivotal in her journey.

     A short bump in Julie's relationship with her husband enabled her to realize her passion even more for food but didn't really sum up the husband's argument that she was being selfish and narcissistic. Maybe that plays into the role of the American husband.. "just shut up and weather the storm when the Mrs. is in the zone". Julia however, came into more obstacles trying to write her book on French cuisine for Americans than any relationship she had encountered. Acknowledging the difference in time and era that Julie and Julia were in might have played a big role in their different journeys through food. The contrast between the two points in time definitely keeps the viewer in tune with the story. You're left wanting more of the other story while watching the other and vice-versa.

     Upon Julie's fame with her blog she is later acknowledged by Julia Child herself; this, my friends, is the plot point that was never explained, or even given the correct amount of attention.  Julie's passion for food stems from Julia herself (as the viewer will most likely believe) but the subplot of the two in present time goes no further than Julia's comment of Julie's blog; it ends as quickly as it starts. Is this just something the screenwriter wants the viewer to wish upon and make up his or her own ending? That Julia begins to understand Julie's love for food and wishes her the best in her triumph through the culinary arts? Or is it best left untold? The life of Julie & Julia remain separate as it leaves us in the final moments with Julie's four word line, "I love you Julia". Does this work? Do these words cover everything she just went through? Does it give justice to the full strength and progression of her mind body and soul? Could Julia's cookbook have transformed Julie's life? After all, Julia transformed the landscape of American cooking and TV.  She is a legend.  But that is the true beauty of film my friends; the questions and debates that proceed the thousands and thousands of frames that have just been presented. I say bravo to this brilliant picture of two lovable characters that are consumed by measures of life and triumph that surround us everyday; this one just happens to appear in a cookbook.

The First stage

     We seek the opposite in a significant other that takes us to a side of our lives that will bring a new burning fire, a new side to all this craziness that surrounds us everyday and every second of our lives. Will he/she help us through to the other side? Through the other side of this day to day bullshit we live? Will this person bring us a calm tide to brush up against us when shit hits the fan and spreads all over the place? Will I be able to concentrate her bullshit and funnel it so I can handle it, I can treat it, listen to it; be able to survive the day to day with this person?

     It all takes place within that first impression, within that first clash of energies we experience, we know. We know what this person is about. We know how she’ll handle a death in the family, we know how he handles a nervous breakdown, but we don’t know it consciously. We blur it with physical and mental attractions. We blur it with our own curiosity of the other being, not focusing on the present signals that are being given to us.  To receive these first vital conscious impressions is a gift that few have, that many want, but most should not have, simply because the struggle to get the knowledge of someone’s everything is greater than the knowledge itself.

     A first impression is achieved. A simple, cute impression is established with each other and we’re both attracted to the other’s unknowns. What will he or she say next? What will she wear on the third date? The anticipation is so powerful we set our standards so high that the littlest thing about him or her is expanded to greatness; the true identity of puppy love. Which we can hopefully transform into a deep attraction that is stamped into our vision of the significant other. 

     We start to look forth. What will he or she act like when she finally meets the family? Will they hate her? Will they think he’s too much of a geek?  Will they accept the amount of time I spent getting to know this person and falling into a realm of compliance that only I can see? Will this fail? Is this all an illusion of someone I wish to have or someone I want and not someone who is individualized? 

     We need to find the love inside our own hearts to seek another’s. It’s a big reality bite to chew but it exists in all of us. Love for oneself will alter the path of the love search in another. The beginning days of getting to know someone is crucial to the everyday schedule you might spend with them, crucial to every emotion you will share with them.  We won’t see it, we won’t hear it, we won’t taste it or even feel it. We’ll have to foresee it. That’s the secret in beginning a relationship from the first appearance; there is no secret. Just your will to accept and breathe with another human being.