Friday, May 9, 2008

Lint

Wrote this about 3 1/2 years ago. Such a 'sad' lad. No longer very relevant, but I like it.



A large bulk of my 28 years on this planet have been inundated with something. Something that all of God’s creatures possess. Something that only the ultimately lucky can learn to respect and completely control. I personally don’t know any of the people. I’m not even sure that they exist, although I’ve been told that they do. Lucky bastards. The concepts I write of is fear. Fear, on some level of everything. Fear of success, fear of failure. Of living. Of dying. Of not being loved and of being loved too much. I don’t generally consider fear a dominating factor in my life, but as I reach into my pocket, the item I grasp brings forth memories. Memories cloaked in emotion. I feel that in my life I have learned to respect and control my own happiness, after all, I am generally considered a very happy person by most. But these objects brought forth, in a very subtle way, bring a sense of fear, something that most of us have no control over.

The first thing I touch are my keys. The keys to my domain. The things that unlock my little bit of heaven. The place I feel untouchable. My home. Our home. I have what I like to consider a great apartment. Top floor, tall ceilings. At 28 I’m not doing too bad. Status!! The concept of status creeps into my head. Something that I deserve to relish in, but won’t. Not yet. Something that my prominent father has tarnished for me. Something that reminds me of growing up around my dad. A man, whom when I was younger stood tall as a symbol of the dangers of wealth. A man who based and bases his life on status. Career, home, cars, everything, including his ‘redone’ trophy wife. He’s always had such an awful attitude about money and status. It consumed him until there wasn’t enough room inside of him to be the truly important man he should be. I have spent so long trying to be different than him.
You know what I want? I want to possess a huge key. A key that anyone can barrow at any time. A key that allows people freedoms in their lives. Understanding, honesty, love and above all else, the freedom of fear.

On this key ring is also a mailbox key. Question. Why is it so much smaller than all the other keys? Is the locking mechanism smaller, less complicated, less important? Just curious. Why is it that the things I want and need in the mail are always late, if they arrive at all? And the things I have no desire to even see aren’t only on time but usually show up early. The piece of paper that Con Edison sends me every month is always, 100 percent of the time, in my mailbox early. But the piece of paper I send back to them with payment is quite often lost or late. How is this possible? Why is it that the letter, from the only girl I’ve ever loved, “lost” in the mail? But the monthly notice for my college loans from 5 years ago are never, I repeat, never lost in the mail. 5 years and not once did it get lost on its’ way to me? That must be some sort of record.

But I’m not going to worry. The fear comes in small doses with these keys. Fear of a bill I don’t want to pay. Fear of the credit card application that, if I think about, I shouldn’t fill out. Fear of the social status I might someday attain. Ah... forget it. After all, they are just a set of keys, and they just happen to be in my pocket, mixed in with the lint.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Bobby

Bobby had always been warned about this. It was one of the first stories he can remember his mother telling him. Late at night, while trying to sleep, the drunken sounds of the colony elders could be heard through the thinning dirt walls. He would lay up for hours struggling to listen to their tales of bravery, death and survival. Mr. Johnson, the oldest and most decorated soldier could be heard almost perfectly. “I remember it like it was yesterday”, he would loudly grunt for the other eager men to hear. “To this very day I don’t know how I survived. But I did. And, as I stand here before you now, I can tell you quite honestly that no one should ever have to experience what I and countless others have gone through.” A tiny tear pooled at the bottom of one of his eyes, until it finally dropped to the floor. The other men could only look on with ah and respect.

So how was it that Bobby found himself in the exact same predicament? He had followed all the rules. He had heeded his mothers’ parental advice, or so he thought. “Don’t lag behind. Don’t show off. Work hard. And above all else, stay away from the boy!” Where did he go wrong? What missteps had his young, strong legs taken? He was being pulled every which way. It hurt. It hurt a lot. The two tiny metal tweezers the enemy held in each hand held tightly onto Bobby’s limbs. Bobby had seen this enemy before. The 5-year old little boy holding Bobby captive lived in a house an hours’ journey away. Bobby had been warned of the enemy’s previous attacks toward the colony. How, with one stomp from his size two, he had eliminated entire families. Also, there was the one time he had poured an entire glass of Sprite on the workers, ruining their entire day. Bobby had learned to fear the enemy with every fiber of his being. And now here he was, his two front arms being pulled one way and his hind legs being pulled another. How long could this torture last? Eventually something had to give. Either the strain on his arms would pull them right off, or his legs would go. He was sure of it. He was positive that, at the very least, he would be marred for life, if not killed. “It can’t end this way,” thought Bobby. The pulling. The strain. The twisting. He could hardly stand it. It was most definitely going to be one or the other. Any moment now it’s over!

And then . . . silence. Time seemed to stop for Bobby. No sound. No smells. No time. His feelers were feeling, but felt nothing. For a fleeting moment he thought he might be dead. “Am I dead?” said Bobby aloud. “No, I’m not dead.” And indeed he wasn’t. It was in that moment that Bobby knew there was a choice to be made. Not a choice necessarily made by him, but a choice nonetheless. Very shortly, either he was going to lose his arms or his legs. So, as time stood still, Bobby wondered which it would be. If given the option, which would he choose? Bobby thought.

Bobby’s short-lived life as an ant had been filled with a myriad of memories. True he had only been alive for a little more than 2 weeks now, but he had already lived a lifetime. Bobby loved his life. He loved his thousands of friends and his entire family. “Being an ant was awesome,” Bobby thought. And now, given the possibility of losing his limbs, Bobby was at a loss. As everybody knows, ants need their limbs. Bobby was proud of the strong legs that made him run faster than all of his other friends. He was even more proud of the muscular arms that helped him carry more dirt than anyone else in his class at school. How could he choose which would go?

He obviously needed his mighty legs. After all he was an ant and “we ants are runners” his mom always told him. He would be lost without them. Forget working with his friends during the day. Whoever has heard on an ant with no legs? He’d be the laughing stock of the colony. Bobby used to make two or three times as many trips from ant hill to ant hill as his buddies did. He was fast, and everybody knew it. In fact, some of the elders had taken note of Bobby’s incredible speed. Even Mr. Johnson had been over heard saying, “That boy has potential to outshine even me someday.” Bobby had heard him saying it one night as he lay awake in his bed. It brought a huge, proud smile to his face. If he lost his hind legs, that would surely slow him down. The thought of not being a quick little ant put pits in his stomachs.

Bobby thought about all the times he would play with his friends. It was generally known that he was a prankster. His pals always had to be on the lookout. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of one of Bobby’s jokes. Bobby’s favorite prank to pull on his friends took place while they worked during the day. Because Bobby was so fast he would zoom past the other ants at lightning speed, kicking up the earth behind him. They would have to duck to get out of the way of the flying dirt. He could remember one time in particular. Without looking he started to fling dirt behind him as he ran. He was running as fast as he could without a care in the world. He wasn’t looking where he was going and he ran right past a gathering of the colony elders covering them in mounds of dirt. Bobby stopped instantly realizing what he had done. An ant was never, ever permitted to show disrespect to the older ants. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around. Behind him he saw three men covered in dirt from head to toe. “Oh no, what have I done,” he thought. Work along the ant trail ceased as everyone’s focus turned onto the spectacle. The men started to dust themselves off, cursing under their breaths. It was then that Bobby realized the magnitude of his mistake. The last ant to dust himself off was none other than Mr. Johnson. Bobby swallowed hard. He was a goner for sure. Mr. Johnson slowly looked left, then to the right. After he was sure he had the attention on everyone, he looked Bobby straight in the eye, gave a slight grin, then a wink, and went on with his business. That instant, Bobby became a hero. That exchange between old man and young boy sent Bobby into a whole new level of anthood. All because of his strong legs. And now, in this moment, he could lose them forever.

But he could just as easily lose his arms. His arms that carried all the dirt, leaves and other debris. “What good would I be without being able to carry things,” Bobby wondered. He used his arms everyday. He would wipe his eyes when he woke up in the morning. He would fix his antenna when they fell in his face. After a long hard day working, he would come home to his friends and give everyone high fives, congratulating each on a fine day’s work. Without arms he couldn’t do this. Also he would have to eat using only his mouth. His mother would never allow this. His legs were important, but it was the little things in life that he would not be able to do if he lost his arms. No more high fives. No more hand shakes. No more arm wrestling with the other boys. (He was this close to beating the strongest kid in class) No more blowing kisses to his sweetheart. No more hugs. He loved his family and friends so much. If he couldn’t hug them it would destroy him. His mother's arms held him when he felt sick, or just when he was tired, and he would hug her back. Not any more. The thought made Bobby wail with fear inside.

Bobby decided it was the little things he would miss most. If given the choice, he would choose to lose his legs. The legs that propelled him past his friends and impressed the “higher ups”. But the mere thought of not hugging his family tore him apart. He would never be able to touch anything or anyone ever again. Bobby started to cry. He cried harder and bigger tears than he ever had before.

Back to the moment. Bobby was being pulled and stretched. Through the struggle, for an instant he was able to look down toward the ground. And there, below him, he saw the most glorious sight he had ever seen. Standing on the ground under him was his entire family. There was his mom and his dad. He could easily see all his brothers and sisters. Just behind his parents he saw Mr. Johnson. They were all screaming in terror. “Let him go you monster,” they yelled with passion, tears streaming down. The looks on their faces of love and admiration overwhelmed Bobby. He couldn’t stand the thought of not touching them. This was the moment. The decisions he made right now would dictate the rest of his entire life. Bobby tugged his legs. He could feel the force on his limbs. “Please not my arms!” Bobby screamed. At that moment, the clouds, which had been threatening all day, opened up. An enormous clap of thunder boomed, accompanied by drops of rain. “How fitting,” Bobby thought. Bobby looked up at the enemy. The boy was becoming soaked from the falling rain. It was like something out of a movie. It was the final battle between good and evil occurring in the middle of a storm. The rain fell harder now. The enemy’s mother could be heard calling the boy to come inside. A look of disappointment filled the boys face. So, at that moment of desperation, the boy had no choice but to abandon his torture. He dropped the tweezers incarcerating Bobby and ran to his home. Bobby fell to the Earth. Just as the Sprite that the boy had dropped on the workers ruined their day, the rain falling on the boy had ruined his. Instantly, Bobby was surrounded by the other ants. Hugs from his family bombarded him. He looked down to see that he had been spared of losing any limbs whatsoever. He had lived to tell the tale of survival. He felt as he had never felt before. Through the hugs and kisses from his family he quickly caught a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson, the oldest and wisest of the colony. The ant that Bobby had looked up to his entire two weeks of life. Bobby didn’t know what he would find in Mr. Johnson’s eyes. Mr. Johnson could say nothing, nothing at all. He just stared at Bobby, gave him a grin and a wink, and went on with his business.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

But where were his shoes?

Ahhh... The A train. I love it. Love it. Express all the way from 125th to 59th. It's a beautiful thing really. It gets me to class really fast. So, why weren't we moving? We had been stopped at Columbus Cir for about 1 minute. (A lifetime in the train during rush hour) I did notice some lady screaming on the platform, but over the volume of my IPOD I didn't know what she was yelling. I figured she was pissed about the delayed train as was I. I removed my headphone and heard further screaming. 'Is anyone a doctor or a nurse??!!' Now, I'm not...yet. God willing I'm about a month and a half away from being an RN. I exit the train and run all the way to the other end of the platform and enter the car. Male, 35-40, African-American, fit, dressed in a business suit briefcase by his side sprawled out flat. CPR. Some stranger with an accent (British perhaps) and I. People screaming for EMT. No pulse, not breathing. Nothing. Where are his shoes? CPR for about 5 mins till NYPD arrive. (The only reason I know this is cause I happened to look up and saw about 5 of them watching me) He's dead. I know this. He was just on his way to work. Unknowing. Family? Friends? EMS arrives and takes over. One EMS guy pulls me aside to ask what happened. 'He was dead when I got here.' MI? Aneurysm? (sp?) Who knows.

I clean my mouth with an alcohol swab I had in my backpack. Looked at the man who was no more. Give the cop my info, etc. Where the hell are his shoes? We pull him to the center of the car. Still no shoes. WTF??!? Never to be worn by this stranger again.

Photobucket

Saturday, March 15, 2008

What I need

I received something I really needed today. Something that I know I need but for whatever reason don't get enough of. I got a much needed kick in my Jew ass. It's frustrating. Knowing something about yourself that you need to work on but can't seem to overcome. Wonder why that is. Ahh.. Introspection. It can hurt at times. It can hurt other people at times. Never intentionally. NEVER. I never would. Never again.

Note to self: Think before you speak. No need to 'perform'. Don't be some damned witty. Just be. All is fine. Learn to take a backseat. Learn to not 'fix'. Learn. Happy.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Once...

I'm not always the best at saying how I feel all the time. Who is? In any event... sometimes a song, movie, play, poem, painting, etc move you to obsess (sp?) about it. This is my latest.

Friday, February 29, 2008

So.....

I thought I'd join the bandwagon. (band wagon?) Yes I'm tall. Yes I'm lanky. And yes...I'm a Jew!

More to follow as it enters my brain. Welcome.