My Week - Page 4

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Thread: My Week

  1. #31
    Last edited by Jon M; January 24th, 2013 at 10:15 PM.
    "The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all. It was a saying about noble figures in old Irish poems—he would give his hawk to any man that asked for it, yet he loved his hawk better than men nowadays love their bride of tomorrow. He would mourn a dog with more grief than men nowadays mourn their fathers.

    And that's how we measure out our real respect for people—by the degree of feeling they can register, the voltage of life they can carry and tolerate—and enjoy.

    Live like a mighty river: a letter from Ted Hughes to his son, Nicholas

    Hidden Content

  2. #32

    Horror Stuff

    Went to Holstenwall Fair with my buddy. It was geometrically haphazard. Fortune teller there claimed my buddy would die, which is a strange thing for fortune tellers to do these days. Knocked my buddy for six, but he should not have worried.

    et quand il fut de l'autre cote du pont, les fantomes vinrent a sa rencontre. Though, that may be incorrect.

    I feel sometimes that I am the Dmitry, come ashore at Collier's Hope. Or at least the literary equivalent.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  3. #33
    Have been eating like a ravenous pig since Thanksgiving. At 7:30 this morning I was making turkey salad sandwiches and microwaving green bean casserole. It's ridiculous. I am laden with pie.

    Been in a massive creative slump lately. Cannot write. Can draw though, and I have been working on the cover for a zombie fairy tale anthology book that is being put together in January. Will post in art section when done. If I can't shake the blank page willies, I don't know what the next thing I'm gonna write will be. It sapped my remaining creative energy just writing this post. Why, I don't think I have enough juice left to even finish thi
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  4. #34
    Have been obsessed with getting my hands on all the Church Mouse books, by Graham Oakley. I really loved them when I was young, and I feel like I need some good, nostalgic memories lately. Maybe they’d put a smile on my face.

    Have been creatively blocked for writing. Been drawing some, but have been spending a lot of time reading, and playing an rpg called Dragonquest on my DS.

    Showed Kristen George Romero’s Land of the Dead. She did not care for it much.

    I’ve been friends with Kristen for many years. I loved her once, but she did not feel the same way, and she told me so. And that’s fine, I swear. But I decided to remain friends with her when I probably should not have. The thing is, she’s a great girl. A true friend. I know that if I really needed her, she’d be there. But being friends with someone you used to have feelings for is not the easiest thing, because even if those feelings are gone, the memories of those feelings remain, the memories of the hurt remain.

    I find that there is an element of humiliation in me at still being friends with a woman who did not want me. I feel like a toothless, girly loser, a puppy dog, still hanging out with her. It bothers me. When she tells me about past sexual experiences, I want to tell her to save that stuff for her female friends, because I don’t need to hear it. But I don’t tell her that. I listen to what she says like a good friend should. I am a good friend to her. And most of me is happy about that. However, I just know that if she ever gets a boyfriend or a husband, I’m going to have to cut her loose. I just would not be able to stand that heightened level of humiliation, being around her when she’s with some guy. I’d be happy for her, but I just couldn’t be ringside for it. Plus, any girl that might turn up in my life may not be too keen on me spending so much time with another woman. Who can say?

    I’ve never actually mentioned any of this to Kristen, and it’s a conversation I hope never to have, really. It’d be a pity to lose her as a friend.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  5. #35
    Though I am an enemy of religion, once a year I put aside my disgust with supernatural garbage and I accompany my friend Kris to church. Kris is my friend, he’s as my brother, and if he wants me to come and see his church’s Christmas play in which his daughters are performing, then I can do that for him. But as you might imagine, it’s not really my thing, but friendship trumps.

    We drove out into the rain and the fog last night, out to the country, reminding me of the moors in American Werewolf in London, and we finally came to Kris’ tiny little Wesleyan church. It looked like somebody’s house that had been converted into a place of worship. It was a tidy little joint, warm (Figuratively and Literally) and cozy, and the people were a pleasant sort. I always feel like an infidel when I’m in a church, though, like a spy searching for a weakness to exploit so that I might bring the whole enterprise crashing down into a smoking ruin. But everyone was no nice. It’s hard to want to annihilate their belief system when they’re such nice people. Plus, you know, they need it, the supernatural, like a baby needs a bottle. I decided to allow them their hogwash, just for last night.

    There are things I like about church, actually. I like the togetherness, the fellowship, the sense of belonging and purpose. I think those are good things. I just don’t care for the delivery system.

    Anyhow, Kris and I settled into our pew. He was called up (He’s the song leader) and he had us open the hymnals and we sang ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Then he came back and sat down and it was time for the show. It was all the young people of the church (Professional name: Kidz in Motion) who performed the songs and the play. First, the older kids sang ‘Oh Holy Night’ with mixed results, but their hearts were in the right place. Then, like a herd of twitching elephants, they marched the little kids up to the stage to join in with their bells. Ridiculously cute of course, were the children in their little choir robes, but they needed more practice with their hand bells. Still heart-warming though, to see the kids having a good time, and see their excitement at being involved.

    Then began the play. It involved people from a church making up boxes of clothes to send to poor people for Christmas. The woman in charge was sending poor people the junk, and she was keeping the good stuff for a church sale. A choir was practicing in the room next door, and they came in for a girl/boy sing off. One of the little girls in the choir, after the singing, said that she loved the baby Jesus so much that she would give him her stuffed monkey for Christmas. She had the monkey with her. Kris’ daughters, the characters they were playing, were so moved by the child’s willingness to part with her monkey, they started filling the poor people’s boxes with better stuff, including some of their own possessions. Like a fancy purse, and a new book.

    There was a little more to it than that, but you get the idea. It was a worthy sentiment. The play ended with another song, and everybody clapped. It was nice. Don’t get me wrong, the play was a wreck, but it was still good in the ways that are important, you know? Kris, his daughters, and I drove out into the night after the expected hobnobbing that punctuates a church event, and the miles were eaten up with a lot of happy chatting. The girls were pretty proud of themselves for a job well done, Kris was proud of them, and I was happy to be along for the ride.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  6. #36
    A Few Memories about Everyplace I’ve Ever Lived (Language Warning)

    As an exercise, threw out first few memories that popped into my head surrounding every place I’ve ever lived. Not of any interest to anyone but me, but hey…why not?

    Harvard Square Apartments, Indianapolis: Was born (Was told this, do not remember it)

    Grandmother’s House, McFarland Rd, Indianapolis (1st Time), Indianapolis: Have no memories of this.

    Apartment in Fountain Square, Indianapolis: Have no memories of this. Learned to walk (Second hand information)

    Laurel Lake Apartments, Greenwood, IN: First real memory. Walking around crying with soiled diaper. Smell of mother’s hair spray.

    Fox Harbor Apartments, Indianapolis: Father’s motorcycle. Wearing father’s firefighter boots and helmet. Easter candy. Fisher Price Holiday Inn toy for Christmas.

    House on Harlan Ave, Indianapolis: Brother born. Dog named Pepper. Beat up by older retarded girl in neighborhood. Dropped Robin Mego in overflowed septic pit.

    Laurel Lake Apartments (2nd Time): Mean neighbors, feeding ducks. Mother ran Mustang into telephone pole with me in car. Both slightly injured. Slammed left thumb in car door, nail permanently disfigured. Watch Hee Haw and Donny and Marie every week.

    Regency Park Apartments, Indianapolis: Father loses patience with me while trying to teach me how to play baseball. Throws ball at my head but misses. Shogun Warriors Godzilla for Christmas. First memory of It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Saw The Fly with Vincent Price and it disturbed me. Parents claimed that ‘Wombats’ and ‘Woolyboogers’ would jump out of the trees and pull my hair at night.

    House on Asbury Street, Indianapolis: Nice Christmas (Six Million Dollar Man toys), but have first stirrings of fear and suspicions of Santa Claus as supernatural entity. Went to bed one night on top bunk, woke up on floor. Learned to ride bicycle. Became enraptured with Graham Oakley’s Church Mouse books. Mother sometimes covered her face with her hair and came after me like a zombie, trying to scare me. It worked.

    Oak Meadows Trailer Park, Greenwood, IN: Realized Santa Claus was not real, began to have misgivings about God. Caused much trouble at Maple Grove Elementary. Could tell teacher hated me. Had dog named Kizzy that liked to eat grasshoppers. Kizzy disappears. Father attempted to burn down trailer for insurance money, but failed to destroy trailer. Only enough insurance money to move.

    Woods, Brown County, IN: Moved repaired trailer to wooded lot in Brown County. Parents hoped to build house. First love. ‘Married’ girl who lived down the road, ceremony performed by her older sister. She moved away. Two dogs; Buppy and Heather. Had cat called Ishaboo. Wandered the woods forever. Ishaboo run over by car. Parents Separated. Buppy and Heather taken to ‘farm’.

    Grandmother’s house (2nd Time): Brother nearly killed by Neighbor’s Chow. Took grandfather’s shotgun and attempted to shoot the dog. Loaded gun incorrectly, would not fire. Grandmother cussed like sailor. First time I ever heard ‘motherfucker’ or ‘cocksucker’, it was from my grandmother.

    El Lago Apartments, Indianapolis: Mother, with problems, started going to Baptist church. Hated going because I did not believe. Saw it as waste of time. Parents finally divorced. Father with new woman.

    Homeless: Abandoned apartment and possessions. Rode busses around the U.S. in attempt to find new place. Kept an eye on brother. Sleeping in bus stations. Crawling under door of pay toilets. Trying to sell ‘Black Beauties’ in men’s restroom for food money. Walking endlessly in strange cities. Did not have actual meal for weeks, lived out of vending machines. In Phoenix, AZ, mother finally decided to return home.

    Father’s House, Dundee Drive, Indianapolis: Forced to live with father while mother found new place. Father’s new wife did not like us. Many arguments and fights. My brother crying.

    Grandmother’s House (3rd Time): Reclaimed by mother. Only possession was stack of comic books.

    Sherman Village Apartments, Indianapolis: Met friend Kris. Mother met and married new man. She worked at used book store. Bought many comics there. Bought Marvel Fanfare #1 and New Teen Titans #1 off rack. Discovered silver age comics. Pushed brother through Target aisles in cart while he knocked stuff off shelves. Chased by midget manager, caught and thrown out. Head on collision in front of Catholic school. Mother and stepfather badly injured. I woke up in the road with a priest standing over me. I got a broken wrist. Brother was not with us, if her were, he would have been killed.

    Father’s House (2nd Time): Brother and I forced to live at father’s house while mother and stepfather hospitalized. Brother was always picky eater. Frequently forced to sit at table until he finished his food. Did not understand why my father would let his new wife treat us like that. Tension.

    Sherman Village Apartments, (2nd Time): Back after mother and stepfather recover. Waiting for insurance money. Leave apartment.

    Grandmother’s House (4th Time): Waiting for insurance money for wreck. Cast removed from wrist, but it would never be the same, and would always hurt. Watched MTV a lot. Spent most weekends sleeping over at Kris’ house.

    Longacre Trailer Park, Indianapolis: Bought trailer. Met friend Doug. Nearly shot by drunken man who thought I messed up his cable TV. At 13, smoked dope for first time and had sex for first time. She was 14 and we did it in a public swimming pool when no one was around. It’s a good memory. Rented first VCR (From U-Haul, no less), watched Evil Dead. Transformers and G.I. Joe toys were ubiquitous. Was sitting on train tracks listening to Walkman. Did not notice train until I felt the rumble. Nearly killed.

    House, Cottage Ave, Indianapolis: Sold trailer, rented half-double in Fountain Square next to my aunt. Ran the streets with the wild city kids. Went to Shortridge High School for a few weeks. First time I saw uniformed guards in a school.

    Half-Double, Brickenwood, Hanna Ave, Indianapolis: Hated High School. Pulled fire alarm and confessed so I would be kicked out. Fought constantly. Suspended many times. Escaped school many times. Ran with the hoods. Had the long hair and button-covered denim jacket. Called before the principle because I nearly started a race riot. Not racist, but it was an easy way to cause trouble. Madly in love with the girl who lived next door, Holly. Listened to Head over Heels by Tears for Fears over and over, thinking of her. Never told her how I felt.

    Greenway South Apartments, Indianapolis: Finally old enough to quit school. Stayed up all night every night for a year. Slept all day. Finally read ‘The Stand’ by Stephen King. Listened to Sign O The Times constantly. Wandered nearby neighborhoods at night, creeping through alleys. Wanted to be the ‘thing’ in the dark that people were afraid of. Disagreements led to moving in voluntarily with my father.

    Father’s House (3rd Time): Left when father’s wife suggested I should stop collecting comic books.

    House, Tacoma Ave, Indianapolis: Met friend Kristen. Met friend Aaron. Worked at comic book store. Began writing, reading, and drawing more. Went and got G.E.D. Had puppy named Bob. Died of distemper. Wrecked pick-up truck with Kris as passenger. Both only slightly injured. Get into Love and Rockets (The band), the Pixies, and I start seriously noticing ‘Japanimation’ (Now called Anime). Got dog named Funky Chicken.

    House, Troy Ave, Indianapolis: Loved Kristen for years from ‘afar’. Nothing came of it. Writing and drawing more seriously. Managed two video stores. Had sexual relationships with two employees. Both mistakes. Was hit by old woman in intersection and she totaled my little Toyota. Was angry, so I called her a stupid whore. Cop convinced me to apologize. He was right. Smoked a lot of weed with video store friends.

    Queen Anne Apartments, Seattle, WA: Went to live with Doug in Seattle for a while. The Safeway grocery store at the top of Queen Anne Ave. had the best Chinese food I’ve ever had. Doug was gay, so I was immersed in the gay lifestyle, frequenting many gay bars. Doug would often ‘Secret Service’ me against advances (Gay men are not shy or subtle), but I always found the propositions rather flattering. Nice to feel wanted. First and last time I ever called a black person ‘nigger’ was in Seattle. Watched a ton of Asian cinema because the video stores were full of it, being Seattle.

    House, Here: Longest I’ve ever lived anywhere is here. Helped Kristen move to Las Vegas. Borrowed her car to drive out to brothel while I was there, for the experience. Was with Czechoslovakian girl named Sasha who was taller than I am. Plane struck by lightning several times on the way back to Indianapolis. Flight attendants looked scared. Thought I was going to die when the lights went out on the plane. Everyone cheered when we finally landed. Funky killed by neighbor dogs. Got dogs Penny, Buffy, Jojo, and Teddy. Penny died of old age, first dog I’ve ever owned to completion. Buffy died of cancer. Jojo and Teddy are still alive. Worked at Bayer Diagnostics, refurbishing parts for medical machinery. Worked as a janitorial sub at Center Grove Schools. Worked marble tub and shower installation in houses under construction. No bathrooms, so workmen leave bottles of urine in the walls of half-finished houses. Almost every new house probably has bottles of pee in the walls. After eight years, went back to Vegas to help Kristen move back, and had a wonderful drive back through the Rockies. Worked as car-detailer, had a few things published, some art here and there. And then there’s now.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  7. #37
    i stayed in fountain square for a while, just south of bud's supermarket. i didn't really care for it. there were too many
    of what are called "wiggers" there. those people get on my nerves. i'm more partial to the west side.
    "Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.”

  8. #38
    I was there in the eighties, before a large segment of poor white people decided that it would be a good idea to imitate racial stereotypes. In my day, young fella, it was all heavy metal kids. Long-haired, crazy-eyed youths whose hearts screamed for Ozzy, Judas Priest, and Air Supply.

    That last one? Maybe not so much.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  9. #39
    'air supply' haha....god, radio sucked back then...there was one song by the DK s, and some little goober named 'Rodney', who gave you an hour of early hardcore starting at midnight on Sundays. We passed around homemade compilation tapes(cassettes) like bongs and beers.

  10. #40
    Oh, god. I forgot about the comp-tapes. Several young ladies found themselves subjected to my musical love-letters, all those years ago, that's for sure.

    I tried to catch 120 Minutes on MTV whenever I could, and though I have a nostalgic love of eighties music, there was a lot of crap.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.


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