The Edge of the World

The thing about demons is that they will always be there — there’s a kind of sticky faith to this.  You know they’ll be there, reminding you of what’s inside you, who you are, what your limits are.  I picture most people fighting them, tooth and nail, the throngs growing bigger.

I guess, when I think about it, that’s not the way you go about disarming them.  Fighting only makes them stronger.  That’s what they feed off of.  That tension.  Because the tension feeds itself and when you break into a thousand tiny pieces, they descend upon each piece of you, devouring you like the hungry beasts they are.

[I see your beautiful face and my heart eternally breaks. Can you not hear it?  The sound, it's like breaking glass. It's the same invisible sound of a smile cracking. It's fucking deafening. The exquisite curse continues.]

When you acknowledge their presence in the darkness behind you, always looking for a sign of weakness, they shy away from the light, you see.  Give them names.  That’s when they become weak.  You’ve got to call them out by name and embrace them and let them in.

After that, I can’t tell you how to deal with them.  They are your demons.  Mine have names too.  And every once in a while they rear their ugly heads and strike deeply.  They remind me that I’m human.  I hate and love that fact, the fact I’m human, because it comes out in the same muttering breath.

So now I press on, I work harder, waking up to the curse and blessing forming that black solid ring around my heart, forever propelling me through this ether, and I’ll tackle what comes next.

– and I woke up leaking red sand from my eyes and ears and mouth.

Somehow I ended up in bed last night, though I don’t know at what time.  After checking the whiskey bottle I found I had hardly touched it, and I felt all right after I had gotten up.  Not hungover.  My muscles seemed oddly sore, as if I had been beaten senseless in my sleep.  When I woke I felt as if I had been sleeping forever.  There were vague snapshots of a dream, crumbling facades of a building that shifted before me, empty cartons on empty bureaus; I remembered eating food but always being hungry.  Other than that, the memories faded from my eyes before I could reach out and grab them.

[And, so, where have you been?]

I slept forty minutes through my alarm this morning but still made it to the gym and pounded out a few quick sets.  I am still alive.  Thoroughly ragged, but alive.  Perhaps this is what feeling like a vampire is like, hungry and empty all the time.  Repulsive and charming, alive and dead, loved and hated, all in the same breath.  And my familiar is a little stuffed penguin named Harvey, with mischievous demons in his eyes.

All right, so I might make an awful vampire, I’d be a little too forgiving, but I’m starting to look like one.  Perpetually pale and young, or so it seems.

On Saturday, when I was back visiting my parents for the day, we sat on the couches together eating Asian pears after dinner.  I asked my mother, “When do you think I’ll start getting wrinkles?”

She looked back at me and laughed.  “You’re too young.”

I said, “Well, I’ve seen a few of my friends, some are even younger than me, and they’ve got smile lines around their eyes.  People tell me I look young all the time.”

My mother stopped to think.  “I look young too, for my age.  It’s just how we are,” she said, referring to our bloodline.  “It’ll be a while before you start getting yours.  You’re only twenty-seven.”

I’m sitting here, starting the day, and I still can’t figure out what happened to me last night.  It’s as if those hours were snipped away and burned, never to return.  The last thing I vaguely remember is reading a long reply from Tessa about the cancer and how badly it wrecked her vision, coordination, and how she’s spending her days –

Fuck You, Dennis Lee

This is the last song I wrote using my MIDI keyboard controller, synthesizer software, a software drum sequencer, Apple Logic, and my fingers.  It’s done in the style of Drum and Bass.  I was originally going to call it, “Nobody Gives a Fuck About You, Dennis Lee,” but I thought that sounded too self-indulgent and self-pitying.  Which wasn’t the point.

I haven’t written another song since that one.  I tried.

I had an awful day at work today, which was brought upon me only by my own self.  I made mistakes, I haven’t been working hard enough, and my performance review was not very good.  I am being not self-deprecating; it was the honest truth.  I am thinking that unless I get my shit together sooner rather than later, I could be facing a cold walk out to the lobby with a cardboard box and nobody but myself to blame.  I’m pissed and upset and I need to light a fire under my ass.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’ve been sabotaging myself worse than ever lately.  This shit needs to stop.  I’ve got to get my crap together.

Unfortunately I’m wrecking my appetite and I’m drinking more whiskey, which has been upsetting my stomach to no end, either.

This apartment seems horribly empty and I now know why it’s been that way for so long.

It was because of me, wasn’t it?

I received an email from a friend last night.  She was a good friend of mine from college.  Back then I made her a bunch of mix CDs of the downtempo music I knew she loved so much.

Looks like her brain cancer came back and she’s currently suspending her Ph.D. studies to recover back here in the beloved midlands.  It’s probably not fair for me to say too much, but I guess she’s been relearning how to walk, with some assistance, and all of a sudden my heart feels a bit broken.

I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but hold on to what you’ve got, sugar.  Cause you never know when that sweetness will fade away.  So go outside and shout the moon down, and go cause trouble and waves of laughter out there in the darkness with your friends.

And while you’re at it, invite me along.  I have a lot of songs to sing.

[Our hearts littering the topsoil]

My sincerest apologies if I’ve alarmed you — let me make that up to you by injecting you with a dose of humor and some fragments of my life.

Friday night I was obviously not feeling so good about everything so I came home and played an enrapturing video game, drinking whiskey and acting sedate.  I asked a few friends if they were up to anything and the vibrations in the ground seemed low so I decided to stay home.  Around 11 I decided it was time to sleep, and so I did, grudgingly, and slept the sleep of one hundred years.

I woke up the next day nearly twelve hours later, still not feeling refreshed.  Early in the morning I received a call from my good lovely friend Katie, who lives nearby, asking if I could drive her to Hyde Park to pick up her car.  When I picked her up it was clear she was unhappy about something, so we talked, and I found out that one of her students recently died last week.

Some of you Chicago folk may have read this: Tragic Drowning

Knowing how sweet Katie is I could tell how hard she was taking it.  She was devastated, heartbroken, and hungover from commiserating with her fellow teachers the night before.  I guess she had taught one of these students.  Then I thought about how removed I generally feel from the news, but when I think about it, how connected and close we really are in this strange human world.

Harvey was in the car with me so I let her have him for a while and he smiled as he does, and he tried to cheer her up.  It probably didn’t work.  Harvey is just a very small stuffed penguin.  I am not that childish.  But I know the smallest things are often the most important.

When I dropped her off, I held the side of her face with my hand and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.  And I gave her a warm embrace and left her by her little car.

Later that day I went to visit my parents up in the suburbs, trying to get away from the madness of the city.  And where do they take me, but to a crowded mall!  My mother wanted to buy me an early holiday gift of a new winter coat from the North Face, but after hours of searching we didn’t find a coat that fit and/or looked good.  Most of the coats made me look squashed and puffy from the down feathers.

But really, what sweet parents I have.  My father was even enthusiastic about looking, which is extraordinarily unusual considering how grouchy he gets when we go clothing shopping.  And he got excited about finding pants that fit him perfectly too.  Hilarious.

I ate a good meal with my parents and helped clean up afterwards.  When I returned to the city I picked up an old friend, Peter, and we rolled back here to my apartment and immediately hit the video games, hard.  Soon I had more visitors, Geoff (who nearly gets us in all manner of bar fights), Ryan with his handlebar moustache grown in, and Craig, along with me and Peter.

Watching a bunch of grown men playing Castle Crashers, a cute animated video game, drunk off their asses, shouting at the television about eating bananas and turkey legs and chopping up walking fish, is a real sight to see.

Anyway, the funny stuff is still coming, I promise.  Sorry about the novel.

We headed to a bar called Weegee’s out in Logan Square and it was pretty busy for a bar that was in the middle of nowhere.  We soon hijacked the shuffleboard table, having been asked by a friendly good-natured fellow to a challenge.  Two other friends, Duke and Shelley (who are dating) met us out at the bar.  Shelley immediately stole my hat and began to flirt shamelessly with me.  We even took photos in the photobooth, of her kissing me on the cheek while I’m being cheeky at the camera.  Don’t worry, though, Duke and Shelley are a strong couple and it was all in good fun.  I am not THAT kind of troublemaker (usually).  Ahem.  Then Brad and Erin showed up and our party got even bigger.

It was clear that all of us were having the best time in the bar, laughing, drinking, being boisterous but not obnoxious.  It was beautiful to see us all together and I could tell most of the bar patrons wanted to meet us because we were having fun.  I even saw a bunch of pretty girls smiling at me, which is a little (read: a lot) out of the ordinary.

I went up to the bar and waited for the bartender.  A cute girl with a nose piercing and dark hair was sitting alone, waiting to pay for her drink.  At this point I think I was pretty goddamn drunk, sporting my trademark easy boyish grin, and I struck up a friendly conversation.  I wasn’t flirting.  I am not even good at flirting.  In fact, I’m a moron most of the time when it comes to that stuff.  And since I had my wallet out I just paid for the girl’s drink — I would have done it for anybody at that point, because we were having a good chat.  It was a mild conversation about politics. Nothing too special.

One of her other cute friends came up to whisk her away for tacos down the street.   And so this pretty girl of mine waved a shy goodbye as she and her group gathered their coats and bundled up.  Just before they left I went over to them and the girl introduced me to her sister, who was even more impossibly beautiful, slender, and dark-haired, and she had been staring at me all night.

I could see the other girls looking at me and I waved as they all walked out the door together.  I went back to my friends playing shuffleboard.

That’s when the girl from the bar came dashing back in.  She grabbed my hand and said, “You know, I’ve just moved here, and you seem really sweet, and I hardly know anybody.  Do you think it would be too much if I could have your phone number?”  The whole bar stopped to watch.  I could feel my face turning beet red in the darkness.

“I’d be delighted,” I said.  “Here is my number.  And my name has two N’s in it, because otherwise, it’s one letter away from spelling the word penis.”  Yes, I said that.  Yes, she giggled.  Yes, I’m a smooth idiot.  Whiskey makes me do retarded things.

She called my cell phone to make sure I had her number too.  And like that, she was gone.

I turned around to my friends, who were charmed by what they just saw, and said, “FUCK.”

“What’s wrong?” they asked.

“I don’t remember her name.  I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again so I was just being nice, buying her drink and all, and I forgot her name.  Immediately.  I am a class A moron.”  They looked at me incredulously.  And they all started laughing.

So I’ve got a new entry in my cell phone, and all it says is, “Girl.”

My friend Brad said, “Wow, that vacation really did recharge you.  You’re looking energetic.”

And I don’t think that was it.  I don’t think that was it, at all.  Something in me has been changing for quite some time now.  I imagine it’s for the better.  But I don’t know yet.  All I know is that I somehow, inexplicably, stopped giving a fuck.  And now I am radiating confidence.  It’s a strange feeling.

I keep telling myself that life is too short and maybe something finally, finally, clicked.

Today I have a heavy bone to pick with God.

My blood is running thick and a little bitter and if I could wring all of Heaven with my bare hands, I would.  It’s like I’ve stopped being human and have been distilled into nothing but a bunch of letters strewn carelessly upon paper.  Perhaps I did something unforgivable in a past life.  I don’t know.

[What was it, then?]

It’s probably better that I don’t know.  It’s as if we pay penance for a reason.  Or is this simply the imbalance of hormones and compounds in this gray matter?  All of this is an aside, just a passing useless thought.  Because now my bones are made of metal and my heart is wrapped in steel and any living heartbeat has become the rote ticking of a mechanical component controlled by dedicated routines.  And that’s exactly how I planned it.

[Orpheus, don't.look.back.don't.look.back.don't.please -- ]

Forgive me.  A man’s got to have a moment of weakness from time to time.  Not all of them write them up in a place he lets the world see, this glass house of words and vague references that only he understands completely.  Consider yourself a little lucky.  Because if I never said anything you would have no idea, otherwise.  This human skin is my mask, these glittering organic eyes impenetrable.  Because it still knows how to issue a smile and a laugh down to every last detail.

And you, stranger, you got your hooks into me with kind words.  The fact that I’d let somebody I’ve never met get under my skin so quickly, well, that speaks volumes about the hollowness that has consumed my life for quite some time now.

[It's alright, It's okay, there's something to live for, Jesus told me so!]

But it’s really alright, it’s really okay, because I’ve found the perfect sort of anesthesia.  Just enough to cement my heartstrings into place.

I sound ridiculous.  The rest of the weekend, I’m sure, will be just fine.  As long as I don’t go to more circus-themed parties where people are jabbing needles into their penises on stage in front of me.  Jesus.

I’m suddenly very tired.

[Ay tu primo colorado
Con barba camburada
Y lleno de ballena
Inclinadose al sol
Ay tu rayo de luz roja
Besando nuestra boca
El beso que te sopla
Sabe a Pampero
Ay tus tres ojos lunares
Extraterrestriales
Entran quando sales
Por eso no se ven
Ay tu barba colorada
Traviesa y rebelde
Me afeito con espada
Pero devuelve

La la la la la la...

Si la noche te persigue
Entrégate a ella
O dile que tienes dolor de cabeza
Sombrita de reflejo
Dame algo tierno
Me como tu amor
Y cago el infierno

Adio, adio, adio
Primo granje
Hola Bernardo...

La la la la la la la...

Ay tus ojos colorados
Azul y anaranjados
Amarillo verde y marrón
Mi amor envuelto en tu corazón
No lo sueltes por favor
Somos elefante y serpiente semejante
Tomando aguardiente
En el sol
De una flor...

La la la la la la la...]

You and me, Carmensita.  Let’s go drink brandy in the sun from a flower.  This is the velvet of life, all these things, all the time.

When the days grow short and the nights grow long and my rooms grow cold I wake up hoping God will strike my name from the pages with a mighty hand.  But I wake and the sleep falls away from my eyes and everything blossoms into color again in that pale color of winter and.and.and.

All it takes is a kind word from strangers etching electrons with a dose of laughter and suddenly I grow full.  I thrive on the energy of people and I recharge in dead silence.  My mind wanders down the hall of centuries listening to the echoes of people gone past.

I grow empty and I grow full and someday I too will pass from this green earth because that is the way of all things.

Mudras and mantras, equinox and solstice, we move in you like light moves in water.  The arms of summer have withered away and we now sleep in the cradle of harvest.  And so it goes.

Everything is everything, sine metu, hallelujah, amen.amen.amen. motherfucker.

[alles klar
alles klar
alles klar]

[All it takes is a word and a smile and the mantle will melt away, my darling.  All those other things that concern you now are distractions.  You're in danger of losing me to the dogs and the alleys and the streets before the story even begins.

When that happens, it will be much too late and I will be in the depths where you cannot follow.  I can feel it happening now.  You chased me first.  Or do you not remember?

What is it you are so afraid to see?  For that matter, what is it you are all so afraid to see?  Why do you all choose to remain so silent?

This is life.  Be unafraid.]

This morning as I was waiting for the El, I watched a very small man eating a very large donut.  It was a funny thing to see.  I tried not to laugh so I had to look away.  I mean, when he started eating his mouth became about as half as big as his head and he just shoved that fucker in there like it was the best thing on earth.  And right then, it probably was the best thing on earth.  Lucky bastard.  Now I want a donut!

[This is our finite kingdom of taste and color and sound.  Eat from the feast before it is gone.  Drink and revel and marvel.

Just don't do it in silence.]

On the crammed Blue Line I stood packed in, next to strangers.  Every single person was silent.  Some people contemplated their feet and others fell asleep standing up (which never ceases to amaze me).  The girl next to me had wet strawberry-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, green gloves.  I watched as she stared at my hand nestled next to hers on the metal pole.  I could feel her eyes run over my fingers, fascinated with the simple black ring on my left hand.

Later in the ride she leaned into me — I think deliberately, so our forearms crossed.  And she stayed that way until it was her time to melt into the maddening throng.

[Sine Metu aligns with a mudra we all know by heart.  We've somehow aligned through the centuries and across all terrain by the sake of just being human. That palm facing forward with a slight lean of the fingers rings through each of us. There are things we know, and things we know, and this?

This is a thing we know.]

I was just thinking — this is a random thought, that I would make a terrific vampire.  I know that is a strange thing to say.  It is not in the actual sense that I am hungry for blood, but I like the idea of being infinitely charming yet somehow anciently repulsive at the same time.  Not that I am a repulsive person, mind you.  I just like the idea of being attractive in a way and fearsome in another.  Given most scenarios, morbid curiosity usually gets the better of all of us, so people would probably be more mesmerized by me being a vampire rather than being scared.

That is probably one of the reasons why none of us turned our heads when that crazy fucker pierced his peepee with the needles at that party the other night.  Ugh, shudder.

I think I’d miss the sun too much.  And garlic.  I suppose being chased by Goth girls all night long would get kind of silly after a while.  But still.  I’m sure every once in a while there’d be something really incredible that would make it all worth it.  I am hoping the taste of steak would still be good because those fangs would make it so easy to eat!

Sigh.  For now I think I’ll just stick to daydreaming about it, then.  But still.  Come on.  Wouldn’t it be cool?

be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages [like the dog i am] and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name be struck from the pages and let my name

I checked the scale this morning and goddamn if I haven’t lost more weight — just a touch.  Believe me, I’m eating well and I’m not just saying that, in case you’re needlessly worried.  I guess my body is just jettisioning the extra mass in some fashion or other.  Without saying too much, let’s just say I am under 130 lbs now.

My face looks thinner and a lot like my father’s did at my age, a little square and taut.  Except when I smile.  When I smile, which is often, my face turns round and I look very little like him then.  It is kind of a strange sensation, seeing myself in the mirror.  Sometimes I see my father looking right back.

So far my brain is still trying to reconcile the way I look with the way I feel, which is to say, I feel exactly the same as I did before at any physical condition.  I just look different now.  With loads more energy.  It is hard to say because I have gotten used to not feeling like a sloth any longer.

Two of my coworkers have started a weight-loss contest to see who can win.  In about six months they will do a final weigh-in to see the net change.  They are putting $500 on the line to make the motivation stronger but so far it does not appear like there have been any major lifestyle changes yet.  When it comes to things like this I have decided most people like to talk about what they would like to do, but then most of them do not actually execute their well wishes.

Last night I finally started looking over some of my pieces again.  I edited one for maybe an hour and a half and have another one to fix and flesh out.  It seems my major problem with most of them is that I rush through plot points too quickly and do not give the stories enough heft and weight.  That is the problem with wanting to tell stories so badly.  You end up skipping the finer details which make the stories worth listening to.  There is a very special kind of patience and aptitude you need to be able to do this.  Self-doubt plagues me each step of the way.  I may not have the talent to do what I wish and that realization is quite bitter, for sheer will alone won’t necessarily be enough.

Of course, the same self-doubt plagued me before I started getting fit, so I guess a little bit of good faith and honest effort couldn’t hurt.  But still.  As you can see, writing is not an entirely social hobby.  It is one of those things you must do alone in order to get it right.  Since I’ve come back from the UK I’ve been out and about every day, spending time with people I love, but even so this hollow feeling won’t quite go away.

All I want right now is to burst into a flock of starlings and escape through the slate gray sky.  But I know that even if I could do that, no matter where I landed things would still be the same.

So I think: Barrel through it, motherfucker.