"The shadow of your smile"

A teardrop kissed your lips and so did I
Now when I remember spring, all the joy that love can bring
I will be remembering the shadow of your smile

I need to stop drinking at work, once they said I could drink here, I started brooding often......

By the way, about what I told you today
As for being around the block,
I suppose my genuine remorse
comes from trusting someone
and not being patient. So
my blemish or mark of Cain is that
unknowable (unless there) regret.
So I feel tainted in that regard. My remorse
is not from people knowing, as I could hide it.
My remorse is that I compromised
my own morals for what I believed
was love, but a combination of that
and desperation plus lust. Certainly
as we read there are people who often are more
attracted by physicality than character.
My unfortunate mistake was the latter.
Had I not known this person
and spent a lot of time with her
it might not have happened.
I was, in my opinion a fool,
to think I could have avoided it.
I know better now, but at a high price.
They say the shallow heal quicker.
But like most QUALITY Americans
my brooding and analytical nature
won't shield me from such
quickly or over night.
Anyhow I wanted that
to be known first,
because when it comes to her,
I can't be unwise or foolish
about her attraction
or my own. Yet I am here
With letters of marque , and if I fail
I would be devastated
to have started a relationship.
I don't think any woman, especially young
should see such misery.

Suppose I give you a learnin'

NOTICE 

PERSONS attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR, Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.

- Mark Twain

2015年02月13日 Undisputed Truth, Sometimes, Allegedly

She was sleek as hell. Her hair looked like black chrome. You know what I'm talking about: that crisp reflective nature of metal, once it has been polished a quarter of million times. Something like that, with midnight purple, though it always looks blue. Probably faux-highlights. I didn't care if they were real or not. I wanted to touch them. She had a fresh smell about her. A walk through the produce section after it has been sprayed, or an early morning gust of wind from the ocean. Something like that.

I liked it, but she had that sick look in her eyes. The kind of woman that can't go 20 minutes, let alone two weeks, without a hug or a kiss from a man. I wonder how many she's kissed this past week as she smiles at me. She's never been more alone than when she sleeps alone in her bed, or when she looks in the mirror and can't see a smile in those eyes. Seems to be a daily occurrence lately.

Her brief touch and go made me wonder about other women like her. Scratching my head I watching the rain out my window. It's common here. No, not the women like her. That's common everywhere, it's worse with men though. They don't know any better, they wander around like stray dogs looking for a master.

Time to get my dog to work. I stopped wondering about the previous days, picking up the phone. Mose is usually doing his Jew stuff around this time, so I might as well catch him before he plans out the rest of his day. A receptionist picked up, and told me she'd check to see if he was there. I hope my description was good enough. She told me that if he was there she'd make sure he'd head to work. Great. I thought.

"I couldn't see her face as she hugged me[.]"

I looked out the window, popping off the cap of another beer. What a great way to start my morning. Across the street there was a woman in a blue dress, and a I-carry-my-heart-on-my-should kind of sad look on her face. I could see her from my floor. Nothing hurt me more than seeing a beautiful woman look sad. Comely as she was, it bothered me more that a woman beautiful on the inside, could be consumed by her own self. My mind drifted and I thought about another woman. I couldn't see her face as she hugged me, nor could I remember it well. I wonder what her faced looked like then? I wonder what she does these days?

I'm getting nowhere here. I looked away from the Blue Dress, and pulled out the paper. Hai-Pharmacy was robbed last night. Nothing new there. The forecast seemed to be agreeable. I'd prefer the rain though. Slumping in my chair I started to wink heavily. I don't remember anything after my head slouched forward.

2015年02月12日 To By Pass a Regular System

It was so real that when I woke up. For the ninth time in the last nine weeks, I did not know anything beyond the dreams. Where I was, or who I was, were things I didn't know. The darkness of the room hid my identity from me. I shifted on my side. The bed feels familiar. I thought. But where is this? What year? The darkness lorded over the room, save for a dim light from underneath the door. It came back to me, and the dream seemed even more terrifying.

It took me too far from reality, or too far from the dream.

Waking up felt as real as the dream.

I wanted to go back to sleep.

But with my eyes open, hand reaching for the light-switch, I realized I soon would be.

2015年02月07日 The Wildlings

It's hard when a grown man tells you to stop. His face and those lines indicating age. It's supposed to mean something, except when he's talking about you, and you stopping everything.

It's supposed to mean something. The shaking that's uncontrollable when you think about something or someone. It's suppose to mean something. Hell, it's supposed to stop at some point. Isn't it? 

But when it doesn't a person wonders. What happens when you forget a song that you liked? Only to hear the lyrics later? The lyrics were there before you heard the song.

I don't know about mavericks or places. I'm neither. Nor am I'm anything less than what I am - simultaneously  with the thought of was and will be - therefore no Ace.

The shakes have subsided. Did they really? 

And then again, I wonder why someone said I should go back to writing

I wonder that I.

2015年01月23日 Better than ever

I used to believe people when they said things get worse. Then I heard what he had to say on the couch in front me, 

"Even if you do everything by the book or you do bad things, you're still fucked in the end. My grandpa would never hurt a fly, and he was fucked in the end too."

"It's not that bad."
"No it's worse, because you've got nothing at the end of the day. They just take it all."

"Sometimes you can take back."
"True, but usually you're still screwed." He quipped.

"Okay. Fair enough. So what are we going to do?"
"Let's go to that Italian place downtown."
"I don't like Italian."
"They have a bar."
I smiled, "Let me get my jacket"

Is-It-Fiction: "Wake Up Rick"

"Don't point the barrel at me." You'd think they'd teach these guys to know better.

I was in basic. Before the war they were strict on us. I remember the beatings, although at the time it was frowned upon. "Drop and give me twenty-five" Apparently the DI, knew what vaffanculo meant. It was the last time that lazy Italian prick would dare to speak Italian again. A shiner and a swollen lip tends to do that. I never liked that guy anyway.

"It's not loaded." He said bringing me away from my thoughts.

"I don't care. Carry on with your drill, just keep the barrel out of my face."

"Okay, so we sweep really slowly like this..." He started to slowly, as if he was slicing a pie using the front of the barrel as a knife,  

"And when I see the enemy I hit him with my flash light."

Why bother? I told myself. When we were fighting in the war we just shot through the walls about a quarter of the time. Usually the enemy knew we were coming either way.

"Sounds interesting." I said smugly.

I woke up when I heard someone knocking on my office door. The dream disappeared, and Jack died a few months after we had that conversation. I thought about him from time to time, and I haven't forgotten some of the things he said.