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.

2014年12月16日 "And die behind the wheel"

There it is again! I thought, looking over my shoulder. But I still saw nothing. The trilling was getting closer, sometimes it seemed to lag behind, but it always seemed to get closer in the end. The vibrations of the foreign sounding creature or person, I don't know what it was, echoed off the wide open streets. Well, there were a few other cars parked here or there. I froze in place. I was shaking.

Damn it, get in your car! I can't! I'm having an anxiety attack. The keys were in my pocket, and I was standing next to my car. I took a moment to get into the car, looking around for the source of that noise. It always seemed closer. I finally sighed, catching my breath while I seated myself. The doors were locked and the engine was on. I just needed to buckle up and put it in gear. But I couldn't stop shaking.

Under the seat was a bottle of single malt. I unscrewed it a took a swig. I almost coughed a little. My nerves were slowly getting off the edge. Did I lock the car-door? Yep, I said under my breath and took another swig. I turned on the radio, "Deacon Blues" was playing. I started to lean back taking the third or fifth swig.
There was a flash and glass breaking. It was the last thing I heard or remember.

2014年12月05日 Call 911 AND DIE!!

I saw this video the other day and though, "Yeah that's pretty much it." Even though some of the videos have nothing to do with "call[ing] cops".

Or this...

2014年11月26日Unexpected Nostalgic Phone Calls

I didn't know what to say, so I improvised. At least I thought I did when I said, 

"I don't think you should die. No. Uh-huh. I don't have control over you. And that's something I try to remind you. Uh-huh, well stop complaining. Alright. Okay. Yes I'm here for you! And you know, I want you to spend more time with yourself. Wait. Ok. Yeah, ok. You're not trying to figure out who you are yet, and it's painful. Yeah? What I want? Well, what I want you are afraid to do: and you are afraid of being alone."

When I hung up the phone I was alone, which wasn't entirely true. There was a bottle of unopened bourbon on my desk and a tumbler with ice. Not alone.

I heard a voice in my head as I took a long sip, 'You know... a part of me doesn't want you to have money for that reason. You drink too much when you can afford it.' I looked outside, it was cold. When I saw my reflection in the glass, I thought one thing: for now.

Ingram story IFF: You're not going to come down with anything

That's what the Doctor said before he left the room. I watched him fiddle with a pen for a short moment. Glancing up at me with his eyes he asked, "Do you have any loss of enjoyment in things that were once pleasurable, or any sadness or depressed mood, most of the day or almost every day?" I am now.

"Not since I was married." My teeth were visible as I smirked at him. If he'd been a woman I would have said only every 27 days or so. I mused to myself. He looked down at his paper,made a few check marks, and without glancing up he continued.

"Outside of your bruising, including your ribs, and a few cuts, I can't say your weakened state will contribute to a fever. Avoid the cold and get as much rest as you need. Try to avoid alcohol too." He moved his paper over to his clipboard, then motioned it towards me with fixed eyes, "Give this to my receptionist and she'll help you with the rest. Feel better Mr. Ingram."
With clipboard in my hand and a "Thanks Doc." I slide off the examining table and grabbed my coat left on the free standing coat hanger. It was still cold enough outside to merit such a jacket. The weather around this time of year couldn't be fully trusted, and soon winter would officially start in a month or two.
Everything other than the doctor, including the visit was mostly enjoyable. I did my best not to undress the receptionist with my eyes as he took the clipboard from me. Those have to be double D's for sure. She had dangerous smile and I could tell she could handle those guns-- cannons with ease. 
She must have caught my glance or my raised eyebrows because she made sinful blush looking up at me as I stood leaning over the counter. I'm only human, at least according to the doctor.
Turning towards the exit I couldn't help but wonder about the receptionist. No ring, and a lot of cleavage. It's best to stay away from fast women like that, so I've heard. But maybe she's not so fast? I started to wonder if the doctor hired her for "cheering up" his patients before and after a visit, rather than just for her skills. She seemed to have everything figured out, and didn't seem dumb by any means. Though having those assets didn't hurt when you applied for the job.
Back outside I could see Mose still in the car, he had reversed into his spot so he could pay attention to entrance of the office. He always did things like this, regardless of whether or not he could park somewhere convenient, obvious or not, he always tried to have a spot that guaranteed two things: line of sight for the entrance and mobility of getting the rig in gear and getting the hell out.
He still sticks out like a sore thumb. Or a man shuffling to his car with broken ribs. I thought as a sharp pain reminded me as I reached for the passenger door. The radio was still on and Mose was turning off the volume as I settled myself down onto the seat.
With the door now closed, and Mose's eyes wanting to know what's next or what the doctor said, just said one thing, "Broadway Saloon". Mose grimaced putting the car in drive. Pulling away he said nothing, but as he reached to turn up the music, I could only hear a dull hum of the wind from my open window. Leaning my head against the a seat I just remember closing my eyes and trying to relax.