Sunday, April 26, 2015

If you ever see this

Who knows? There is a very good chance that you'll never see this entry. So maybe it's weird that I'm addressing you directly in this entry... Never mind. Let's get down to it. I have been trying not to think about you. Every day since we were supposed to talk and then never did and then things just... well, things just went the way they did, I've tried not to think about you. Which really only makes things worse. So much that I do reminds me of you and the things that don't remind me of you make me think of you because I wish I could tell you about them. I can't get over you. I just can't. I'm not exactly trying too hard, I guess, but getting over you and moving on wasn't in my plan. It doesn't seem to be an option now. That isn't why I'm writing this. 

I'm writing this because today you participated in a big event that you've been training for and looking forward to for months now. I woke up out of a dead sleep around 5:45am because that is when I used to tell you...

Anyway, I woke up and I wanted to text you to tell you that I was proud of you. That you are an inspiration to me and that I hope you have an amazing day.   That you are wonderful and marvelous and strong and beautiful. But I couldn't. I wouldn't because I didn't want to mess up your mindset or concentration for the day. So, then I thought I'd write you an email (which I did) but even that seemed too much. And now, here we are. I'm writing a public note that you may or may not see. And that is as good as I am going to get as far as "communicating" with you. I needed to do something to let you know that I'm thinking of you — as corny as that is.

I'll just stop there.

Yours,
Steven

Monday, February 16, 2015

DANGER: Life

I've been getting pretty personal on here in my last few entries. Maybe more so than I have ever been. You know, you're walking around, trying to be a good person and WHAM! Life is all up in your face. You start a new job (that you don't actually want to do), you find a girl (that you actually can't have), you live in a house (that you can't get out of), and then you come home to burst pipes. 

Fuck you, Life. Fuck. You.

Seriously, what did I do? Where have I been going wrong? 

Sunday, February 8, 2015

DANGER: Emotions

When do things begin to make sense? If you are constantly trying to change, do you ever, really, truly change? And if that change ever comes, how will you know that it is different from every other false hope that has drifted in front of your face? Trying to catch a puff of smoke with your bare hands. Your bare hands that are raw and bloody and broken from punching the walls you've built around yourself. You've made them sturdy. Solid. Jaded bricks and spite for mortar.

The walls are ever-present. They reach to the heavens and push down to hell. There is no climbing out or digging under. The door you have is locked from the outside. Within your prison, you make keys. So many keys of all shapes and sizes. Sliding them under the door in the hope that, one day, one will work. One day that door will open. A gust of wind will rush in and fill your lungs and you can, finally, step into the light and be free. 

That one day comes when you least expect it. You hear a sound that you never thought possible. A slight clicking as rusted, unused cylinders are pushed up — releasing the deadbolt on your heart. Energy surges through you. Your brain is on fire with dreams you have denied, forgotten, and left to rot. Clean, fresh air begins to roll over you. Hope stirs. Light creeps in… but only for the briefest of moments.

With out warning (or was there?) the door is pulled shut.

Slam.
Click. 
Silence.
Darkness. 
Again. 

You don't forget, though. The clean, fresh air. The brilliant, warm light. It was there. 


It was there.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Another lost post.

SO, I don't know if this entry is quite ripe yet, but I'm going to give it a rip anyways. It's incredible to me how people weave in and out of lives. Any given moment is a new moment to meet someone you've always known. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about "past lives" and all that fluff; I do know that I've met people who have been immediately familiar. Could it be that you never actually meet new people? Well, I guess you may have at one point, but then those personalities - those personality traits - that you were drawn to in such a positive way. Okay. Side bar. Right now, I'm at my Mother's house. She went to bed a few moments ago, however at that exact moment, my step-father woke up from his illness-induced sleep and is now watching the news at high volume levels. My right ear is aching. Or just burning in anger. I can't really tell which. I understan... HE TOTALLY JUST TURNED UP THE VOLUME! okayokayokay. now it's really low. ohmygod. I have this problem where SRSLY? LOUDER NOW? where I struggle to create personal stuff when I'm expecting ... silence. If there is one thing I cannot deal with, it's change to expectations. The nerves tense and the hackles go up. I just want to drink this delicious beer and write semi-serious/nonsense words on this screen. I can't even get up now because I don't want to give in! So, what do I do? FORCE myself to continue typing on this clicky-clack keyboard hoping that it's irking me as much as ANOTHER weather forecast is irking me. It's not fair. I'm being very childish. But honestly! I wanted a break. I've been going full-bore for the last three weeks with rehearsals and work. This evening, I thought, even though I have the opportunity to actually go out and socialize, I would bring some beverages to a computer machine and get some thinks out of my thought bubble. But "Oh boy guys! There's a lot of big high school playoff games coming up!" Kill me. Now I've turned this bit of extro/introspection into an angry/whiny post about how I don't have the right conditions to create! I hate me a lot right now.

Let's see what beer #2 has to say!

(in a fearless - though not foolhardy - falsetto) "Hey Steve! You just keep plugging away. If you can type until he goes to bed - isn't that a challenge worth taking up?"

Okay, Mr. Boat Beer. You're on!

Stage 2: He has left the room, yet the television remains on and at that annoying LOW level where you can only make out every other word. WHY?! I don't care. I don't. He's down in the basement now. I'm assuming he's going to make a fire that either he or my Mother will complain about being FAR too warm to sleep. How. Why. I'm getting "Wives With Knives" seeping into my brain. Why does this show exist?! How do people watch this drivel? I think it's incredible how there are SO MANY channels now and people are ditching cable left and right for the internets. Are stations really struggling for ratings any more? Is that a thing? Ratings? OOP! He must be done. Now outside to sneak a cigarette. I can hear him hacking up a lung. Back to ratings. How do any of these shows actually have more than a few viewers? OOOO! You know what would be awesome? If there was a hit counter for each channel that gave a live read of how many people were watching! Wait... why ISN'T that a thing? We all want instant results. You could actually see how many other sad television sets have "Wives With Knives" blaring at 11pm on a Friday night. I guess I'd count as one. Goddamnit. OH GOOD! Now a documentary on Patterson Silk Strike! Why?! Mr. Boat Beer, your argument is failing. The channel keeps changing and it's LOUDER NOW. OH! TMZ.

Really?

This is happening. You're reading about it. I am living this. How many wacky sound effects can you use in 10 seconds?! Answer: 37! Okay. Okay. THIS is the worst show. I can't. I can't. I can't. This is the hell of television of the future. Have you ever watched a movie or show that takes place in the future and the television of that future is SO banal and SO campy and SO terrible that you say, "Oh my! How terrible! That would NEVER happen!" It is happening! It is HAPPENING! I cannot describe to you how my ears are being assaulted right now. And he's laughing...ooooooo he didn't have a cigarette... things make more sense meow. Ryan Seacrest hangs out with JLo? OMG. OMGUGUYS. I know I'm struggling here, but I'll hit my next stride soon. Know how I know? Beer #3 is officially cracked. I wonder what he thinks I'm doing over here? I've been typing pretty steadily (with the exception of a few minutes where I had to double check on the date for the David Mamet play "A Life In The Theater" at the State Theater WHICH IS FUCKING CANCELLED?! WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE, STATE THEATER?!) for about an hour? Maybe forty-five minutes. Whatever. Mr. Boat Beer, you're pretty awesome. I'm enjoying the shit outta you. I'll be sad if I do a #Whole30. I'll miss you. Should probably do a reset/detox at some point. Not that I'm all toxic...

I guess that's only when it comes to relationships! OH SNAP... self. shit.

Mr. Boat Beer, your triplet is making me sad and introspective. This was supposed to be a EXTROspection! (That's a thing, right?) Yes! Yes, it is. TMZ is still on. HOW can Jupiter Ascending be any good? It's going to be terrible, right? It looks awful and SO SERIOUS. Like, hey everybody! We DARE you to take a serious dramatic performance from Channing Tatum in a shitton of eye makeup and body glitter. No. Stop it. I mean, Eddie Redmayne is awesome in, well, everything Eddie Redmayne has been in. So... NO! Stop it beer brain! Go see "The Theory of Everything" first! You're the worst, beer brain. Mr. Boat Beer! What are you doing up there?! I know. I know. I have 1.5 more to go and Stan (now eating what seems to be... toast.) shows no sign of stopping. SO NEITHER DO I! wait. neither WILL i (show signs of stopping)! How do people do it? Raise and lower the volume with each commerFRIENDS. I am watching Friends now. You know? In my later years, I've accepted that the idea of GOD as a singular being (which is a terrible term for an omnipotent entity but we're going with it because he said "I am who I am" or something like that.) does not exist as the priests and monarchies of old would like us to think HE (yes. HE. Let's be honest, if GOD were female things would be much different. God is a dude and that's the way it goes. WHAT?! I'm just saying that there would be a lot more guilt...) does. However, HELL... well, that certainly exists! BUT, again, not in the same way! Our hells are of our own making. For instance, I am suffering - but I could end it by just... stopping! I just have to stop typing! BUT NO! I shan't!

I HAVE WON! I have made it through the terrible volumes and god-awful shows! AND with only THREE BEERS! It's incredible. I know this. But think you I should stop now?! NO GOOD SIR, I SHALL NOT!

I will, however, eat something. So I guess I'm technically stopping.

BRB.

I'm making a pizza. The oven must warm up, so I'm back here. Are you with me still? Probably not. But maybe! This short break has seemingly slowed me down and NOW where to go with all this? I started out talking about knowing people you don't know but maybe have always know and here we are at pizza.

Oh life. You so crazy.

Maybe this is why no one really reads my blog? No, dummy (dumby?). It because you don't post on a regular basis about ANYTHING that has to do with DANGER or APPOINTMENTS. I bet if you had a blog about appointment books and reviewed them, you'd be the bee's knees. Did you ever need "in the mean-time" food? You're cooking something and you need to eat WHILE you're cooking a full meal? That's a thing, right? I'm there now. Except, I don't know if I should just wait the 20 minutes that the pizza will take or microwave technology a pot pie for 10 (cool down 5=15 minutes=sooner than pizza) and eat that before I eat an entire pizza while watching "Wives With Knives"! How can I resist at this point, right? I mean...

Okay.

No.

Refocus.

(17:35 later) PIZZA!

[redacted] I never use names in my blogs... if I can help it. I also, rarely go back and edit. Stream of consciousness. Holy shit I spelled "consciousness" correctly the first time! Shit. Okay. Stream of consciousness is how I write and to go back and edit? What? am I getting paid for this? No. Will I ever? No. I don't have consistent enough thoughts on subjects to write a "regular" blog. And certainly, I can't write a diary blog. That would mean real feeling and real people and suddenly I'm Sex and the City (in the?) when blogging was anonymous and free. But, stupid me, I put this blog out there with my real name and tried to get people to read it. But what was I going to do? Hey! This blog is funny! Also, he writes EXACTLY LIKE ME. No. OH! But yes! Come here, Mr. Boat Beer #4. Let's tango!

hokay. so. this beer is totally open. and i'm drinking it. it's only 4.2% abv, but i guess with 4 in 2 hours, one gets a little buzzed. also, sleep deprivation. Why did I delete stuff? It must have been legitimately personal. "Redacted" HA! That's clever. I've eaten 3/4 of this pizza.

-fin-


Sunday, January 11, 2015

This is gonna hurt

I hate not knowing how to say things.

It feels like whenever there is a question to be asked or a statement to be made, that is where words fail me. I hate words at that moment. They always come to me when they don't matter. a clever quip or a witty zinger. Instant observational humor is something I've become fairly good at spouting out. But make it something important and POOF! Words sentences make not good me. It's incredibly frustrating. The situation I'll be in will call for things like... emotions. Or, worse, honesty. And then how do you form those sentences? It's all politics at this point. You're in a moment where you know that either you or the other person is in a vulnerable place and you just ...

IS that lying? How do you deal? There is something so good about consideration of your friends' feelings, but when does that become an issue for you? Rather, WHEN it becomes an issue for you it has already turned into something else. You didn't stop a behavior at some point because, hey, we'll let this one slide. But then it happens again... and again... and again. And NOW it's CERTAINLY an ACTUAL issue, but you've let it go on for so long and you've built up such an animosity toward them and this particular action, that WHEN you say something it's going to come out either A) Completely offensive. B) Condescending. C) Loud/Irritated. or D) Weak/Wishy-washy. So, shit. How do you do this? I suppose the best course of action is to actually trust that your friend is actually your friend and that they'll understand/want to make the change for you. BUT, what if they don't?! Goddamnit! They won't understand, will they? No. Why would they? It's stupid to complain about something so small. IS it small? Well, that one time was no big deal, but then later it was really annoying and now it's been three years of this. Wait. Didn't I say something that one time? Crap. This isn't even what I wanted to talk about!

I wanted to talk about love.

Or something like that. I wanted to talk about how I can't talk about things. Now, I'm not IN love. I'm not. Let's... just get that out of the way. But liking someone makes you think of love, doesn't it? I mean, how can you not think about love when you're in like? I submit that all like is love and all love is like. Because you wouldn't LIKE someone you can't LOVE, right? Well, maybe you can. I don't think I LOVE my manager, but I like her just fine. Shit. This is falling apart already... just... like... love! OKAY! We're back! SO why does love fall apart?

It seems so fragile while LIKE seems so strong. LIKE can go on for ever. LOVE... how long can that last? Rarely more than 30 years. But LIKE... oh, like... like is REALLY forever. It's stronger how friendships are stronger. So why do we insist on falling in love? Why do we try to harness this feeling that breaks so easily? Look at your children (if you have them)! You love them, sure. But what you really hope, deep down, is that, when they grow up, you LIKE them. Because your kid could commit terrible crimes and so forth, and you would still have a soft spot for them. That would never go away. Buuuuut you probably wouldn't like them very much. We want to like people more because there is less to lose there is less commitment. I don't know though. Maybe there is more.

If you are drinking at a bar, you are more likely to tell a total stranger, who you kinda like, your deepest fears and aspirations than someone you love. Love means having to impress. Love is something you KEEP. Likes? We friggin throw them around like confetti at a New Year's Eve party. They mean less but do they mean less? This is dumb. I'm going in a different direction.

How can you look into her eyes and not have your breath get caught in your chest? Why is it that when she is looking at you, you feel like she is looking in you. Disarmed. Caught in the moment, you're liable to say anything and everything that they ask of you. I just...

I just want to know what it is like to not be scared. You know? Just not feel like I'm passing a note with YES and NO boxes. It feels so stupid. WHY are we lied to our entire lives? We are not adults. We are just stupid teenagers with more bills and more responsibilities trying to muddle our way through and not make the same mistakes that our parents made and, even then, probably making them anyway. No one admits anything. Everyone has it together. Everyone else has the perfect relationship. Everyone else loves the person you love. How do you get away from all this... this... NOISE?!

I'm frequently reminded of a great song by The Squirrel Nut Zippers called Plenty More. "They say, 'All the boys are monsters. All the girls are whores.' So, when you lose the one you love, there's always plenty more." I highly recommend listening while you read the rest of this loosely constructed blog entry. It's not very long and it is hauntingly beautiful. I mean, if you're not familiar with SNZ, you should be. I mean, check this shit out! Sorry. I've had a number of Yards' Love Stout at this point and things are getting fuzzy. It's 3:20am and I am still up and not tired. By all rights, I should be! But I can't go to sleep. I have a TERRIBLY busy day tomorrow and yet here I am. UP. Doing THIS thing that doesn't need to be done. I've completely derailed my own train of thought by listening to music and getting caught up in the ephemeral memories of my youth when these songs defined me and my friends. Goddamnit they still do. How does music hit your chest like that. You hear just a few bars and your heart skips and suddenly it's the Summer of 1996 and you're down the shore with your friends cruising around blasting friggin neo-swing music like you're the kings of this town and there is no way anyone can fuck with your vibe. That chemical-free high that won't quit. Now...

Now...

Well, I can't say that I didn't predict this on my last instagram pic. I honestly don't even know if you'll be able to click on that link. Maybe it'll work. Maybe it wont.

Kinda like love, eh?