I find it interesting how I had all the time in the world this summer and yet had nothing to write about and I am now bursting with information and yet have little time or energy to share it. Anyway, after a week of classes I can definitely say I am getting my money's worth here. The classes are long and intensive and leave me drained but content in the realization that I am learning necessary skills for teaching. They way I look at it there are three major issues standing in my way. I don't speak Czech. I am not a teacher, and I have never been the best at knowing grammar rules. So, when I find myself in the classroom I am often teaching a subject I do not know to people who speak a language I do not know. No wonder I'm being a bit stretched here. On the plus side I am by no means alone in my position. We have history majors here, science majors, philosopher and students who don't even speak English as their first language. And yet somehow it works.
Needless to say I have been busy here. So busy in fact that I have not had time to miss home very much. I know this sounds horrible but its the honest truth. Every street corner I pass brings a new view to me as is every bit of information crammed into my cranium. A ten hour day in the classroom has been the norm rather then the exception so far and after that creating lesson plans, and reading up on whatever homework assignment thrown in front of me. This said, thoughts of Ohio have been few and far between.
The subway system closes at two in the morning here and believe it or not that has been an issue for me on two occasions now. At two o'clock in the morning yesterday I was dancing away in a club in old town Prague with about 20 0f my new TEFL classmates... A good time was had by all. We ended up at a KFC at three, waited for the subway to open up again at five and I finally got to bed at six in the morning. This is so not my M.O. By the way KFC's are not always KFC"s, and Coka-Cola is not alway Coke. And while the differences my be minor I prefer the American counterparts. Also, strangely enough in a land filled with beef there are hardly any burgers to be found here. What?
I may be heading to Munich next weekend for October fest! Why Germans celebrate October fest in late September I may never know... A group of us are heading "up"? there on Friday, staying at a Munich hostel, and coming back Sunday evening. I have absolutely no idea what to expect but its gonna be an experience. I guess thats really why I'm here. To experience the world before I have to settle done, find a job and all that fun stuff so many people my age are now trying to do. I'm just not ready for that... yet.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Greetings from the heart of Europe to the heart of it all,
I have just received word that my luggage has been found and will be returned to me in without delay. Oh happy day! I have already succumbed to the temptation of buying a new outfit in hopes that my fellow students will not think I routinely smell like a dead rodent. I now look totally ghetto in my hoody and sweat pants… word. My 50 pound bag is coming to the hotel Pivnor proper, one of the few addresses I know in Prague while I live in an apartment complex they seem to own which is about a 15 minute walk away some of which involves a fairly dramatic hill. This is going to be fun I’m sure. TAXI!!!!
Believe it or not I went clubbing last night in honor of my birthday and the fact that the only place I could watch the Buckeye’s game was an American bar called “The Drunken Monkey”. I knew this because I have finally found the rest of the people taking the course and they seem to be good folk. The beer in Prague is very good and cheaper than water. I have been reminded of this fact so often that it can no longer be doubted. I didn’t return home until five in the morning, not because of any outrageous deeds but rather because of the intricacies of the trolley system which for the longest time foiled our best attempts to find our way home. I am a stranger in a strange land.
Buckeyes Win!!!!! Revenge is sweet Miami.
These people know how to cook. The place we went to last night made a pork chop taste like world class dining. But weight watchers beware of heavy cream and cheese sauces, huge sausages, and rich stew-like soups. In America this would be a massive coronary in the making. However, for some reason I am not overly concerned. We walk everywhere here, to our classes, to the subway, to the mall. The city was seemingly built for walkers as many of the streets are inaccessible to cars entirely. So bring on the food… after hiking on cobblestones for a couple hours I could use some of those wonderful carbs and trans fats. Yummy!
Classes start in an hour… It’s good to be back in school.
Believe it or not I went clubbing last night in honor of my birthday and the fact that the only place I could watch the Buckeye’s game was an American bar called “The Drunken Monkey”. I knew this because I have finally found the rest of the people taking the course and they seem to be good folk. The beer in Prague is very good and cheaper than water. I have been reminded of this fact so often that it can no longer be doubted. I didn’t return home until five in the morning, not because of any outrageous deeds but rather because of the intricacies of the trolley system which for the longest time foiled our best attempts to find our way home. I am a stranger in a strange land.
Buckeyes Win!!!!! Revenge is sweet Miami.
These people know how to cook. The place we went to last night made a pork chop taste like world class dining. But weight watchers beware of heavy cream and cheese sauces, huge sausages, and rich stew-like soups. In America this would be a massive coronary in the making. However, for some reason I am not overly concerned. We walk everywhere here, to our classes, to the subway, to the mall. The city was seemingly built for walkers as many of the streets are inaccessible to cars entirely. So bring on the food… after hiking on cobblestones for a couple hours I could use some of those wonderful carbs and trans fats. Yummy!
Classes start in an hour… It’s good to be back in school.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Greetings from Prague
I have decided to use the same blog site for my Prague endeavors that I started as part of an intro to computing class assignment. Feel free to read my previous posts, but be warned. they are some of my adventures into the realms of creative writing and poetry. Read at your own risk.
I have reached the conclusion that everyone looks the fool when taken out of their comfort area. Take yours truly at the airport ... Tired, hungry, stinky, I was a variable mess by the time I reached Prague. Also, I had just realized that my luggage had not arrived with me... but that's beside the point. The one thing I did have was a name, "Cadez transport" This would be (hopefully) my ticket out of the airport and into a nice warm bed. Now all I had to do was find their booth among the dozens now staring me down in the terminal. But sadly, this would turn out to be easier said than done. Over an hour later and a stroll through most of the airport nothing only bereft of hope, I finally I found it... right where I started. Whatever... WELCOME TO PRAGUE!!!!!
If you are ever hope to becoming an illegal immigrant keep the Czech Republic in mind. As I exited the plane I expected the customary" "What brings you to here?" and "How long do you plan on staying?" But instead... nothing, no security at all in fact. I just waltzed right into the country without a second glance. Being from America, the country where they are known to frisk toddlers and the infirmed alike at airports I found this disconcerting and in the back of my mind I still expect to be hunted down my the airport police and asked if I have any non-native plant species on my person. I don't by the way... Just in case your wondering.
The most annoying aspect of being in a foreign country is not the language difference... Thank God for my Italian hands... Or the jet lag... Or the strange people with dogs in purses and children on leases. I can deal. II just have one issue that frustrates me now. Why can't our plugs get along? I even brought a peace offering, a costly 20 dollar adapter at Walmart, but it was no use. After I jerry-rigged the Europe adapter to the wall than put on my American adapter then stuck on the power strip I was greeted by a shower of sparks and then total darkness.... !#@%@ this is ridiculous. Even after switching the breaker I still have no power in my room or kitchen area. Boo...
A major plus for anyone planning on visiting Prague.. and me... is the fact that it is possible to live very cheaply here. I just had a nice breakfast of plums and pastry for under 2 dollars (40 crowns) and have a a fairly nice pad for the next four weeks for under 500 dollars. There is a wonderful farmer's market selling fresh produce, meats, and beer in the lobby of the mall I am sitting at and a little grocery store right down the street that has supplied me with milk and bread. What I have seen so far of this city is amazing and as I get a little more adventurous expect to venture out and see much more of it.
Right now though I have to get the theme music for Guiligan's island out of my head... I still have no phone, no lights, no motorcar... and the only way I have to be in contact with anyone is this mall... But life is good. The plums were excellent... and my cloth do not smell that bad... yet. So peace out from Prague...
Mr. MidgeMan
aka Sean Schultz
I have reached the conclusion that everyone looks the fool when taken out of their comfort area. Take yours truly at the airport ... Tired, hungry, stinky, I was a variable mess by the time I reached Prague. Also, I had just realized that my luggage had not arrived with me... but that's beside the point. The one thing I did have was a name, "Cadez transport" This would be (hopefully) my ticket out of the airport and into a nice warm bed. Now all I had to do was find their booth among the dozens now staring me down in the terminal. But sadly, this would turn out to be easier said than done. Over an hour later and a stroll through most of the airport nothing only bereft of hope, I finally I found it... right where I started. Whatever... WELCOME TO PRAGUE!!!!!
If you are ever hope to becoming an illegal immigrant keep the Czech Republic in mind. As I exited the plane I expected the customary" "What brings you to here?" and "How long do you plan on staying?" But instead... nothing, no security at all in fact. I just waltzed right into the country without a second glance. Being from America, the country where they are known to frisk toddlers and the infirmed alike at airports I found this disconcerting and in the back of my mind I still expect to be hunted down my the airport police and asked if I have any non-native plant species on my person. I don't by the way... Just in case your wondering.
The most annoying aspect of being in a foreign country is not the language difference... Thank God for my Italian hands... Or the jet lag... Or the strange people with dogs in purses and children on leases. I can deal. II just have one issue that frustrates me now. Why can't our plugs get along? I even brought a peace offering, a costly 20 dollar adapter at Walmart, but it was no use. After I jerry-rigged the Europe adapter to the wall than put on my American adapter then stuck on the power strip I was greeted by a shower of sparks and then total darkness.... !#@%@ this is ridiculous. Even after switching the breaker I still have no power in my room or kitchen area. Boo...
A major plus for anyone planning on visiting Prague.. and me... is the fact that it is possible to live very cheaply here. I just had a nice breakfast of plums and pastry for under 2 dollars (40 crowns) and have a a fairly nice pad for the next four weeks for under 500 dollars. There is a wonderful farmer's market selling fresh produce, meats, and beer in the lobby of the mall I am sitting at and a little grocery store right down the street that has supplied me with milk and bread. What I have seen so far of this city is amazing and as I get a little more adventurous expect to venture out and see much more of it.
Right now though I have to get the theme music for Guiligan's island out of my head... I still have no phone, no lights, no motorcar... and the only way I have to be in contact with anyone is this mall... But life is good. The plums were excellent... and my cloth do not smell that bad... yet. So peace out from Prague...
Mr. MidgeMan
aka Sean Schultz
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Back of The Bus
Never again will I complain of the crammed seat in the back of a mini-van,
or the cold floor in a sleazy hotel.
For this truly is luxury,
My feet reclining against the John
my head bathed in the day's waning light.
I stretch upward and yawn contentedly,
a lion surveying his kingdom.
looking on as poor wretches recline in squat blue seats
bending and twisting in fantastical forms the thought of which would make there 50 year old selves need to call their chiropractor.
I listen to the card games,
to the hard pointed little comments meant to draw blood,
the menacing silence
the grind of teeth as hours slowly meld together.
Yes oh Lord it is good for us to be here,
but let us not make three tents.
A sanctuary for one is all I require.
or the cold floor in a sleazy hotel.
For this truly is luxury,
My feet reclining against the John
my head bathed in the day's waning light.
I stretch upward and yawn contentedly,
a lion surveying his kingdom.
looking on as poor wretches recline in squat blue seats
bending and twisting in fantastical forms the thought of which would make there 50 year old selves need to call their chiropractor.
I listen to the card games,
to the hard pointed little comments meant to draw blood,
the menacing silence
the grind of teeth as hours slowly meld together.
Yes oh Lord it is good for us to be here,
but let us not make three tents.
A sanctuary for one is all I require.
The Long Day Closes
Tonight I will not dream.
My pillow is hard, unyielding.
a lumpy mass that can not smother echoes that laugh at my nightly struggle.
I turn over... again,
But the change of scenery is no help.
Maybe I should go for a walk?
Go out and greet the night on its own terms?
But I am already cold, empty and nothing out there can fill the void.
Red numbers loom large before me.
One... two.. three
burning through eyelids.
A consuming river of fire which flows onward
leaving me behind smoldering in its wake.
My pillow is hard, unyielding.
a lumpy mass that can not smother echoes that laugh at my nightly struggle.
I turn over... again,
But the change of scenery is no help.
Maybe I should go for a walk?
Go out and greet the night on its own terms?
But I am already cold, empty and nothing out there can fill the void.
Red numbers loom large before me.
One... two.. three
burning through eyelids.
A consuming river of fire which flows onward
leaving me behind smoldering in its wake.
Eyes
Eyes
I have two smallish hazel eyes.
They are not extraordinary in every way except...
They cannot lie.
HOW I DESPISE THEM!
They leak, when I need them waterproof,
Glare when I need them gentle,
Roll into their skull when I need them alert.
They breathe fire.
Smoldering for hours as I lay in bed,
Thwarting my every effort to make them behave.
They give me away at every opportunity.
Forcing my head down to pray to the sidewalk gods,
conversing with the cracks of my mind.
They seek out their fellows.
clamping onto visages,
searching for the kindred soul.
grasping, reaching , longing,
belching out romance at the top of their lungs.
Oedipus I do not pity you,
But rather long for cool pools of darkness
that leave you lost to the terrors of the night,
as you sink softly down beyond the reach of the savage eye.
I have two smallish hazel eyes.
They are not extraordinary in every way except...
They cannot lie.
HOW I DESPISE THEM!
They leak, when I need them waterproof,
Glare when I need them gentle,
Roll into their skull when I need them alert.
They breathe fire.
Smoldering for hours as I lay in bed,
Thwarting my every effort to make them behave.
They give me away at every opportunity.
Forcing my head down to pray to the sidewalk gods,
conversing with the cracks of my mind.
They seek out their fellows.
clamping onto visages,
searching for the kindred soul.
grasping, reaching , longing,
belching out romance at the top of their lungs.
Oedipus I do not pity you,
But rather long for cool pools of darkness
that leave you lost to the terrors of the night,
as you sink softly down beyond the reach of the savage eye.
Lethe
Lethe
I devour sleep.
It courses through me,
leaving behind a reclined corpse twitching under the dim firmament.
I suckle on the teat of a moonlit goddess
draining the night dry.
And when I have had my fill...
I dream.
Carried beyond the threshold,
over cobbled streets still littered with the daily rubbish.
I break the ties that bind and go to the river,
more shade than man.
The night is mine alone and I bathe in deep waters.
Seeing visions of worlds far beyond where feet may tread.
I reach out ... grasping… clenching... but the stars fade.
And I awaken with tears on my pillow and cold sweat on my brow.
I devour sleep.
It courses through me,
leaving behind a reclined corpse twitching under the dim firmament.
I suckle on the teat of a moonlit goddess
draining the night dry.
And when I have had my fill...
I dream.
Carried beyond the threshold,
over cobbled streets still littered with the daily rubbish.
I break the ties that bind and go to the river,
more shade than man.
The night is mine alone and I bathe in deep waters.
Seeing visions of worlds far beyond where feet may tread.
I reach out ... grasping… clenching... but the stars fade.
And I awaken with tears on my pillow and cold sweat on my brow.
The Flirt
The Flirt
A cheap smile, a lingering glance, a knowing wink
The scarlet cock struts across the stage.
You are why the Lord created men
The fathers lock their doors
The blushing Azalea drops its petals soft on quilted sheets.
Is it your oily cologne that draws them to you?
The two day greasy stubble, sharp against their cheek?
Or is it the manic glint in your eye?
Two bloody aces coldly waiting for Lady Luck come to roost.
A cheap smile, a lingering glance, a knowing wink
The scarlet cock struts across the stage.
You are why the Lord created men
The fathers lock their doors
The blushing Azalea drops its petals soft on quilted sheets.
Is it your oily cologne that draws them to you?
The two day greasy stubble, sharp against their cheek?
Or is it the manic glint in your eye?
Two bloody aces coldly waiting for Lady Luck come to roost.
The Pinecone
The pine-cone has thirty-two rows of brittle spines protecting seeds ready to be dispersed upon an unfriendly world. She is the color of milk Hersey’s chocolate and when rubbed slowly, calls out like a rainmaker. She is a nursery, holding within the hopes and dreams of a stately pine. As you are trodden upon and become the diet of worms you complete your task, dyeing and yet giving life to a generation to come. You smell of sap and warm summer evenings basking in the glow of an ever-green forest. You dream of days spent swaying in the breeze with your comrades, leisurely looking down upon the comings and goings of a mad world. You grew strong and wise, thinking deep thoughts and dreaming deep dreams. And then you fell… down, down, down, with the wind rushing by and the earth quickly coming to focus, a world you’ve only seen from a distance. I found you hiding under a bush, slightly soggy, becoming accustomed to a new life among the ants and thistles, sharing your secrets of the world above. And now you are in my hand waiting to again find the soft earth and lose yourself within.
The Birth of a Liar
“Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of art.”
-Oscar Wilde
I am a liar… Believe me?
At this point the preceding may be the only statement I can make which you would be willing to accept at face value. For when an individual is branded a liar in as dramatic a fashion as I have, no one is likely to believe a word he says. This is human nature. But before you become skeptical of my story, please keep one thought in mind. In all the tabloid accounts of my trial has it been suggested that I am mentally unstable? I think not. And only an unsound mind lies when there is nothing to be gained. I have received my sentence, twenty-five years of hard time with no chance for parole. And nothing I do or say can change that. Wait… That’s a lie. Old habits die hard. The Honorable Judge Terence has promised to reduce my sentence to fifteen years if I give a truthful account of my story to The New York Post. He has also promised that nothing I say here will be used against me in a court of law. So there you have it. For once the truth really does set you free.
Now, you are most likely expecting me to begin my tale by spinning some sort of yarn about how remorseful I really am and tell you that if I could do it all again I would have stayed on the path of righteousness and never tarried down the shady corridors of vice. However, I fear it is my obligation to admit that I have no such regrets regarding how I have spent my life to this point, except for one unfortunate decision which may well haunt me to my dying day. I leave to your imagination why I have started to doubt myself but you can make a fairly good stab at the truth by stealing a glance at my present lodgings. Thick metal bars separate me from the world and my only piece of furniture is a hard narrow bed which turns the quaint phrase “don’t let the bed bugs bite” into a dire warning. It’s interesting how a few nights in jail can make even the most confident man reconsider a few things. But I’m jumping ahead. The only way to really understand my demise requires us to take a little journey back to my childhood where I received my first practical lesson in the art of lying.
For some strange reason, much of the world is obsessed with the notion that if something happens first it must be worth remembering. Mothers look on anxiously as their little ones approach their first steps. Entrepreneurs save their first dollars. Young men wax poetry of their first kisses. My first kiss, however, would not be considered by some to be strictly poetic. It came from the warm salty lips of my mother’s border collie and for some reason lacked much of the feminine allure that I would come to appreciate in later life. I have now had more than my fair share of smooching and can say with some authority that the very best kisses are flavored with just a hint of dry single malt whiskey. When I find myself at the receiving end of one of these kisses two facts become clear: one the lady has excellent taste in her liquor as well as her men and two, in her present condition the kiss could lead to something a bit more interesting for everyone involved. But I digress.
There are few milestones from my childhood that I have chosen to remember, possibly due to the fact that my past has changed quite often to fit the needs of my present. However, I doubt I shall ever forget the circumstances surrounding my first real lie. Now I am of the opinion that we are all born perfectly honest liars and that it is the function of any decent society to steal our honesty away from us, often by force. Most children don’t really lie with any conviction until the age of twelve or thirteen, right about the time when they first become acquainted with the opposite gender. At this time society offers a rather valuable lesson. No matter what our parents or preachers tells us there is absolutely nothing indecent with a well placed falsehood; it’s only when you get caught that people start to have issues. I learned my lesson a bit early in life as it was at the age of seven when I discovered the value of the well crafted lie. At the time I was just an innocent little scamp barely able to stand on his own to legs but I knew what I needed, the freedom to do exactly what I wanted. To achieve this goal I found myself in dire need of deception. And so I told a lie, deliberately and spectacularly. One that would lead me down a path I have followed to this day
I grew up in a small rural town in southern Ohio which will remain nameless here as I am quite sure they have disenfranchised me by this point. Being a rather rowdy boy who took little stock in rules or the sage advice of my superiors, I was pegged as a bit of a troublemaker in school. My teacher, Mrs. Levitt, never was overly fond of me. She couldn’t comprehend that when a young boy leaves a pretty little garter snake in Susie Q’s desk it is a sign of affection, or that nap time is in reality cruel and unusual punishment warranting retribution by aerial slingshot assault. The only reason my hide wasn’t continuously tanned by her well seasoned arm was that try as she might she could never prove that I was behind any one of my amusing jests. Even so she always would keep a close eye on me, just waiting for me to slip up and find my luck had run out. On one particular occasion she almost had her wish.
It was a cool clear morning in late September and the last of the wild blackberries were hanging precariously low on the vine as I sulked along the well worn path to the old school house. Just that morning my folks, always enlightened when it came to my education, had told me that if word should get back to them that I happened to get lost along the way to school I would find myself in more trouble than that old coyote Pa found hanging round the chicken coop. As I had yet to learn that fathers rarely skin their own progeny unless they get caught up in politics, I took this warning very seriously indeed. However, I would not go to school with a light heart. According to the farmer’s almanac, this would be the last day of what had been a spectacular Indian summer spent climbing through apple trees and roasting wieners by the light of the moon. But all that was behind me now. Already thick clouds were gathering before me as I considered that the last hours of my summer would be spent in a world of dry slate boards and even drier schooling. By the time I finally turned up the school house stairs, I was in a sad state indeed and my depression only deepened when I took one last look behind and saw the sun just peeping up over a distant hill. The normally cheery fellow looked like a grieving friend who was gently reproaching me as I turned my back to him and slowly closed the door behind me.
If the preceding paragraph seems to you a bit dramatic please forgive my memory. But the world of a seven year old boy has few yesterdays to consider and an endless supply of tomorrows to fear. The point of the matter is I needed to be free of that school or else my poor young heart would shatter into a million pieces. Variations of plans to achieve this freedom ran circles through my head as the day began to take on a slow crawling rhythm reserved for times in our lives when we are trapped in a place we’d rather not be. As my thoughts took on a more tangible form I began to feel the incubus of a plan growing in the space between my little blue eyes. It was a plan that would require resourcefulness beyond my years and a brilliance beyond my education. But how could have known that? The one thought that kept me going was that classes would be letting out a bit early today. No obstacle was going to stand in my way.
If there was one part of my education I could tolerate reasonably well it was our half hour forays into the great outdoors. Mrs. Levitt would lead us like a trained company of little cherubs over hill and valley in a vain attempt to squeeze out a bit of the pent up energy we kept stored under our skin. Now you may think that these reprises look like a sign of a mutual understanding between Mrs. Levitt and ourselves but do not be deceived. In reality the women placed more confidence in a jar of wooden nickels than any one of us. Lately she had even taken to locking the front door of the school house on her way out as if she was fearful of finding a small critter in her desk when classes resumed. When I first noticed her actions they seemed petty and lacking in basic Christian charity, but after some consideration I forgave her as her skeptical nature was going to provide the opportunity I needed to ensure a prolonged reprisal from my desk.
Today we would be walking down an old wagon trail to a trickle of a brook running behind Edison’s half acre. This was a favorite path of Mrs. Levitt’s as the walkway was lined with old hickories that provide some protection from the noonday sun. As my teacher was taking in the vegetation my eyes naturally gravitated to the muddy river bank, which I knew to be teaming with interesting wildlife which could come in handy for the day’s labors. I needed to divert Mrs. Levitt’s attention for a short period of time and knew my classmates were more than prepared to come to my assistance if given the opportunity. Mrs. Levitt’s fifteen minute lecture regarding the manner in which we were expected to behave on our walks were never given much heed and she often lost control of us as soon as we escaped her natural habitat and entered into our own. Dissension within the ranks began as soon as we saw the light of day and would grow more palpable with every step we took away from our prison cells. With the weather as gorgeous as it was I knew I could easily ignite a spark that would give me the opportunity to wander off with Mrs. Levitt being none the wiser.
Suddenly I found just what I was looking for, a fat old layabout of a bullfrog sunning himself on a rotting stump by the river’s edge. I took this fella to be a kindred spirit and felt terrible waking him but decided that at this particular moment my needs were greater than his own. And so in a flash I scooped up the gentleman with my clever littler fingers and placed him gently among the silky tresses of Ms. Suzie Q, who happened to be in possession of the loudest screech in the tri-county area. By this point half the class was aware of the drama unfolding in front of them but their curiosity to see what was going to happen next overwhelmed their sense of duty to try to prevent it. A few minutes passed in hushed silence as the old soul slowly woke up to realize that somehow he had ended up a considerable distance off the ground. Being by nature somewhat of an acrophobic, he started fidgeting about up there looking for a way to return to the safety of his stump. And to my own and much of the class’s great pleasure, he finally decided that the best way to do so was to crawl right down the steep slope of Ms. Suzie Q’s rosy face. As he began his descent a long slimy leg slowly brushed passed a pretty little eyebrow and stuck with a pleasing plop right on her left nostril.
The uproar that ensued reminded me of the last time mom’s old collie broke his chain to have some fun with the chickens. Suzie Q leapt three feet straight in the air and broke into a complicated rain dance squawking in terror with such conviction that she could have secured a position in any operatic company this side of the Mississippi. The critter dangling from her wanted no part of this at all but by this time he was glued so firmly to her face that it might well take a surgical procedure to abstract him. Finally Suzie Q totally panicked and ran off into the underbrush trailed by half the class and a angry Mrs. Levitt all hoping to catch her and pry the poor confused froggie off of her. And just like that I found myself alone in the woods with all the time I needed to pull off my master plan. And so I scooped up some thick black mud from the river bed and, putting to good use a lesson I learned from Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, ran back to the school like I had a whole company of red faced savages dogging my steps.
I had little time to celebrate my dramatic escape after I made my way back to the school house. I now needed to make sure that the old building would not be open for operations any time in the near future. I smothered the creek bank mud deep into the key hole of the schoolhouse door with much satisfaction, jamming the lock in such a manner that it would be impossible for anything but divine intervention to unseal it. There was no other entrance to the building except a little old stovepipe that not even a little jaybird could fit through and it would take someone a solid week to clean out the now ruined lock. Chuckling under my breath I ran back to the creek just in time to hear Mrs. Levitt’s call, by this time exhausted but triumphant. I had every reason to believe that soon I would be free to spend the rest of my days enjoying the absolute leisure of absolute freedom. Unbeknownst to me however, I had forgotten one obvious detail that could very well spoil my plans. Mud does not only stick to key holes.
On most occasions Ms. Levitt would have withstood the strain of the muddy lock with stoic reserve. However this was not one of those occasions. Her normally docile demeanor had already been thoroughly tested today as a result the day’s events. I could almost see her blood pressure rise as she gathered us up like chickens under her wing; calming the still spastic Suzie Q through clenched teeth as she considered how she would get her vengeance on whoever was responsible for this mess. Her mood further eroding when no one was willing to tell her which of us no good rotten troublemakers had put the frog in the poor soul’s hair. Like any band of prisoners we were a tightly knit unit with every one of us willing to undergo extreme torture before turning in one of our own.
And now with a mangled lock before she dove right over the cliff of sanity and decided to take a swim in the oceans of the furry. Her eyes turned bright and started to lose focus as they turned to study the now useless apparatus before her. I could see that the woman was considering whipping the tar out of every last one of us but lacked the strength of will to sink to such barbarous measures. Her mind became transparent as her eyes finally left the lock and came to rest on the faces of the children standing before her, looking for any sign of weakness. By this point she knew that classes would be canceled for the immediate future, but not before she had some measure of revenge against us.
At this moment the world stood stock still and certain facts made themselves perfectly clear regarding my present situation. I would not be able to withstand any sort of close inspection in my present condition. My hands were thickly coated in the rich black mud of the pond and my scrawny little frame smelt strongly of slime and earth. These superficial happenstances would be more than sufficient to ensure a guilty verdict from the crazed woman now coming towards me. As her unforgiving form grew larger and larger, my hind end already began to feel sore and my little heart began to convulse in time with her twitching fingers which obviously longed to have a supple willow branch clenched between them.
Ms. Levitt was well versed in the use of the ancient willow growing beside the swing. The tree was her only defense against our wild habits, and she was quite adept at using its branches to inflict as much pain as possible unto us while leaving behind only minimal scarring. When she was in peak form, she could have a kid in tears within five lashes regardless of how strong their will was to retain his dignity. To say that the idea of finding myself in this unstable woman’s power terrified me would not be an overstatement. In fact to this day I cannot recall a moment of my life in which I was closer to losing my grip on reality entirely. As her blood shot eyes approached I prayed for divine assistance, looking upward towards the sun for assistance.
These are the times that try a boy’s soul. My usual carefree attitude was replaced with one similar to that of a rabbit finding his foot caught in a hunters trap. I needed a way out and quick. Wt this point your average seven year old mind freezes and leaves its owner helpless to whatever crisis threatening to engulf him. However, I was not your average seven year old. My fears did not distract me but rather focused my mind into a search for the path leading to safety. Society had placed me in a position in which I had only one real option… lie through my teeth to save my skin. It would not be easy.
Fighting against every one of my survival instincts I ran right passed Mrs. Levitt and right up the old school house as if my life depended on it. I shot up like a cork, grabbing at old ivy vines and shingles like a daddy longlegs up a waterspout. By the time anyone could realize what I was doing I was already on the roof looking down at her.
“Johnny! What in the name of all things holy are you doing up there?”
I appreciated the fact that the woman looked s less intimidating from up here. I knew her knees were going bad and I was sure she hadn’t climbed so much as an apple tree in a long time.
“Well you see Ms. Levitt, my folks and I are heading to the big top show down in Springvale tonight… and well.”
I put a dramatic pause in here for effect, hoping she’d take the bait.
“Well what Johnny? You better have a good reason for being up there else I’m coming up to catch you myself. She bit.
“No Ms. Levitt please don’t.” I called down to her, tears glistening on my tanned cheeks, the very model of a desperate little boy who was at his wits end.
“Please Ms. Levitt, I need to get in there or I’m a goner. I brought our tickets to school today to show to Scottie and I left the darn things right in my desk. Now those tickets cost my paw a whole four bits and he might just take it out of my hide if I can’t get them back. Just let me shimmy down this here old stovepipe like Santa and… and open that old front door up again.”
Now I may have been a bit of a welter weight in my time but it was fairly obvious to everyone wathching that there was no way I was gonna fit down that old stovepipe. I haven’t met a soul yet who could have accomplished the feat except for a little midget of a man who made his living getting shot out of a cannon down in Cincy. Did this stop me from trying? Of course it did not. I make a good show of trying wiggling around till my little rump got stuck down there for a bit while the whole class had a good laugh at me. Even Ms. Levitt seemed to think my antics were a tad bit amusing, especially when I made another effort by sticking my little head down that pipe only to come back up looking like I was getting ready to play Mr. Bo-Jangles for some blackface show.
“Get off of there ya blackbird. Ain’t no use trying to git down that old stovepipe.”
Mrs. Levitt tried to put a hard edge to her voice but it was no use. I was far too pathetic a spectacle to stay angry at. It took her all of five seconds to break into a grin in spite of herself and give in, chuckling loudly enough me to hear from my perch. I knew at that moment that I was safe. I glanced up at that old sun and saw the he too was smiling down at me, obviously pleased with my trick. We would have the rest of the day to enjoy each others company. All that was left now was to scurry back to the ground knowing that my teacher no longer suspected me of any crime except stupidity. I had successfully calmed her savage soul and instead of a thrashing ended up with her pity. She sent me back to the creek without another word to wash up and go home.
And this would be just the beginning of my life as a liar. I had discovered my real gift in life, and would continue to hone my skills until I became a seasoned veteran of the art. But that is a story for another day. Lights are about to be turned out in my cell block and I don’t think I’ll be able say much more tonight. Is that a lie? For once you’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself.
“Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of art.”
-Oscar Wilde
I am a liar… Believe me?
At this point the preceding may be the only statement I can make which you would be willing to accept at face value. For when an individual is branded a liar in as dramatic a fashion as I have, no one is likely to believe a word he says. This is human nature. But before you become skeptical of my story, please keep one thought in mind. In all the tabloid accounts of my trial has it been suggested that I am mentally unstable? I think not. And only an unsound mind lies when there is nothing to be gained. I have received my sentence, twenty-five years of hard time with no chance for parole. And nothing I do or say can change that. Wait… That’s a lie. Old habits die hard. The Honorable Judge Terence has promised to reduce my sentence to fifteen years if I give a truthful account of my story to The New York Post. He has also promised that nothing I say here will be used against me in a court of law. So there you have it. For once the truth really does set you free.
Now, you are most likely expecting me to begin my tale by spinning some sort of yarn about how remorseful I really am and tell you that if I could do it all again I would have stayed on the path of righteousness and never tarried down the shady corridors of vice. However, I fear it is my obligation to admit that I have no such regrets regarding how I have spent my life to this point, except for one unfortunate decision which may well haunt me to my dying day. I leave to your imagination why I have started to doubt myself but you can make a fairly good stab at the truth by stealing a glance at my present lodgings. Thick metal bars separate me from the world and my only piece of furniture is a hard narrow bed which turns the quaint phrase “don’t let the bed bugs bite” into a dire warning. It’s interesting how a few nights in jail can make even the most confident man reconsider a few things. But I’m jumping ahead. The only way to really understand my demise requires us to take a little journey back to my childhood where I received my first practical lesson in the art of lying.
For some strange reason, much of the world is obsessed with the notion that if something happens first it must be worth remembering. Mothers look on anxiously as their little ones approach their first steps. Entrepreneurs save their first dollars. Young men wax poetry of their first kisses. My first kiss, however, would not be considered by some to be strictly poetic. It came from the warm salty lips of my mother’s border collie and for some reason lacked much of the feminine allure that I would come to appreciate in later life. I have now had more than my fair share of smooching and can say with some authority that the very best kisses are flavored with just a hint of dry single malt whiskey. When I find myself at the receiving end of one of these kisses two facts become clear: one the lady has excellent taste in her liquor as well as her men and two, in her present condition the kiss could lead to something a bit more interesting for everyone involved. But I digress.
There are few milestones from my childhood that I have chosen to remember, possibly due to the fact that my past has changed quite often to fit the needs of my present. However, I doubt I shall ever forget the circumstances surrounding my first real lie. Now I am of the opinion that we are all born perfectly honest liars and that it is the function of any decent society to steal our honesty away from us, often by force. Most children don’t really lie with any conviction until the age of twelve or thirteen, right about the time when they first become acquainted with the opposite gender. At this time society offers a rather valuable lesson. No matter what our parents or preachers tells us there is absolutely nothing indecent with a well placed falsehood; it’s only when you get caught that people start to have issues. I learned my lesson a bit early in life as it was at the age of seven when I discovered the value of the well crafted lie. At the time I was just an innocent little scamp barely able to stand on his own to legs but I knew what I needed, the freedom to do exactly what I wanted. To achieve this goal I found myself in dire need of deception. And so I told a lie, deliberately and spectacularly. One that would lead me down a path I have followed to this day
I grew up in a small rural town in southern Ohio which will remain nameless here as I am quite sure they have disenfranchised me by this point. Being a rather rowdy boy who took little stock in rules or the sage advice of my superiors, I was pegged as a bit of a troublemaker in school. My teacher, Mrs. Levitt, never was overly fond of me. She couldn’t comprehend that when a young boy leaves a pretty little garter snake in Susie Q’s desk it is a sign of affection, or that nap time is in reality cruel and unusual punishment warranting retribution by aerial slingshot assault. The only reason my hide wasn’t continuously tanned by her well seasoned arm was that try as she might she could never prove that I was behind any one of my amusing jests. Even so she always would keep a close eye on me, just waiting for me to slip up and find my luck had run out. On one particular occasion she almost had her wish.
It was a cool clear morning in late September and the last of the wild blackberries were hanging precariously low on the vine as I sulked along the well worn path to the old school house. Just that morning my folks, always enlightened when it came to my education, had told me that if word should get back to them that I happened to get lost along the way to school I would find myself in more trouble than that old coyote Pa found hanging round the chicken coop. As I had yet to learn that fathers rarely skin their own progeny unless they get caught up in politics, I took this warning very seriously indeed. However, I would not go to school with a light heart. According to the farmer’s almanac, this would be the last day of what had been a spectacular Indian summer spent climbing through apple trees and roasting wieners by the light of the moon. But all that was behind me now. Already thick clouds were gathering before me as I considered that the last hours of my summer would be spent in a world of dry slate boards and even drier schooling. By the time I finally turned up the school house stairs, I was in a sad state indeed and my depression only deepened when I took one last look behind and saw the sun just peeping up over a distant hill. The normally cheery fellow looked like a grieving friend who was gently reproaching me as I turned my back to him and slowly closed the door behind me.
If the preceding paragraph seems to you a bit dramatic please forgive my memory. But the world of a seven year old boy has few yesterdays to consider and an endless supply of tomorrows to fear. The point of the matter is I needed to be free of that school or else my poor young heart would shatter into a million pieces. Variations of plans to achieve this freedom ran circles through my head as the day began to take on a slow crawling rhythm reserved for times in our lives when we are trapped in a place we’d rather not be. As my thoughts took on a more tangible form I began to feel the incubus of a plan growing in the space between my little blue eyes. It was a plan that would require resourcefulness beyond my years and a brilliance beyond my education. But how could have known that? The one thought that kept me going was that classes would be letting out a bit early today. No obstacle was going to stand in my way.
If there was one part of my education I could tolerate reasonably well it was our half hour forays into the great outdoors. Mrs. Levitt would lead us like a trained company of little cherubs over hill and valley in a vain attempt to squeeze out a bit of the pent up energy we kept stored under our skin. Now you may think that these reprises look like a sign of a mutual understanding between Mrs. Levitt and ourselves but do not be deceived. In reality the women placed more confidence in a jar of wooden nickels than any one of us. Lately she had even taken to locking the front door of the school house on her way out as if she was fearful of finding a small critter in her desk when classes resumed. When I first noticed her actions they seemed petty and lacking in basic Christian charity, but after some consideration I forgave her as her skeptical nature was going to provide the opportunity I needed to ensure a prolonged reprisal from my desk.
Today we would be walking down an old wagon trail to a trickle of a brook running behind Edison’s half acre. This was a favorite path of Mrs. Levitt’s as the walkway was lined with old hickories that provide some protection from the noonday sun. As my teacher was taking in the vegetation my eyes naturally gravitated to the muddy river bank, which I knew to be teaming with interesting wildlife which could come in handy for the day’s labors. I needed to divert Mrs. Levitt’s attention for a short period of time and knew my classmates were more than prepared to come to my assistance if given the opportunity. Mrs. Levitt’s fifteen minute lecture regarding the manner in which we were expected to behave on our walks were never given much heed and she often lost control of us as soon as we escaped her natural habitat and entered into our own. Dissension within the ranks began as soon as we saw the light of day and would grow more palpable with every step we took away from our prison cells. With the weather as gorgeous as it was I knew I could easily ignite a spark that would give me the opportunity to wander off with Mrs. Levitt being none the wiser.
Suddenly I found just what I was looking for, a fat old layabout of a bullfrog sunning himself on a rotting stump by the river’s edge. I took this fella to be a kindred spirit and felt terrible waking him but decided that at this particular moment my needs were greater than his own. And so in a flash I scooped up the gentleman with my clever littler fingers and placed him gently among the silky tresses of Ms. Suzie Q, who happened to be in possession of the loudest screech in the tri-county area. By this point half the class was aware of the drama unfolding in front of them but their curiosity to see what was going to happen next overwhelmed their sense of duty to try to prevent it. A few minutes passed in hushed silence as the old soul slowly woke up to realize that somehow he had ended up a considerable distance off the ground. Being by nature somewhat of an acrophobic, he started fidgeting about up there looking for a way to return to the safety of his stump. And to my own and much of the class’s great pleasure, he finally decided that the best way to do so was to crawl right down the steep slope of Ms. Suzie Q’s rosy face. As he began his descent a long slimy leg slowly brushed passed a pretty little eyebrow and stuck with a pleasing plop right on her left nostril.
The uproar that ensued reminded me of the last time mom’s old collie broke his chain to have some fun with the chickens. Suzie Q leapt three feet straight in the air and broke into a complicated rain dance squawking in terror with such conviction that she could have secured a position in any operatic company this side of the Mississippi. The critter dangling from her wanted no part of this at all but by this time he was glued so firmly to her face that it might well take a surgical procedure to abstract him. Finally Suzie Q totally panicked and ran off into the underbrush trailed by half the class and a angry Mrs. Levitt all hoping to catch her and pry the poor confused froggie off of her. And just like that I found myself alone in the woods with all the time I needed to pull off my master plan. And so I scooped up some thick black mud from the river bed and, putting to good use a lesson I learned from Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, ran back to the school like I had a whole company of red faced savages dogging my steps.
I had little time to celebrate my dramatic escape after I made my way back to the school house. I now needed to make sure that the old building would not be open for operations any time in the near future. I smothered the creek bank mud deep into the key hole of the schoolhouse door with much satisfaction, jamming the lock in such a manner that it would be impossible for anything but divine intervention to unseal it. There was no other entrance to the building except a little old stovepipe that not even a little jaybird could fit through and it would take someone a solid week to clean out the now ruined lock. Chuckling under my breath I ran back to the creek just in time to hear Mrs. Levitt’s call, by this time exhausted but triumphant. I had every reason to believe that soon I would be free to spend the rest of my days enjoying the absolute leisure of absolute freedom. Unbeknownst to me however, I had forgotten one obvious detail that could very well spoil my plans. Mud does not only stick to key holes.
On most occasions Ms. Levitt would have withstood the strain of the muddy lock with stoic reserve. However this was not one of those occasions. Her normally docile demeanor had already been thoroughly tested today as a result the day’s events. I could almost see her blood pressure rise as she gathered us up like chickens under her wing; calming the still spastic Suzie Q through clenched teeth as she considered how she would get her vengeance on whoever was responsible for this mess. Her mood further eroding when no one was willing to tell her which of us no good rotten troublemakers had put the frog in the poor soul’s hair. Like any band of prisoners we were a tightly knit unit with every one of us willing to undergo extreme torture before turning in one of our own.
And now with a mangled lock before she dove right over the cliff of sanity and decided to take a swim in the oceans of the furry. Her eyes turned bright and started to lose focus as they turned to study the now useless apparatus before her. I could see that the woman was considering whipping the tar out of every last one of us but lacked the strength of will to sink to such barbarous measures. Her mind became transparent as her eyes finally left the lock and came to rest on the faces of the children standing before her, looking for any sign of weakness. By this point she knew that classes would be canceled for the immediate future, but not before she had some measure of revenge against us.
At this moment the world stood stock still and certain facts made themselves perfectly clear regarding my present situation. I would not be able to withstand any sort of close inspection in my present condition. My hands were thickly coated in the rich black mud of the pond and my scrawny little frame smelt strongly of slime and earth. These superficial happenstances would be more than sufficient to ensure a guilty verdict from the crazed woman now coming towards me. As her unforgiving form grew larger and larger, my hind end already began to feel sore and my little heart began to convulse in time with her twitching fingers which obviously longed to have a supple willow branch clenched between them.
Ms. Levitt was well versed in the use of the ancient willow growing beside the swing. The tree was her only defense against our wild habits, and she was quite adept at using its branches to inflict as much pain as possible unto us while leaving behind only minimal scarring. When she was in peak form, she could have a kid in tears within five lashes regardless of how strong their will was to retain his dignity. To say that the idea of finding myself in this unstable woman’s power terrified me would not be an overstatement. In fact to this day I cannot recall a moment of my life in which I was closer to losing my grip on reality entirely. As her blood shot eyes approached I prayed for divine assistance, looking upward towards the sun for assistance.
These are the times that try a boy’s soul. My usual carefree attitude was replaced with one similar to that of a rabbit finding his foot caught in a hunters trap. I needed a way out and quick. Wt this point your average seven year old mind freezes and leaves its owner helpless to whatever crisis threatening to engulf him. However, I was not your average seven year old. My fears did not distract me but rather focused my mind into a search for the path leading to safety. Society had placed me in a position in which I had only one real option… lie through my teeth to save my skin. It would not be easy.
Fighting against every one of my survival instincts I ran right passed Mrs. Levitt and right up the old school house as if my life depended on it. I shot up like a cork, grabbing at old ivy vines and shingles like a daddy longlegs up a waterspout. By the time anyone could realize what I was doing I was already on the roof looking down at her.
“Johnny! What in the name of all things holy are you doing up there?”
I appreciated the fact that the woman looked s less intimidating from up here. I knew her knees were going bad and I was sure she hadn’t climbed so much as an apple tree in a long time.
“Well you see Ms. Levitt, my folks and I are heading to the big top show down in Springvale tonight… and well.”
I put a dramatic pause in here for effect, hoping she’d take the bait.
“Well what Johnny? You better have a good reason for being up there else I’m coming up to catch you myself. She bit.
“No Ms. Levitt please don’t.” I called down to her, tears glistening on my tanned cheeks, the very model of a desperate little boy who was at his wits end.
“Please Ms. Levitt, I need to get in there or I’m a goner. I brought our tickets to school today to show to Scottie and I left the darn things right in my desk. Now those tickets cost my paw a whole four bits and he might just take it out of my hide if I can’t get them back. Just let me shimmy down this here old stovepipe like Santa and… and open that old front door up again.”
Now I may have been a bit of a welter weight in my time but it was fairly obvious to everyone wathching that there was no way I was gonna fit down that old stovepipe. I haven’t met a soul yet who could have accomplished the feat except for a little midget of a man who made his living getting shot out of a cannon down in Cincy. Did this stop me from trying? Of course it did not. I make a good show of trying wiggling around till my little rump got stuck down there for a bit while the whole class had a good laugh at me. Even Ms. Levitt seemed to think my antics were a tad bit amusing, especially when I made another effort by sticking my little head down that pipe only to come back up looking like I was getting ready to play Mr. Bo-Jangles for some blackface show.
“Get off of there ya blackbird. Ain’t no use trying to git down that old stovepipe.”
Mrs. Levitt tried to put a hard edge to her voice but it was no use. I was far too pathetic a spectacle to stay angry at. It took her all of five seconds to break into a grin in spite of herself and give in, chuckling loudly enough me to hear from my perch. I knew at that moment that I was safe. I glanced up at that old sun and saw the he too was smiling down at me, obviously pleased with my trick. We would have the rest of the day to enjoy each others company. All that was left now was to scurry back to the ground knowing that my teacher no longer suspected me of any crime except stupidity. I had successfully calmed her savage soul and instead of a thrashing ended up with her pity. She sent me back to the creek without another word to wash up and go home.
And this would be just the beginning of my life as a liar. I had discovered my real gift in life, and would continue to hone my skills until I became a seasoned veteran of the art. But that is a story for another day. Lights are about to be turned out in my cell block and I don’t think I’ll be able say much more tonight. Is that a lie? For once you’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Gentle Into That Good Night
Stars shine over the rolling contours of the foothills, filling the heavens with a glow rivaling that of the city left behind. The air holds a chill that searches for crevasses between layer upon layer of heavy insulation, cutting through fingers and leaving them useless wooden blocks under my now saturated woolen mittens. My breath hangs around my face like a fog, violating the perfect stillness of a world preparing for a storm to strike. I look behind and see the impressions of my Wellingtons on the newly fallen snow disappear beyond my sight and pause to allow the moment to wash over me, filling me with a warmth that even the night’s chill cannot steal away. Minutes pass unnoticed, with only the steady flow of blood through my veins marking the time. I gaze into the night, searching the abyss for answers that swirl around like moths trapped in a mason jar.
The moment passes as I awaken from my meditation and take account of my bearings. I wiggle my toes just to make sure they’re still attached and move onward, returning to a steady pace that leads me deeper and deeper into the night. Clarity comes easily here, with only a whispering wind to distract me from the slow, soft, murmurings of my mind. I hum a quiet little tune and for an instant consider heading back to the comfort of home, but decide against it, aware that my wanderings are not without their purpose. Besides, the call of the night will not be ignored, as it gently but insistently leads me down paths not traversed in recent memory. And so, home and bed will have to wait, for I have unfinished business to attend to.
As my feet trudge up another slope the snow starts to fall again, first soft against my face and then in earnest, each flake bringing with it a memory previously lost to the ravages of time. A huge boxer terrier leaps into existence and begins to circle so close that I can see flecks of drool covering his matted coat A small child laughs hysterically as I scrunch my noise and wiggle my ears, allowing her to forget a bruised knee. The images speed along as with the snowfall, a trip to the zoo with my now deceased father, my line pulling at a bass in the Rocky River. And then, my mind now reeling, two figures softly come to focus walking hand and hand out of the mist. They are lost to the night and are seeking shelter from the storm. The pair fades slowly before me, continuing their journey beyond hope or comfort. However, her eyes remain, two deep pools of blue looking intently into my own.
A deep dejected moan escapes my parched lips as I am transported fully back into the scene and reach out to the vision that has become my more real than the night itself. The apparition recedes and I am left grasping nothing but snow which melts between my fingers. The wind rises above the crescendo of my thoughts, mercilessly howling “gonnnnne gonnnnne gonnnne” back to me, echoing my own anguish. I join the refrain, first in a whisper and then screaming out at the top of my voice until it cracks and dies off, leaving me once again standing naked before the night.
A mess of clouds now hangs low over the hills, hiding the stars and leaving the world in shadow except for a glow that seems to emulate from the snow itself. I feel a specter looking on as I struggle to control my pathos.
Sensing my weakness he rushes towards me, numbing all reasonable reflection and leaving behind a blackness that suffocates my breath and pushes my nerves into a state of panic. All my passions, all my regrets, all my failures, are painted upon the faceless figure that I see before me. I know that all efforts to brace my courage are in vain and break into a blind dash, seeking cover, hoping to leave my fear behind in the barren landscape. Leaping into the air I race for the protective arms of a wooded thicket that lies just beyond my ken but am thwarted by a hidden root which trips me. The earth rushes forward, enveloping me in its cold arms. My scream is muffled by the scarf wrapped tightly around my head as I lay face first into the pitch, my glasses fogging up like a greenhouse as warm liquid seeps from the recesses of my eyes. I turn to my back and look upward into the night, fighting an overwhelming desire to retch. My lungs start heaving up and down, up and down, almost bursting out of my constricted chest.
My adversary loams before me, huge and victorious. His form is hidden by the darkness that engulfs him, leaving my lucid imagination to guess at his true nature. I feel his condescending glare, taunting me as my body surrenders to his overwhelming aura. The pain becomes too much to contend with and my mind begins to shut down, leaving me to sleep where I lie. Finally succumbing to the fate that should have been mine so long ago peace surrounds me like a down comforter. The race has been run and I am beyond the realm of physical pain.
As I drift into the ether I feel nothing at all, except an acceptance in knowing that after years of running I am at rest. I look down at my cold body far below, clinging to the edge of life, but no longer feel a part of its struggle. The phantom that has haunted me recedes back beyond the hills and loses his perverse power over me entirely, finally dissipating from existence. But I know he will return, dogging my footsteps as he has done for long. Looking onward, I listen close to the night and hear the moan of pines in the distance as they speak of wind and the cold they feel deep in their knotted hearts. These ancient trees have seen great sorrow over the years but rarely take heed of the plight of those freezing under their ageless boughs.
Instinctively I know what I must do now that I am freed from the limitations of my physical form. Without a look behind I continue onward, without fear of cold or darkness, my night’s journey just begun. I soar on the wings of the clouds passing low over a sea of milky white waves lapping up against an endless sky. Within moments I reach my destination, the forest of pine that I know so well. The thicket soon encompasses me, blocking out stars and wind alike but allowing me to glide noiselessly through. I am no longer entrapped by the snares of time or space and choose to see the world as it was ten years ago as a much younger man walked through the glade with his newly wedded bride.
The couple is lost in a swirling blizzard the rages around them, draining the life from their once ruddy faces. What had been a carefree jaunt in the countryside has become tragic as they wade along without direction. Finally they see the shelter of the trees in the distance and start for them but by this time they are nearly broken. Their faces become haggard with grief and desperation and their pace slackens to a crawl. As the night falls so to do the lovers, succumbing to the cold that has burrowed deep within them, freezing their bones to the pith and leaving them unable to battle on. They lie yards from the wooded heaven but can go no further, doomed to lose their lives within sight of safety.
Reliving this scene one last time I feel none of the grief that has been so constant over the years. In fact I feel no pain at all, only a numbed curiosity as to how their story will end. In my heart I know that both man and women should have died under the billowing snow, lost forever to this world. And yet this cannot be what has occurred here. Somehow the man I look at with death in his eyes survives this scene to become the specter that now watches from above. Suddenly the darkness is broken by a soft glow circling the pair. I first think it is coming from the snow but then see the spirit of my beloved leave her lifeless body and shoot upward into the night filling the world with a luminous glow that leaves the stars muted in their brilliance. She surveys the world with her pale blue eyes and spies my ghostly visage among the shadows of the thicket. She smiles and without hesitation carries her lover to where I stand, her gaze never leaving my own. Together we cover his form in sweet smelling boughs of pine and leave my body to awaken the next day to calls of the search party which will tend to him, nursing him back to life. She then beckons me to the sky and for once I feel a twinge of sorrow. My journey is not yet over. I hold her to my heart and stroke her thick black hair whispering into her mouth that I will return to her soon. And with one last lingering kiss break away, back to the present.
I return to the sad remains of my physical form and feel the weight of earth bearing down upon me, pushing me back down into the dust. Using every molecule of strength that remains I stand, my legs feeling like foreign agents which are loath to comply with my requests. The cold has now seeped through my corpse, freezing what’s left of the blood coagulating in my veins. The only thought that has relevance now is that of putting one foot past the other time and time again. I am no longer in control of my own body but rather am led by a being that comes from the beyond leading my pathetic form forward and dispelling whatever demons block my path. The woods approach, first a blot of green on the white landscape and then towering majestically above me. A soft serenity fills me as I approach remembering the sweet caress of my love so far away and yet just out of sight. I make my way under the trees and lie under the soft boughs, finally at peace with the world and myself. I now wait for her to appear once more and carry me away gentle into the good night.
The moment passes as I awaken from my meditation and take account of my bearings. I wiggle my toes just to make sure they’re still attached and move onward, returning to a steady pace that leads me deeper and deeper into the night. Clarity comes easily here, with only a whispering wind to distract me from the slow, soft, murmurings of my mind. I hum a quiet little tune and for an instant consider heading back to the comfort of home, but decide against it, aware that my wanderings are not without their purpose. Besides, the call of the night will not be ignored, as it gently but insistently leads me down paths not traversed in recent memory. And so, home and bed will have to wait, for I have unfinished business to attend to.
As my feet trudge up another slope the snow starts to fall again, first soft against my face and then in earnest, each flake bringing with it a memory previously lost to the ravages of time. A huge boxer terrier leaps into existence and begins to circle so close that I can see flecks of drool covering his matted coat A small child laughs hysterically as I scrunch my noise and wiggle my ears, allowing her to forget a bruised knee. The images speed along as with the snowfall, a trip to the zoo with my now deceased father, my line pulling at a bass in the Rocky River. And then, my mind now reeling, two figures softly come to focus walking hand and hand out of the mist. They are lost to the night and are seeking shelter from the storm. The pair fades slowly before me, continuing their journey beyond hope or comfort. However, her eyes remain, two deep pools of blue looking intently into my own.
A deep dejected moan escapes my parched lips as I am transported fully back into the scene and reach out to the vision that has become my more real than the night itself. The apparition recedes and I am left grasping nothing but snow which melts between my fingers. The wind rises above the crescendo of my thoughts, mercilessly howling “gonnnnne gonnnnne gonnnne” back to me, echoing my own anguish. I join the refrain, first in a whisper and then screaming out at the top of my voice until it cracks and dies off, leaving me once again standing naked before the night.
A mess of clouds now hangs low over the hills, hiding the stars and leaving the world in shadow except for a glow that seems to emulate from the snow itself. I feel a specter looking on as I struggle to control my pathos.
Sensing my weakness he rushes towards me, numbing all reasonable reflection and leaving behind a blackness that suffocates my breath and pushes my nerves into a state of panic. All my passions, all my regrets, all my failures, are painted upon the faceless figure that I see before me. I know that all efforts to brace my courage are in vain and break into a blind dash, seeking cover, hoping to leave my fear behind in the barren landscape. Leaping into the air I race for the protective arms of a wooded thicket that lies just beyond my ken but am thwarted by a hidden root which trips me. The earth rushes forward, enveloping me in its cold arms. My scream is muffled by the scarf wrapped tightly around my head as I lay face first into the pitch, my glasses fogging up like a greenhouse as warm liquid seeps from the recesses of my eyes. I turn to my back and look upward into the night, fighting an overwhelming desire to retch. My lungs start heaving up and down, up and down, almost bursting out of my constricted chest.
My adversary loams before me, huge and victorious. His form is hidden by the darkness that engulfs him, leaving my lucid imagination to guess at his true nature. I feel his condescending glare, taunting me as my body surrenders to his overwhelming aura. The pain becomes too much to contend with and my mind begins to shut down, leaving me to sleep where I lie. Finally succumbing to the fate that should have been mine so long ago peace surrounds me like a down comforter. The race has been run and I am beyond the realm of physical pain.
As I drift into the ether I feel nothing at all, except an acceptance in knowing that after years of running I am at rest. I look down at my cold body far below, clinging to the edge of life, but no longer feel a part of its struggle. The phantom that has haunted me recedes back beyond the hills and loses his perverse power over me entirely, finally dissipating from existence. But I know he will return, dogging my footsteps as he has done for long. Looking onward, I listen close to the night and hear the moan of pines in the distance as they speak of wind and the cold they feel deep in their knotted hearts. These ancient trees have seen great sorrow over the years but rarely take heed of the plight of those freezing under their ageless boughs.
Instinctively I know what I must do now that I am freed from the limitations of my physical form. Without a look behind I continue onward, without fear of cold or darkness, my night’s journey just begun. I soar on the wings of the clouds passing low over a sea of milky white waves lapping up against an endless sky. Within moments I reach my destination, the forest of pine that I know so well. The thicket soon encompasses me, blocking out stars and wind alike but allowing me to glide noiselessly through. I am no longer entrapped by the snares of time or space and choose to see the world as it was ten years ago as a much younger man walked through the glade with his newly wedded bride.
The couple is lost in a swirling blizzard the rages around them, draining the life from their once ruddy faces. What had been a carefree jaunt in the countryside has become tragic as they wade along without direction. Finally they see the shelter of the trees in the distance and start for them but by this time they are nearly broken. Their faces become haggard with grief and desperation and their pace slackens to a crawl. As the night falls so to do the lovers, succumbing to the cold that has burrowed deep within them, freezing their bones to the pith and leaving them unable to battle on. They lie yards from the wooded heaven but can go no further, doomed to lose their lives within sight of safety.
Reliving this scene one last time I feel none of the grief that has been so constant over the years. In fact I feel no pain at all, only a numbed curiosity as to how their story will end. In my heart I know that both man and women should have died under the billowing snow, lost forever to this world. And yet this cannot be what has occurred here. Somehow the man I look at with death in his eyes survives this scene to become the specter that now watches from above. Suddenly the darkness is broken by a soft glow circling the pair. I first think it is coming from the snow but then see the spirit of my beloved leave her lifeless body and shoot upward into the night filling the world with a luminous glow that leaves the stars muted in their brilliance. She surveys the world with her pale blue eyes and spies my ghostly visage among the shadows of the thicket. She smiles and without hesitation carries her lover to where I stand, her gaze never leaving my own. Together we cover his form in sweet smelling boughs of pine and leave my body to awaken the next day to calls of the search party which will tend to him, nursing him back to life. She then beckons me to the sky and for once I feel a twinge of sorrow. My journey is not yet over. I hold her to my heart and stroke her thick black hair whispering into her mouth that I will return to her soon. And with one last lingering kiss break away, back to the present.
I return to the sad remains of my physical form and feel the weight of earth bearing down upon me, pushing me back down into the dust. Using every molecule of strength that remains I stand, my legs feeling like foreign agents which are loath to comply with my requests. The cold has now seeped through my corpse, freezing what’s left of the blood coagulating in my veins. The only thought that has relevance now is that of putting one foot past the other time and time again. I am no longer in control of my own body but rather am led by a being that comes from the beyond leading my pathetic form forward and dispelling whatever demons block my path. The woods approach, first a blot of green on the white landscape and then towering majestically above me. A soft serenity fills me as I approach remembering the sweet caress of my love so far away and yet just out of sight. I make my way under the trees and lie under the soft boughs, finally at peace with the world and myself. I now wait for her to appear once more and carry me away gentle into the good night.
Untitled
Sometimes I look up into the night sky and pushing through stars and cosmos catch a glimpse of a universe much like my own yet… different… more real, vibrant. I yearn for more but, then, the street lamps cometh. Bright balls of flame, shining brilliantly, phosphorescently, obliterating the lesser lights that remind me of a home I’ve never known. I race down the street searching for a dark refuge for the night to find me, and fail… I am lost in the glow of a far too busy world.
For now I have only my shadow which I know by name. I feed him songsof the earth and he grows huge, flying before me and guiding my footfalls. Am I not my shadow’s keeper? Do I not hide him from clouds heavy in rain and the angry noonday sun? Do I not follow him wherever he leads through paths crooked, little worn by the passing masses? I stand alone with my shadow, two ghostly visages drowning in a sea of shapeless soulless echoes, searching for answers in a world riddled in questions. I look once more into the sky and see truth and undiluted beauty, life after life after death. My shadow knows all and secretly whimpers promises of dreams not withered before they bloom and hopes not dashed by the hand of fate. My shadow will remain vigilant, ever at my side, though all else may fail me. I treasure him more than whatever riches I own for he is my light and will someday lead me past the lights of this world and back to my home beyond the cosmos.
For now I have only my shadow which I know by name. I feed him songsof the earth and he grows huge, flying before me and guiding my footfalls. Am I not my shadow’s keeper? Do I not hide him from clouds heavy in rain and the angry noonday sun? Do I not follow him wherever he leads through paths crooked, little worn by the passing masses? I stand alone with my shadow, two ghostly visages drowning in a sea of shapeless soulless echoes, searching for answers in a world riddled in questions. I look once more into the sky and see truth and undiluted beauty, life after life after death. My shadow knows all and secretly whimpers promises of dreams not withered before they bloom and hopes not dashed by the hand of fate. My shadow will remain vigilant, ever at my side, though all else may fail me. I treasure him more than whatever riches I own for he is my light and will someday lead me past the lights of this world and back to my home beyond the cosmos.
Ring Around the moon
It must be two in the morning as I head back to the house, hopeful that the noise has dropped to a level that will allow me to sleep in peace. I creep beneath campus street lamps, enjoying the stiff wind that whips towards me, picking up speed as it rolls down into the valley, finally filling my red puffy jacket like a red balloon. Avoiding the sidewalk I take to the street, almost hopeful that a pair of headlights will appear over the horizon and send me scurrying back to the curb, breaking the monotony of step after soundless step. My gaze rakes the ground, watching for dark icy patches. I have already come close to falling twice, catching myself at the last moment by gyrating my hips against my momentum to save myself from landing flat on my ass.
As I stare into the road the cloud bank breaks and a soft yellow light seeps through the shadows, leaving the night drenched in the muted glow of moon mist. I glance up into the full round orb above and notice that tonight it is not alone. A ghostly halo surrounds it, perfectly round and huge, dwarfing the moon in its vastness. My focus remains upward as I search for explanations for this phenomenon, but my mind, numbed by cold and the need for sleep surrenders, leaving me content to let the moment enthrall me with its ephemeral beauty. The minutes pass unchecked with the entire valley frozen under the moon’s mournful gaze, lost in a state of perpetual slumber. I stand hypnotized, not sure whether to share my discovery or keep it close to heart, fearful that if I turn away the nights spell will be broken and the moon will disappear once more into the blackness. My decision is made for me however as another cloud passes and I am left once more alone. I walk on, not entirely sure if what I saw was real or in truth a dream.
As I stare into the road the cloud bank breaks and a soft yellow light seeps through the shadows, leaving the night drenched in the muted glow of moon mist. I glance up into the full round orb above and notice that tonight it is not alone. A ghostly halo surrounds it, perfectly round and huge, dwarfing the moon in its vastness. My focus remains upward as I search for explanations for this phenomenon, but my mind, numbed by cold and the need for sleep surrenders, leaving me content to let the moment enthrall me with its ephemeral beauty. The minutes pass unchecked with the entire valley frozen under the moon’s mournful gaze, lost in a state of perpetual slumber. I stand hypnotized, not sure whether to share my discovery or keep it close to heart, fearful that if I turn away the nights spell will be broken and the moon will disappear once more into the blackness. My decision is made for me however as another cloud passes and I am left once more alone. I walk on, not entirely sure if what I saw was real or in truth a dream.
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