Coming?

“So, you coming home for Christmas?”
You shake your head at me and I frown, hoping that I judged the head shake wrong.
“What the hell is that? A yes or a no?”
“That’s a negative.”
Why aren’t I surprised?
“Why not?”
“You know the reason why I am not coming home for Christmas.”
Yeah.
I know.
“That’s a silly reason not to come home.”
You remain silent.
I keep myself from ripping you a new one.
“You –know- it’s a silly reason.”
Are you even listening to me, your baby sister?
“You should come home.”
You look at me.
I know there is sadness etched in my face.
You look away.
Yeah.
Fuck you too.

Mother Dear

My dearest Mother,

It’s been a while since I talked to you, so I think now is a good time to sit down and have a chat. In the twenty-three years of my life, I never expected things to turn out this way. I always thought that you would never change, that there would never be warnings of your demise. Polar ice caps melting, the ozone layer blowing up. A lot of these things tend to set off red flags in my mind; hell it even got to the point where we as a human race have to constantly check the status of the water with a filter attached to the faucet. Who knew?

What I want more than anything, my Mother, is to be able to heal you with a single touch. A single caress that will let you know everything is going to be alright and that you no longer have to toss and turn in your sleep with worry. You would no longer have to ask yourself as you lay yourself down in the warmth of yourself, am I going to wake up tomorrow? You no longer would have to watch as the fields you worked so hard to create shrivel and pass into darkness. Yet, I can’t do that, at least not in the immediacy that I speak of.

It will take days, weeks, months and years to return everything to the way you had it. Mother dear, I will try my best to sort your house back into order. I will try my best to pick up the pieces and put them back into place, to bandage the dents and heal the harms. Alone, it will take more than a lifetime, but I think I can persuade a few friends to help me put right the wrongs we have caused.

Thanks for listening to me for a few minutes and know that I will do my best to make things good again for you. Just rest your tired feet and let me tuck you in for a change with a cup of tea and your favorite book in tow. Relax and let me handle the rest, Mother dear.

I love you.

Monday Funday

Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Brrriiinnnggggggg. Brrriiinnngggggg.
Thhp, thhp, thhp. Creeeaaak. Kshhhhhhhh.
Vwoommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Shhhh-shh-shhh-shhh. Vwahhhhhhhhh!!!

Tip, clunk. Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Rooommmmmm. Clunk. Tip.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Jingle.
Woosh, creeeak.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

Bang, bang, bang. Eek! Crash.
Oh shi--Woah!!! Bang, bang bang.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrkrrrrrrrrkrrrrrrr.
ba-ba. ya-ya. Aglalala.

Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Clunk.
Uh oh.
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ssshhhhppplllaaasshhhhh!!
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Clunk.
Uh oh.
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ssshhhhppplllaaasshhhhh!!
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

Thunk. Bang bang bang bang.
Tip, tip, tip. Fwump, fwump, fwump.
Boom! Bang! Blam!
Jingle, jingle, jingle.

Creeeaaaakkkkkkkkkkk.
Whaaaa!! Whaaaa! Whaaaaa!
Kuhthunk, kuthunk.
Creeeeaaaakkkkkkkkk.

Woosh, creeeak.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Jingle.
Rooommmmmm. Clunk. Tip.
Tip, clunk. Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Ahhhh.

Laughing Out Loud with Nescafe

Browsing Craig's List and drinking Nescafe coffee, I find myself laughing hysterically, well silently really, at the job offerings in Rhode Island for writers and finding myself clicking on Sex Writer's Needed.

I suppose this should tell me something about my persona.

Also, Bridget Jones' Diary; still an epic movie even on VHS.

Childhood Memories

I recently purchased Disney's Gargoyles on DvD. For a while I had season two volume one and was unable to find the first season. Today my luck proved its worth. The first season is currently playing on the DvD player in my computer as I type this and I have a need to find the rest of the series. Unfortunately, VHS proves kind of useless in a world of high tech divises.

Man, I wish I was a child again.

The Adolescent Kingdom

Teenagers have to be the most miserable creatures in the human race. From ages thirteen to nineteen, all people are stuck in a sort of limbo. The kind that has a light at the end of the tunnel but enjoys teasing you with the freedom that it promises. Trying to figure out what is wrong with them, the teenager goes through a series of trials and tribulations in which they discover where exactly it is they belong.

Now, most of the American population believes there are main categories with multiple sub-categories that filter into them. That isn’t true. There are three, yes just three, categories: The Morons, the Intellects and the Everybodies.
The Morons are the popular ones among the Teenage Kingdom. They, meaning their parents, have so much money that they do not know what to do with it. Instead of putting that cash towards something productive, it is spent on drugs. Yet, shh, mother and father don’t know that. Quite lovely.

The kicker with these folks is that they travel in packs. Sort of like a group of deranged wolves that are mostly bark with a hint of bite. For the most part, the Intellects manage to stay away from the Morons while the Everybodies continue on with their days. Yet, despite the efforts of both the Intellects and the Everybodies, the Morons seem to bristle when they pass. In the end, the Moron’s greatest threat is ‘Don’t make me kick your ass.’ Loosely translated this means, ‘If I’m not feeling lazy, I’ll get you.’ The males of the Pack in a way to display their dominance mostly use that threat.

Now the females use a different threat to keep others in line. ‘We’re gonna bury you’ translates to ‘We’re going to bury you, bitch.’ The female is the more aggressive of the Morons. Usually, if the warning has been administered, it is immediately followed up and through. The threat is given to females that pose some sort of danger to the ranking within the pack. Especially if the new female will join the pack as the Alpha male’s new mate. Once the newcomer has entered the circle, the older females will put her through various tests, and, unfortunately, unless she proves herself a vicious bitch, she will more than likely fail the trials.
Meanwhile, from the sidelines, the Intellects observe the Morons while the Everybodies quietly snicker at their displays of dominance.

We come to the Intellects now. Some are easier to spot than others due to their appearance. The common Intellect is seen to wear faded, hand me down jeans, or khakis depending, along with a black tee shirt. The standard logo on the shirt is normally a Star Wars, Star Trek or fantasy artwork of some kind.
The skin tone and the quality of the flesh itself would be considered poor. Caked with crevices and boils, most commonly known as the dreaded acne, the crowning feature seen on an Intellect is the spectacles. Not only do the glasses enable the Intellect to see their surroundings, and supply a perfect bull’s eye for the male Morons to hit, but they accent that oh so lovely Romanesque nose. Either way, the spectacles indicate the Intellect’s ranking amongst their own. The thinner the frame, the higher the ranking.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, these Intellects are actually the Elite among the human race. Deep within the bowels of the Tech room of the auditorium, they come together as one and converse of the greatness in which they have achieved that day. Most of the knowledge they exchange pertains to the maneuvers of the mathematical equation of the Chessboard, or the desire for a certain female that they have laid their eyes on.

Unfortunately for the Intellect, their greatness will not be seen until after their teenage years. Once they progress from the larva stage to the pupa phase of life, the Intellect will be seen as the hottest thing since sliced bread. Females will flock to them and strike up conversation as they sputter responses. Once they hit the final phase of their growth, the adult phase, the Intellect has now become the object of the female’s desire. A thing much wanted among the Elite at the larva phase. Smart, funny and charming the Intellect is now the crème de la crème of he human society. Not only would they make excellent partners, but also they would be the ones who discover how to run a computer on solar energy.

Here we come to the Everybodies. Usually of a more relaxed nature, the title Everybodies implicates exactly who they are. They are within both groups but part of none. They float between the Morons and the Intellects as if they were ocean currents, leaves on the wind or something equally spiritual. As a people, Everybodies observe the world around them with an open mind, willing to try new experiments and experiences. That, or they are content with what they are currently involved in. For the most part, the involvement is something along the artistic side of life. If one is ever looking to locate Everybodies, one need not look far. They can be found sitting on the ground reading Shakespeare, enjoying a quiet game of chess with an Intellect or even seen discussing hunting tactics with the Alpha female of the Morons.
Needless to say, the Everybodies are everywhere.
All one has to do is look in the mirror.

Naked

“I don’t know.”

Those were the last words I heard behind my sister’s closed garage door while I slipped my flip-flops on. I knew what they were talking about. She asked about the guy he was referring to. My cousin replied with an honest answer. He didn’t know. In fact, no one knows, except perhaps my mother, who uses her mother senses to figure this shit out.

There is no secrecy in a family such as mine. We are Greek, born and bred from a proud race of intellects that some how got pushed to the back burner and get scoffed at for being full blooded. That’s inbreeding. I want to ram my head through a glass door every time I hear someone say that.

Being Greek means you have to know everything. There isn’t a time when I go somewhere when my mama asks as to what I was doing or who I saw. She can never ask me, “how was your night?” and leave it at that. She has to know what I was doing, who I was doing it with and what were they wearing at the time of whatever it was we were doing to begin with. You really wore those shoes? I half expect the woman to cross herself. If you go out without saying anything to begin with…well lets just say I hope whatever god you believe in loves you. You are not getting out of this one missy.

Romance is no exception. No matter how hard you try, someone always finds out because you decided you were tired of hiding your feelings for this other person and you tell someone who swears to keep their mouth shut. If a European says that they swear to keep their mouth shut, cut out their tongue right then and there and curse them for it. Europeans cannot keep their mouths shut. It is virtually impossible. And the men? Forget it! They talk more than the women do, and I tell you this now, word gets around faster through the male population than it does through the female one.

You cannot tell a cousin or a sibling anything. Once you open your mouth, you have signed your own death warrant. Would you like a cigarette before we hang you in the gallows? No? Carry on then. I normally try to keep my life private and to keep things to myself until I am absolutely ready to explain things to someone. Even then, it falls to the wayside. They corner you. As if they were some pack of hyenas closing in on a wounded gazelle that some how managed to escape the pride of lions it was running from earlier with a minor injury. Death is inevitable and right now I am waiting for mine because of those words I heard after I left from my sister’s house.

I have been naked before, splashed with acrylic paint, sharpie and god knows what else, in front of a camera modeling for all to see. I can do that. However, I can’t deal with what will happen over the next few days, for this is how the clock will tick. My sister will talk to my mother for one reason or another and I will enter the conversation for one reason or another. Once my name is mentioned she will ask mama if I have been talking to anyone on the phone. Of course mother will say yes because of course she knows I have been talking to someone on the phone. She is my mama and she has that weird voodoo magick that all mothers possess. I think you inherit those powers as soon as you sign the marriage contract; the investigation is on going in that department. From there either my mother or my sister will question me indirectly, if not directly, about this so-called male in my life.

This is where they get me. It is here I am standing naked for all to see, bare as the day as I was born, despite the heavy sweater and jeans, squirming and twisting out some sort of response. I would rather be in front of the camera naked, than talk about my heart.

When the hyenas come cackling out of the darkness, knowing the kill is moments away, you are stripped of all your barriers and all you can do is wait for the jaws to lock around your throat and the world to go black with self doubt and loathing because all you wanted was a shred of happiness.