Month: May 2009

Not So Black Hole

April 22, 2009

I just bummed a pen off a stranger on the metro platform. Poor guy, he had a tie on, only it was poking through the zipped up hoody he was wearing to cover up the down town attire I guess. He had a ledger in his hands so I thought I’d give it a shot and it worked. The pen was nice one too with http://www.completrx.com in blue print upon a silver casing and blue rubber finger rest. Almost looked like a space ship. Ooh. Speaking of space ships, the park opened yesterday. Civic Space Park, or just Space Park, something a funny girl in the back seat of a car dubbed it one night en route to a party. And you know what, it stuck. Space Park, the better half and I christened it last night with our friend Lexy.

It was icy enough for a stripped scarf (or at least I wanted it to be) and good conversation among friends. A nice campus police officer on a bike came over and explained that pretty soon he was going to have to start enforcing the park operation hours of 5am to 11pm, but that since it was the first night, it would be ok for now. He warned that they had to protect us good standing citizens from the scary homeless people that would be meandering about the park like zombies, just looking for a place to sleep. Aww.. I felt like my little Phoenix was growing up. It felt like a city. It really was more than that though, because as we sat on the brand new stone wall next to freshly placed sod, there above us hovered a beautiful vortex whose swirling orange eye showed us a window to another galaxy. No really. I have pictures. Well that’s what I saw anyway, but I’ve also heard it referred to as:

a jelly fish

a saguaro

a space ship

a monsoon

a vagina

an ass hole

larva

and probably so much more. But whatever the hell it is, it stimulates the imagination. And it is unmistakably beautiful, even if you think its ugly… hater. But it’s inspired me a good twelve hours later to startle a generous stranger with human interaction and beg for a pen, so that I could crack open the old journal… and write.

Sunny Side What?

I went to Over Easy today, one of my favorite breakfast places in Phoenix. For some reason I thought I’d be the only one craving the wolf pack at 10:30 in the morning on memorial day. I did manage to get in within the projected twenty minutes though and sat at the bar where my favorite waitress, who I have a slight crush on, took care of me. It wasn’t the same without the bf there (he had to work early today) but I do enjoy a breakfast for one from time to time. The muted CNN they had playing showed a story about a group of sixth graders who constructed a “how to kill” cartoon about one of their classmates. Atrocious I know, I mean the execution was despicable, a third grader could have drawn a better murder manual. I decided to bum a pen off one of the other girls working there and turn my menu over to try my hand at something I rarely ever do anymore. This is what I came up with before I left.

over easy

iFriends

Blake left me a good few months ago. It was painful but I tried hard not to mourn to theatrically. In truth though we’d been everywhere together and I made some of my life’s biggest decisions with him at my side. There were times when I felt that he was my only constant in life. I admit too, that there where other times when I would reject his biting sense of humor, his innate ability to get me to dance and the sensual lyrics he all to confidently murmured in my ear. Sometimes, I just didn’t want to hear it. And I know I hurt him, dropping him like a toy at every corner then expecting him to function like normal when I picked him back up. It really always was my fault. But he was always there waiting for me, loyal but proud and always in that ratty, white, suede jacket that I came to adore.

When I lost Blake, it was sudden but a long time coming. This time there was no way I could fix it. And I wanted only that he rest, free of his once devoted obligation to me. I found solace quickly though. Too quickly, in My Juliet, a friend of my boyfriends. I’ll skip the build up here and tell you that I clung to her. In an unconscious effort to drown out the unequivocal silence that rapped devoutly from Blake’s absence, I took from her more that I should have, and I think toward the end there, I tried to make her mine. But before I could realize what I was doing wrong, I lost her too. I lost her for both of us and with regret and humility I had to explain to my boyfriend that it was I that drove her away. And I had no explanation. I never saw it coming. One day she was just gone. The worst part though was that my boyfriend went and didn’t even get mad at me for it. Well at least he didn’t show it. He just tensed those dusted on eyebrows of his in a way that said “Hey, we still have each other… and Mac.”

But today, she came back. Like nothing I found her nestled comfortably with a gang of sunflower seeds between the cushions of our new kelp couch, and still with enough juice for a few hours worth of play lists.

I am relieved to say the least. And I feel that I have a second chance to tell her and my boyfriend how grateful I am for the music they’ve shared. I’m very happy too, that she has chosen Brazilian Girls (the first one) to accompany us on what I think will be our last writing sesh together. And I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate way for me to say goodbye to Blake, my partner in crime and first one to ever make me feel that music was just as much for everyone, as it was exclusively for me.

I’ll miss you my friend.

After the Show

Andrea,

I’m writing to you from Conspire, the little cafe where we shot those photos of the old school parking meters. I’ve just come back from that church, the one we were going to take topless pictures in front, well until a pang of sobriety reminded us that there are some people who take dead saints seriously and those very people might be around at that moment. The dead saints were at least. Yeah, that church, the one we returned to the next day and didn’t cross ourselves with holy water in, but instead sat in and took pictures of, like we were students in a history class.

I’d been wondering about that church for a while, The Catholic Church of Phoenix something or other and with you I got to sooth my curiosity for a bit. Today I finally went back to that church, by myself. And I admit, I wanted it to be something, I don’t know… spiritual? Like it is in the movies, I wanted it to be that. So I walked through the Palo Verdes and the statues that populated the courtyard, and breathed it all in deep and green, marking it down on lined paper in my head. I passed the wheel chair ramp tempted to play on it like I did when I was a kid. Instead I took the stairs, counting the steps as I ascended hoping secretly that there would be 13. There were 20. At the big heavy doors I turned off my Ipod because I thought it was the right thing to do.

I walked into the church squinting me eyes in preparation for the dim gothic lighting and I saw in front of me a man knelt and in the throws of a few “Our Father’s” and a couple of “Hale Maries.” I felt gypped. This was supposed to be my spiritual reawakening and already this guy was better at it than I was. Then to my left on their way out came two sweet old ladies. Real tia Martha characters you know what I’m saying? Their hair different shades of the same bouffant, their crosses shining silver and gold atop kitten sweaters, bibles in their little hands and warm smiles aimed at my heavy eyelids. And you know what I did? I fucking crossed myself, holy water and all. The catholic way with four full points and a kiss at the end; not the JW way, up and down to no end.

I don’t know why either. I guess I felt, challenged or shamed even, there by myself and without an official non believer card. I did my best to be silent and sat in a center pew and listened with respect to the sound of the chirping birds and faint honking of horns through the stain glass virgins and sinners. It was what I was hoping for, so on cue I closed my eyes and tried to well them up like I do when I run out of points to make in a fight with Robert. I tried not to think I guess. And I wanted to achieve something. I wanted the pew to become a vessel rocketing me to galaxies far, far away and get sucked into the inescapable whirling gravity of the nearby planetarium black holes, only to be flung into some other Einsteinian parallel universe where our lives were some tragic remnants of the bad decisions we didn’t make here.

But it didn’t happen. I couldn’t wipe my brain clean and start some other adventure. All I could really do was map out how I was going to write this to you. I wasn’t lost in the midst of celestial fancy free because I didn’t want to be. And you over coffee and beer, helped me come up with that. No flying buttresses necessary. So in that moment I walked my ass out of there, but not before offering up a dollar and quietly activating a total of five electric candles. But when I did walk out the Ipod was on before my foot touched the cement. And as I walked, I wrote, wrote, wrote to you in my head but left the apartment without a notebook in my back pocket, despite my better judgment. I made my way here though to this little coffee shop where I stupidly asked for iced water…”if you’ve got it.” Of course they have ice water. I picked up this little pocket book that I hope to remember to pay for. And I started to write to you because I wanted to say thanks, for reminding me that our lives are t.v. shows and we have to be the executive producers. And even though I can’t always catch every episode of yours I know I can hulu that shit late at night with my boy at my side. And for as much fun as it will be to watch the single girl seasons, I’m totally rooting for you and your Big, or your Ross or your Dylan McKee… enh scratch that last one. Either way, I’s been fun tuning in.

Dugs