lockdown

Play with fire and you're liable to get burned.

So many years. Tried, tested, true. A nearly infallible system, wasn't it? Yes, almost perfect.

Remember the last time somebody snuck through all that emotional barbed wire, the land mines, trenches, obstacles and managed to scale that one last wall? It wasn't pretty. It wasn't talked about, but it certainly wasn't pretty. That was as close to torture as I care to experience. This isn't about opening up. This is about order. No, extra measures must be implemented this time. It won't happen again.

I won't be that guy. The guy who loses it and tosses a big fat wrench in to a well-oiled machine just to see what would happen. Not that guy.

I could speculate forever as to what goes on in your head, but common sense tells me all I really need to know. And though I imagine you'd appreciate some spirited pursuit on my part, I just can't afford to expend that kind of energy on a lark, on a feeling that probably came to me in a book. Is it possible that you can wake up one day and decide that you feel differently about somebody than you've felt for years? Do such grand realizations occur outside of Hollywood fantasy? And even so, it doesn't make things right. There are certainly many things to be said. Pretty words I'd love to write, to say. But I don't like messes. And the only possible outcome would be a mess, regardless of the mundane details at the conclusion. I must choose to remain in outer orbit and I must choose to remain there happily.

And of course the question remains, who who who? Calm now. It doesn't matter. This is just a blip, a little twitch. Equilibrium will be restored. Just give me time.

trouble in paradise

Maybe it's just a phase.

Slow down, brother. Take a deep breath and repeat after me: "I am an island. I am bloody Ibiza."

I am a bloody island. I am bloody, sodding Ibiza.

You know you're in trouble when you start evoking the closely held mottos of pop novel characters, as if to ward off some sort of curse. And by this measure, I am in serious trouble.

Not in a corporeal or external sense, you understand. Forget the law, credit ratings, my nagging cough, the due dates for various bills, the traffic jam at 3 AM on the Bay Bridge last night, the impromptu dance party it sparked; friendship maintenance, whether or not my Sunday Times is delivered on time or wet; all other facets of boring boring reality; I'm talking about a serious potential for disaster here, wholesale rupturing of longstanding walls, a very dangerous fuzzying of boundaries. Unprecedented, unforeseen (was it really?), and absolutely deadly to the day to day operation of yours so very truly.

No, I'm talking about - to quote, I'm sure, a lyric or title from some random and most disposable pop song - "matters of the heart" , order in the mind, body, soul and all the other commonly recognized divisions of human innerspace. This is deep deep stuff, man! Certainly not to be confused with the sort of minor trauma inflicted by say, teacher intercepted love notes in the eighth grade. Are you kidding me?

I realized something last night...

Come on, man. Pour it out!

Not on your life. My mind is a-whirling from all that convenient (and delicious) beverage and it is early in the morning and melodramatics are very easily achieved when drunk and by your lonesome. No, these matters must be handled delicately and with a grave sense of purpose. There is no need - despite previously stated wishes - to go driving off a cliff.

Things certainly do feel out of proportion. Yes, they do. Things do. And I'm not drunk. Or buzzed. As a matter of fact, I wasn't even drunk last night. And only slightly buzzed. Okay, so it's established that I am, at present, neither drunk or buzzed. I am, however, sitting up in bed by myself. I do not, however, feel particularly upset, though there is this lingering sense of the impossible. (Pause for careful consideration) Hrm. Well, to be perfectly objective, I must conclude that the current circumstances would not, under normal conditions, give rise to unnecessarily intense melodramatics.

(Pause to understand what that might mean.)

Holy sh*t.

Yeah, holy moly, brother. Take a deep breath. Maybe it's just a phase.

Yeah, maybe.

phantom crush

My dearest. Sometimes I wish I didn't know what was going to happen. Sometimes I wish my luck would run out, that the steering wheel would come right off, just like in the toons. Mortal danger. Just a little dose. Nothing too heavy. Just a taste and then bring me back, flushed, slightly dazed, palms wet, struck like lightning.

Imagine. Me and you. I do.

Seduction. How I would pity thee. We'd stalk each other at parties for a while. You are perhaps hundreds of years wiser: the routine is tiresome, almost boring. A foregone conclusion but ritual must be fulfilled: nods acknowledged, legs must be brushed, lips bit, and eventually, tongues will be tied - with other tongues.

Days, even weeks, will pass. You'd begin to wonder, but no no no I am not like those other creatures, vulgar beings. Be patient, you delicious trollop. I won't step quite so predictably in to your arms. I will stumble in to them and then embarrassed, claim ignorance. I even half-feign surprise. And then... yes, a foregone conclusion.

In gentler times, I would have lamented the taking of innocents. But this is not the day. Today I see red, red everywhere. And hearts must be slayed.

shopaholic

I just sneezed four times in a row. Reason? Unknown. But today is a great day. It must be. It is. A new beginning. Some people think New Year's Day is THE DAY FOR CHANGE: self-confession, self-examination, self-reform, clean slate, and all that but New Year's Resolutions are really just To Do's that need to be completed in preparation for Valentine's Day. Funny how much of our life is spent trying to get some. It's pathetic and intellectually inexcusable. But it's reality. Deal.

V-Day looms large, casting its long pink shadow over many a soured expectation. Still-singles everywhere, recovering from last night's full-scale assault on the opposite sex, prepare themselves for the dreaded 14th with soothing mantras: 1) True love can't be scheduled; 2) I would be miserable if I was still with ***** (insert ex's name here) today; 3) It's not even a real holiday.

Wow, I'm almost convinced myself. If only I hadn't struck out so hard last night! Damn. I crack myself up. I love this.

It was overcast all day. It sprinkled a bit, just a mist, felt good on my face. I thought the weather was perfect. My friend thought I was crazy.

I bought a new car last Friday. Who's lonely?

silent nights and other random drivel.

In my wallet, I've got several hundred in Taiwanese currency that I forgot to exchange for the almighty dollar. The money feels hot. It's worth about 10 US dollars, but something about nice round numbers gives my sense of immediate wealth a disproportionate boost: "Yeah, that's right. It's got some zeroes. Oh, you can't accept this? That's really too bad. I guess I'll take my business elsewhere."

Thanks to a lethal dose of jet lag and general unhealthy living. I am currently on vampire time. I wake up at 8 AM, go to work, get home by 6:30 PM or so, mope around, and sleep from 8 or 9 'til 1:30 AM. I stay up until 5 or 6 AM, and then go back to sleep. Repeat.

Auxilliary benefits: I get to work early and leave early; lots of peaceful time. Downsides: I feel very very sleepy by 8 PM every night; I'm not giving corporate America 110%.

Yeah, it's a little weird. But I love being awake during Quiet Time, aka the witching hours, aka 3 AM to 5 AM, when the world shuts down. Time to think, reflect, work on music, and bother people (friends, family, future lovers or other interesting denizens) with life's great remote control: email.

If I had with me, right now, a scotch bottle, some ice, and a nice lowball glass, maybe a drunken female companion or two, along with an atmosphere of impending sucker-punch-to-the-face violence (which I would, of course, cleverly elude after shamelessly charming the ladies), I could have a Bukowski moment. But I don't. I guess that sort of adventure will remain accessible only through his books. Maybe one day, I'll gather up the will to put myself in mortal danger.

But not this night. Dreamland calls. Out.