The Beach

He felt as happy as a child face up on the thick cool grass contemplating a high cloud flying off in the afternoon sky.

He was happy and sad, sweet and sour, black and white.  Listless, then lucid.

The salt was beginning to burn his leg.  The waves would wash up to his ears and he could feel his missing thigh and part of his missing calf.  Phantom pain.

Shark, rocks, outgoing current - it all happened so fast.  In all that had happened to him in those few short minutes - he had forgotten intentionally - but now - clarity.  Sharpness.  Pinpoints.  Definitive thoughts.  Clarity in the clouds.

White bubbles nears his ears. 
High thin clouds in wavy rows on dull light.
Bubbles near his ears.
He could feel the sand giving way to his weight under his shoulders, buttocks, as if the earth instinctively knew to take him.

He breathed in the heavy salt air one more time.  Deep and full.
Red bubbles near his ears. 

 

Fire

Some days  I get it bad. 
The want.
I don’t want it at night, hiding from everyone, hiding from myself. 

I want it during the day, in the morning - in the middle of the afternoon.

What’s wrong with me?
I’ll take care of the want myself…

 

_________________________________

You’re gonna go to hell.

That’s what my mother told me when she walked into the bathroom while I was jacking off.

I was a high school senior and my fate had already been sealed. 

I was embarrassed that it was so quick.  I mean… HELL…already…and I was only 17!
My job prospects were suddenly narrowed.  Might as well be a criminal. 

It happened right after I discovered fire.  All by myself.

Before, it was wet dreams and I would wake up in the night grabbing my crotch trying to make it stop, but it was always to late.  I would have to get up and clean myself.

One weekend  while taking a bath  - which I rarely did - it happened.

I could feel the fire in my toes, my calves tensed as the fire moved up into my thighs then back into my hamstrings, into my buttocks and finally,  I pressed and pushed the fire out.

I was astounded that my body had fire.

 

A week later I was sentenced to hell.

___________________________________________

I sit with the other writers, only one other man, and I listen to the womans perfect words.  She’s older, peppered gray hair sprinkled in black and her words say that she’s smart and thoughtful.  The semicolon is perfect, the pause of the comma, it’s timed beautifully - all of the words worthy of a masters degree - but the words are dead. 

They lack vitality and urgency… like my fire in my toes…waiting to come out. 

I close my eyes and listen - nod yes- they are good words - and I open my eyes as the reader stops and the moderator begins:

“I like this part…” then silence. 

This means ‘It sucks’ or ‘We are to embarrased to speak up in front of the group’.

‘I like it - but it’s missing something.   I like it, I like you - what you need is from me to fuck you.  That’s what you need.  Those words need some heat, some passion. 
Some sweat. 
They need some life’.

Everyone is in shock.  But the woman says nothing and has a slight smile.  She holds my eyes and we meet.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

 

 

 

The Second Cup

 

 

 

 

 

July 1st used to mean that we were getting ready to go to the mountains for the long weekend.  Karen, Aden, Hannah and I began our vacation last week.  We went to Maine for three days - Wednesday through Friday and today is the following Tuesday and I still feel as if I’m still on vacation.
Yesterday morning, instead of going straight to work, I drove out to Seabrook, NH and found a great fishing place.  I spent a few hours there then went in. 

This morning I’m at Starbucks writing and looking at all the pretty women come in on their way to work.  I’ll go to work in a bit.

This is my second big cup of coffee and I’m feeling a little jittery.  Either the paper is to hard or my pen is to fast.  I’ve really tried to work on my handwriting these last few years - but the caffeine, the hard paper and the thrill of being irresponsible is making it a little messier.

This second cup is not like enjoying - leisurely enjoying - a fine cigar on the golf course - it’s more like sharing a pinner joint with a girl and trying to seduce her.  Thrilling and on the edge messiness. 

That’s my hand right now - at the edge of messiness.  I’m trying to slow it down…to breathe and just let the words come out on the paper…but it’s the anticipation…that’s killing me.  I know it’s going to happen…the words coming out…

Yesterday morning I left home early and I went to the beach (an hour away).  I didn’t tell anyone.  I received a text from a colleague at work.  I replied but I didn’t say I was replying from the beach.

I showed up at 9:30 feeling salty and my hair looked like a spanish afro - just poofy, like it had been fighting with the wind.

On my way to the beach yesterday I gassed up and got a big cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee. 

It’s weak.

By the time I got to the beach I didn’t have the same thrilling feeling of today - I needed to take a leak.
I felt like an old man in one of those commercials:
“Do you want to fish more?” 
yes.
“Do you want to enjoy life longer?” 
stupid question…yes…of course.
“Then ask your doctor about the bladder control medicine that’s designed…” 
I picture designer jeans…not designer drugs…

I can see a fellow come out of a bathroom - apparently the guys were out ‘mountain biking’ and he must have had it bad because when he comes out of that toilet - he chuckles - as if saying:
“Man - I really kicked the shit out of that toilet! - Urinal…whatever!”

Well, Dunkin Donuts coffee make me feel like that.  Like an old man looking for a place to pee.
The choice is between Dunkin and Starbucks is obvious:  Do you want to get laid?  Or pee in your pants? 

 

 

 

 

The Ca

I bought a commuter ca to replace my truck. 

That’s what they call it in this part of the country:  CAh. 

$3500 for a 99 Subaru Impreza with 90k miles on it.  It blue books for more money, so I got lucky.  The young man had just finished grad school at Dartmouth and was moving to New York. 

We’ll see how it does on gas this week. I researched most of the gas efficient vehicles and had my wallet set on an old Toyota Corolla - that had been beaten into submission by a smoker - and I had to back out of the deal. 
Apparently the smoker was a lazy twit because (s)he would simply place the burning cigarette on the middle plastic console, so the console was melted and disgusting.  The car had that funky smokey smell to it too, so, although I like the gas mileage, the car was a serious beater.  A real stinker. 
And it was going to make me stink too.

So, I searched craigslist in NH and found my Subaru:  “I found a job in New York!  Need to sell my car…”
He was leaving on Friday.  It was Wednesday.  I had cash and was willing to drive two hours.  I gave him $700 below his asking price. 

• All Wheel Drive for the snow - CHECK
• decent gas mileage - CHECK
• No rust - CHECK
• Not smelly - CHECK
• GREAT PRICE! - CHECK
• Clean CARFAX report - CHECK

My truck just sits there in the driveway looking good with no where to go.  Poor guy.  I told him - ‘You still look good - you still got it..’  But he just looks at me and says nothing.

 

PS- Why does this post have links, bold words?

 

 

Gas and The return of the Brown Chevette

It was a sweet ride, my brown chevette.  Stick, plush vinyl seats, no AC…the chicks would be waiting to ride with me in this thing.  But that was ‘83-’84. 

Now it’s 2008 and I’m looking at these tiny cars again.  I have to buy one.  It’s to expensive not to.
I have finally crossed the threshold of gas parting pain.  And I’m not talking out of my butt either.

For the last two fill ups I’ve kept track of my costs.  Last fill up in my truck cost me $145 and some change.  That’s one hundred and FORTY FIVE dollars and some change.   That breaks down to about $29 a day on gas.

$29 a DAY in GAS.  If I don’t pack a lunch, it’s $7 for the entree and drink up in the caf.  Coffee at 3pm is another 1.35.  Jesus F*n Christ it’s starting to hurt.

That’s $580 a month in gas.  Almost $7k a year.  That’s silly isn’t it.
So now, I’m looking for a used car.  A beater.  Something that’s a manual and gets at least 35 mph (my truck gets about 15 mph).

I read a piece in Wired magazine (not krazzy about this rag, but once in a while they’ll hit a home run) that talked about buying a used car (not a Prius) to save on gas.  Another site lists the old cars that got great gas mileage.  There are cars from the early 90’s that were already getting 30 - 35 mpg.  This is what I’m looking for. 

Something that I can buy outright for $4k, $5k and still save $2k a year.

I’m looking for my brown chevette.

 

 

 

 

Saturday Drive

Saturday we took a drive.  Partly just to drive and see what else is around us and we also wanted to eat outside somewhere.  The hot weather does that to us.  Eat ice cream outside.  Eat fried seafood outside.

We drove to a town called New Boston.  It’s 20 minutes away but we’ve never been.  We went.  There is nothing there.  An unpronouncable river runs through it:  The Piscatoquog. 

Yep, that’s a Q in there.  Don’t know what the F* your suppossed to do with it.  ‘Pisca’ I got, ‘to’ I got, ‘Quog’ like QWAG…I think I got, but you put all that shit together and I don’t know how the hell to say it. 
So I’ll jut call it the P. 
It’s pretty.   

We continued to through the towns of Weare and Mont Vernon…or maybe Mont Vernon was first…or…  shit..I don’t remember.   In Henniker we drove to the river - the Contoocook and it was a beautiful river itself.  It was a twofer for the day.  Two nice rivers with rocks and boulders strewn throughout, the water, crystal clear. 
We found a pizza place with a picnic table under a tree and ordered a half cheese, half hawaiian pizza.  We waited twenty minutes under the tree while the kids played on some big smooth rocks.  Aden said ‘HIGH EYE’  with a weird gruff voice to everyone who walked into the pizza shop.
Old men waved, women smiled.  We ate our pizza under the tree then we started our drive back home and found an Ice Cream stand near a ski mountain (Pat’s peak) and we pulled in for dessert.

We got home and talked about how different it was just a few minutes from our house.  On the other side of Milford, there is no traffic, no big stores.  The lawns have grass that is a little bit taller, the cars a little bit older.  We like it.  Everything seems just a little more quiet, more slow and more ‘Maine’ like. 

I’m going to explore this area a little more.