any american in a foreign land should carry a pistol

The days are long and my life and conciousness fades in and out of what burroughs described as interzone. There are agents coming to get me i feel, all fleet of foot and fedoras. My body aches and my dreams have been reality hybrids where clones of people i love distrub my sleep and the walking dead infest my grandmother's house. cinematic streets all covered by oils of chicago tongues wagging. my brain grows heavy and i slip back...further...further to a time when navy pants and white shirts hung in my closet, perpetually making me a character from some catholic graphic novel...i speak bear to bears on trips through concrete forests, coffee in hand and pen leaking in my mouth, dripping onto page through pop-culture rivers...kevin bacon searching for a killer of statue size, boomerang toenails left in mud...popnoir as its called, degrees of seperation where a blind man only speaks in film references....where is this world...where have i left it...why am i here....so many questions...

Its a dismal dream

Talked to mom today, doing well...incessant headaches...i worry of course. They plague here like locusts and wont claim her first born, but her mind is becoming less sharp. Older I suppose...hope thats the least. Tells me she spoke to Jarad, says he is doing well, gets his offical orders in a few weeks, finals dates, last rites, goodbyes, tears, screams, yelling at God...He tells her that he looks forward to bed, because since he arrived everynight when he sleeps he dreams of us, dreams of the ones he loves...says everyone is there and he is happy. So simple, so wonderful...beautiful in fact, cant say that i've ever been so dedicated to my family in my dreams. found out that my life is going to change from what i've known, everything i've stived for for the past 22 years is going to inexplicably be not what it was...writer perhaps, homeless person, woody guthrie maybe, i have no idea. told my ties to my family or a family will fade at this point in my life...more later....tired...and depressed...wish i was somewhere else perhaps

This too shall pass

And its a beautiful day. There is something to be said for sitting in an empty bar with two amazing women drinking guinness while Ring of Fire plays over the jukebox. It's one of those moments that usually only occurs in Indie films where the lead character is a doe-eyed loser-savant who is wasting their talents because 'this town is the only place i've ever known' or something along that lines. Maybe somehow I make my life mimic art...not even good art....i would like to say my life mimics a great dostoevksy novel....but it more closely resembles a pop-up book. But this bar and this company! thats the rub.....my mind is very very blank right now, very sluggish, like swamped dumplings...more later i suppose

I miss you Jarad....I miss you Scott....the weight here is heavy and the beat club lacks it rythm and bass section now...its quiet gray beaches and cold wet glass. Jarad who will go to Iraq...Jarad who is 19...Jarad who shares my face...Jarad who I almost killed when we were yonger, which i never forgave myself for...almost killed him...its the worst thing I never did and I know God stayed the bullet from going through him stayed my hand, put the bullet in the ground. My memories are busy and flushed....try so hard...so confused, bitter bitter conspiracy. I love you both. And pray for Caroline...and for Bryan...for Aaron...for my parents...its alright ma....i'm only bleeding.

Florissant is a smallish town outside of St. Louis Missouri – try to imagine a picturesque town where you would like to grow up and then add a river – and a few meth labs. It’s a place where you don’t have to lock the doors, but probably should just because – well because it’s common sense and I never understand why people DON’T lock their doors – it doesn’t equate with being safe to me, it just equates with stupidity or pride or both. Anyways, this is where I grew up and for most of my life I suppose I never realized that being treated to McDonald’s every couple of weeks was just that – a treat – this is because I grew up ostensibly poor. But it was an ignorance that I had… more like a naiveté I suppose. Stupid stupid stupid. This is a shitty way to begin talking about my life.
I am not even sure where I would actually start. Maybe with my parents divorce? My brother being born? The first time I was put into the “bad chair” in preschool? That’s kind of a good one. More just like a funny story. Not even that. It basically boiled down to the fact that when you eat paste as a child it is funny…. for a little while…then it becomes unhealthy…and then it becomes a problem…then you get put into the “bad chair” even though the only reason you ate the fucking paste was because it smelled delicious and becaue the cute girls in the class laughed at these paste smorgosborgs I would have in the corner of the classroom (even back then I had a weakness for girls in catholic school jumpers, go figure!). Catholic school was something of a an anomaly to me because I can remember certain instances that would always sit with me in some sort of profound way, but never really meant anything (I assume). I remember the way a girl named Kristen looked in Friday mass, the way the stained glass reflected off of her ebony brown hair, shoulder length. Though at the time I would not have described her hair as ebony but probably something more to the effect of…. lets say…poop. Yeah that sounds about right. There wasn’t anything remarkable about this girl and often she sickened me when we ate lunch, due to the fact that she constantly ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which obligatorily would become tangled in her teeth as she smiled at me. Come to think of it I am not sure why I was so taken by this image of her sitting in church…I guess it was just one of those things…actually now that I am here writing this I realize what it was…it was the my first memory of something being beautiful…and that image has always stayed with me…and to this day when I sit in church and stare at the various depictions of saints and stories from the bible I am reminded of Kristen and that morning in church, the first thing I realized that this very thing I was looking at was beautiful. But that all changed when I met Lisa…I still hold onto the image of the church, but now my memories seem to change and fade into one another and it as though Lisa is there with the reds and gold and deep blues shining off of her perfectly spun hair…that is beauty now…there is no more peanut butter, but that holy image is now juxtaposed with the only woman that I was ever supposed to love. My Lisa. Its when I lie awake when my childhood and the rest of my life seem to meld together and all at once I feel that Lisa has always been my best friend…that she was always there…I like to think that, that she was just around the corner, maybe she watched me play and maybe I tried to look up her skirt…its all relative…its all the time its all the same.
There was a an incident involving my first grade teacher whose name I can’t recall and a very large rail road tie that she kept in her desk. And this particular incident also involved a nebbish titty sucking boy named Matt who was frequently picked on (no doubt he evolved into a closet homosexual who dressed in offbeat colors…probably lots of corduroy and suede) and this boy was raising hell about something, more than likely the fact that he was not being paid attention to. So my teacher produced this massive spike from her desk and threatened to nail his ass to his seat, though im sure she said butt, maybe not even something that explicit. Whereupon he began to cry and we had a good laugh…man kids can be so cruel…apparently so can first grade catholic schoolteachers.
I cant recall seeing a pack of cigarettes in my second grade teachers purse and being completely shocked, I assumed that teachers were some higher power, robots, or some sort of special being that didn’t indulge in such habits, I was completely shocked. But I think she knew that I knew her little secret, because while other kids might leave apples for a teacher I began to leave packs of matches and lighters that I would take from my older brother. My little ploy seemed so intelligent, so sly, so remarkable…she would never know it was me AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
So sitting there in the principal’s office, waiting for my mother arrive I suddenly didn’t feel so intelligent…my teacher and principal were now convinced that I was a prepubescent arsonist with intentions to set fire to the school…its hard to shake a wrap like that as a kid…Corey Kloos the paste easting fire starter…thank God kids weren’t clever enough to rhyme my name to these particular claims
Ok so that’s not a particularly good story but I am sure there are others that I will find.

INT. OGBYN ROOM – DAY

We start with a static shot out of a window in this doctor’s office. We see a beautiful glossy fall day – the kind of thing that has been filmed many times before – the colors burn in their autumnal splendor – the rain trails down the window while everything else appears to be wrapped in cellophane.

Lisa (23) is putting on her clothes in the doctor’s office. Lisa is a beautiful young woman – classically beautiful – the type of woman you want to love, but have no shot at. Lisa has kind, but very pained eyes, deep brown, the color of molasses glazed ebony.

Doctor Martin (38) comes into the room.

The camera is outside the window as Doctor Martin and Lisa begin to speak. Lisa is clearly upset about something. The camera pulls away from the window and pans around to reveal the falls streets.

Narrator (Male)
This is where her story begins – these events are what happened to her – to she – to Lisa. I’m just a narrator who knew Lisa – I was a moment in her life – a heartbeat – but like I said, this is her story.

FADE OUT:

Title Credits

FADE IN

EXT. CENTRAL PARK – DAY

Lisa is walking through Central Park on a poetic fall day – maybe she is walking through poet’s row – its bright and people all walk and move the world in their own way. The camera dollies back as Lisa walks forward

Lisa is walking Bear a small tri-colored Beagle

CUT TO:

EXT. DEAN AND DELUCA – DAY

The camera dollies from right to left as Lisa walks out of the coffee shop and takes a bite out of a scone – she presents the rest to Bear who has no problem accepting it.

CUT TO:



INT. YOGA CLASS – DAY

The camera dollies left to right across a yoga class. We see various women doing the poses – we arrive on Lisa mid yoga position – Bear is lying down next to her on his own mat.

During the montage we hear the following Narration

Narrator
This is the part of the story where I explain Lisa’s everyday life to you. It doesn’t matter how it is described since this story is only one version of many – conjectures about times and faces – small details that have been added or subtracted to fit Lisa’s personal experience. It is no more true or false than any other version of this story and that’s why it is all that much more important that it is being recreated precisely – through Lisa’s eyes.

CUT TO:

INT. LISA’S APARTMENT – DAY

We are on a close-up of Lisa.

Lisa
GET THE FUCK OUT!! I can’t believe you! Why her!? Does she fuck you like a whore!? Tell me GODDAMMIT!!

We cut to a wide shot and Lisa is alone in her apartment – script in hand – she is rehearsing lines – is very frustrated.

Lisa
- Shit --- that sucked – why was that so bad?

She is talking to Bear – Bear just stares at her.

Narrator
Lisa frequently spoke to Bear – her beagle – she spoke to him as though he understood what she was saying-

Lisa
- Yeah I don’t know why either.

Narrator
- She knew he didn’t.

Lisa pulls a cigarette from the pack next to her on the table – she lights up and slumps down into a comfortably worn in chair.

Drew (20) tall- angularly handsome – athletic young man walks into the room with two cups of coffee. He places one in front of Lisa who is now wearing Pajamas- Bear is no where to be found. Drew sits down and lights a cigarette for himself

Lisa
Thanks bear –

Drew
Of Course.

Drew leans back with his coffee not saying anything, just dragging slowly off his cigarette.

Lisa stares and smiles at Drew. He catches the look and merely smiles back.

Drew
I love you Lis –

Lisa
I know.

Drew leans over and kisses Lisa – they absorb one another.

They part and Lisa reaches down, picks up her cigarette and script. She is back in her original clothes – Bear is sitting next to her once again. She has just stumbled into a memory.

Narrator
It was her memories that patched the gaps in time now. Her daily life often became so unentertaining that without prompting, her brain would insert a moment in her life that somehow fit perfectly into the vacancy of time and space – as if each moment we live has no rational chronological order, but rather is completely mutable – something that is meant to be felt and not remembered – at some point the phone rang.

Lisa looks around with a slight ere of confusion. She pets Bear – gets and moves into her bedroom.

CUT TO:

INT. LISA’S BEDROOM – DAY

Lisa opens her drawer and roots around for a moment – produces a copy of ‘She’s Come Undone’ – opening it we see that it is hollow in the middle – a small pipe and sack of weed rest in the center.

CUT TO:
Lisa is sitting on her bed Indian style take a large hit off the pipe. Mozart plays while candles burn – this is almost like ritualistic meditation.

The Phone rings.

Der Film Haus

So I'm sitting in my lit class. american writers 1910-1945...and I am struck by the overwhelming ammount of uninteresting people actually take night classes...this sounds like elitism (a characteristic of modernism! look at me learning), but I am not saying i AM interesting, just commenting on how uninteresting alot of these people are. Kevin the Black and overtly homosexul 40 year-old "senior" (i put this in quotations because the man was a senior when i was a freshmen...first semester freshmen at that) and this man KNOWS EVERYTHING! it became a game of mine to count the grunts that signaled either his agreement or complete distain for what the professor...sorry sorry...DR was saying (she does not respond to professor, only DR....its not like she can perform surgery...or could save a life, unless as someone was dying from cancer they suddenly had a medical breakthrough showing that only a cited thesis paper about neo-gothic literature could possibly save this poor cancer ridden person's life!). but kevin...yes....kevin....if we weren't sure that he was A) Black or B) Gay....he sure made us realize it every time he opened his mouth (mostly by making blow job gestures at the good DR. every time she said something he disagreed with). But other than being the most militant gay man i have ever encountered he is also completely convinced he is the smartest man alive...which is true....wait....no its not! AT ALL! goddamn you Kevin you almost had my fooled!....the good DR of this class is a 30ish elfin woman who looks as through she stepped straight out of Tolkein's universe, which pleased Creepy Jesus (creepy jesus is the self described fantasy dork who talks to himself and has a visible erection at the sight of our elfish DR. not because she is attractive, but rather because she DOES so closely resemble an elf...he has questions about peter jackson im sure..and can probably confess his love for her in her own language)....the class itself also contains a waif french girl who comes straight from a degas painting, but is slathered in abercrombie as opposed to delicate pink and white, she has trouble with the language...we have one of JLo's back up dancer and the obligatory 50 year old woman who's favorite author is Danielle Steele (this is not a joke) but i admire the desire to learn......but we did have to do ice breakers which would be fine....if i was still in 4th grade and was afraid of girls and my basement....so i wrote about one of the larges existetial dilemmas of our time: In the 90's cartoon James Bond Jr. the title character is James Bond's NEPHEW...not his son, so my dillemma is this: knowing this information, would the former still hold the title of JR? because I dont think so....unless James Bond Sr. (gramppy bond i suppose) names ALL of his children James Bond...you know, like George Forman did? well I do not believe this is the case because Jr. Bond never MENTIONS his parents, only his SWEET ASS uncle....i dont know...maybe the world will never know

it all began here

One brother in Germany, the other in the dee south of the American Heartland, both fighting for this right this privelage for me to be doing exactly what I am doing. I miss them both dearly and dream often of all of us again fighting with sticks as swords in heavy spring mornings...its ok though. I sit in my darkend apartment and think about this week and how unholy saturated my world it with nostalgia, but its only of late. Doing alot of reading. reading alot of memoirs, preparing to write mine, will post portions on here for my brothers to read. this is sort of like talking to myself and i enjoy it. boring now, will write more and more intersting things later.