Unfinished until the End (6/9/17)

An impressionable kid looking to be impressed: An oversimplified, though valid, summation of my high school experience. Since I have moved on to college, my nostalgia has been coated in a bitterness I have since been defensive about. High School was fine, nothing more nothing less.

*Disengaging guards now*

If we are going to dwell on memories whose reservations are not dated until far later, (Who knows, maybe my thirties will provide me with something of an objective perspective) we might as well try to snag a table while we are here. Whether the view will be adequate, I will let you be the judge.

So I’m walking through some throw-away ‘hallway trip to class’ and I can feel a knot in my stomach. It must be my senior year, the height of my angst and need to be validated, and I recall having a deranged fondness for this knot. I felt time was slipping through my fingers and in some kamikaze-attempt to hold onto something, I remember tying that knot even tighter hoping it would not undo.

This type of behavior led to a two-year post-high-school long-distance relationship that ended up folding just in time for my transfer to another school. It’s funny how things work out that way–I guess I regret nothing.

This is unfinished, I really don’t know where to go from here. But that’s the point right?

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To Bed (Late Night Quick Sketch) (Working on Characters and Dialogue)

A hand on her shoulder. “Sonia, my dear, are you still drunk?” Glenn asked, assured she was, but unsure whether she had been kept up to date. The apartment has emptied out by now. Sonia breaks out of a slurred murmur.

“I don’t know what it is, but there is something undeniably sexy about curvy Hispanic women. The low to the ground, big-bottomed ones. That’s not to say,” burping under her breath, “that other women aren’t sexy. I’ve dated plenty of White and Asian women in the past.”

“I know you have, but–”

“But a thick senorita. There is just nothing like it. Their hair so lush and their skin so soft. Their…” She is reaching for the bottle of tequila when Glenn grabs her by the forearm.

“Sonny, up here sweetie. Look at me, Sonia Carter listen to me.” Shaking her back from her fading existence. “I think it’s time you went to bed.”

“Went to bed? The night is still young!” She holds up her drink in celebration to a room of empty red solo cups and unclean dishes.

“It’s 4:53am, our party ended nearly five hours ago. You’ve been drinking yourself to death watching old episodes of Breaking Bad for I don’t know how long now.”

“Say my name!” She leans back in her chair trailing with a cackle.

“Sonny, I love you. I am your bestie, always have been by your side haven’t I?”

“Heisenberg.”

“Alright, come on, let’s get up. Time for bed.” Cradling her arm around his neck and onto his shoulder, he drags her out of the kitchen.

“You’re the best, Glenn.”

“I know.”

“Do you happen to know any short curvy Latinas, Glenn.”

“There’s one who works in human resources at my office, her name is Darlene.”

“Darlene, I bet she has some exotic South American last name like Gueverra or something. Could you be a pal and give her my number?”

“Do you need to use the bathroom before bed?”

“Nope, I should be fine.” She waddles to her bed and lands face-first into her mess of blankets. Glenn collapses next to her.

“Time for bed.”

Burroughs (A Late-Night Quick Sketch)

At the foot of a bed, tears flow off the ledges of her cheeks, pouring out into large pools cratered in the already stained, beige-turned-brown carpeting. Fearing water-damage and seepage into the apartment below, Kora wishes she could stop crying. Such prayers, however, are answered only with deeper self-pity, causing her tears to rain down even harder. Meanwhile, a man dressed in a glowing neon three-piece suit is fumbling in the bathroom for a toilet to vomit in.

Knees on marble tiling and hands gripping the toilet’s rim as a steering wheel, live salmon proceed to wriggle out of the man’s mouth and into the bowl below. Yes, salmon-colored salmon are now flailing out into a porcelain bowl with not enough water to sustain a long and healthy lifestyle. More continue to come with no sign of stopping, overfilling the toilet and loosening the man’s grip until he finally collapses onto the cold marble floor. Convulsing, large salmon spew out of his gullet in a fountain-like formation. A rumble reverberates throughout the entire apartment and Kora still sobs.

The growing number of salmon necessitates an amendment of the usage of salmon as plural to the more numerously connoted salmons. Salmons roll out into the carpeting of Kora’s suite and stare at her in unblinking eyes with gaping mouths. Kora shields her eyes as they flop toward her puddles of tears for salvation. She pulls herself to the bed’s post, grabs the remote, and blasts CNN where the first human interaction ever to take place on a news channel is airing. Kora recalls collapsing into the arms of her sixth grade teacher, never understanding why.

She wakes to a voice telling her to leave, “And start west.”

A Compelling Counter-argument from a Feeling Rarely Felt…

“Why would you want to taint the moment with the reality of what happens? Do not show up. Untouched, will be the moment you carved into your memory bank of your own free will. The setting, the conversation, the moment where everything became perfect… As the orchestrator of every detail in the spiraling inner-networks of your mind’s picturesque ensemble, you choose whether to silently hum the tune in your head or sing it aloud and find out how cacophonous it all truly is. Leave the memory untouched and unrealized and your imaginations will become concrete and your hopes and dreams will stay with you forever as hopes and dreams. It is all so unbelievably easy, it will happen before you even realize it.”

Lines (microtransaction)

Monochromatic shades of moonlight pierce the window overhead. In bed, little matters. Breathing, her head on his chest—circling, his abdomen with her index—caressing, her cheek in his palm—asking, does he love her—reminding, that of course he does.

There is an eagerness to her. Every moment carried an insuppressible excitement for the next. The next…

“Departure for New York City will be at gate 12 in fifteen minutes.” He holds her hand in his. Will her hand be the same the next time? Will his be? Will there be a next time? Her face is everything and his teeth are clenched over a knotted throat about to snap.

Fall into my arms once more.

Track 2 – Kaleidoscope

Abstract [Throat-Clearing]

“Oh, you have finally arrived.” Surprise rings forth, bringing a smooth warm voice intonated with a renewed sincerity (Kelly, 204). “You must forgive my insolence, I am afraid I hadn’t noticed you until now.” Descending into the mouth of his grandiose velvet modern-wingback chair, he places his glass on a table designated for when an unexpected visitor arrives and one must sit and set their glass to allow for events to be… How would one put it? Set in motion. As if the clock’s ticking responded to one’s presence in the first place or vice versa. For the natures of abstraction can never be construed with certainty.

“Or can they be? It all comes full circle to the old question of a tree falling in a forest, no one being in proximity, and so forth. Would you care for a drink?” A genuine smile masquerades itself upon his face, born with anticipation for the rest of the evening. “You would? Excellent! Lucy my dear, could you please fetch our guest a glass of,” lowering into a whisper, “How does vermouth sound? Fantastic.” Louder and directed at Lucy, stirring somewhere beyond view, “A glass of vermouth for our fine guest” (Anderson, The Master).

He claps his hands together with satisfaction. “What a beautiful thing! To have an old friend back once again.” There is a shimmer in the man’s eyes, never wholly revealing itself, yet promising an awakened soul has been overwrought with joy for the unexpected arrival. “And you always were such a good friend. You always were.” A tear forming in his palpebral crevice is quickly dismissed with a handkerchief. “Look at me, tearing up.”

A long streak of black approaches, a wine-filled glass in her right hand. Underhanding you the drink, her ominous figure hovers overhead. The streak’s frame is otherwise unspectacular save for a hunch that develops upon reaching her higher altitudes. The bend precariously dangles her head and hair over her shoulder’s edge. “Thank you, Lucy. Oh, and please do stand up straight in front of our guest.” His smile evens out by the time she is finally out of the room and out of sight.

Of course, there was the question looming in the room’s ether, “Yes, the question.” A question which would not be outright difficult, “But may take some time to unpack.” He leans forward bringing his hands to an interlacing triangle. “There are those who would say, ‘You could find nothing in everything.'” While others would propose, ‘You could find everything in nothing.’ “So which is it” (Lamar, BLOOD.)?

Track 1 – Kaleidoscope

Intro: A Quote and a Question

“Get your facts first, and then you

can distort them as much as you

please.”- Mark Twain  &

 “Can a Research Essay

Have Artistic

Value?”-The

 Author

V

There are no other revelations than the thoughts of the wise. (A Late-Night Quick Sketch)

Hoy nuestros cuerpos se hicieron extensos, crecieron hasta el límite del mundo y rodaron fundiéndose en una sola gota de cero o meteoro. Somewhere between asleep and awake, Amara lies at the edge of a swirling landscape of pillow, blanket, and sheet. She imagines her state to be a marriage of the waking and dreaming world, where the real and unreal coalesce peacefully. The illuminated darkness deprives the room of color, leaving only outlines of the room’s contents intact. Her usual flurry of emotions has subsided this deep into the night. There is something comforting knowing that nothing of any consequence could happen. If she fell asleep right now or stayed awake another five minutes, no difference.

She stares up into her ceiling fan. With enough focus, she can catch sight of one of the blades and follow its rotation. If she lost concentration, even for a second, the whole enterprise would have to be restarted. Not that a lapse of focus or losing one’s sight of a singular fan blade amounted to anything much. Though she could never ascertain if it was the same blade when she returned. Amara was the type to get caught up in such uncertainties, not now though.

Sleep–alarm–morning–shower. She turns the knob from cold to hot. Frigid air is seeping in from outside the edges of her floral-patterned curtains. She pulls them closed as tight as she can. A shower had always been her escape from it all: complete isolation where nothing is felt but the tapping of water on your back and the sound of water drops against the porcelain interior. Complete sensory control. She turns the knob from hot to cold. She runs shampoo through her hair, hoping she could wash her thoughts away as well. A cute metaphor, the shampoo washing her thoughts away, she thought. She smiled as she watched white foam swirl into the drain. She turns the knob from cold to hot. The impending doom of leaving the shower becomes apparent as she washes her knees. A cold world beyond her control awaits her on the other side.

She turns off the water. She opens the curtain and a naked Muslim man with only a turban on stares at her. She screams. The man pulls from behind him a full bottle of cognac. He downs the drink with one swig. She still screams. He then coughs up a snake that slithers out of the room.

The ceiling fan is spinning. Only a dream. Amara loosens her grip on her bed and rolls over. I will never understand why I am the way that I am. Entre tú y yo se abrió una nueva puerta y alguien, sin rostro aún, allí nos esperaba.

How To Plant A Tree (Late-Night Quick Sketch)

  1. Plant seed in the ground.
  2. Water daily.
  3. Amara was shaken. Her eyes were wide and her expression was blank. Two years? Was that what the advisor said? The man’s glum expression and sad hollowed out eyes worked liked a mirror for her soul. She was scared shitless. The decisions of today would carry large implications over the course of a life much longer than the one leading up to it. Pause for a brief moment of considering flipping the off-switch for good. Walking out of that advising department building, finding the nearest sidewalk, waiting, and leaping out for the next bus off the face of the Earth. Woe is me, come on Amara, you are better than this. Quit being stupid, she told herself. All this pressure had been amplified by the man’s matter-of-fact, nonchalant, nervous more about his job than about you delivery with which he explained to her the situation. Two more years of education would be required to get her degree. Entering her senior year the following fall, this was not an option. Even if her parents could foot the bill, and they wouldn’t be able to, she could not let them. Would not let them. Two more years of tuition for a piece of paper that said more about the hell she put herself through than about herself at all. She already loathed her major. There she said it. Not aloud, but in her head. Oh, she was lost. Far too close to any of the events to make any sense of them. Think, there must be something I can do. 
  4. And she finally grew up and left the advising office. Made a few calls. Did some real self-reflection. Thought about self-worth. Thought about what she wanted. Enough making the same mistake. Enough impulse decisions, that was how she got stuck in this major. No. Now it was time to do what her parents had been begging her to do all along. Be an adult. Act in her own self-interest while not fucking over the ones she loved. Be an adult. Act rationally and research. Look for alternative options. This is when all those backup plans come into play. Survival. Decisions worth impacting the rest of her life. Never shutting the door on anything, but not being flippant in her choices. Conviction. No longer a martyr. Be an adult. The only person’s opinion who matters is your own. No longer searching for a plan that will appease others, but one you can stand behind. One that you fully created. Time cannot move fast enough for Amara. God, I hope I am not an idiot.
  5. Let time pass.
  6. Look, there’s a tree!