glendale

There is this tall building on the way into Glendale. I saw a gentleman fall from it tonight. It is the one on the right. The tall one. Before Glendale College. Before Glendale Blvd. Before the Glendale Freeway. Before the Glendale Medical Center. Before all of that there is the tall building I saw the man fall from.

The song on the radio kept telling me that life went on, long after the thrill of living is gone.

I heard a rumor, that up there on some desk, there is a note that explains all of this. Personally, I am hoping it is just a highlighted paragraph from a book a lover gave him a couple of decades ago. That would keep with the theme, the motif, and the whole motivation of the evening.

His coffee is still hot. There are little lines of steam forming some sort of tower to heaven, or at least someplace with more room to breathe. The picture frames have all been put face down. No witnesses. No explaining. He took his second favorite pen with him; no reason to keep everything nice to himself.

A red light blinks on his phone. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

He left his shoes. Light brown. Untied. In a drawer in his desk. That desk with the note, or the page from the book, or the matchbook with the phone number inside; whatever it was that we decided explained all of this. In that desk, where the folders alphabetized by last names used to sit, that is where his untied light brown business shoes stay. The left heel is worn more than the right.

He must have something wrong with his legs.

Otherwise he would have jumped.

But I am glad he didn't If he had jumped, instead of falling, I might not have seen him.

I might have kept driving home, to lay in my empty bed, to trace a route on a map, to start a book I started a hundred times.

Instead I turned the stereo up, stopped for dinner, a beer, and sent kisses from my lips into the air, that they might find the perfect cheek to land on, to keep safe somewhere else.

W is for Weakness...

It used to be different. I used to literally sit by the phone, waiting for calls. Now there is no house phone, just the cell phone that sits in my pocket, waiting for calls.

I regularly loose things down the drain of my shower. Thoughts. Plans. Lovers. Friends. Ideas. Goals. Sympathies. Time. The water takes them with it when it rolls down my skin. Some I let go, freely. Some I fight for. But they all go. Eventually.

I have probably lost more things this way then I realize, or that I care to admit. I come up with ways to counteract the effect. I turn the lights off. I play music what some would consider too loud. I bring lovers in. But they all still go. Eventually.

Today it was music. Loud. Very loud. Music that reminded me of you.

Fuck.

Everything reminds me of you lately. Faces of women I don't know. Songs you have never heard. Maps to places you don't belong. The ding my phone makes when someone who is never you decides to send me a message. The steps I take between the refrigerator and the counter when I pour myself a glass of water. Sweaty punk kids. People kissing in the streets. Sidewalks.

I decided today was your turn. I made a date with you and my drain. It is time. I can't keep up my end of the bargain; I can't burn a candle for you anymore. It is out of sight, out of mind.

Your head is stronger than your heart.

Mine is not.

And in the steam, in the scalding water, in the place where I have had my heart pound harder than most, I let you go.

No ill feelings. No cross words. No regrets.

I heard a ding in the distance.

And for once it was you.

I responded, slowly. Then another ding. Then the phone rang.

You would call.

You would know.

23/26

lancaster sends me off, without even trying

It finally happened. I have been going to these parties for years. There had been cross words thrown around, idle threats in passing cars leaving the scene, to maybe, or maybe not, mingle at another place or time, but tonight, it happened. I stood in a living room drinking a beer. I used to live at the house, and now it seems a lot longer than the two years it was. And a guy almost got beat up. He had pulled a knife before, or twice. And why not tonight? Who knows, but I'm glad he didn't. A friend was involved in the scene. It was a fucking shame. A cycle that doesn't seem to come close to ending. Not on nights like these, in these homes, in a town so dead, or dying.

And the Antelope Valley put on it's best clothes. It has been doing it all week. The people I served ribs to at Peppers. The girls I talked to at bars. The christmas lights that didn't burn as bright as before. All the kids who showed up at this house on a friday night. To drink free beer. To smoke others drugs. To start fights that shouldn't have happened. No one here walks away.

But I do.