(This is not a story)

(A note- I've really neglected all of my various blogging pursuits as of late, but I hope that this one might still live in some form, since I do continue to write and some of it is even worth sharing. So, please, send me good thoughts and gentle reminders and I might yet still steal some of your day sharing my thoughts and ideas. Ciao.)

The Starting Gunshot

It starts with a gun shot.

Your arms are pumping, your lungs burning, your knees and feet and legs pulsing with the beat of the unforgiving pavement below. It is not about victory, nor about competition, but rather an unspoken desire seeded deep within your soul. Your eyes see nothing but fire and the crowd from which you emerge is a tidal wave and you are at the tip of its wake. The air screams past your ears, a high pitched squeal. The wind cuts your face. For a brief moment, you are truly and undeniably alive. Each step pushes you further than you've ever been before, your body at and exceeding its limits. Each breath you take rips you raw, providing increasingly diminishing returns. You are running out of time, out of energy, out of will. Maybe you should have exercised more. As the riot continues to rage, the mob passes over your collapsed body and soon you are consumed by the overflowing rage, stomping and stampeding blindly over you. When the time has passed, the morning crews will be cleaning overturned garbage cans, broken glass and your blood from the ground.

Cactus Plant

(Note: This was written one night, (October 6th to be excact) after biking home to pick up the car on the way from one social function to another. The images had been in my head for a while, but suddenly they became a poem of sorts. I sat down immediatly upon getting home and wrote it out freehand. The very next day, I read it at an open mic poetry night. I'm not a poet, I'm a playwrite, and perhaps it shows, but I do like this poem. Please excuse the formatting, but, you know, it's one of those things.)

Cactus Plant

The day that she left me, my cactus plant died.
A round little bulb of green and thorns,
A gift, from her, a reminder of happier times-
To bring some life into this place, she said,
Something you won’t kill too easy, she smiled,
A joke. We named it ‘Harold’, our first child,
One last thing she took with her when she went.

I know it died because I had had one other, years ago,
Another gift, a cheap present, 3.98$ plus tax at some chain store, somewhere,
From a friend who wasn’t one long and wasn’t missed after.
This one was spherical and seemed to wish to burst
from the coffee tin in which it had been planted.
Its soft sharp curves seemed optimistic-
Like the bright flowers it bloomed in the first month,
Only to wilt and fall and then, never again.
I neglected it, and yet it still was green. I took a perverse pride:
First “It’s been weeks since I-“ and then “Watered it maybe once every month or-“
and so on and so forth until:
“Is that still there? I had forgotten it.”
Maybe a year without water, and still green by some miracle.
Only when I touched it, it fell away, collapsed into itself like a deflated balloon,
An empty husk revealing itself, the plant long since dead,
maybe since the first and final time those small buds bloomed only to fall to neglect.

I knew that my second plant lived because each time I would come to it,
Placed in the tiny window of my basement room, it would lean towards the sun,
Vegetation seeking luminous salvation from my dark dwelling,
My moonless hiding place.
And so, weary of a ruse like my last cactus plant, I would turn it,
And as proof of its will to live the next time it would have moved again,
Still stretching towards the only nourishment that would see it with any regularity.

It struck me as strange that one plant should live
While the other would die and take on the illusion of life.
Were I the cactus put under such condition, which would I be?
In the end though, I supposed it doesn’t matter
As regardless of their efforts,
both died.

It struck me then that the cactus is a hardy plant,
built for survival,
one that could withstand the harsh heats and chills of the desert lands –
lonely souls battered by the extremes –
and thrive without life,
without water,
over times that were as good as endless
next to my own
human
fragility.

And yet, when she left me,

we both died.

Secret Identity

Note: This is the play I won first place in the Amateur Division of the InstaPlay. I only had 90 minutes to write it, so it's not amazing but I like it. I actually didn't finish the play, so there's a point where you'll find "***"- That marks the original ending. All I've done here is transcribe the script with minimal edits (mostly just chaning one of the characters names from Jayde to Jade, because that second spelling was part of a plot point I had already decided to drop before finishing the play, and then I've finished of the play after the asterixes. Enjoy!

(“Gerald”, a middle aged man – out of shape and more or less burnt out – sits on a park bench. He holds a bag of bread crumbs and throws them haphazardly onto the ground. Billy, a young man wearing a suspiciously cumbersome trench coat wanders around. He spots “Gerald” and carefully observes him.)

B: Do I know you?

G: (After a long penetrating glare) Don’t know where you’d get that idea.

B: Right. Okay. Just, uh, checking.

G: Right.

(Billy stands, unable to think of how to continue. “Gerald” throws some more bread crumbs. There’s quite a mess by this point.)

B: You know, you should really stop that.

G: Stop what?

B: What you’re doing. With the – what is that anyway?

G: Breadcrumbs.

B: Right, breadcrumbs. Uh, yeah. Please stop. You’re making a mess. That’s litter.

G: Is it now?

B: Yeah, it is. Please stop, before I have to, uh…

G: What will you have to do?

B: (He takes a moment to gather himself) Something we’ll both regret. Don’t push me old man!

G: (Another stage. Billy’s bravado drops) First of all, I’m not an old man. I’m 43. I’ve got decades left. Secondly, it’s not litter. I’m feeding the birds.

(“Gerald” returns to sprinkling his crumbs. Billy looks around.)

B: There aren’t any birds.

G: There will be.

B: There haven’t been any birds since

G: You don’t understand son. There will be birds. Eventually.

B: Right. Well, why don’t you just hold off with the mess there until they show up. Because you’ve really made a mess now and I can’t just ignore it.

G: Why would that be?

B: Because I have a responsibility to this park.

G: Is that so.

B: Yes it is.

G: Don’t you have anything better to do?

B: Well – uh – no.

G: You’ve got this whole park and there is NOTHING for you to do other then bother an old man who just wants to be left alone?

B: You just said that you weren’t an old –

G: I come here for a little peace and quiet and instead I get harassed because some little punk thinks I’m littering. Litter! And that’s the best you’ve got to do! Why don’t you just – I don’t know – go play on the swings or something?

B: Littering is a CRIME.

(At this last word “Gerald” gives Billy the ultimate stare down. Something is boiling inside him)

G: A crime? A CRIME???

(The throws his bag of breadcrumbs a Billy, rising to deliver his impassioned harangue)

G: Don’t talk to me about crime! I know everything there is to know! And if there’s anything you need to know it is that I would never commit a crime in a million years! I took a vow many years ago, a vow that I have never broken, a vow to defend the innocent, to protect the weak and to punish all evil doers! With my right hand I carried a million babies from burning homes and with my left I valiantly smote a million arsonists! With my right leg I kicked and toppled down a billion despots and with my left I saved a zillion galaxies by punting them away form harm! One of my eyelashes has stopped more “crime” then you’ve ever seen or are likely to see in your whole life! And that’s AMAZINGLY unlikely because of ME! For I am the fantastic, the might and awesome-
(Billy, who has been in shock since being hit by the breadcrumbs lets out a yell as he throws off his trench coat to reveal his outfit: Wrist bands, short shorts, a pair of beat up running shows and a jersey with the letters “RM” on the front. He quickly puts on a sweatband on his head and raises a water bottle)

B: ASSUALT!

(He quickly chugs back the water, and pulls out an MP3 player which he attaches to his armband and puts a pair of ear buds in his ears. He quickly beings running in the spot, “faking” several attacks on “Gerald”)

G: What the hell do you think you’re-

B: Villain, prepare to meet your doom! For today, today you have met RUNNING MAN!

G: Sweet Jesu-

B: I warned you, but you didn’t listen! Well, now you have to face my wrath! Prepare for a marathon beating!

(“Gerald” casually stands, brushes himself off, ignoring Billy’s increasingly frantic feints. He flicks Billy, who tumbles wildly offstage.)

B: Owwww!

Woman’s Voice: Was that really necessary?

(“Gerald” turns around as Ethel enters, a middle aged woman who is more or less his female counterpart physically. She shakes her head with disapproval.)

E: You could have killed the poor kid you know.

G: But I didn’t.

E: No, you didn’t did you.

G: I still follow my vow Ethel.

E: I know Ga-

G: Gerald.

E: Alright then. Gerald, I know that’s still important to you. What about the part that says “defend the innocent”?

G: He was being a jerk.
E: Really.

G: I was just trying to feed the birds.

E: Not that again! And what about protecting the weak? That kid didn’t deserve that “Gerald”, and you know it.

G: I guess you’re right.

(A young girl, Jade, in her teens, enters. She looks younger then she is and wears tomboyish clothes. She looks around for somebody.)

J: Billy! Billy? (She spots Ethel and “Gerald”) Hey, have you guys seen my brother?

G: That depends. Does your brother look like he dressed himself from a “Running Room” in the 70s?

J: That’s totally him.

G: I think he’s passed out by the tree over there.

J: Thanks man! (She sprints off)

E: Listen, we should probably get back home. We’re not exactly unknown and with you tossing people left and right…

G: No way. I came here to feed the birds and that is just what I’m going to do.

E: Great. Well, you just let me know how that turns out for you. (She goes to leave)

G: Wait! … I could use the company.

E: Alright. (She sits) You know, those breadcrumbs were for stuffing.

G: The birds need it more.

E: Do they now.

G: It’s a peace offering.

E: Why do you need to make a peace offering?

G: Because I made a mistake. It was wrong of me, and I want to make up for it.

E: And are you going to make things up to that kid?

G: He was really being annoying.

E: That’s an awful excuse and you know it.

G: I guess so. Still, what do you want me to do?

E: I can think of a few things. Anyway, here he comes so think fast.

(Jade and Billy re-enter, Jade holding up her brother. Billy looks pretty messed up.)

B: Get out of here Jade, I need to handle this on my own. Running Man fights his own fights!

J: I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding, limping man.

B: This old guy needs to learn that litter isn’t a victimless crime! And I’m going to teach him that lesson! Lady, get out of the way.

E: Calm down son.

J: Wait a sec. Are you… And you! Oh- ohmigod! Billy, this guys just flicked you all the way to the other side of the field, right?

B: A lucky shot! Musta, uh, been really strong wind or something.

J: Billy you’re such an idiot. Wait right here! (She runs off)

G: Where is she going?

B: She knows when there’s going to be a rumble. Now old man, we finish this.

E: Hold up there cowboy. Mind if I ask was the getup is for?

B: I’m… I’m a super hero. Duh.

G: And what are your powers?

B: I can… uh… Listen, Batman didn’t need powers!

E: So you run around the park, protecting it from crime, with no powers.

B: Uh. More of less.

E: How’s that worked out for you?

B: Well, not so hot. I mean, in order to get the drop on bad guys, I need to wear that coat and it gets SO hot. And after months or wandering around the park with no crime… I guess I got a little carried away.

G: A little?

B: But I wanted to fight crime so bad! I want to be a hero! But there’s just no crime anymore.

E: Oh, we know.

G: You know why that is son? Because a little duo called Wonderful Man and Amazing Girl fought crime for 15 years and finally scared those criminals straight. So that kids like you wouldn’t have to live in fear. Or dress up in ridiculous outfits!

(At this, Jade jumps in, wearing a haphazard costume, mostly made form torn up garbage bags. She holds a garden rake!)

J: Alright big bro!

B: I can see your point.

J: C’mon!

B: I… I don’t want to fight anymore.

J: Who said anything about fighting? Don’t you know who this is? It’s Amazing Girl and Wonderful Man! If your really want to be a hero, these are the guys to learn from!

B: What??

E: He’s really not that bright, is he?

J: Nope.

G: Sorry kids, but we’re retired.

B: Why? Why did you retire?

J: Yeah, you guys were awesome! And then one day, you just disappeared.

(Ethel looks at “Gerald”. He stands and sighs)

G: Five years ago, it was mother’s day. Amazing Girl and I had pretty much beaten all the crime there was to beat. I had stayed up a whole week trying to figure out the perfect gift for my mother, who had given us our powers. She was a great scientist you know. I figured I could make her proud by showing her a great feat of science. My super brain came up with the perfect ploy- A statue of her, charged with a device that would prevent birds from desecrating it. A simple scheme that pushed the away from the statue, repelling them softly, completely humane. Well, that proved so popular that soon every statue and monument in the world used it. And then, then they put it on the Eiffel tower, in Paris.

My calculations, they had been small scale. When my great device was used on the tower, it was too powerful. Every bird in the world was shot into space. And so I quit. Because you see, the final criminal was ME. The murderer of all the birds.

B: That sucks.

J: It really does.

E: Oh. That’s why they all disappeared. I though we quit because there were no criminals left.

G: That too.

***

J: Ya know, you’d think there would be some sort of great imbalance in the eco system and whatnot if all the birds just up and disappeared.

G: Well, I guess we got lucky.

B: You call that lucky?

G: I guess you’re right. Anyway, that’s why I have nothing to teach you. I don’t even know what I could teach you in the first place son.

B: Well, I just wanted to impress girls. I figured if I could be as awesome as you were, then that would totally do it.

G: There are so many things wrong with that idea that I don’t even know where to start.

E: And besides, the girls would be impressed with “Running Man”, not Billy.

J: They’d be impressed with Running Man and his fantastic sidekick “Gardening Girl”.

B: Really Jade you look ridiculous.

E: Don’t give her a hard time. I know someone myself who put on a costume to help out her big brother.

G: And all this because of a name.

E: Pardon?

G: Didn’t you ever wonder Ethel? Why I decided to be a super hero? When our mother gave us our powers, we could have done anything with them. I could have been an athlete, or a scientist or any matter of things. I was destined for greatness. But the great gift that mother gave me was balanced against the great wrong she had done to me as well. My name.

E: It’s not that bad.

G: Hey, you’ve never been crazy about “Ethel”

E: Yeah, it is a pretty ugly name.

G: And how could I choose any path to fame when my name would follow? No, I knew that my only choice would be something completely unconventional. How foolish I was to choose the path of the Super Hero. It’s nothing more then a bourgeois fairy tale.

B: Does that even make sense?

G: Shut up, I read it somewhere. But no, the secrecy of a super hero was needed. For who could look up to a man named “Gaylord”?

(Billy and Jade look at him)

J: I thought my name sucked.

B: Billy is an okay name.

G: You see? And for that name, the birds paid the ultimate price.

J: Well why don’t you do something about it?

G: What?

B: Yeah, you and Amazing Girl had all sorts of adventures in space. Why not fly out there, find the birds and use all that crazy science in your brain to clone them or something? I mean, you guys stopped all the crime in the world. Bringing birds, you could do that on your spare time over a weekend.

G: You know what? Maybe you’re right.

E: We haven’t tried that yet, it just might work.

G: Thank you son, you’ve led me back onto the right path. How ever can I thank you?

B: Well, you could clean up all this breadcrumb mess.

J: I’ve got a garden rake!

(Gerald smiles, takes the rake and begins to gather the breadcrumbs. Ethel gives a little laugh. Jade and Billy step forward.)

J: Well Running Man, it looks like we saved the day once again.

B: Of course we did Gardening Girl. That’s what superheroes do!

A Moment Of Your Time...

Decided it was time to change my profile picture. Sure as hell makes me look pretty damn happy, eh?

Chapter 2 (Part 2, Cont)

His mother on the other hand had an off and on relashionship with a self proclaimed "cassanova" (Inconspicuously named 'Phil') who lived on my street. His house was a dusky bungalow, both inviting and creepy in a distinctly 60s fashion that I could never quite put my finger on, even reflecting upon it later. My only actual interaction with the man, beyond school yard rumors spread by pre-teens with an obsession with the word 'pervert' and the stange powers it gave them was a brief handshake at a neighborhood barabeque shortly after we moved into town and a brief glance, a secret moment of unspoken communication, a thousand pardons and guilty admissions several months later when my father returned home from the road and let him have it with a solid right hook to the head in return for his unwanted advances on my mother. Brian's mother had begun to see him shortly thereafter and was constantly on the rocks with him, more of less living there while occationally taking breaks to have sordid flings with men even worse then dear old Phil. To this day, whenever I hear the word pedophile (even though, as far as I know, he was not one) I picture his moustache. It was the stuff of nightmares or erotic dreams of the mentally disturbed.

Brian and I had come to an agreement some years before, at the genesis of our friendship. I would never ask questions about the various comings and goings in his family and he in turn would never question my seemingly random desisions at school or at play. This worked out fine for the both of us, and while it may seem strange to think of it this way, our friendship blossomed in our conspiracy of silence. To really stretch any sense of art in the prose here, you could say that we were nourished by the manure formed by the years of shit we simply ignored, rotting away underneath the facade of our typical male indiffrence.

Wow, someone should shoot me for just writing that.

Anyway, Phil was out of town on a buisness trip that week (Sex tourism in third world asia? Tongues wag!), his buissness now totally forgotten. Brian's mother was at another 'on' period with him, and things were about as stable as they ever got. I had made a point, ever since our shared glace, to never enter Phil's house when he was present, so the timing of everything worked out just fine for me. Our system was a machine of well-oiled perfection. I would start my jounrey by sneaking through a secret hole in my back yard fence, a tiny opening surrounded by rotted wood and nails threatenting tetanus. That opened up into a small thicket, which would eventually become a clearing and then an unsuccessful mini-mall. At the time however, it remained a thicket, and I would work my way through it, a hidden path discoverd through years of Brian's childhood, years which he quickly imparted to me as our friendship grew.

From there I would come to Phil's Fence, thick fence posts adorned in thick coats of a musky brown paint. I mean seriouesly, even his frikking fence was creepy! That fence also had a secret exit, although this one had been engeineered by Brian one day, quick work with a screwdiver and jigsaw, the result being a trap door of sorts. It was easy enough to find if you were looking for it, but who would be? After pushing through there, I would be in Phil's backyard, the home of a few clearly aborted attempts at gardening and not much else. From there, it was a quick jog to the back door from where I would administer our secret knock. Upon hearing my knocking, either Brian would let me in, or his mother, although she would usually let me in almost immediatly, not allowing me to finish the complicated staccato beat that Brian and I had pre-determined. She claimed that I was the only one who used the back door, so there was no need to wait it out. She didn't understand.

Promises Broken, Chapter 2

I am both blessed and cursed with a core group of friends that have been with me since (at the latest) junior high. It is a blessing in that we have had many years to build our relationships and ease into having each other into our lives and a curse due to, amongst other things, the familiarity-breeds-contempt factor. Not to get this all off on the wrong foot here as my friends are just that, my friends, but occasionally when you’ve been around the same group of people for years and years on end you begin to wonder how much of your continued association is due to comfort and proximity rather then a genuine desire to spend time with each other. This isn’t a frequent sensation, but it’s there none the less.

A particular event from the 8th grade to this day personifies the dynamics and personalities in the group. It was the day before our junior high graduation ceremony and to celebrate we had all arranged to get together at Brian’s house. It was a school night; Yes, Junior High Graduation was just as lame as it sounds. It took place 2 weeks before the end of the school year and only served to make the grade 8 students unbearably restless for the end of the year, an error in forethought that had persisted for some time at my school. At some point you would think that one of the teachers might wise up to the fact, although memories of hidden hip flasks and secret smoke breaks lead me to believe that perhaps our teachers were as restless as we were at the time. There was a silent pact of sorts, large sections of the final periods of the day being filled with conversation or reading or any activity where we didn’t have to learn and the teacher didn’t have to teach, an arrangement that worked out well for all involved parties. In any case, at the end of the school day my clique formed briefly to run over the basic plan before regrouping later that evening.

Brian and I met in the 4th grade, I the new kid and he the outgoing joker willing to take a new charge under his wing. This was the last of my father’s semi-annual transplantations of our family across the country although I had no way of knowing that, so at first my acceptance of his kindness was more of an automated response. If you want to befriend me, that’s great. It’s not like I’m going to be around for long, right? With his infectious energy however, I soon found myself emerging from my shell and discovering a brave new world of chaos and confusion. Brian it turned out, moved around more then I did, albeit only around the city, a result of his divorced parents and their various questionable lifestyles. His father was what the generous would describe as “a character”, the kind that seemed to be attached to every sitcom family: The crazy neighbor who was always involved in some zany get rich quick scheme or blowing up something with power tools. His fascination with “beating” the casinos also put his finances in constant trouble, and as a result his lodgings were less then stable, in a constant state of feast or famine.

Chapter 1 (Cont, Part 3)

In any case, the water levels had been high that year. People had been grumbling about the possibility of a flood, but nothing came of it. Still, the water had surged at its peak mere feet from the arches of the various bridges crossing the river and the various river walk footpaths had been well and truly submerged. As the levels had begun to ebb off, the damage done to the outlying area by months of raging current became more then apparent. While I hadn’t been back to the park in years it was clear that it was losing waterfront quite severely. The elements had carved out mini-cliffs along the water, large sections of former green space having fallen into the river and been carried off and broken down, never to be seen again.

I walked along the riverside, thinking of nothing in particular, stopping occasionally to examine particularly impressive damage: Trees half uprooted, buried drainage pipes revealed, that sort of thing. A slight breeze blew from the north but its bite was soft, merely brining a little color to my cheeks. As I continued to walk the sun fully set and my journey became marked only by the bright moonlight and the lights from houses on the other side of the river. The wind gained some intensity. It suddenly occurred to me that it had been quite a while since I had last seen any trace of another person, and took a moment to enjoy the solitude. Sure, there were the lights across the water, but they seemed so far away. For a brief moment there seemed to be silence: No cars, music, people… just a soft wind brushing against the water and trees, the last of the leaves softly rustling and occasionally surrendering to the inevitable and softly floating to the ground to join their brothers.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, a catharsis from the insanity that had filled the previous months. The world slowed down, if for a moment, and I allowed myself to feel completely contented. I don’t know what it was about that moment in particular. I’m not a nature-loving hippy or something. My solace is more usually found surrounded by friends and family, or engaged deeply in working. For some reason though, I went for that walk and on that walk had a true moment of relief. I don’t know what caused it, but I do have my theories. Perhaps it was simply the calm before the storm…

As I opened my eyes I saw a figure in the distance, like me walking upon the edge of the parkland, coming around the bend atop a ridge carved out of the terrain. As the figured advanced I began to pick out features in the moonlight. Medium length hair flowed in the breeze, light bounced off a leather jacket. Soon a profile emerged: An attractive girl- Do you mind if I don’t go crazy with descriptions? The last thing I would want is to go into all the nitty gritty physical crap only for you to say “What? That’s attractive?” I wouldn’t be crushed or anything- hell, everyone is entitled to their opinions – but it would kind of derail where I’m going with this thing.

See, here I was going along, telling a story somewhat proficiently and now I screw it all up by getting derailed by this. Maybe I just want my story to come across more universally. Already I feel like I’ve said too much about myself. I would rather that the reader be able to identify with me and what I’m saying. But hell, I’ve already screwed that up. First of all, your name is probably not Blake, and then there’s a slightly-higher-then-fifty percent chance that you’re not a guy either. And actors? I’ve really segregated myself from any target audience, haven’t I? Well… no, I’m getting too worked up now. Please, concentrate: Tell the story now, that would be a good idea, right?

So right- I’m in the park, walking alongside the river when I see an attractive well dressed female walking towards me, also alongside the river. Suddenly several things happen at once: The girl notices me and waves, revealing astonishing smile, a flight of geese fly above us, seemingly signaling some divine event and half way across the city a close friend places a package in a dumpster downtown.

Half of a second later more thing happen all at once: I fall surprisingly quickly in love, she falls surprisingly suddenly as the ground beneath her gives way and blocks away from the previously mentioned close friend my father unexpectedly suffers a heart attack at the age of 55.