Little Cigars

Words cannot describe how much I need to smoke. It is the first time that the slimy fangs of addiction unfurling themselves. Granted, the living situation up here in OKC is trying. The stress of change abounds. It isn't so much the fact that being up here is bad, but the revolving door of guests has become trying. I am a morning person by nature. Most every one up here is a night person. Even now, at two twenty three in the A. M. there are four people up who will be awake till four . And they sleep for four or five hours at a time, making my normal sleep pattern impossible. Living in a loft for free has it's price.

Not that I complaining, as such, but I marvel at the need to inhale the sweet carcinogenic smoke out in the night time air. It reminds me of the simpler times when I didn't care about long term health. Back when I felt young. I'm only twenty two, but time has encroached on me. I find myself looking around, damned if I know how, I have responsibility. I work, I manage a 3.7 GPA, and I make time for friends and my own pursuits. Friends that like to go out and watch plays, or read books, or just sit around and talk and have a quiet drink. I don't know how I used to party all the time. I really have no taste for it anymore. I've become... Mature. Ish.

All this is trivial and pointless, but it has killed ten minutes or so. And maybe I can fight down the urge to stand outside and smoke. For now.

Fragmented

So, I had one of those late night, passion fueled ideas for a story, then the moment passed and the groove was gone. I did squeeze out a paragraph's worth of text from it, though, and I'm determined to keep it alive until such a time that I can give it adequate attention. Until then, I'll leave it here to moulder:

We all grow up in our own, personal Hells. Some have worse ones then others, but we all have them. Pain and fear dig themselves into the furrows of our minds in ways that happiness and banality just can’t. Look back and you’ll see that I’m right. You are running form the shadows of your past, just like I am. It is a legacy that any living person has. Those shadows from our past are what propel us towards the future.

The living past.

Sweet Antebellum. Putting aside all of the rampant racism and slavery, the time itself was a simple one. It embodied the American standard. You work to live. That sort of simplicity lives on in the deep south. Tucked away in the backwoods and the corners of time, people live simply. They fear a wrathful God, work all week, and rest on Sunday.
They live a simple and sparse life, but the deepness of the world never factors into it. There is no time to ponder death and mortality, it surrounds you. The time and energy saved by the automatic world of today gives birth to thinking. We live our lives in a safe cocoon that at the same time is overborne with the troubles of the world. Living with safety and with all the time in the world to imagine the dangerous things that lurk in the great Dark to take it away from us.
In the simple lands of Antebellum there is no wondering about what might happen. The dangers are all known and faced on a day to day basis. Upkeep of the family, the crops, and the livestock. The death of one means the death of all three. Not that the labour takes away from thinking. Quite the opposite, in fact. The wonder of the world can be found in both sides of the spectrum. In our world we see how very small we are and how little we understand. It strips us of our ego and how superior we think we are in the world. In Antebellum they know the world is large. They are aware of their ignorance. And just as long as the giant world keeps to itself, the industrious residents are happy to keep to themselves. They stick to mending fences, shoeing horses, and plowing fields. And while they work they let their thoughts drift softly at the greatness of things. There is no preoccupation with where life is going or what the future holds. In those little eddies in time the future holds exactly what the past holds. Life is going to stay exactly where it has always been. When today is like yeaterday and yesterday has a strinking resmblance to what tomorrow is starting to look like, thoughts can be soft.
It lets one look at a cloud for no other reason than that clouds are truely spectacular, when you get right down to it. Simply because they exist. It makes me smile to think that somewhere out there life refuses to be rushed. It's a dying way of life, but, for a time, it clings to that life with an aloof determination.

Rouge Notes

The music pours from my fingertips. They swoon and sway to the rhythm of my mind. The lights are bright and the room hot. Sweat from every pore. Left works the pounding beat, following the heart. Right works the sickly sweet melody, telling tales of the past. The vibrations paint the air thick with the vivid vision of nothing in particular, but everything of importance. Pulses race. Memories spark. Tears flow. Power. There is a collective sigh as the hands dance the keys on their own, making it up as they go. There is no more control, only music. I become one of the crowd. Lost in the orgy of nostalgia and healing hearts. We all see what the sounds mean to us. Our bodies become sympathetic the the waves of feeling making their way from the deepest center of the piano.

I regain consciousness and start to take it away. The crashing crescendo replaced with a gradual let down. The last trickle from a torrent. One last lingering note and it is all over. No applause, just the overwhelming pressure of times long gone. We leave each other and go on to our lives. But we all share the experience.

Old poem

The Itch

When cold, His is the Blanket offered.
When tired, His is the Bed supplied.
When deaf, His is the Voice all heard.
When pained, His is the Sympathy cried.

He lends you His Strength.
He lends you His Wisdom.
He lends you His Wealth.
He lends you His Kingdom.

He speaks the most sweet,
Writes the most kind,
Gives the most gifts,
And spends the most time.

Then when you feel the safest,
And no riches you can't fetch,
He'll call back His loans with interest,
And all you worth He'll catch,
So beware when you make wishes,
And steer clear, Dear Friend,
Of Old Scratch.

Dance Poem

Slàinte

Hand in hand and
Hearts in beat
They pound the music
With their feet.

The people crowd around
And cheer
To mark the passing
Of the Year

But Dancers know
What crowds know not,
They dance their dance
To bring the rot.

The tempo wrinkles
Clapping Hands
And turns lush grass
Into sands.

Smiling faces,
Now skeletal grin,
And organs start
To pool within.

Still they dance,
Out in the street,
Hand in hand,
Hearts in beat,

They do not dare
To stop their feet.

Same Old Song and Dance, Part II. (by popular demand)

So, at this point we have Paul in a transient existence and Steve recently set free from a small-minded college in Kansas. The two come together in Oklahoma City where Paul has been offered an amazingly large 20 screen theatre. For the first time in a year and a half Paul had a theatre that didn't require rescue or refitting. This meant that for the first time he would be in one place for an indeterminate duration. Steve's new independence also meant that his options were now open. This led to a happy arrangement where Paul would now have company and Steve would be surrounded by four year institutions.

I was very pleased by all this because the new arrangement would be good for the both of them. The thing about Steve and Arkansas, however, was that Steve had a lot of history with several girls in Arkansas. Girls with less than stable personalities. And it was in this heady mix of hormones and old flames that Steve had to sit in before Paul's move to OKC was final.
And Steve doesn't have the greatest self control.

That was the fact that I kept coming back to as I looked at the Facebook note. It was written by one of the first female interests in Steve's life, and it made it seem as though things were on the upward swing. And when Steve gets serious with old flames he falls into old patterns and behaviours. Behaviours like changing plans last minute and deciding that Arkansas and a retail gig was better than OKC and college.
This would have been devastating to Paul.
For months he had been trying to get somebody, anybody, to come and visit him in Texas. And people, for months and months, kept making plans to come and see him and then letting him down. I could almost taste the heartbreak that would have happened had Steve decided to stay in Arkansas with his old flame.

Happily, the years had wisened Steve and he was done with old relationships. Well, maybe. Here lately there is a mystery girl that has appeared on the scene, but plans are still on and OKC is still his final destination. And when we are face to face again I hope to get the full story, but untill then I am happy with the fact that he is moving on and Paul will get some much needed company.