There is most probably a heaven. I say most probably because I've seen the other end. There is most definitely a hell. I've traveled and wandered far enough in my time to find myself at its gates numerous occasions. On a side note - there are many entrances to hell, but I haven't found an exit sign anywhere. This however, is a story of an entirely different matter.
In addition to the probable existence of heave, the definitive existence of hell and its many gates there is of course, this life. But, there is also the in between or the in betwixt, a middle zone. This is the story of the middle zone and my quest for the greatest Beef Bulgogi.
I have a good hunch, call it an inkling, a premonition or even a strong faith in the existence of paradise. The reason for this is my travels through the middle zone. This middle zone is a bit of a testament to the grace of God and His desire to see everyone make it into heaven. That, or it's a cruel game similar to what cable companies play when you call to figure out why your monthly bill keeps inching up every month. The middle zone is a holding zone. There are some people who in this life do enough stupid and evil to get a ticket straight to hell. There's no saving them. The Hitlers, the Neros, the Caligulas, the Stalins and the Dursts of this world punched their tickets with all of their misdeeds. It's hopeful, unless of course God and Satan have set up this in between area as a sort of No Man's Land that houses the everlasting souls of people that neither side really wants to put up with. That's not out of the realm of possibilities but, I got to have faith. The guy who introduced me to the middle zone told me it was a holding zone for people to work out all of their flaws so that they could eventually make it upstairs. Of course there are those who have found their ticket punched on the express route to heaven as well. But, for those who are of enough importance, but not quite of enough character there seems to be this place.
This is the story of this place. Some call it purgatory. Some call it Hell (though it most certainly isn't). Most don't bother naming it; they simply exist in it. I can't do that because if I were to do just this, then how would this incredibly important story be told? How would you ever come to hear of this place? So for our purposes, I'll call it The City.
Showing posts with label Joseph Flannigan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Flannigan. Show all posts
Friday, February 6, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
The Stories to Be Told
Here are the stories (so far they are all still in my head).
Current Date: 1/29/2015
A Cornish Mess (The one I'm currently working on). - Time Traveling Bumbling & Stumbling.
Status: The framework is done. I've got a few chapters written in rough drafts.
The Joseph Flannigan Series (Habitaciones Con Banos, The Bulgogi) - A writer losing his way and then coming up with the goods at the last second.
Status: The framework is basically done for Habitaciones. I think even most of it is written in some form of draft. I haven't played with it for a few years. The Quest For The World's Greatest Beef Bulgogi is somewhat thought out. I'm not sure if anything is really done on it though.
The House of Urtsiul - An Epic Style story about the ancient times.
Status: I'm pretty sure that most of this exists in some form of rough draft.
A Hagiography of Obscurity: Loosely Based on a Loosely Held Version of Reality - Short Stories Concerning Obscure Saints and Religious Figures
Status: An Idea
The Definitive History of Texas - An historical account of Texas, if Texas had never been brought into the United States.
Status: An Idea
Current Date: 1/29/2015
A Cornish Mess (The one I'm currently working on). - Time Traveling Bumbling & Stumbling.
Status: The framework is done. I've got a few chapters written in rough drafts.
The Joseph Flannigan Series (Habitaciones Con Banos, The Bulgogi) - A writer losing his way and then coming up with the goods at the last second.
Status: The framework is basically done for Habitaciones. I think even most of it is written in some form of draft. I haven't played with it for a few years. The Quest For The World's Greatest Beef Bulgogi is somewhat thought out. I'm not sure if anything is really done on it though.
The House of Urtsiul - An Epic Style story about the ancient times.
Status: I'm pretty sure that most of this exists in some form of rough draft.
A Hagiography of Obscurity: Loosely Based on a Loosely Held Version of Reality - Short Stories Concerning Obscure Saints and Religious Figures
Status: An Idea
The Definitive History of Texas - An historical account of Texas, if Texas had never been brought into the United States.
Status: An Idea
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A mess of ideas. Maybe just a mess.
Originally written August 11, 2010
Chapter One of The Bulgogi
The Value of Self-Help
For Urtsiul
Polytheistic religion with a chief deity.
King had intimate relationship with chief deity.
Military Aristocracy
Priestly Aristocracy
The Priestly Aristocracy encroaches on king's power during weak times
Ate (Greek term) - "a strong if not actually irresistible impulse to crime" (Russell, 12). Study this.
Book Concept: Orphic
Man dies, soul wakes up in the tomb to find a book of instructions.
Question: What happened to the Buddha's son when he abandoned him?
For Upuk look to Rachel's giving birth to Benjamin and subsequent death.
Chapter One of The Bulgogi
The Value of Self-Help
For Urtsiul
Polytheistic religion with a chief deity.
King had intimate relationship with chief deity.
Military Aristocracy
Priestly Aristocracy
The Priestly Aristocracy encroaches on king's power during weak times
Ate (Greek term) - "a strong if not actually irresistible impulse to crime" (Russell, 12). Study this.
Book Concept: Orphic
Man dies, soul wakes up in the tomb to find a book of instructions.
Question: What happened to the Buddha's son when he abandoned him?
For Upuk look to Rachel's giving birth to Benjamin and subsequent death.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Joseph's First Spanish Joke
Originally written July 24, 2010
Joseph's first successful joke in Spanish: You hablo similar a niño porque yo tengo tres años pero entiendo similar a niño que tiene quatro años. The grizzly looking van driver choked out a laugh while two young attractive Dominicans giggled at one another and spoke to one another with a rapidity that was difficult to fathom, let alone understand. A six year old girl asked her mother why a grown man spoke like her baby brother. That got a bigger laugh than Joseph.
Joseph's first successful joke in Spanish: You hablo similar a niño porque yo tengo tres años pero entiendo similar a niño que tiene quatro años. The grizzly looking van driver choked out a laugh while two young attractive Dominicans giggled at one another and spoke to one another with a rapidity that was difficult to fathom, let alone understand. A six year old girl asked her mother why a grown man spoke like her baby brother. That got a bigger laugh than Joseph.
The Saint and His Dog
Originally written July 24, 2010
It would be a funny story to have a group of friends get into a cab while stoned. The guy in the front should be the worst. The dashboard bobbing dog would attack him after he has a telepathic conversation with a saint airfreshner. He retells the story, "and then that cute, little dog of the saint's jumped off the dash and bit my nose. Naturally I screamed. The cabbie jumped out of his skin, got all pissed and kicked us out.
The Saint's Dog
Brown and White
Maybe a bulldog
But looks friendlier with pinkish, rosy cheeks.
Large black pupills with a greyish eye color. Never takes its eyes off me. Makes me nervous.
Gold chain collar, like some cheap Gucci knock off.
I can stare into its stomach because the head isn't attached.
It's long neck sways his head from side to side (eyes still looking at me). Bump. Head nods with the bump.
It's silence makes me nervous. It knows I'm looking at its gutless innards. It doesn't like it.
The Saint suggests I pet it to make it more comfortable. I do it. The Cabbie yells. Saint and dog go silent. I stare intently at the dog's stomach. It bends its head down to block my view. Eyes ever on me. Saint warns me against it. Saint is protected. He's got a sword. I've got nada. Dog growls. I look at the Saint. He is silent. I look at the Cabbie. Cabbie looks at me. "What the hell is your problem". Pause. "I'll kill you if you puke in here. Is he gonna puke cause if he pukes it's all your asses. I swear to God..." Dog jumps off and bites me. I scream. Laughter and confusion in the backseat. Cabbie is swearing and slamming on his breaks. Boys piling out of back seat. Can't get the seat belt undone. Cabbie yelling. Doors open. Seat belt off. I push the dog. Cabbie screams more. Getting pulled out of the car door. Cabbie is swearing at and slapping at me. Dog's growling. Saint yelling to be rescued. I look the Cabbie dead in the eye. Then I look at the dog. The Cabbie protects the hound of hell. I reach in as fast as I can and rescue Saint and his perch. Cabbie swears more. Laughter. Running away. Saint smiles at me Thanks me.
Note from 9/18/19: I'm not sure if this was originally supposed to be a Joseph Flanagan story or not.
It would be a funny story to have a group of friends get into a cab while stoned. The guy in the front should be the worst. The dashboard bobbing dog would attack him after he has a telepathic conversation with a saint airfreshner. He retells the story, "and then that cute, little dog of the saint's jumped off the dash and bit my nose. Naturally I screamed. The cabbie jumped out of his skin, got all pissed and kicked us out.
The Saint's Dog
Brown and White
Maybe a bulldog
But looks friendlier with pinkish, rosy cheeks.
Large black pupills with a greyish eye color. Never takes its eyes off me. Makes me nervous.
Gold chain collar, like some cheap Gucci knock off.
I can stare into its stomach because the head isn't attached.
It's long neck sways his head from side to side (eyes still looking at me). Bump. Head nods with the bump.
It's silence makes me nervous. It knows I'm looking at its gutless innards. It doesn't like it.
The Saint suggests I pet it to make it more comfortable. I do it. The Cabbie yells. Saint and dog go silent. I stare intently at the dog's stomach. It bends its head down to block my view. Eyes ever on me. Saint warns me against it. Saint is protected. He's got a sword. I've got nada. Dog growls. I look at the Saint. He is silent. I look at the Cabbie. Cabbie looks at me. "What the hell is your problem". Pause. "I'll kill you if you puke in here. Is he gonna puke cause if he pukes it's all your asses. I swear to God..." Dog jumps off and bites me. I scream. Laughter and confusion in the backseat. Cabbie is swearing and slamming on his breaks. Boys piling out of back seat. Can't get the seat belt undone. Cabbie yelling. Doors open. Seat belt off. I push the dog. Cabbie screams more. Getting pulled out of the car door. Cabbie is swearing at and slapping at me. Dog's growling. Saint yelling to be rescued. I look the Cabbie dead in the eye. Then I look at the dog. The Cabbie protects the hound of hell. I reach in as fast as I can and rescue Saint and his perch. Cabbie swears more. Laughter. Running away. Saint smiles at me Thanks me.
Note from 9/18/19: I'm not sure if this was originally supposed to be a Joseph Flanagan story or not.
Some Edits of Habitaciones
(Originally written July 24, 2010)
Habitaciones con Banos
Edits from Book 1
Ch. 1
Pg. 1 - Typewriter type? Fix sentence
Pg. 1. - Overuse of the word, "intentional"
Pg. 2 - Name the nook, something in Latin?
Pg. 3 "and at times, the shallows of his soul"
Pg. 4. Give details of the C-Section
- write a story for the foul mouthed Italian nurse
Pg. 8 The unquenchable emotions were quenched.
Pg. 9 He had reshaped his essence wrong
Pg. 10 Take a sip of scotch, cough, plan B
Ch. 2
Pg. 11 He knows because he had looked
Pg. 12 Shoes bought in the DR actually made in China
Pg. 14 Angela would disagree
Pg. 14 It looked strikingly similar to?
Pg. 14 On various and unrelated topics.
He thought of geopolitical drawstrings, the Wendy's Commercial with the old lady inquiring as to where she could find some meat. Then he wondered when the new Batman movie would be released until he thought of the construction of the perfect Reuben sandwich. He began envisioning Kofi Annan sitting down to a Reuben sandwich with Tony Blair to discuss the recent explosion of comic themed movies. The two became irritated with a woman making the corned beef on their sandwiches. Apparently she did not think it was the right ratio of sauerkraut to meat.
Pg. 21 To use those exclusively.
Pg. 21 Occasionally he would write backwards in them like Leonardo Da Vinci; but, this would invariably lead to frustration at his poor penmanship and a chastisement of his ego at being so vain.
Habitaciones con Banos
Edits from Book 1
Ch. 1
Pg. 1 - Typewriter type? Fix sentence
Pg. 1. - Overuse of the word, "intentional"
Pg. 2 - Name the nook, something in Latin?
Pg. 3 "and at times, the shallows of his soul"
Pg. 4. Give details of the C-Section
- write a story for the foul mouthed Italian nurse
Pg. 8 The unquenchable emotions were quenched.
Pg. 9 He had reshaped his essence wrong
Pg. 10 Take a sip of scotch, cough, plan B
Ch. 2
Pg. 11 He knows because he had looked
Pg. 12 Shoes bought in the DR actually made in China
Pg. 14 Angela would disagree
Pg. 14 It looked strikingly similar to?
Pg. 14 On various and unrelated topics.
He thought of geopolitical drawstrings, the Wendy's Commercial with the old lady inquiring as to where she could find some meat. Then he wondered when the new Batman movie would be released until he thought of the construction of the perfect Reuben sandwich. He began envisioning Kofi Annan sitting down to a Reuben sandwich with Tony Blair to discuss the recent explosion of comic themed movies. The two became irritated with a woman making the corned beef on their sandwiches. Apparently she did not think it was the right ratio of sauerkraut to meat.
Pg. 21 To use those exclusively.
Pg. 21 Occasionally he would write backwards in them like Leonardo Da Vinci; but, this would invariably lead to frustration at his poor penmanship and a chastisement of his ego at being so vain.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Introduction of Mark Switzer
Originally written July 20, 2010
3. Introduction of Mark Switzer
Mark Thomas Switzer had become the epitome of the apologetic male in the 21st century America. His tail hung beneath his legs and the fiersome wildness that had once defined him was but a shameful memory now. in short, Mark had become domesticated. For awhile it seemed as if Felicia had merely caged the bear, but after a few months he was riding a little tricycle and juggling with a cute pointed hat on his neatly trimmed head. Her success in taming Mark was so profound and so complete that it seemed natural and Mark had not only stopped fighting it, but had embraced it. To the casual observer it seemed Mark's natural disposition, but to Joseph it produced and uneasy feeling like seeing a person whose sex cannot be ascertained - that feeling one has when they debate internally over whether or not they should be attracted to it. However terrible the long lasting effects of turning men into apologizing dandies may be indeterminable at the moment in America. The next fifty years will tell us if the novo homo is a good thing, but in Mark's case the domestication was not only a good thing, it was essential for his very survival.
Mark met Joseph on the first day of college. The two were both literary criticism majors at the school Joseph's dad taught at. The two could not have been more dissimilar. While Joseph fretted over the innumerable variables that could effect the outcome of any and all situations, Mark acted on impulses only. Surprisingly the two became best friends in an incredibly short time, which proved invaluable to both. They acted as a counter balance to one another - a virtual ying to yang relationship. This wonderful checks and balances situation, when it worked, saved both of them on more than one occassion. Unfortunately, the two were equally stubborn so occassionally this system broke down and disaster ensued.
After becoming fast friends Mark convinced Joseph to tag along to an upper class mixer. Like most of their ventures the resultes were rather mixed. Both Mark and Joseph achieved the loss every boy prays for that night, but the night also ended with both, individually needing to sneak across campus without garments to get back to the freshman dorm. The two discussed their exploits and demise - the next day and swore a solemn oath to never bring up the event again. This incident remains one of the very few sacrosanct parts of their lives pardoned from the intense ridicule and humiliation that they regularly visited upon one another.
For all of college and the sum of their brief adult lives the two were best friends. Yet despite this Joseph knew very little of Mark's past. It wasn't that Mark hid anything from his friend just that his outlook was so immediate it excluded not only the thought of future consequences, but his entire life's past. Joseph knew that Mark was from Periora, Illinois. He knew that Mark had a number of siblings. He had met at least two when he visited Mark over one summer and had seen an old family picture of Mark's mom and twelve kids. Mark's dad lived in Georgia, but that was about the total of all Mark had ever said of his family. To Joseph it seemed as if Mark's existence had begun in late August of 2001 when they started college. Mark seemed content with this as well.
One morning during the second semester of their freshman year Mark had woken much earlier than normal. It was still dark out and Mark decided that he would venture for breakfast for the first time all year. Walking to the dining commons he enjoyed the cool April breeze and contemplated the momentary joy he found in solitude. But as the cool April breeze progressed into a bitter last stand for the misery of winter Mark lost all the newfound joy in solitary contemplation and began to hurry to breakfast.
Arriving at 6:02 he was one of the first students to eat that morning. He wasked down the stairs to the buffet style cafetira lines and looked over the morning choices. A sigh of despair escaped his now re-tired mouth and he was ready to forgo this early morning experience when he discovered the waffle machine.
It wasn't exactly the waffle machine that so enticed him, although a craving for this breakfast treat soon arrived in his stomach. it was the waffle machine attendant that so caught his fancy that for a moment he stood transfixed, gazing longingly at the waffle girl.
In his mind he began to swagger over towards the vacant spot in front of her station. As he sauntered in a studly gait the woman began to smile. When he arrived he spoke magnificent words in a rich tone of voice that no 19 year-old boy possesses. The verbage and quality of voice was so powerful, so majestic that the buttons of the waffles girl's blouse undid themselves.
Two perfectly shaped breasts unfolded from the waffle girl's shirt and set with erect nipples pointed directly at Mark. Noticing her exposed self she simled coyly and took the whip cream bottle and covered her dime sized nipples. Without a word she motioned for Mark to partake of the morning delicacy that the frecnh call creme de tit. Mark willingly oblighed the young waffle girl.
But while this fantasy was playing out in Mark's consciousness his subconscious had been been directing his feet towards the waffle girl. For a moment the physically present Mark was noticably absent to the waffle girl. She waited patiently as Mark's focus shifted from fantasy to real world.
After a strange exchange Mark walked away with an undercooked waffle topped with strawberryesque red sticky liquid and seven number scrawled on his hand. The waffle girl would soon become the tenth conquest of Mark's freshman year.
In dealing with women the two friends differed in style and success rate. Mark took a very forward approach to women whereas Joseph constantly looked for a backdoor. However, who was more successful in their early college years is still debated.
Mark had completed his tenth bedquest by the end of his third date with the waffle girl. Within the week of this date Joseph and his girlfriend (Dusty) were breaking up. Joseph and Dusty had begun dating in December and although Joseph enjoyed the idea of dating had lost complete interest in Dusty by March. However, like most men he had found it difficult to end a relationship that provided the regular installment of the ultiment benefit (of course, meaning the emotional attachment). But as summer was approaching Joseph found himself unceremoniously dumped after an expensive date.
But as previously stated the two disagreed to who was more successful. (Argument of quantity vs. quality).
3. Introduction of Mark Switzer
Mark Thomas Switzer had become the epitome of the apologetic male in the 21st century America. His tail hung beneath his legs and the fiersome wildness that had once defined him was but a shameful memory now. in short, Mark had become domesticated. For awhile it seemed as if Felicia had merely caged the bear, but after a few months he was riding a little tricycle and juggling with a cute pointed hat on his neatly trimmed head. Her success in taming Mark was so profound and so complete that it seemed natural and Mark had not only stopped fighting it, but had embraced it. To the casual observer it seemed Mark's natural disposition, but to Joseph it produced and uneasy feeling like seeing a person whose sex cannot be ascertained - that feeling one has when they debate internally over whether or not they should be attracted to it. However terrible the long lasting effects of turning men into apologizing dandies may be indeterminable at the moment in America. The next fifty years will tell us if the novo homo is a good thing, but in Mark's case the domestication was not only a good thing, it was essential for his very survival.
Mark met Joseph on the first day of college. The two were both literary criticism majors at the school Joseph's dad taught at. The two could not have been more dissimilar. While Joseph fretted over the innumerable variables that could effect the outcome of any and all situations, Mark acted on impulses only. Surprisingly the two became best friends in an incredibly short time, which proved invaluable to both. They acted as a counter balance to one another - a virtual ying to yang relationship. This wonderful checks and balances situation, when it worked, saved both of them on more than one occassion. Unfortunately, the two were equally stubborn so occassionally this system broke down and disaster ensued.
After becoming fast friends Mark convinced Joseph to tag along to an upper class mixer. Like most of their ventures the resultes were rather mixed. Both Mark and Joseph achieved the loss every boy prays for that night, but the night also ended with both, individually needing to sneak across campus without garments to get back to the freshman dorm. The two discussed their exploits and demise - the next day and swore a solemn oath to never bring up the event again. This incident remains one of the very few sacrosanct parts of their lives pardoned from the intense ridicule and humiliation that they regularly visited upon one another.
For all of college and the sum of their brief adult lives the two were best friends. Yet despite this Joseph knew very little of Mark's past. It wasn't that Mark hid anything from his friend just that his outlook was so immediate it excluded not only the thought of future consequences, but his entire life's past. Joseph knew that Mark was from Periora, Illinois. He knew that Mark had a number of siblings. He had met at least two when he visited Mark over one summer and had seen an old family picture of Mark's mom and twelve kids. Mark's dad lived in Georgia, but that was about the total of all Mark had ever said of his family. To Joseph it seemed as if Mark's existence had begun in late August of 2001 when they started college. Mark seemed content with this as well.
One morning during the second semester of their freshman year Mark had woken much earlier than normal. It was still dark out and Mark decided that he would venture for breakfast for the first time all year. Walking to the dining commons he enjoyed the cool April breeze and contemplated the momentary joy he found in solitude. But as the cool April breeze progressed into a bitter last stand for the misery of winter Mark lost all the newfound joy in solitary contemplation and began to hurry to breakfast.
Arriving at 6:02 he was one of the first students to eat that morning. He wasked down the stairs to the buffet style cafetira lines and looked over the morning choices. A sigh of despair escaped his now re-tired mouth and he was ready to forgo this early morning experience when he discovered the waffle machine.
It wasn't exactly the waffle machine that so enticed him, although a craving for this breakfast treat soon arrived in his stomach. it was the waffle machine attendant that so caught his fancy that for a moment he stood transfixed, gazing longingly at the waffle girl.
In his mind he began to swagger over towards the vacant spot in front of her station. As he sauntered in a studly gait the woman began to smile. When he arrived he spoke magnificent words in a rich tone of voice that no 19 year-old boy possesses. The verbage and quality of voice was so powerful, so majestic that the buttons of the waffles girl's blouse undid themselves.
Two perfectly shaped breasts unfolded from the waffle girl's shirt and set with erect nipples pointed directly at Mark. Noticing her exposed self she simled coyly and took the whip cream bottle and covered her dime sized nipples. Without a word she motioned for Mark to partake of the morning delicacy that the frecnh call creme de tit. Mark willingly oblighed the young waffle girl.
But while this fantasy was playing out in Mark's consciousness his subconscious had been been directing his feet towards the waffle girl. For a moment the physically present Mark was noticably absent to the waffle girl. She waited patiently as Mark's focus shifted from fantasy to real world.
After a strange exchange Mark walked away with an undercooked waffle topped with strawberryesque red sticky liquid and seven number scrawled on his hand. The waffle girl would soon become the tenth conquest of Mark's freshman year.
In dealing with women the two friends differed in style and success rate. Mark took a very forward approach to women whereas Joseph constantly looked for a backdoor. However, who was more successful in their early college years is still debated.
Mark had completed his tenth bedquest by the end of his third date with the waffle girl. Within the week of this date Joseph and his girlfriend (Dusty) were breaking up. Joseph and Dusty had begun dating in December and although Joseph enjoyed the idea of dating had lost complete interest in Dusty by March. However, like most men he had found it difficult to end a relationship that provided the regular installment of the ultiment benefit (of course, meaning the emotional attachment). But as summer was approaching Joseph found himself unceremoniously dumped after an expensive date.
But as previously stated the two disagreed to who was more successful. (Argument of quantity vs. quality).
Monday, July 19, 2010
Structure of one of the Joseph Flanagan stories
Originally written July 19, 2010
E3 DR-Characters
Brendan - Canadian Treeplanter (Horny Maniac)
Jack - Canadian Treeplanter (Pretentious Philospher)
Derek - Womanizing Alcoholic from Florida
JF
Maxine - 18 year old girl from Tennessee acts 40
Isabella - Peruvian sexpot who plays Brendan against Derek
Theresa - feminist who iddolizes Peter Singer
Plotline so far
1) Awkward double date
2) Brief intro of J.F. Don't contradict or repat Habitaciones Con Banos. Simply condense it.
3) Mark Switzer: DC Bookstore manager. Met JF in college. Both lit majors. Freelance writer for the Onion and a retired homoerotica ezine (under a raunchy surname). Shameless individual.
-Birth
-Manipulation of 3rd grade teacher
-College story or two
-Calmed down in relationship with Felicia
4) Felica Tolley
-Grad student at George Mason University. Studying?
-Birth
-First kiss 17th birthday
-First drunk night on that first kiss night (awful), vows never to drink again
-Keeps vows for four years but breaks it on Jr. Springbreak
-Meets Josh the Pisser story (need to tie Mark into this story as an unlikely Hero)
5) Nicole
-No need to tell of birth of pre-pubescent existence. her story can only be understood following her sexlife. Boys 1-8. J.F. #9. Boys 10-13 (while with) J.F.
6) The Break up
7) NL 2
- The Jara, The Michelle, The Ashley, The Dusty, The Amber
8) The misery of post-breakup
9 The moment of truth: self-help vs. DR
10) First impressions of the DR
11) Training in Santo Domingo
12) Placement in Bayacannes (brief mention of the Habitaciones con Banos
13) The Boys
14) The Girls
15) NL3
16) The idea
17) The Bulgogi
18) Book tour invite/demand
19) Book tour stuff...
20) Meet Danny Gladden on book tour because Danny Gladden is promoting an autobiography
21) NL4
22) Late Night Wal-Mart
23) Insomnia
24) Late night at Walmart
25) End of the book tour
26) New apartment
27) Comedy Central Call
E3 DR-Characters
Brendan - Canadian Treeplanter (Horny Maniac)
Jack - Canadian Treeplanter (Pretentious Philospher)
Derek - Womanizing Alcoholic from Florida
JF
Maxine - 18 year old girl from Tennessee acts 40
Isabella - Peruvian sexpot who plays Brendan against Derek
Theresa - feminist who iddolizes Peter Singer
Plotline so far
1) Awkward double date
2) Brief intro of J.F. Don't contradict or repat Habitaciones Con Banos. Simply condense it.
3) Mark Switzer: DC Bookstore manager. Met JF in college. Both lit majors. Freelance writer for the Onion and a retired homoerotica ezine (under a raunchy surname). Shameless individual.
-Birth
-Manipulation of 3rd grade teacher
-College story or two
-Calmed down in relationship with Felicia
4) Felica Tolley
-Grad student at George Mason University. Studying?
-Birth
-First kiss 17th birthday
-First drunk night on that first kiss night (awful), vows never to drink again
-Keeps vows for four years but breaks it on Jr. Springbreak
-Meets Josh the Pisser story (need to tie Mark into this story as an unlikely Hero)
5) Nicole
-No need to tell of birth of pre-pubescent existence. her story can only be understood following her sexlife. Boys 1-8. J.F. #9. Boys 10-13 (while with) J.F.
6) The Break up
7) NL 2
- The Jara, The Michelle, The Ashley, The Dusty, The Amber
8) The misery of post-breakup
9 The moment of truth: self-help vs. DR
10) First impressions of the DR
11) Training in Santo Domingo
12) Placement in Bayacannes (brief mention of the Habitaciones con Banos
13) The Boys
14) The Girls
15) NL3
16) The idea
17) The Bulgogi
18) Book tour invite/demand
19) Book tour stuff...
20) Meet Danny Gladden on book tour because Danny Gladden is promoting an autobiography
21) NL4
22) Late Night Wal-Mart
23) Insomnia
24) Late night at Walmart
25) End of the book tour
26) New apartment
27) Comedy Central Call
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Storyline/Plotline of Habitaciones & Bulgogi
Originally written July 17, 2010
Characters in Bulgolgi (in DC)
Joseph Flanagan:
24 year old male
failing marriage
makes prosthetic limbs and works at a restaurant
Mark Switzer
24 year old male
strange but happy realtionship
Manages a bookstore
Felicia Tolley
22 year old female
college student
girlfriend of mark
Nicole Kelsey Flanagan
22 year old female
crazy
married to, then divorced to Joseph Flanagan
The story opens with the interplay of these four characters
Joseph is introduced in Habitaciones
Nicole should be introduced by her guy timeline. She calls each of these points her "chapters" and is excited to have Joseph as the "final chapter"
Mark is a college buddy of Joseph Flanagan. He should embody the collective U (including HS C. Linehan)
Felicia Tolley
Josh ? The Pisser
Meets Felicia on spring break. Felicia is drunk and messes around with the guy. They have a relationship for 7 months. Josh comes to visit and gets drunk tailgaiting. Felicia goes to take a nap afer the game. Josh gets in bed with her. Keeps lifting back the covers to check out Felicia's cute underwear. Felicia, "dude seriously, I'm trying to take a nap so uh, hands off the merchandise" in a good southern drawl. Josh doesn't take the hint. Felicia goes to shower (locks herself in the baño). Josh passes out and pisses the bed. Felicia wakes him up to go to dinner. She touches his chest, which is soaked. He showers. She discovers he's pissed the bed, put a towell on the wet spot and put a fan pointed directly on the bed. At dinner Josh gets real drunk again. Passes out in the living room. Told to leave the nextday. Josh, "I'm sorry. I just don't understand. Did I do something wrong?" Felicia: "If you don't know honestly I don't know what to tell you. Next day it's discovered that Josh pissed the comforter he slept on in the living room. Three months later the towells he used to clean up the second piss are discovered behind the bookcase when Felicia moves out.
Story Line (linear)
A. - Introduction of 4 DC Characters. Some incredibly awkward double dates between Josh Flanagan & Nicole Kelsey Flanagan and Mark Switzer and Felicia Tolley
NL1 Introductions: Joseph Flanagan, Mark Switzer, Felicia, Nicole
B. The Break up
NL 2 Break up stories 5 or 6 rapid fire
C. The misery
D. The Self-Help vs. The DR
E. Arriving in the DR
E3. DR Characters
NL3 imaginary existence of 4 main DC characters 20 years from now (dramitically bleak) - funny though
E2
E3
F. Leaves the DR
G.
NL 4 Summary of Baseball experiences. 3 parts: playing, watching, collecting (movement of purity to corruption) Mention his unpublished satirical Essay, "Clean Race" or whatever I called it
NL 5 Latenight at Walmart
H.
Z. Gets a call from Comedy Central to do a made for tv movie.
A-D in DC
E-F Stories from the DR
E2-E3 The Bulgolgi
G-H Book tour
Plotline
JF & Nicole break up
JF slips into misery
-pivot point looking at offer to do peace core in DR or read the self help books
JF in DR
The Bulgolgi
JF returns to States
Book Tour
Comedy Central Calls
Characters in Bulgolgi (in DC)
Joseph Flanagan:
24 year old male
failing marriage
makes prosthetic limbs and works at a restaurant
Mark Switzer
24 year old male
strange but happy realtionship
Manages a bookstore
Felicia Tolley
22 year old female
college student
girlfriend of mark
Nicole Kelsey Flanagan
22 year old female
crazy
married to, then divorced to Joseph Flanagan
The story opens with the interplay of these four characters
Joseph is introduced in Habitaciones
Nicole should be introduced by her guy timeline. She calls each of these points her "chapters" and is excited to have Joseph as the "final chapter"
Mark is a college buddy of Joseph Flanagan. He should embody the collective U (including HS C. Linehan)
Felicia Tolley
Josh ? The Pisser
Meets Felicia on spring break. Felicia is drunk and messes around with the guy. They have a relationship for 7 months. Josh comes to visit and gets drunk tailgaiting. Felicia goes to take a nap afer the game. Josh gets in bed with her. Keeps lifting back the covers to check out Felicia's cute underwear. Felicia, "dude seriously, I'm trying to take a nap so uh, hands off the merchandise" in a good southern drawl. Josh doesn't take the hint. Felicia goes to shower (locks herself in the baño). Josh passes out and pisses the bed. Felicia wakes him up to go to dinner. She touches his chest, which is soaked. He showers. She discovers he's pissed the bed, put a towell on the wet spot and put a fan pointed directly on the bed. At dinner Josh gets real drunk again. Passes out in the living room. Told to leave the nextday. Josh, "I'm sorry. I just don't understand. Did I do something wrong?" Felicia: "If you don't know honestly I don't know what to tell you. Next day it's discovered that Josh pissed the comforter he slept on in the living room. Three months later the towells he used to clean up the second piss are discovered behind the bookcase when Felicia moves out.
Story Line (linear)
A. - Introduction of 4 DC Characters. Some incredibly awkward double dates between Josh Flanagan & Nicole Kelsey Flanagan and Mark Switzer and Felicia Tolley
NL1 Introductions: Joseph Flanagan, Mark Switzer, Felicia, Nicole
B. The Break up
NL 2 Break up stories 5 or 6 rapid fire
C. The misery
D. The Self-Help vs. The DR
E. Arriving in the DR
E3. DR Characters
NL3 imaginary existence of 4 main DC characters 20 years from now (dramitically bleak) - funny though
E2
E3
F. Leaves the DR
G.
NL 4 Summary of Baseball experiences. 3 parts: playing, watching, collecting (movement of purity to corruption) Mention his unpublished satirical Essay, "Clean Race" or whatever I called it
NL 5 Latenight at Walmart
H.
Z. Gets a call from Comedy Central to do a made for tv movie.
A-D in DC
E-F Stories from the DR
E2-E3 The Bulgolgi
G-H Book tour
Plotline
JF & Nicole break up
JF slips into misery
-pivot point looking at offer to do peace core in DR or read the self help books
JF in DR
The Bulgolgi
JF returns to States
Book Tour
Comedy Central Calls
A conversation between Joseph and Mark
Originally written 7/17/2010
Mark: Do you see that fuckstick over there? Seriously the dude's got to be 40 and he's drinking a juice box and reading a Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: What is a fuckstick exactly?
Mark: Are you really ciriticizing my vulgarities now? Stop avoiding the topic and focus for a minute. Do you not see the problem the new America is facing these days? Here we are, twenty four year old men, and I say men in the loosest of fashions, sitting in your run of the mill, hipster, Neo-Bohemian coffee shop sipping on lattes and eating donuts discussing the prospect of the new Madden Game. What do we have to look up to? What is there to aspire to? I don't want to be 40, sitting in this same damn coffee shop dirking a juice box reading a Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: What is a prospecti?
Mark: Son of a bitch! Prospecti, the plural of prospectus. Fuckstick, a douche bag male who is doing something utterly inane, pointless and thus - soul killing. Will you pleas drop the philological rebuttals so we can face this looming disaster. Fifty years ago every twenty-four year old was out saving the world from ruthless dictators. We're sitting in a coffee shop. What does that say about us?
Joseph: Did you get soy in your latte? Your girlfriend made me promise that you would get soy or skim.
Mark: I got whole milk like a true, red-blooded human being of the male persuasion. I would have squeezed it out of a cow if I could and bypassed the unwarranted sanitization process altogher. Answer the question.
Joseph: Fine, I thin that we are not saving the world from imperialism because it no longer poses an existential crisis to America.
Mark: Exactly. The existinetial crisis we face is from within. Just from your conotation we can see the problem with every generation since our grandparents'. They fought for freedom from opression and then their hippy scumbag kids got high and reanalyzed and reinterpreted history to show us, their kids, that America fought against imperialism. They told us that imperialism was bad, not just the evil dictators. Imperialism is what made us great and now we have to feel guilty about it and apologize to everyone not born into America. I mean, realistically I'm not saying we need to invade Canada to extend our territory, but we shouldn't have to apologize to the world for being succseful.
Fuckstick: Ha!
Mark: Fuckstick found Waldo. All I'm saying is that the proble is this: High School is the new middle school, college the new high school, grad school the new college. The twenties are the new teens and we can aspire to be 40 with a ridiculous frat tattoo sipping on a juice box looking at the newest Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: My point exactly! This is my greatest fear
(pause)
Mark: You think the game store is open yet?
Joseph: Yeah, it opened twenty minutes ago. I tried to tell you but you went on a sociological rant and criticized my philological angle to the discussion.
Mark: Well, let's get the hell out of here so we can grab the Madden game. Oh, and if Julie asked if it was a decaf, half soy, half skim. It's my new favorite.
Joseph: New favorite drink or lie?
Mark: Is there really a difference?
Mark: Do you see that fuckstick over there? Seriously the dude's got to be 40 and he's drinking a juice box and reading a Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: What is a fuckstick exactly?
Mark: Are you really ciriticizing my vulgarities now? Stop avoiding the topic and focus for a minute. Do you not see the problem the new America is facing these days? Here we are, twenty four year old men, and I say men in the loosest of fashions, sitting in your run of the mill, hipster, Neo-Bohemian coffee shop sipping on lattes and eating donuts discussing the prospect of the new Madden Game. What do we have to look up to? What is there to aspire to? I don't want to be 40, sitting in this same damn coffee shop dirking a juice box reading a Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: What is a prospecti?
Mark: Son of a bitch! Prospecti, the plural of prospectus. Fuckstick, a douche bag male who is doing something utterly inane, pointless and thus - soul killing. Will you pleas drop the philological rebuttals so we can face this looming disaster. Fifty years ago every twenty-four year old was out saving the world from ruthless dictators. We're sitting in a coffee shop. What does that say about us?
Joseph: Did you get soy in your latte? Your girlfriend made me promise that you would get soy or skim.
Mark: I got whole milk like a true, red-blooded human being of the male persuasion. I would have squeezed it out of a cow if I could and bypassed the unwarranted sanitization process altogher. Answer the question.
Joseph: Fine, I thin that we are not saving the world from imperialism because it no longer poses an existential crisis to America.
Mark: Exactly. The existinetial crisis we face is from within. Just from your conotation we can see the problem with every generation since our grandparents'. They fought for freedom from opression and then their hippy scumbag kids got high and reanalyzed and reinterpreted history to show us, their kids, that America fought against imperialism. They told us that imperialism was bad, not just the evil dictators. Imperialism is what made us great and now we have to feel guilty about it and apologize to everyone not born into America. I mean, realistically I'm not saying we need to invade Canada to extend our territory, but we shouldn't have to apologize to the world for being succseful.
Fuckstick: Ha!
Mark: Fuckstick found Waldo. All I'm saying is that the proble is this: High School is the new middle school, college the new high school, grad school the new college. The twenties are the new teens and we can aspire to be 40 with a ridiculous frat tattoo sipping on a juice box looking at the newest Where's Waldo book.
Joseph: My point exactly! This is my greatest fear
(pause)
Mark: You think the game store is open yet?
Joseph: Yeah, it opened twenty minutes ago. I tried to tell you but you went on a sociological rant and criticized my philological angle to the discussion.
Mark: Well, let's get the hell out of here so we can grab the Madden game. Oh, and if Julie asked if it was a decaf, half soy, half skim. It's my new favorite.
Joseph: New favorite drink or lie?
Mark: Is there really a difference?
The Joseph Flanagan Saga
From "Observations of Joseph Flanagan (and More)"
Originally written July 17, 2010
7 Books of Joseph Flanagan
- Philosophy Major
- Author
- Divorceé
- 7 because 7 is the number of completion.
- Books because I don't have a movie camera (or actors)
The Joseph Flanagan Saga
1. Habitaciones con Baños: Joseph reclaims life, divorce and Bulgolgi
2. In search of the World's Greatest Beef Bulgogi: The coping with the divorce
3. The Death of Joseph Flanagan: Seven alternative stories to one outcome
4. A Second Bite at the Apple: Topical Autobiography
5. From the Dominican: Joseph on his peace core mission: gua gua, concho and A-Car
6. Disasters of the All-American boy (childhood stories age 0 - 13)
7. The Arbitrary Last Book of Joseph Flanagan (loose ends of all characters from the other 6 books)
Originally written July 17, 2010
7 Books of Joseph Flanagan
- Philosophy Major
- Author
- Divorceé
- 7 because 7 is the number of completion.
- Books because I don't have a movie camera (or actors)
The Joseph Flanagan Saga
1. Habitaciones con Baños: Joseph reclaims life, divorce and Bulgolgi
2. In search of the World's Greatest Beef Bulgogi: The coping with the divorce
3. The Death of Joseph Flanagan: Seven alternative stories to one outcome
4. A Second Bite at the Apple: Topical Autobiography
5. From the Dominican: Joseph on his peace core mission: gua gua, concho and A-Car
6. Disasters of the All-American boy (childhood stories age 0 - 13)
7. The Arbitrary Last Book of Joseph Flanagan (loose ends of all characters from the other 6 books)
Monday, March 29, 2010
Writing Overview
(Originally Written March 29, 2010 in the Journal)
My long neglected Ashley! We had such high hopes for the two of us and yet I have ignored you so thoroughly. Accept my apology and I will now inform you of what is going through my literary head and fill your pages with my newest ideas.
1) The House of Urtsiul
The house of Urtsiul is the story of Urtsiul and the two branches of his family. Urtsiul is an exile from a southern Mesopotamian city-state who in his banishment ends up in ancient Palestine under the service of the king of Shacmu. He serves with distinction and has two sons: Uslmi and Ugui. After some time he dies and leaves one city each of his sons.
Uslmli is a righteous man, but Ugui is not. When a new king is crowned in Shacmu Ugui insults him and is banished only to return with an army. Uslmli meanwhile has four sons: Upuk, Ezinn, XA and XB (sorry I don't remember the names of the last two off the top of my head.
Uslmli winds up defeating Ugui in battle but takes his own life when he believes Ugui has murdered his four sons. In reality, Ugui has just kidnapped them and escaped to Hattusas, the Hittite capital.
In Hattusas Ugui becomes powerful and extends the Hittite King Mursili's territory. When the king of Shacmu comes to claim Ugui for crimes Ugui defeats them and Shacmu falls to Mursili. Mursili needs to place Jebus in charge of Shacmu and his descendants become the Jebusites.
The story then follows the accounts of the four children of Uslmli, youngest to oldest.
The first story is the youngest son who captures coastal cities and builds an empire. He falls in love with a captured princess named Phoenixa and names his kingdom after her (The Phoenicians). But, Phoenixa betrays him because of his cruel treatment of her family.
The second story follows the son who is tossed at sea and winds up shipwrecked on Crete. There he is proclaimed a god because of size and bronze skin color. He has sex with the wife of Vulcan who in his rage kindles his fire too hot while making weapons and destroys the cities of Crete (Need more Minas inferences to secure connection with Minoan civilization).
The Third son works as a mercenary and fights at Megiddo but switches to the Egyptian side. After securing victory he goes to Egypt and becomes very religious. He becomes convinced if he doesn't put cremated bodies in ashes then the ghosts of all he has killed will haunt him and his family forever. He is run out of Egypt as a madman but his prophecies take hold throughout Europe where he founds a kingdom.
Upuk, the oldest, travels north into the Ural mountains and founds a nation of no people. he builds two imperial cities and a number of settlements but is lonely when the work is done. He comes across Nok, a river nymph and immortal. He takes her as a wife and they have children.
Upuk begins to fear he will not have wives for his sons. Nok sends word out and immediately an illegitimate son of Upuk comes up with a following. Nok warns her husband not to marry their children to this man's entourage but he does anyway. Nok leaves and Upuk dies of a broken heart. His son takes the throne but is killed by an usurper.
(Up to this point is written in rough drafts)
2) The Book of Dates
The book of dates is a collection of short stories based on particular dates of importance in my life. Some are long; some are very short.
3) Habitaciones con Banos
The story of Joseph Flannigan and his writer's block. Joseph Flannigan travels to the DR for some inspiration for his sophomore novel. His first was successful satire. The book encompasses his misadventures and a collection of short stories he writes that become his book.
4) The Divorce and The Bulgogi
Prequel to Habitaciones
5) The Shattered Peace of Jefferson
This my Ashley will be the story we tell. This will be the pseudohistory of a little town in Indiana
up until a murder rocks the small town as told through the eyes of a neighbor who didn't know the people as well as they thought.
My long neglected Ashley! We had such high hopes for the two of us and yet I have ignored you so thoroughly. Accept my apology and I will now inform you of what is going through my literary head and fill your pages with my newest ideas.
1) The House of Urtsiul
The house of Urtsiul is the story of Urtsiul and the two branches of his family. Urtsiul is an exile from a southern Mesopotamian city-state who in his banishment ends up in ancient Palestine under the service of the king of Shacmu. He serves with distinction and has two sons: Uslmi and Ugui. After some time he dies and leaves one city each of his sons.
Uslmli is a righteous man, but Ugui is not. When a new king is crowned in Shacmu Ugui insults him and is banished only to return with an army. Uslmli meanwhile has four sons: Upuk, Ezinn, XA and XB (sorry I don't remember the names of the last two off the top of my head.
Uslmli winds up defeating Ugui in battle but takes his own life when he believes Ugui has murdered his four sons. In reality, Ugui has just kidnapped them and escaped to Hattusas, the Hittite capital.
In Hattusas Ugui becomes powerful and extends the Hittite King Mursili's territory. When the king of Shacmu comes to claim Ugui for crimes Ugui defeats them and Shacmu falls to Mursili. Mursili needs to place Jebus in charge of Shacmu and his descendants become the Jebusites.
The story then follows the accounts of the four children of Uslmli, youngest to oldest.
The first story is the youngest son who captures coastal cities and builds an empire. He falls in love with a captured princess named Phoenixa and names his kingdom after her (The Phoenicians). But, Phoenixa betrays him because of his cruel treatment of her family.
The second story follows the son who is tossed at sea and winds up shipwrecked on Crete. There he is proclaimed a god because of size and bronze skin color. He has sex with the wife of Vulcan who in his rage kindles his fire too hot while making weapons and destroys the cities of Crete (Need more Minas inferences to secure connection with Minoan civilization).
The Third son works as a mercenary and fights at Megiddo but switches to the Egyptian side. After securing victory he goes to Egypt and becomes very religious. He becomes convinced if he doesn't put cremated bodies in ashes then the ghosts of all he has killed will haunt him and his family forever. He is run out of Egypt as a madman but his prophecies take hold throughout Europe where he founds a kingdom.
Upuk, the oldest, travels north into the Ural mountains and founds a nation of no people. he builds two imperial cities and a number of settlements but is lonely when the work is done. He comes across Nok, a river nymph and immortal. He takes her as a wife and they have children.
Upuk begins to fear he will not have wives for his sons. Nok sends word out and immediately an illegitimate son of Upuk comes up with a following. Nok warns her husband not to marry their children to this man's entourage but he does anyway. Nok leaves and Upuk dies of a broken heart. His son takes the throne but is killed by an usurper.
(Up to this point is written in rough drafts)
2) The Book of Dates
The book of dates is a collection of short stories based on particular dates of importance in my life. Some are long; some are very short.
3) Habitaciones con Banos
The story of Joseph Flannigan and his writer's block. Joseph Flannigan travels to the DR for some inspiration for his sophomore novel. His first was successful satire. The book encompasses his misadventures and a collection of short stories he writes that become his book.
4) The Divorce and The Bulgogi
Prequel to Habitaciones
5) The Shattered Peace of Jefferson
This my Ashley will be the story we tell. This will be the pseudohistory of a little town in Indiana
up until a murder rocks the small town as told through the eyes of a neighbor who didn't know the people as well as they thought.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Notes on The Metamorphoses
(Originally Written March 1, 2010 in the Journal)
Notes on Ovid's Metamorphoses
I'm already in Book VI!
"She was as beautiful as an angry woman can be" Very funny, use this in Habitaciones after the double date from Hell.
Love made him eloquent
The sky was dark and heavy, its weight pressing down on the earth, man both noble and common alike. It trapped the heat in and southerly winds blew cruel and ill-fortuned winds on them. For two moons the heat oppressed the land of Upuk and withered crops to dust. The sturdy beasts melted away and sheep shore their own wool, their dying bleats echoed through the hills. The four rivers dried and the center pool threatened an emptiness until the worship of the sun creased. The might king cast out the priests of the sun and restored the land to its former gods. (A plague scene and banishment of the sun cult).
"For I am burning with love, and its flame scorches me more fiercely when I am spurned"
Not struggles, but sheer laziness came to be what delayed my finishing of the Metamorphoses.
I really enjoyed this book until book fifteen that became pure propaganda for Augustus. It is amazing that art can become kitschy so quickly. But, book XV aside, it was great. The last line again, like from The Amores shows Ovid's ego - which I love.
"If there be any truth in poets' prophecies I shall live to all eternity, immortalized by fame"
Notes on Ovid's Metamorphoses
I'm already in Book VI!
"She was as beautiful as an angry woman can be" Very funny, use this in Habitaciones after the double date from Hell.
Love made him eloquent
The sky was dark and heavy, its weight pressing down on the earth, man both noble and common alike. It trapped the heat in and southerly winds blew cruel and ill-fortuned winds on them. For two moons the heat oppressed the land of Upuk and withered crops to dust. The sturdy beasts melted away and sheep shore their own wool, their dying bleats echoed through the hills. The four rivers dried and the center pool threatened an emptiness until the worship of the sun creased. The might king cast out the priests of the sun and restored the land to its former gods. (A plague scene and banishment of the sun cult).
"For I am burning with love, and its flame scorches me more fiercely when I am spurned"
Not struggles, but sheer laziness came to be what delayed my finishing of the Metamorphoses.
I really enjoyed this book until book fifteen that became pure propaganda for Augustus. It is amazing that art can become kitschy so quickly. But, book XV aside, it was great. The last line again, like from The Amores shows Ovid's ego - which I love.
"If there be any truth in poets' prophecies I shall live to all eternity, immortalized by fame"
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Classic Nice-Guys Finish Last Victimization Story As Told from a Nice Guy's Perspective
(Originally Written February 24, 2009 in the Journal)
So I’m not really effeminate I’ve just always gotten along better with girls rather than guys. I love sports, I mean I watch at least two sportscenters a day. I go to games a lot, and play as much as time allows. I like to call myself well-rounded – the guy who does hockey and When Harry Met Sally.
I like women. I love women. Sure, When Harry Met Sally is a complete chickflick but when Meg Ryan (my old as mom crush) does that thing in the restaurant I mean come on – how can any guy not love this movie.
But always I find myself swimming in this vast ocean of female friends who treat me like another wave rather than the barracuda I imagine myself to be. My greatest fear in all of this is that someday I’ll be sitting there with my friends (all girls) and they’ll begin to assess me on the female datability scale. I know this fear well – it’s been with me now for nearly 12 years.
Travel back with me, 1997 – Freshman year of high school
So there I am sitting in Mr. Genter’s biology class minding my own business or wandering off into some parallel universe in my head when ol’ Gentsy gets this look in his eye that an atom bomb just went off in his innards and excuses himself in remarkably quick fashion for a guy hitting 70 who has just had his insides nuked.
So my asshole of a best friend yells out to Beatrice Worthington what she thought of me. “Hey Beadie” he yelled. She ignored him because she hated being called Beadie. It was actually a nickname I maliciously gave her in the third grade because she had one eye whose pupil was about a fourth of the other one. I had never seen someone’s heart break before that day and even though she annoyed the hell out of me I worked to fabricate a friendship out of this wreck I cause and protected her from a lot of unnecessary berating. I felt especially convicted of this duty when people called her Beadie.
“Hey Beadie” he repeated. More silence and finally he said her name in full, “Hey BE-UH-TRUST”. She knew that was as close as she was gonna get out of him.
“Yes Anthony?” She replied in a fully proper way. Beatrice wasn’t Amish though we all looked at her that way until it was finally explained to us that she was from a conservative Mennonite family. She always were a bonnet, plain blouse, and ankle length dresses. I’m sure she wore shoes but I didn’t pay them much attention or ever think about it until just this instance.
In addition to dressing very old-fashioned she spoke irritatingly proper English and always called people by their full names. This really got under my skin because having a couple of pot-head hippie scumbag parents they wrote down my name when they were high at my all herbal, all homeopathic submerged birth festival. (Yeah, I was born underwater with about 14 other kids to hippies at the commune). No docs or meds allowed, just a little acid and a ton of pot. So the parents wrote down babies’ names on the official documents and placed them all in a hat. Then different sets of parents drew the documents out of the hat and turned them into the government. At my birth festival there were fifteen kids born, eleven girls and four boys. Miraculously the three other boys all got boy names. My name, Bryan Mark went to some unfortunate girl who I think goes by Bri. Her name, Candice Ashly got so wonderfully tagged tom.
“Beadie, whaddya think of my boy Ash there. He was telling me the other day that you don’t get the credit you deserve. I think he’s working up the nerve to ask you out”. Laughter erupted in the class as Beatrice turned from pale white to a light pink.
Not to make me look like a saint in anyway but I risked a lot of my reputation on being nice to her. I never was a real jerk to anyone, well not intentionally, or not without some comedic purpose, but I wasn’t overly nice to anyone I didn’t see as capable of improving my status. Shallow but typical, I’ve grown out of a lot of my usury and will pay my time in purgatory someday undoubtedly.
Beatrice had actually acknowledge this fact a number of times before, especially in the summer between eighth and ninth grade. Some of this was probably self-preservation on her part but she offered me a release of her and my duty forbade it. A noble guy I wasn’t but, this was one I did right.
Embarrassed by my friend’s jackassery I looked at Beatrice awaiting some relief. I didn’t get it. Instead I got the origin of my phobia – the female datability scale.
“Ashly is wonderful. He’s like a big brother to me but not really boyfriend material”. Her eyes smiled at me as if she had alleviated me from an embarrassing situation. But as an even great clamor of laughter erupted in the classroom her eyes darkened as mine must have imploded. “Not boyfriend material”.
Fast forward with me to 2002. After four years of high school and a few shallow, short-lived relationships and a monstrous best-friend crush fiasco I survived and I went off to school.
I became real close friends with this girl a friend of mine had dated. After they broke up we became even closer friends. That friend moved away after one semester and Meredith and I spent all our time together. It was like we were dating, best friends, and brother and sister all at once. During finals week of the second semester we were together all the time. We slept in the same bed (a twin) and even showered together a couple of times. The tension was there, beyond anything I had ever felt.
There we were, completely naked, chest to chest, about an inch from each other’s lips saying some of the most filthy perverted things imaginable. A pause. She closed her eyes and curved her mouth into a wicked smile. Her tongue licked all around my lips as she put both hands on my shoulders. My body shook in anticipation.
She ran her hands down my chest into my stomach. I opened my mouth and breathed in deep. Closing my eyes I peered up at the ceiling. Moaning playfully her hands criss-crossed over my stomach ever inching further south and crossing my back she grabbed my hips. Yanking me in she bit my shoulder causing me to wince out in pleasurable pain, my eyes focused down on her. Biting her bottom lip she took her hands and grabbed my ass and dug in her nails.
“Like that?” she whispered with a sexuality I had never noticed in her before.
I could only throat laugh and choke out a “yeah”.
She giggled, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I bet you do”. I was stunned as she got out of the shower and dried off. I couldn’t move out of the shower. “Take your time, I’ll be out here” she mocked, shutting the door behind her.
Had this been anyone else I would have never have talked to them again. As it stood though, she was my best friend and could get away with anything. She owned me and knew it.
Our last day in the dorm that year she told me she felt guilty about earlier in the week and wanted to make it up to me. My mind raced on all the possibilities and two front row tickets to a Cubs game seemed pretty fair.
Over the summer we worked at summer camps. She worked in California and I worked in Michigan. I had a fun yet pointless summer fling and she fell madly in love with a guy who was no good for her. We didn’t talk all summer but she was so excited to tell me about him when we got back to school.
That semester we were close but it was different. She was really unhappy and stressed out all semester long. He was cheating on her and she knew it, but her love was so deep she said. They broke up over Christmas and she was thinking about dropping out of school. I drove up to her parents in Chicago on December 23rd to talk her out of it. I promised my parents I’d be back for Christmas but Meredith needed me more. My mom still lays a heavy guilt trip on me every Christmas.
So Meredith and I were together every day and night that semester. We grew close again and Meredith was happy. I was happy. Life was good. No, life was great. One night we were watching Law & Order. I rolled to my right because my left arm was asleep. Just at that moment she rolled to her left to tell me something. I was quicker so her nose fell right on top of mine. She was so close I could barely focus my eyes on her.
“Hi”, her warm sweet breath fell on my lips.
“Hi”, I retorted.
That was the best kiss I ever had. I threw my left arm over her in somewhat awkward fashion (it was still asleep) and it came crashing down on the night stand. My hand took in the remote and turned off the soothing sounds of Jack McCoy’s closing arguments so I could focus on this gorgeous woman wrapping her tongue around mine.
We made out for three hours straight that night. I’m not sure how we even breathed. Just passionate kissing. This went on for two weeks. Every night we made out and it was fantastic.
One night the kissing went deeper and grew more passionate. It was exceptionally hot that night and we were already fairly naked. I reached up the back of her tanktop and undid her bra while she took off her shirt. Whispering in my ear she said, “I don’t want this to mess up our friendship”.
“Ok”, I said, slowing down and resigning myself to more Law and Order. She straddled me when I rolled onto my back and leaned in for a kiss. Taking her shirt from the bottom she raised it over her head. Passion became lust and sex filled my mind. She ran her nails down my chest to my belt line and grasped at the waist of my boxers with her finger tips. She looked at me in the eyes and I saw hesitation. Fear struck me stiff. She was pondering that female datability scale.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this”.
“Ok”. My lips spoke words my heart could not comprehend. It was dead. She got dressed and I walked her to the door. We didn’t speak for two weeks. She started to see someone else. We fell away more and more until we hardly spoke.
It had been three or four months since we had talked. We were now seniors and just two weeks from graduation. At a mutual friend’s house we had both popped in for a drink. A cocktail of nostalgia and mixers took over and we sat there and talked for hours. Her and Mike (the guy she started dating right after we began the gradual drift apart) had broke up after a year and a half. I was ever single. She had a good job lined up, I didn’t.
The party wound down but we felt up for more nostalgia. She came over to my apartment, commented on my stagnant taste in design and I opened a bottle of Merlot. She fake slapped me and kissed my ear.
“You know wine makes me horny”, she laughed a little. “You’re just trying to take advantage of me”. I had actually honestly forgotten that she had told me that wine made her horny.
We made out again that night. The passion was gone. Every once and awhile she calls me or emails me. Friendly how-are-yous, nothing more. We’re cordial but not close. I think she’s married now, but I’ve lost touch with most of my college friends.
So back to the present. I’m a bundle of relationship disappointments and a serious inferiority complex wrapped in a sheer veneer of overconfidence. I’ve got one good guy friend from work, Dave. We hang out. We play tennis, hit the movies, or bars. Then there’s Jamie, my closest friend. She’s amazing. Other than that my social network is more about business ties.
I’m good at what I do. My job is great – good hours, even better money. My apartment is fantastic, like one of those out of a magazine. Gloria, my cleaning woman, is to thank for that fact.
When I hang out with larger groups its with Dave’s or Jamie’s friends. I like Jamie’s better.
Just last week I was out with Jamie when Denise called her up. There was a wine and cheese affair later that night. Jamie wasn’t Meredith (more of a beer and a game girl). Jamie was uptown. I pretended to be too, so I went to the party.
Jamie was my ride and she was clean-up duty for the party. Afterwards we sat around knocking off the remainder of the wine. Then it happened:
“He’s so cute. He’s sweet. He’s stable. He’s perfect.”
“He’s too cute. I love him so much”.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes and picked up bits and pieces of the conversation. Basically Denise was trying to convince Jamie of why we were a perfect couple.
“It’s a lost cause you know”, I chimed in rounding the corner. I had left on the apron to encourage a laugh. Jamie’s laugh was intoxicating and put my mind at ease. I knew this was potentially awkward so I needed a buffer – laughter.
We sat and talked for twenty minutes. Plenty of laughter – not too much awkward silence, but enough for an inroad on a conversation in the car.
“You know, Denise is right. We’re perfect together.” I smiled and looked over at me. She had a look in her eyes of sadness, excitement and slight disapproval. (Tell tale sign that the female datability gauge was firing up). Fear gripped me.
The signs of that gauge change as women mature but I know the look well. I’ve seen it at thirteen, nineteen and now here at twenty-five. (I had seen it many other times but these three left the most telling marks on me). I wish this was a hollywood romantic comedy. That way Meredith would bump into me tomorrow and I’d all of a sudden be conflicted between Meredith and Jamie. Jamie or Meredith or both would get jeaulous and eventually Jamie and I would have a gorgeous ceremony and Meredith would be the best man for me. Sadly, this is my life, not a romantic comedy.
Jamie pulled up to my building, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “We’re on for tomorrow right?”
“Of course! It’s not Sunday without our non-date lunch date!” I still pressed further than I should have.
“Good night Ash”.
“Good night Jamie”.
(The Classic Nice-Guys Finish Last Victimization Story as Told from a Nice Guy’s Perspective)
So I’m not really effeminate I’ve just always gotten along better with girls rather than guys. I love sports, I mean I watch at least two sportscenters a day. I go to games a lot, and play as much as time allows. I like to call myself well-rounded – the guy who does hockey and When Harry Met Sally.
I like women. I love women. Sure, When Harry Met Sally is a complete chickflick but when Meg Ryan (my old as mom crush) does that thing in the restaurant I mean come on – how can any guy not love this movie.
But always I find myself swimming in this vast ocean of female friends who treat me like another wave rather than the barracuda I imagine myself to be. My greatest fear in all of this is that someday I’ll be sitting there with my friends (all girls) and they’ll begin to assess me on the female datability scale. I know this fear well – it’s been with me now for nearly 12 years.
Travel back with me, 1997 – Freshman year of high school
So there I am sitting in Mr. Genter’s biology class minding my own business or wandering off into some parallel universe in my head when ol’ Gentsy gets this look in his eye that an atom bomb just went off in his innards and excuses himself in remarkably quick fashion for a guy hitting 70 who has just had his insides nuked.
So my asshole of a best friend yells out to Beatrice Worthington what she thought of me. “Hey Beadie” he yelled. She ignored him because she hated being called Beadie. It was actually a nickname I maliciously gave her in the third grade because she had one eye whose pupil was about a fourth of the other one. I had never seen someone’s heart break before that day and even though she annoyed the hell out of me I worked to fabricate a friendship out of this wreck I cause and protected her from a lot of unnecessary berating. I felt especially convicted of this duty when people called her Beadie.
“Hey Beadie” he repeated. More silence and finally he said her name in full, “Hey BE-UH-TRUST”. She knew that was as close as she was gonna get out of him.
“Yes Anthony?” She replied in a fully proper way. Beatrice wasn’t Amish though we all looked at her that way until it was finally explained to us that she was from a conservative Mennonite family. She always were a bonnet, plain blouse, and ankle length dresses. I’m sure she wore shoes but I didn’t pay them much attention or ever think about it until just this instance.
In addition to dressing very old-fashioned she spoke irritatingly proper English and always called people by their full names. This really got under my skin because having a couple of pot-head hippie scumbag parents they wrote down my name when they were high at my all herbal, all homeopathic submerged birth festival. (Yeah, I was born underwater with about 14 other kids to hippies at the commune). No docs or meds allowed, just a little acid and a ton of pot. So the parents wrote down babies’ names on the official documents and placed them all in a hat. Then different sets of parents drew the documents out of the hat and turned them into the government. At my birth festival there were fifteen kids born, eleven girls and four boys. Miraculously the three other boys all got boy names. My name, Bryan Mark went to some unfortunate girl who I think goes by Bri. Her name, Candice Ashly got so wonderfully tagged tom.
“Beadie, whaddya think of my boy Ash there. He was telling me the other day that you don’t get the credit you deserve. I think he’s working up the nerve to ask you out”. Laughter erupted in the class as Beatrice turned from pale white to a light pink.
Not to make me look like a saint in anyway but I risked a lot of my reputation on being nice to her. I never was a real jerk to anyone, well not intentionally, or not without some comedic purpose, but I wasn’t overly nice to anyone I didn’t see as capable of improving my status. Shallow but typical, I’ve grown out of a lot of my usury and will pay my time in purgatory someday undoubtedly.
Beatrice had actually acknowledge this fact a number of times before, especially in the summer between eighth and ninth grade. Some of this was probably self-preservation on her part but she offered me a release of her and my duty forbade it. A noble guy I wasn’t but, this was one I did right.
Embarrassed by my friend’s jackassery I looked at Beatrice awaiting some relief. I didn’t get it. Instead I got the origin of my phobia – the female datability scale.
“Ashly is wonderful. He’s like a big brother to me but not really boyfriend material”. Her eyes smiled at me as if she had alleviated me from an embarrassing situation. But as an even great clamor of laughter erupted in the classroom her eyes darkened as mine must have imploded. “Not boyfriend material”.
Fast forward with me to 2002. After four years of high school and a few shallow, short-lived relationships and a monstrous best-friend crush fiasco I survived and I went off to school.
I became real close friends with this girl a friend of mine had dated. After they broke up we became even closer friends. That friend moved away after one semester and Meredith and I spent all our time together. It was like we were dating, best friends, and brother and sister all at once. During finals week of the second semester we were together all the time. We slept in the same bed (a twin) and even showered together a couple of times. The tension was there, beyond anything I had ever felt.
There we were, completely naked, chest to chest, about an inch from each other’s lips saying some of the most filthy perverted things imaginable. A pause. She closed her eyes and curved her mouth into a wicked smile. Her tongue licked all around my lips as she put both hands on my shoulders. My body shook in anticipation.
She ran her hands down my chest into my stomach. I opened my mouth and breathed in deep. Closing my eyes I peered up at the ceiling. Moaning playfully her hands criss-crossed over my stomach ever inching further south and crossing my back she grabbed my hips. Yanking me in she bit my shoulder causing me to wince out in pleasurable pain, my eyes focused down on her. Biting her bottom lip she took her hands and grabbed my ass and dug in her nails.
“Like that?” she whispered with a sexuality I had never noticed in her before.
I could only throat laugh and choke out a “yeah”.
She giggled, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I bet you do”. I was stunned as she got out of the shower and dried off. I couldn’t move out of the shower. “Take your time, I’ll be out here” she mocked, shutting the door behind her.
Had this been anyone else I would have never have talked to them again. As it stood though, she was my best friend and could get away with anything. She owned me and knew it.
Our last day in the dorm that year she told me she felt guilty about earlier in the week and wanted to make it up to me. My mind raced on all the possibilities and two front row tickets to a Cubs game seemed pretty fair.
Over the summer we worked at summer camps. She worked in California and I worked in Michigan. I had a fun yet pointless summer fling and she fell madly in love with a guy who was no good for her. We didn’t talk all summer but she was so excited to tell me about him when we got back to school.
That semester we were close but it was different. She was really unhappy and stressed out all semester long. He was cheating on her and she knew it, but her love was so deep she said. They broke up over Christmas and she was thinking about dropping out of school. I drove up to her parents in Chicago on December 23rd to talk her out of it. I promised my parents I’d be back for Christmas but Meredith needed me more. My mom still lays a heavy guilt trip on me every Christmas.
So Meredith and I were together every day and night that semester. We grew close again and Meredith was happy. I was happy. Life was good. No, life was great. One night we were watching Law & Order. I rolled to my right because my left arm was asleep. Just at that moment she rolled to her left to tell me something. I was quicker so her nose fell right on top of mine. She was so close I could barely focus my eyes on her.
“Hi”, her warm sweet breath fell on my lips.
“Hi”, I retorted.
That was the best kiss I ever had. I threw my left arm over her in somewhat awkward fashion (it was still asleep) and it came crashing down on the night stand. My hand took in the remote and turned off the soothing sounds of Jack McCoy’s closing arguments so I could focus on this gorgeous woman wrapping her tongue around mine.
We made out for three hours straight that night. I’m not sure how we even breathed. Just passionate kissing. This went on for two weeks. Every night we made out and it was fantastic.
One night the kissing went deeper and grew more passionate. It was exceptionally hot that night and we were already fairly naked. I reached up the back of her tanktop and undid her bra while she took off her shirt. Whispering in my ear she said, “I don’t want this to mess up our friendship”.
“Ok”, I said, slowing down and resigning myself to more Law and Order. She straddled me when I rolled onto my back and leaned in for a kiss. Taking her shirt from the bottom she raised it over her head. Passion became lust and sex filled my mind. She ran her nails down my chest to my belt line and grasped at the waist of my boxers with her finger tips. She looked at me in the eyes and I saw hesitation. Fear struck me stiff. She was pondering that female datability scale.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this”.
“Ok”. My lips spoke words my heart could not comprehend. It was dead. She got dressed and I walked her to the door. We didn’t speak for two weeks. She started to see someone else. We fell away more and more until we hardly spoke.
It had been three or four months since we had talked. We were now seniors and just two weeks from graduation. At a mutual friend’s house we had both popped in for a drink. A cocktail of nostalgia and mixers took over and we sat there and talked for hours. Her and Mike (the guy she started dating right after we began the gradual drift apart) had broke up after a year and a half. I was ever single. She had a good job lined up, I didn’t.
The party wound down but we felt up for more nostalgia. She came over to my apartment, commented on my stagnant taste in design and I opened a bottle of Merlot. She fake slapped me and kissed my ear.
“You know wine makes me horny”, she laughed a little. “You’re just trying to take advantage of me”. I had actually honestly forgotten that she had told me that wine made her horny.
We made out again that night. The passion was gone. Every once and awhile she calls me or emails me. Friendly how-are-yous, nothing more. We’re cordial but not close. I think she’s married now, but I’ve lost touch with most of my college friends.
So back to the present. I’m a bundle of relationship disappointments and a serious inferiority complex wrapped in a sheer veneer of overconfidence. I’ve got one good guy friend from work, Dave. We hang out. We play tennis, hit the movies, or bars. Then there’s Jamie, my closest friend. She’s amazing. Other than that my social network is more about business ties.
I’m good at what I do. My job is great – good hours, even better money. My apartment is fantastic, like one of those out of a magazine. Gloria, my cleaning woman, is to thank for that fact.
When I hang out with larger groups its with Dave’s or Jamie’s friends. I like Jamie’s better.
Just last week I was out with Jamie when Denise called her up. There was a wine and cheese affair later that night. Jamie wasn’t Meredith (more of a beer and a game girl). Jamie was uptown. I pretended to be too, so I went to the party.
Jamie was my ride and she was clean-up duty for the party. Afterwards we sat around knocking off the remainder of the wine. Then it happened:
“He’s so cute. He’s sweet. He’s stable. He’s perfect.”
“He’s too cute. I love him so much”.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes and picked up bits and pieces of the conversation. Basically Denise was trying to convince Jamie of why we were a perfect couple.
“It’s a lost cause you know”, I chimed in rounding the corner. I had left on the apron to encourage a laugh. Jamie’s laugh was intoxicating and put my mind at ease. I knew this was potentially awkward so I needed a buffer – laughter.
We sat and talked for twenty minutes. Plenty of laughter – not too much awkward silence, but enough for an inroad on a conversation in the car.
“You know, Denise is right. We’re perfect together.” I smiled and looked over at me. She had a look in her eyes of sadness, excitement and slight disapproval. (Tell tale sign that the female datability gauge was firing up). Fear gripped me.
The signs of that gauge change as women mature but I know the look well. I’ve seen it at thirteen, nineteen and now here at twenty-five. (I had seen it many other times but these three left the most telling marks on me). I wish this was a hollywood romantic comedy. That way Meredith would bump into me tomorrow and I’d all of a sudden be conflicted between Meredith and Jamie. Jamie or Meredith or both would get jeaulous and eventually Jamie and I would have a gorgeous ceremony and Meredith would be the best man for me. Sadly, this is my life, not a romantic comedy.
Jamie pulled up to my building, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “We’re on for tomorrow right?”
“Of course! It’s not Sunday without our non-date lunch date!” I still pressed further than I should have.
“Good night Ash”.
“Good night Jamie”.
(The Classic Nice-Guys Finish Last Victimization Story as Told from a Nice Guy’s Perspective)
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Joseph Flannigan and alcohol
(Originally Written February 15, 2009 in the Journal)
Joseph: "See, me and alcohol have this symbiotic relationship. They need me to keep buyin' em and I need 'em to keep forgetting the past so I can live in the present."
Narrator: "A bit too drunk to write eh?"
Joseph: "Sure, why not?"
Joseph: "See, me and alcohol have this symbiotic relationship. They need me to keep buyin' em and I need 'em to keep forgetting the past so I can live in the present."
Narrator: "A bit too drunk to write eh?"
Joseph: "Sure, why not?"
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Joseph Flannigan goes to the Habitaciones
(Originally Written February 14, 2009 in the Journal)
An excerpt from Habitaciones
After all the revelry and madness of Cabarete Joseph decided it was time to follow his self-imposed dictum and go to the Habitaciones con Banos. When he awoke at seven the next morning he felt like ripping his eardrums out to stop their pulsating rhythm that seemed to magnify the trob of pain in his head with each thud.
"It's too early for this" he said to himself. As he closed his eyes he imagined two miniature versions of himself on his shoulders. The one on the left, clad in red and clutching a pitchfork urged him to sleep while the one on the right, draped in a white bath robe urged him up. Joseph listened to neither of his mini-selfs but didn't feel like actually dealing with his subconscious turning his actual conundrum into a rehearsing of some Looney Toons medley. He got up out of bed, grabbed some hair of the dog and showered.
Normally drinking off a hangover usually struck a nerve in his conscious, but his conscious was so overloaded by his week of flesh that this minor offense slid through the cracks. After showering he headed to Dick's for breakfast. The very smell of food made him nauseous and intensified his headache. He grabbed a beer from the colmado next door instead and drained it with a thousand milligrams of aspirin.
A taxi drove him to Sosua. A bus drove him from Sosua to Puerta Plata - from Puerta Plata to Santiago - and finally from Santiago to La Vega. He was asleep when they arrived to La Vega and almost got stuck on the way to Santo Domingo. Luckily, a child no older than five fell down in the aisle next to his seat and screamed. The thumping resulted at a quickening pace as Joseph's eyes nearly exploded from opening so quickly at the disturbance.
It took a second for him to come to the realization that he was in La Vega. He collected his stuff and exited the cool bus into hot 0 though not Sosua hot - and stale air of the city. He hopped in a cab and headed for the habitaciones. The driver stared at him for a second to study Joseph's features. His eyes told Joseph that this was the first time a white tourist had ever asked to be taken there. How one gets that from somebody's eyes is unknown, but Joseph knew it intuitively.
Ten minutes later the driver dropped him off at the place. It seemed to Joseph it was even more rundown than he remembered. The lawn was wild, overrun by tall, thick grass. Joseph wondered if some large animal was lurking in there waiting for something or someone to invade its guarded territory.
Joseph carried his things to the door marked "oficina". Setting his things down to knock the door flung open at an alarming pace. A bare potbelly with other features greeted him. There were a lot of features that Joseph could have noticed about this man - his metallic gray hair sandwiching a shiny coffee tinted head or his exotically blue eyes or the fact that this Dominican man was as tall and broad as he'd ever seen a Dominican be, but his midsection, which protruded out over his belt in a semi-cockeyed fashion demanded Joseph's first glance.
All of this stunned Joseph and it took him longer than usual to change his English thought process into audible Spanish. Just as the words escaped his lips they stopped. The steely blue eyes of this forty-something or older or younger for that matter - Dominicans seem to age either spectacularly well or the opposite and Joseph simply could not mentally age them so he gave himself a 30 year margin of error. But the eyes struck Joseph as exceptionally odd.
"Yeah. My eyes are blue. My mother was half-German. What can I do for you?
Whenever Joseph was attempting to translate his English thoughts into Spanish words and someone spoke English to him the whole thought process in his head derailed. Joseph stammered back that he needed a room for a week.
The guy seem surprised. Like the first taxi driver he encountered the quarter German, fully Dominican (as Joseph learned from the man's drunken tirade the next night) was expecting Joseph was looking for something a bit more illicit. However, the man obliged Joseph with a room for 150 pesos for a week.
Joseph sat his bags down in disbelief inside the room. The dilapidated outside of the building hid a pleasant room with a clean, queen sized bed and a table and a fairly ornate wooden chair. The bathroom, despite lacking a showerhead, was more than acceptable. In his mind Joseph expected the place to house a wooden frame with no mattress, a hole in the ground to squat over and a host of cockroach roommates. Joseph was overcome with thoughts. Part of him was relieved and pleased with his surroundings while the other - and drastically smaller part, was disappointed that he was not disgusted by the room. That part of him was counting on squalor to be an inspiration for writing.
The Habitaciones aren't quite in La Vega, an overgrown town full of factories and motorcycle mechanics. It's on the way from La Vega to Jarabacoa, a more peaceful and scenic mountain village. The Habitaciones are in a town called Jagua Gorda. There's not much there, just the Habitaciones and a couple of colmados.
It was peaceful during the late afternoon and early evening. Joseph popped out of his room about 8:30 to get a little bottle of Brugal to help him sleep through then night as he didn't have a TV or radio for background noise. By the time he had got back to his room the ladies of the night had come out. He had to avoid them with all of his might as they were even more persistent than the beach patrolling cigar salesmen. One of them, a pretty girl, was standing by his door.
As he walked up he planned his escape in his head. On arriving he opened his mouth to speak but before a single word escaped his lips she greeted him with a smile and stepped aside. The smile nailed him to the earthy pathway he was walking on. He stared at her with a goofy, yet charmingly boyish smile. She laughed and told him to have a nice evening before walking away.
Joseph, now aware of his surroundings again continued to the door. It was an awkward few steps and his feet felt like cinderblocks and his legs moved as if they were composed of jello. Like any red-blooded man Joseph enjoyed a good looking woman, but he was always incapacitated by a good looking woman's smile.
[In a gua-gua again and headed back home. Impossible to write]
An excerpt from Habitaciones
After all the revelry and madness of Cabarete Joseph decided it was time to follow his self-imposed dictum and go to the Habitaciones con Banos. When he awoke at seven the next morning he felt like ripping his eardrums out to stop their pulsating rhythm that seemed to magnify the trob of pain in his head with each thud.
"It's too early for this" he said to himself. As he closed his eyes he imagined two miniature versions of himself on his shoulders. The one on the left, clad in red and clutching a pitchfork urged him to sleep while the one on the right, draped in a white bath robe urged him up. Joseph listened to neither of his mini-selfs but didn't feel like actually dealing with his subconscious turning his actual conundrum into a rehearsing of some Looney Toons medley. He got up out of bed, grabbed some hair of the dog and showered.
Normally drinking off a hangover usually struck a nerve in his conscious, but his conscious was so overloaded by his week of flesh that this minor offense slid through the cracks. After showering he headed to Dick's for breakfast. The very smell of food made him nauseous and intensified his headache. He grabbed a beer from the colmado next door instead and drained it with a thousand milligrams of aspirin.
A taxi drove him to Sosua. A bus drove him from Sosua to Puerta Plata - from Puerta Plata to Santiago - and finally from Santiago to La Vega. He was asleep when they arrived to La Vega and almost got stuck on the way to Santo Domingo. Luckily, a child no older than five fell down in the aisle next to his seat and screamed. The thumping resulted at a quickening pace as Joseph's eyes nearly exploded from opening so quickly at the disturbance.
It took a second for him to come to the realization that he was in La Vega. He collected his stuff and exited the cool bus into hot 0 though not Sosua hot - and stale air of the city. He hopped in a cab and headed for the habitaciones. The driver stared at him for a second to study Joseph's features. His eyes told Joseph that this was the first time a white tourist had ever asked to be taken there. How one gets that from somebody's eyes is unknown, but Joseph knew it intuitively.
Ten minutes later the driver dropped him off at the place. It seemed to Joseph it was even more rundown than he remembered. The lawn was wild, overrun by tall, thick grass. Joseph wondered if some large animal was lurking in there waiting for something or someone to invade its guarded territory.
Joseph carried his things to the door marked "oficina". Setting his things down to knock the door flung open at an alarming pace. A bare potbelly with other features greeted him. There were a lot of features that Joseph could have noticed about this man - his metallic gray hair sandwiching a shiny coffee tinted head or his exotically blue eyes or the fact that this Dominican man was as tall and broad as he'd ever seen a Dominican be, but his midsection, which protruded out over his belt in a semi-cockeyed fashion demanded Joseph's first glance.
All of this stunned Joseph and it took him longer than usual to change his English thought process into audible Spanish. Just as the words escaped his lips they stopped. The steely blue eyes of this forty-something or older or younger for that matter - Dominicans seem to age either spectacularly well or the opposite and Joseph simply could not mentally age them so he gave himself a 30 year margin of error. But the eyes struck Joseph as exceptionally odd.
"Yeah. My eyes are blue. My mother was half-German. What can I do for you?
Whenever Joseph was attempting to translate his English thoughts into Spanish words and someone spoke English to him the whole thought process in his head derailed. Joseph stammered back that he needed a room for a week.
The guy seem surprised. Like the first taxi driver he encountered the quarter German, fully Dominican (as Joseph learned from the man's drunken tirade the next night) was expecting Joseph was looking for something a bit more illicit. However, the man obliged Joseph with a room for 150 pesos for a week.
Joseph sat his bags down in disbelief inside the room. The dilapidated outside of the building hid a pleasant room with a clean, queen sized bed and a table and a fairly ornate wooden chair. The bathroom, despite lacking a showerhead, was more than acceptable. In his mind Joseph expected the place to house a wooden frame with no mattress, a hole in the ground to squat over and a host of cockroach roommates. Joseph was overcome with thoughts. Part of him was relieved and pleased with his surroundings while the other - and drastically smaller part, was disappointed that he was not disgusted by the room. That part of him was counting on squalor to be an inspiration for writing.
The Habitaciones aren't quite in La Vega, an overgrown town full of factories and motorcycle mechanics. It's on the way from La Vega to Jarabacoa, a more peaceful and scenic mountain village. The Habitaciones are in a town called Jagua Gorda. There's not much there, just the Habitaciones and a couple of colmados.
It was peaceful during the late afternoon and early evening. Joseph popped out of his room about 8:30 to get a little bottle of Brugal to help him sleep through then night as he didn't have a TV or radio for background noise. By the time he had got back to his room the ladies of the night had come out. He had to avoid them with all of his might as they were even more persistent than the beach patrolling cigar salesmen. One of them, a pretty girl, was standing by his door.
As he walked up he planned his escape in his head. On arriving he opened his mouth to speak but before a single word escaped his lips she greeted him with a smile and stepped aside. The smile nailed him to the earthy pathway he was walking on. He stared at her with a goofy, yet charmingly boyish smile. She laughed and told him to have a nice evening before walking away.
Joseph, now aware of his surroundings again continued to the door. It was an awkward few steps and his feet felt like cinderblocks and his legs moved as if they were composed of jello. Like any red-blooded man Joseph enjoyed a good looking woman, but he was always incapacitated by a good looking woman's smile.
[In a gua-gua again and headed back home. Impossible to write]
Friday, February 13, 2009
More structuring of Joseph Flannigan
(Originally Written February 13, 2009 in the Journal)
First 14 Days:
- Drunk Night/buys ticket to Santiago
-Airplane fiasco on the Way
-Arrives in Santiago
-Nightmare about ex-Wife
-Goes to Cabarete to hit the beach
-Lots of drinking/partying
-Sex with four strangers (doubling his numbers in a week)
-Writes to Angela
-Final Rendezvous with a girl from first night (MB-Swede)
-Decides to finally go to Habitaciones after 12 days
-Habitaciones description and Hooker "Rosalina Ordonez"
-Eats lunch with Rosalina, ponders Pretty Woman scenario
-I'm not Richard Gere and she's not Julia Roberts
-This ends with him having to pay hustler named "Pete" for Rosalina's time
[The girl across the restaurant keeps staring at me. Freaky-freaky is all that I can think of. Not that I'm interested, she just has that look that the girls at the beach had. I'm still enthralled with the woman from the gua-gua yesterday] Can I use this?
Day 15 - Nothing written except scribbles of the ocean sounds and a note to Angela. Shops for three days of supplies. Locks himself in room to write. Goes crazy. Writes nothing. Fourth day leaves to go to Santo Domingo for inspiration. Angela's double. Stays in a hostel and meets three girls from Peacecore. One (in his mind) is a dead ringer for Angela. Hangs out with them for a couple of nights discussing politics/love/philosophy over rum and cokes and café con leche. Mind is fixated on Angela's double (guilt/remorse from Cabarete and anger at break up)
Day 17 - Shocking realization: goes to internet café with new pics of him and peacecore girls to put up on facebook. Sees pics of them and old pics with Angela. Realizes they look nothing alike. In fact they sound and act nothing alike. Every girl he meets he compares to Angela - which either makes them fall short or pisses him off. With this realization the pent up frustration flakes off him and he feels freer than he has since youth
Day 18 - Cabarete part 2 - Goes back to Cabarate, hotel for sale. Contemplates giving up writing and buying a hotel. Decides against it. Heads to Santiago after a night.
Day 19 - A novel in a night.
He sits in the first hotel in a somewhat paradoxical mood. He is happy because he is emotionally free again. he is sad because he hasn't written a page. Suddenly he realizes he should just tell the story of his last three weeks. Pages fly by as he relives the past in detailed prose. Of course it would have to be proofed and polished, but it just flows out like lava. It oozes from his pen at such a rate he fears he will ignite the paper. "My name is Joseph Flanagan and I would like to tell you the story of how I rediscovered myself amidst pure chaos in the Dominican Republic..." Narrator: "He skipped his flight to finish the book. After nearly 45 straight hours of writing he had written his rough sketch and felt proud of it. I'd love to be able to say that it was received by the publisher with awe and enjoyment but I can't. I don't know. I'll let you know in the next book".
Yours Truly,
Joseph Flanagan
First 14 Days:
- Drunk Night/buys ticket to Santiago
-Airplane fiasco on the Way
-Arrives in Santiago
-Nightmare about ex-Wife
-Goes to Cabarete to hit the beach
-Lots of drinking/partying
-Sex with four strangers (doubling his numbers in a week)
-Writes to Angela
-Final Rendezvous with a girl from first night (MB-Swede)
-Decides to finally go to Habitaciones after 12 days
-Habitaciones description and Hooker "Rosalina Ordonez"
-Eats lunch with Rosalina, ponders Pretty Woman scenario
-I'm not Richard Gere and she's not Julia Roberts
-This ends with him having to pay hustler named "Pete" for Rosalina's time
[The girl across the restaurant keeps staring at me. Freaky-freaky is all that I can think of. Not that I'm interested, she just has that look that the girls at the beach had. I'm still enthralled with the woman from the gua-gua yesterday] Can I use this?
Day 15 - Nothing written except scribbles of the ocean sounds and a note to Angela. Shops for three days of supplies. Locks himself in room to write. Goes crazy. Writes nothing. Fourth day leaves to go to Santo Domingo for inspiration. Angela's double. Stays in a hostel and meets three girls from Peacecore. One (in his mind) is a dead ringer for Angela. Hangs out with them for a couple of nights discussing politics/love/philosophy over rum and cokes and café con leche. Mind is fixated on Angela's double (guilt/remorse from Cabarete and anger at break up)
Day 17 - Shocking realization: goes to internet café with new pics of him and peacecore girls to put up on facebook. Sees pics of them and old pics with Angela. Realizes they look nothing alike. In fact they sound and act nothing alike. Every girl he meets he compares to Angela - which either makes them fall short or pisses him off. With this realization the pent up frustration flakes off him and he feels freer than he has since youth
Day 18 - Cabarete part 2 - Goes back to Cabarate, hotel for sale. Contemplates giving up writing and buying a hotel. Decides against it. Heads to Santiago after a night.
Day 19 - A novel in a night.
He sits in the first hotel in a somewhat paradoxical mood. He is happy because he is emotionally free again. he is sad because he hasn't written a page. Suddenly he realizes he should just tell the story of his last three weeks. Pages fly by as he relives the past in detailed prose. Of course it would have to be proofed and polished, but it just flows out like lava. It oozes from his pen at such a rate he fears he will ignite the paper. "My name is Joseph Flanagan and I would like to tell you the story of how I rediscovered myself amidst pure chaos in the Dominican Republic..." Narrator: "He skipped his flight to finish the book. After nearly 45 straight hours of writing he had written his rough sketch and felt proud of it. I'd love to be able to say that it was received by the publisher with awe and enjoyment but I can't. I don't know. I'll let you know in the next book".
Yours Truly,
Joseph Flanagan
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A Possible Structuring of Joseph Flannigan
(Originally Written Feb 12, 2009 in the Journal)
Whenever I see the numerical code 666 in my everyday life I get nervous that I am the anti-Christ. I've never told that to anyone. I wonder if I am alone in this fear or if others share it with me.
This bus is freezing. By bus, I mean gua-gua. I'm heading to Santiago to get some Pollo Victorinos. It's been raining for a week solid. I'm completely depressed.
I'm struggling with spiritual apathy and lust issues. I'm certain the two are connected. I need to overcome one and the other will resolve itself. I should take C.S. Lewis' advice and "focus on heaven and earth will sort of just be thrown in". That's a paraphrasing, but it captures the essence.
This is fairly personal stuff I'm writing, albeit some discombobulated ramblings. There's a guy next to me in a yellow oxford shirt looking into this book reading every word. I'd be intensely offended if we (my book and I) were in America, but I doubt he can read English, let alone my chicken scratch.
Whenever I see the numerical code 666 in my everyday life I get nervous that I am the anti-Christ. I've never told that to anyone. I wonder if I am alone in this fear or if others share it with me.
This bus is freezing. By bus, I mean gua-gua. I'm heading to Santiago to get some Pollo Victorinos. It's been raining for a week solid. I'm completely depressed.
I'm struggling with spiritual apathy and lust issues. I'm certain the two are connected. I need to overcome one and the other will resolve itself. I should take C.S. Lewis' advice and "focus on heaven and earth will sort of just be thrown in". That's a paraphrasing, but it captures the essence.
This is fairly personal stuff I'm writing, albeit some discombobulated ramblings. There's a guy next to me in a yellow oxford shirt looking into this book reading every word. I'd be intensely offended if we (my book and I) were in America, but I doubt he can read English, let alone my chicken scratch.
Salvation ain't a woman.
You ain't gonna find salvation in her.
You are dead to her (my journal says to me).
Move on.
You ain't gonna find salvation in her.
Salvation ain't a woman.
(A Poem from Collected Thoughts and Scattered Dreams)
- Part of the unfinished book of poems by Joseph Flannigan
Have you ever tried to write in a moving vehicle on an ill-maintained road? It becomes increasingly more and more frustrating. I need to get a recorder.
I have just decided to name each of my writing journals by a woman's name beginning with A and ending with Z. This being the first, shall be called Ashley - in honor of the Ashley I played with as a child, not the Ashley I dated as a sophomore. Not that there is anything wrong with that Ashley, nor do I wish her any malice.
Dear Ashley,
You are my first, so be gentle.
Love,
Christopher
"Oh Ashley, I can read you like a book!"
Enough of the stupid jokes - I feel carsick and claustrophobic.
Alright, so I'm out of the gua-gua. I'm in Santiago at the Pollo Victorino's. Habitaciones con Banos is moving along. Chapters keep spilling out. It's nice and exciting actually. But I don't have much of a direction... Hows about some structuring?
Chapter 1 - Introduction of Joseph
Chapter 2 - Supplies shopping and flight
Chapter 3 - Arriving in Santiago
Chapter 4 - Dream
Chapter 5 - Cabarete
Chapter Z - Writing ridiculous three weeks calling it "Three Weeks of Frivolity - Rediscovering myself in a chaotic holiday to the Caribbean"
I think I've got a good thing going, I'm just unsure of how to get to the end.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Letters of the Alphabet
(Originally Written February 11, 2009 in the Journal)
Did you ever think about language and the alphabet? Who could have ever decided that "A" came before "Z" and that "Q" had a purpose or that each letter could represent a number of sounds by positioning the tongue, lips and the mouth in certain patterns and forcing out air. I don't know, the thought just popped in my head.
Did you ever think about language and the alphabet? Who could have ever decided that "A" came before "Z" and that "Q" had a purpose or that each letter could represent a number of sounds by positioning the tongue, lips and the mouth in certain patterns and forcing out air. I don't know, the thought just popped in my head.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Joseph Flannigan - A letter never meant to be mailed
(Originally Written February 4, 2009 in the Journal)
Habitaciones chapter 5
Random thoughts: you can't find salvation in a woman... pass me that bottle there.
Joseph woke from his dream, feeble yet refreshed.
*I apologize to my future typist self for the handwriting...moving bus.
A letter never meant to be mailed
Dearest Angela,
They put a photograph of you in the main gathering place. You don't look too pleased in it. You have a contrived, half smile in it. You look very sad and angry in it, that look you get when something didn't go as you had planned. I know that look well, you gave me it for months as our marriage was falling apart.
I wonder what you are doing these days. Occasionally, though not as frequently as I once did, I check up on you. Facebook and blogs are such anonymous ways of emotional sharing. It is safe and dangerous all at once. I took you off mine (as I'm sure you're well aware of) - I just wanted to say I didn't do so because I was angry or hate you, but because this knowledge is too much for me to bear.
When you left me I felt relieved at first. This giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders. No more threats, no more suspicions or doubts. Only one reality, albeit one monstrously ugly, universe crushing fact: you no longer love me and I am alone. I guess I'll take this reality over doubt though.
It took time for me to fully realize this. I moved from a sense of relief to a sentiment of happiness. The more I ponder on this feeling the more I realize it was just emotional and spiritual shock at the life just hemorrhaging out of my soul. My head spun a lot and I searched for ways to reassert my individuality. I lost all sense of individualness in our relationship. Whether that was from you stealing it from me or me forfeiting it, or a combination thereof I still don't know, nor do I think it matters much at this point.
While reconfiguring myself as an individual entity again I realized how many things of my own personhood I hated. There is my neurosis, my lethargy, my existential crisis at the face of my loneliness, my obsessive nature when it comes to just about everything I pour myself into, as well as a host of other things. Most of all I especially hate my insomnia.
Back when we were together my insomnia wasn't any better, it was the same. Maybe even worse. That said, it was easier to cope with because you were next to me. For hours on end I would just look at you, memorizing your breathing patterns, studying the curves of your body, watching your lips curl into half-smiles or frowns. Eventually I could gauge your morning's mood by observing your subconscious moments. Now when I wake I lie in an empty bed and fully comprehend the meaning of loneliness.
It hasn't been all bad though. You know as well as I do (or better) I always paint the landscape a more sinister shade than nature has. I don't know maybe this time I'm accurate. The world contrives to spin but I sink deeper into this hole you dug for me - so deep I can't seem to climb out or even find the motivation to do so. I HATE YOU!
(Joseph steps away for a bit)
I don't hate you. I'm sorry. It's been so long since we've been together but I haven't dealt with it. I've brushed off everything with humor. My jokes and quips have become ever more self-deprecating in the past few moths.
I still battle alcohol. I can't go into a bar anymore because I never know what will happen. The last time I went into a bar I drank until I blacked out. The next morning, or rather afternoon, I realized I had bought a plane ticket to Santiago. I figured, what the hell, why not go? So here I am sitting on the beach trying to overcome a deep sense of loss and a clinical case of writer's block. All I can think is to write is love letters to you. It's all very depressing.
I replay our divorce proceedings over and over in my head. We signed papers, had them notarized and parted with cordial goodbyes. As I walked away I said, "I'll always still love you". Choking back the tears I walked away. In my fantasies though I either express my true thoughts or you reply more favorably. You blurt back, "I'll always still love you"!
Turning around, dramatically slow I peer into your face with sadness. I sigh deeply. "Angela", I say, "you have never loved me. You used me to achieve a certain set of needs, when your needs changed you discarded me. You don't understand the meaning of love. I don't fault you for it and I forgiv3e everything. I never want to see you again - not because I don't love you, but because I love you. I would fall back into your arms again and again only to be discarded at will. I can't go through this again."
At this point in my fantasies one of two things happen. The first is you realize the errors of your ways and we come out stronger in the end. The second, and more likely scenario if I had said what I just wrote is that you spit in my face and walk away. I then leave.
So here is my letter to you. I've written hundreds of them. I never save them. I fold them, put them in an addressed envelope and drive or walk to the post office (you remember walking from the campus to the post office how we would always grab pops at the gas station and we'd always carry exact change and then that one time the price had gone up? We could only get one that time. I couldn't get my Diet Coke if you got your Pepsi and you couldn't get your Pepsi if I got my Diet Coke. We got Dr. Pepper and split it with two straws. I guess you got tired of Dr. Pepper and splitting things huh? Once I get to the post office though I can't follow through. I go back home, with a quick stop for a Diet Coke, and burn the letters in the kitchen sink.
I'll always still love you,
Joseph
Habitaciones chapter 5
Random thoughts: you can't find salvation in a woman... pass me that bottle there.
Joseph woke from his dream, feeble yet refreshed.
*I apologize to my future typist self for the handwriting...moving bus.
A letter never meant to be mailed
Dearest Angela,
They put a photograph of you in the main gathering place. You don't look too pleased in it. You have a contrived, half smile in it. You look very sad and angry in it, that look you get when something didn't go as you had planned. I know that look well, you gave me it for months as our marriage was falling apart.
I wonder what you are doing these days. Occasionally, though not as frequently as I once did, I check up on you. Facebook and blogs are such anonymous ways of emotional sharing. It is safe and dangerous all at once. I took you off mine (as I'm sure you're well aware of) - I just wanted to say I didn't do so because I was angry or hate you, but because this knowledge is too much for me to bear.
When you left me I felt relieved at first. This giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders. No more threats, no more suspicions or doubts. Only one reality, albeit one monstrously ugly, universe crushing fact: you no longer love me and I am alone. I guess I'll take this reality over doubt though.
It took time for me to fully realize this. I moved from a sense of relief to a sentiment of happiness. The more I ponder on this feeling the more I realize it was just emotional and spiritual shock at the life just hemorrhaging out of my soul. My head spun a lot and I searched for ways to reassert my individuality. I lost all sense of individualness in our relationship. Whether that was from you stealing it from me or me forfeiting it, or a combination thereof I still don't know, nor do I think it matters much at this point.
While reconfiguring myself as an individual entity again I realized how many things of my own personhood I hated. There is my neurosis, my lethargy, my existential crisis at the face of my loneliness, my obsessive nature when it comes to just about everything I pour myself into, as well as a host of other things. Most of all I especially hate my insomnia.
Back when we were together my insomnia wasn't any better, it was the same. Maybe even worse. That said, it was easier to cope with because you were next to me. For hours on end I would just look at you, memorizing your breathing patterns, studying the curves of your body, watching your lips curl into half-smiles or frowns. Eventually I could gauge your morning's mood by observing your subconscious moments. Now when I wake I lie in an empty bed and fully comprehend the meaning of loneliness.
It hasn't been all bad though. You know as well as I do (or better) I always paint the landscape a more sinister shade than nature has. I don't know maybe this time I'm accurate. The world contrives to spin but I sink deeper into this hole you dug for me - so deep I can't seem to climb out or even find the motivation to do so. I HATE YOU!
(Joseph steps away for a bit)
I don't hate you. I'm sorry. It's been so long since we've been together but I haven't dealt with it. I've brushed off everything with humor. My jokes and quips have become ever more self-deprecating in the past few moths.
I still battle alcohol. I can't go into a bar anymore because I never know what will happen. The last time I went into a bar I drank until I blacked out. The next morning, or rather afternoon, I realized I had bought a plane ticket to Santiago. I figured, what the hell, why not go? So here I am sitting on the beach trying to overcome a deep sense of loss and a clinical case of writer's block. All I can think is to write is love letters to you. It's all very depressing.
I replay our divorce proceedings over and over in my head. We signed papers, had them notarized and parted with cordial goodbyes. As I walked away I said, "I'll always still love you". Choking back the tears I walked away. In my fantasies though I either express my true thoughts or you reply more favorably. You blurt back, "I'll always still love you"!
Turning around, dramatically slow I peer into your face with sadness. I sigh deeply. "Angela", I say, "you have never loved me. You used me to achieve a certain set of needs, when your needs changed you discarded me. You don't understand the meaning of love. I don't fault you for it and I forgiv3e everything. I never want to see you again - not because I don't love you, but because I love you. I would fall back into your arms again and again only to be discarded at will. I can't go through this again."
At this point in my fantasies one of two things happen. The first is you realize the errors of your ways and we come out stronger in the end. The second, and more likely scenario if I had said what I just wrote is that you spit in my face and walk away. I then leave.
So here is my letter to you. I've written hundreds of them. I never save them. I fold them, put them in an addressed envelope and drive or walk to the post office (you remember walking from the campus to the post office how we would always grab pops at the gas station and we'd always carry exact change and then that one time the price had gone up? We could only get one that time. I couldn't get my Diet Coke if you got your Pepsi and you couldn't get your Pepsi if I got my Diet Coke. We got Dr. Pepper and split it with two straws. I guess you got tired of Dr. Pepper and splitting things huh? Once I get to the post office though I can't follow through. I go back home, with a quick stop for a Diet Coke, and burn the letters in the kitchen sink.
I'll always still love you,
Joseph
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