Flying Brick. Pt.5

“Hey now, what’d you do that for?” I asked and rubbed my new lumpy forehead. 

“Captain told me to join you,” she said stalking off.

“Whoa now, I’ll need you to calm that excitement if you’re tagging along,” I said sarcastically and added, “Besides, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t wait for me,” was all she said. Didn’t even look me in the eye. The nerve. I wasn’t about to mention that I couldn’t have waited for someone I didn’t know was going to be joining. With this new headache, I wasn’t in the mood to argue anymore so I clammed my mouth and trudged along. 

We were heading to peek around the buildings that were attacked with special eyes for the three without definite times of attack. I was still unsure what the point of the attacks were and I had a feeling I wouldn’t get too much further in that answer after today. I tried to stay hopeful though. 

“I’m never one to stop a gal from taking charge, but I believe I was hired to run this show so why don’t you slow down before you run off on your adventure and do what Cap told you and stay by my side. I’ve got a couple of stops to make on the way,” I said out loud to Alice. She answered with a look that assured me I would get a good whack in the head again soon but slowed down and followed me back to the coffee shop. 

The whole journey was filled with music of the city waking up. A few cabs driving around with paper delivery boys running to and fro while shouting at shop managers and the like. We kept a brisk pace but made good time. She never once popped a word out of her pretty mouth. 

That’s a bit sarcastic but also not wrong. She was beautiful but her personality was as ugly as a red headed stepchild. 

For no reason besides the feeling in the air, I decided to take the back door to Smiley’s. We were on a path to the front but I jumped into the alleyway at the last second to head around. My gut was tickling my noggin and I’ve learned it’s best to listen to those instincts. 

“Alice, will you be a doll and watch the alley while I do some business in here?”

She punched me in the left shoulder blade, “Don’t call me doll,” she said but went anyway. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive but I have a feeling you didn’t come to sweep me off my feet,” Sal cooed at me when I snuck in the back. 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I need to refuel and grab some more treats.”

“More? You on a job? You are. And you came back here…”she narrowed her eyes at me and bit her lip as she was figuring me out. She got it. “I see. Sampson is probably a few blocks down at the Arcade. I’ll put together his favorite but you’re paying for these. He may be my brother but he doesn’t eat for free.”

“Can you get me two coffees to go? One as a latte?”

“Since when do you march around with a partner?” She asked peering around me looking for said person. Sampson doesn’t drink coffee and I like my coffee to match the frequency of my soul; black and bitter. 

“Oh don’t worry about it. Unofficial but with me today.”

“Mhmm,” was all she said as she left the back to gather the goods. I took the time to scout the inside and see what customers were lurking there. Nothing too exciting except a couple girls giggling in a corner. In fact, they were so exciting to the eyes and blood flow that I almost missed the fella leaning across the street trying his best to look inconspicuous while he spied on the cafe. My gut was right. 

“John, come have a look at this,” said a voice behind me. I nearly banged my head on the ceiling I jumped so high. That girl was damn sneaky.

Outside was a busted up dirty thug lying in against the wall in the alley. Alice didn’t have any mark on her. I was impressed. I gave her a questioning look.

“He snuck around the corner a few minutes after you walked inside. I let him get close before I hit him in the temple. He stumbled into the wall and brought that knife out. So I kicked him in the jaw and he went out like a light.” She shrugged at me like she didn’t expect him to pass out after that. Hard to answer questions when they aren’t conscious. 

“His partner is out front across the street watching the cafe. I don’t like the fact that he had back up.” That points towards this being a bigger deal already. If it were just one guy watching, I get it; but two people meant something was going to happen. Luckily, they weren’t planning on this being the thing. 

“They’re after you, you know.”

“I do.” I did. They wouldn’t be at this cafe for any other reason. Smiley doesn’t tolerate that kind acts around his shop. He’ll bite the hand right off you. 

“John, here you go. Now get going before I have trouble to deal with. Make it obvious you aren’t here.” That was Sal with a bag of goodies and a little girl handing a drink to Alice and then bringing one to me. 

“Of course. Thanks, Sal.” She just winked and sauntered back inside. She was playful but I knew she was serious. I didn’t want to leave with attention but I knew I had to get the thugs away from her work so I did as she asked. Besides, if they roughed the place up, I couldn’t come back anymore. 

“Alice, hand me that napkin…please,” I quickly added to prevent more bruising. I took it and scribbled a smiley face and a note that said thanks for the heads up. Left it on the guy taking a sleeper against the wall and then searched his pockets. I found nothing worth anything  but I took his knife anyway. Gave it to Alice, “Here, you earned it,” I told her. I might be mistaken but a think the corner of her mouth twitched a bit in a smile. Right before we left I stopped and went back to the man. I pulled his sleeves back on a hunch and found what I was looking for; a burned circle marked his forearm close to the ditch of his elbow. Interesting. 

After that I had Alice keep the back roads for a couple of blocks with the goods while I went out front in a loud display to get my tracker to follow. As I walked back through the cafe, I was rewarded with a pinch on the butt from Sal. She approved. I was thinking I’d have to come back tonight to check up on her and see what other treats she had out.

After a block I caught the thug following me and felt satisfied in my attempt to save Smileys. I walked a second block before stopping suddenly and turning around in a last minute decision to go inside a nearby shop. A local haberdashery that I’ve been in a handful of times. Enough to know the owner and toss him a coin or two to let me slip out the back. He signed off with a nod and a smirk and kept measuring some larger bloke. He had his work cut out for him with the size of that man’s belly. Whoa now! 

I sprinted down the back alleyway, cut across and peered down the street to see if I’d been successful. My tracker was at a newspaper stand looking through the paper and waiting in line to buy the news of the day; he made a glance at the haberdashery every ten seconds or so. I treated myself to grin and a pat on the back while I kept going to meet up with Alice. 

“It’s about time. You must be out of shape if it took this long for you to lose your tail,” she stabbed. She handed me my coffee and I noticed she had already finished hers off. I guess I didn’t deserve that pat on the back as much as I thought. I was a little out of shape. 

“I did alright. He’s gone isn’t he? Now, let’s go to the Arcade.”

“The Arcade? Why? I thought we were going to scout the buildings out. That’s in the opposite direction.” This one was dramatic and liked to exaggerate. 

“It isn’t in the opposite direction. A block or two out of the way but not that drastic. We need to see a rat leader before I start so we don’t run into anymore unprepared quarrels.”

“You’re vague as ever and I kind of hate it.”

“I love you too.”

The Arcade was named that because of the obvious; there were arcade games littering this warehouse. So much so, that they overflowed outside the building. However, hardly any of them worked and it was more or less a graveyard for the machines. Sampson, a scrawny lad with a dirty face, unkept hair, darkened clothes and a knack for sneaking, lived there with a crew of like minded individuals. Because he was Sal’s brother, we’d worked together many times and I knew I could rely on him. All the same, you can’t just barge into someone’s place with a smile and ask for their help. The city didn’t work that way. There were rules we had to follow. A code that must be met. A certain amount of hooligans that wanted sweets. 

In the front by the gate, there was an old Mortal Kombat game sitting like a sentry. I placed a donut there and led Alice to a corner of a building not too far off. I plopped my butt on a trashcan and waited. 

“What are we doing? Shouldn’t we be getting something done?”

“Patience, girl, patience. You can’t run around and hope to get everything accomplished. You’ll miss something. Now settle down and let me work.” And stop questioning my every move, I added in my head. 

We sat there for maybe five minutes, maybe ten. Hell, it could have been fifteen for all I know. I was running through the case in my mind and lost track of time. Eventually Alice poked my in the ribs, making me jump again, but whispered, “The donut is gone!”

“Perfect. We’re allowed entry now.” I grabbed the bag and we skipped right on through the gate to the rundown building in the back. Weaving through the maze of arcade machines scattered about. Many were beyond busted with decorations like arrows, swords, knives, hammers, and the like, just smashed into them. It was a warning to those too curious. 

We walked into the dark warhouse. Sunlight was shining down in beams through dirt covered windows. Not too bright but enough that we weren’t blind. There was an old Victorian couch off to the right next to what Sampson called his office. I grabbed Alice’s arm and led her to the couch. We sat. She squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. I took out the donuts and displayed them in line on the coffee table in front of us. Before I had finished, the crew started materializing out of the dark. 

“Johnny-boy! Is that you? It’s been a long time pal!” Shouted a voice from the darkness. Sound echoed everywhere in here so it was impossible to pinpoint an origin. 

Hands suddenly clamped on my shoulders and gave a quick massage of my traps. Idid my best not to jump and reveal my surprise. I didn’t hear him at all. He gave me a tight squeeze that was a tad painful, just to show me who was in control. His guys were already in the light and grabbing their desserts. 

Flying Brick Pt.4

“I took the rest of the coffee and doughnuts to the Network group. I used to laugh at my brothers desire to give nicknames to everything that he sets up but it did help with organizing, I guess. It was time to get said info I was hungry to be gettin’.” 

“Why are you here?”

“Who cares, he brought doughnuts.”

“Yeah and coffee!”

“But not enough for everyone.”

“If we share…”

“He still hasn’t answered my question. Doughnuts or not.”

“Well, you haven’t really given me much of a chance, see. I’ve just been hired by your Captain and came over for the goods. The goods, this time, being information I need. Information about the fires. The attacks. And why the damned hell would I bring enough for everyone if I didn’t even know you existed?” I was talking to a group of four. Three men. One woman. Whether or not it was due to the ratio, she had a mean look about her. The kind of look that made a man stop thinking and wonder by all the gods they would release a thing like her. The kind of look that made you forget where you were, who you were with, what you were saying, and the time of day. She wore tight black clothing meant for operatives but tailored to her hourglass body. The cherry on top of this desert was the scowl she wore on her face that dared anybody dumb enough to challenge her would end up in the river dancing with a cinderblock. 

The other blokes were less impressive. I found out the loud mouth was Mason. Obviously the type of man that said every thought and spent half his day in the gym. I will admit, those type of people had their moments of necessity. In the intelligence group was not what I was expecting. The next fellow, Arlow, seemed the nerdy type; glasses, unkempt curly hair, mismatched clouting, clutching a utensil or book at all times. Poor bloke didn’t have a confident bone in his liquid body but I didn’t doubt his loyalty. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. Joe was last and looked your average…well your average Joe. Fit body with thinning hair, wore a button up but nothing flashy, stared at his notes a lot but came off genuine. He’d be the smartest one here from my take of the land. 

“And who might you be?” I asked the main attraction.

“You continue to look at me like that and you’ll be the new spokesman for dentures cause I’m fixin to knock the ones you got plum right out your mouth,” the mystery woman replied standing up and coming right to my face. As if her words weren’t enough warning, proximity had to be added. 

“Settle down, Miss. I quite like my teeth. So does my dentist. You wouldn’t want to upset him would you? I had terrible teeth growing up and he went through a lot of effort to get these something to be proud of. I’m sure you’re not that kind of gal that would ruin someone’s passion and hard work?”

“Full of garbage, I see.”

I patted my stomach, it was in decent shape, “No ma’am, not me! Only the best meats and greens in here, o’course. But I feel it would be more rude for me to call you something obligatory instead of your name, would it not?” I got her there.

“Okay fine, but please stop talking. Will you do that if I tell you?”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, love. I need information, remember?”

“Oh for Satan’s Mercy, will you two please shut up. Alice. Her name is Alice! Now, Joe, will you please fill him in so he can leave and we can get back to work?” Shouted Mason and winning a glance from Alice that could have given me a close shave. 

With a mouth full of doughnut, Joe chimed in, “That’s no way to talk to our guest who has brought us goods. It seems we will be working together now, so let’s keep things easy, simple, and straightforward.” These treats really went a long way with these people. I’ll have to remember that for alter use. If I could only open up a cafe across the street, I’d have them eating out the palm of my hand!

“So the fires hit us at six different locations. Four right off the harbor and two further up inland where we found you. They all went off relatively at the same time. Three buildings burnt completely, the other three are in pretty bad condition. Arlow, write down the locations of the buildings for him. That’s where we’ll want you to start first, but I’m sure you were already on that thought,” said Joe. 

“Relatively the same time?” I inquired. Either they did or they didn’t.

“It’s hard to say whether they did since we didn’t have them under scrutiny before. From what we’ve gathered from eye-witnesses, it was in the ballpark of two fifteen in the morning with variances of a few minutes.”

“So why the hesitation? Seems like they all went off well enough at the same time.”

“Because at three, the ones marked there,” Arlow pointed at the map on the wall and continued on in a nasally voice, “we lost our night staff. We do have security posted but usually just to fend off ideas and not prevent explosions. It was harder to get an answer from locals to when the fires started at those specific locations but we feel confident it was about the same time.”

“That’s where I’ll be starting, then.”

“Smart thinking, ace. Here’s a badge to get you in to any place you want within our territory. It may hold some power in other areas but don’t count on it to save your ass in trouble.” Joe tossed me a mock detective badge. It had an etched pilot goggles and hat in the center with the words “Pilot International” inside a ribbon. It was pretty classy. 

“This is pretty classy,” I admitted.

“Yes they are. Don’t lose it.” I’ll give ya one guess who’s smart mouth said that one. 

“Listen, I woke up from a date with Death in an alleyway with trash decorating me like a sad Christmas tree. I don’t enjoy what’s going on either and I’m a bit cross about it all, too. But Joe’s right, we will be working together so you could do us all a favor and clam it if you’re going to make us all work harder by acting like that. None of us have that time, do we?” Sometimes you just have to say the stuff to get the things to stick. I didn’t like doing that kind of thing. Makes you look too serious; like you don’t know how to have a laugh. I’m as sarcastic as the next bloke but like I said, sometimes you gotta set some professional boundaries.

Alice just looked at me. Then she got up and walked off towards Cap. I took that as my cue to leave. I tossed a two finger salute to the remaining group and headed out. 

By the time I got out the front door to feel the chill kiss me alive, I heard the door shut fiercely behind me. My guard was up. I whipped around and brought my right hook with me. At the last second I drew back as much as I could! Alice ducked, popped right back up, and thumped me on the forehead.

Flying Brick Pt.3

From last week -“Just because the building was in Snatcher territory don’t mean it’s theirs. Big building like that, plus Splinter’s interest got me thinking the Pilots might know something. Hey, go out the back when you leave,” I told him as I made my way up the spiral staircase to my apartment. Had it special installed, just for me. I’ll tell you how I convinced ole Bruce another time.

“Yeah I know. I have enough sense not to waltz out the front door after someone snooping around here. No thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome! Ya ungrateful, fart.”

I unlocked my door and stumbled some more in a final effort to make it to the mattress on the floor in my bedroom. Didn’t even bother taking off my fashionable digs. I flopped and left it at that. My night was over yet I had a feeling my work load just got a whole lot bigger.-

Morning came and clocked me in the jaw earlier than I wanted but sometimes necessities of life demand special attention. I rolled my sorry ass out of bed hoping to use momentum to make it to standing position. It was as if my body didn’t know what to do at this hour and had to start from scratch. 

I made my way towards the docks this morning but made sure to go five min Utes out of my way to grab some elixir of life. I’m talking coffee. I need to stay alert and focused. Hell, I needed to be able to put two functioning thoughts together in relative speed; which I wasn’t doing at the moment. I walked into Smiley’s Drug Fixers with a grumble and a look that told every morning person to scram if they thought I needed a few words. My favorite barista was there giving an older gent the biggest stink eye as he was rambling off a long list of sexist jargon he no doubt spoke every day. I caught the tail end of the man’s words and wasn’t wrong.

“You’ve got such a great smile! It would be a shame not to see it every morning. And I like this dress you’ve got on today. Reminds me when I was a young man on the prowl! I would have snatched you up without a second’s thought. It was before I had all this money, though,” he said trying to give himself some bonus points for today’s current version. I rolled my eyes so hard I got to map out a few extra spots of wrinkles on my mind organ. 

I gave Sal a questioning eye if she wanted me to say something. She gave me the look that told me I better make a fast move before she decked this old man in his jaw.

“Why don’t you take a second’s thought somewhere else and move along, sir.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a few squeezes for emphasis. He spun around trying to form a feeble excuse like he wasn’t hitting on the girl or doing anything wrong but just making friendly conversation. I didn’t buy it. Sal didn’t buy it. I gently ushered the man towards the door with passing words to try not being so creepy in the future and left him with his mouth open and the beginning argument of youngsters needing to treat their elders better. 

Fat and dirty load of hog wash. I don’t care how old you are, if you act like a fool, you’re setting yourself up to lose said respect. 

“Thanks, John. Although, I think I would have enjoyed give him my five finger discussion point. It’s stands strong on its own.”

“I have no doubt about that, Sal. How ye been, kid?”

She grabbed a cup and began making me a drink with an eye roll well enough to challenge my own. “Why do you always call me kid? I’m only a handful of years younger than you and have seen just as much filth.”

“For the opposite reason, of course. You ever considered it aint all about you? Maybe I feel like such an old man that you seem more like a kid.”

“So dramatic. No I had not thought of that and I can tell by that smirk on your face that you never have until now, either. Can it,” she said to me bringing over something dark as sin with tantalizing steam coming out of it. Just being in the proximity of the drink began waking me up. I was an avid coffee lover. Our love life went back for decades but I was a deep sugar and creamer kind of guy for too long. Had a pantry full of different flavored creamer and thought that was the whole point. It wasn’t until an embarrassing camping trip with some particular coffee aficionados that led me to drink the stuff black. Makes it more difficult to enjoy though. Once you know what quality coffee is supposed to taste like, you quickly find out that ninety percent of vendors are selling you trash water. Smiley’s is one of the three locations in the city with the quality meant for royalty. The place got the name from a running joke. That being coffee is the most sold and regulated legal drug franchise in the world. The name was chosen as a stab at the snobs downtown. They wouldn’t try out a place with such a dicey name so most of the clientele were real people with some rough flakes tossed in for texture. I liked it. I was a usual afternoon visitor but was known to bless the place with my mug some mornings because I’m a charitable guy. 

The coffee tasted delicious and hotter than Satan’s side broad. My tongue tingled and hurt but it was worth it. 

“What’d you give me, Sal?”

“Does it matter? I just gave you something to bring you back from the dead zone where you creeped out of. You look like hell on a stick, boy.”

“I appreciate it. Your kind words being a cherry on top. I’ve been through the ringer past couple of days but I’m on my way to figure it out. At least tell me what you made so I can order it again.”

“Not a chance. I have to keep my regulars coming back for more.”

“Wait, did you just call me boy?”

“Of course not. Now get out of here and get some work done.”

“Well, now that I’m awake a little more, I wouldn’t mind a chat with Smiley. You seen him?”

“Check out back. It’s trash day so he’s probably there handling business.”

I tipped my cup in a salute and headed to find Smiley. And I did. Rolling around in a big stank of garbage with the biggest grin on his face. The trash men were there, too, wearing equal sized smiles of their own. Smiley had that affect on people. 

“Hiya, Smiley! Missed ya, bud,” I said crouching down to pet him on his belly. 

You might be curious now. Was I petting a grown man’s belly while he rolled around in trash for workers enjoyment? No, ya goons. I’m petting the sweetest most smiley pit bull I’ve ever met. Smiley was on middle aged dog that welcomed everyone that came up but held the world’s best sense of character judgement. If Smiley didn’t like you, you were the scum of sewers disposal dump. They actually wrote in Smiley’s contribution and living expenses into the business plan here. He lived here and had a pretty swell set up for a dog. People loved visiting and getting some brightness to their day. 

He wagged his tail and jumped up to greet me. I got a big hug and some licks before he went back to work managing the trash. I nodded to the workmen and headed on. We all had tasks to take care of. 

I whipped around when I got a touch of intellect. Went back to catch the trash men before they left. 

“Hey Skip, wait up!” I shouted during a light jog in their direction. 

“What’s up, John? How you been, buddy?”

“You seen Cap today?”

He looked me over for a second and then in a lowered voice, “Nah. We don’t go there till Tuesday. What business you need with him?” He sounded skeptical but not too worried.

“Thinking he might have an answer I need to a question.”

“I see. How long has it been since you sat down with him?”

“Uhh. A while, why?”

“You look selfishly empty handed for a bloke looking for information.”

I just looked at my cup and looked back at him questioningly. 

He helped me out, “Best take him some coffee and a treat if you were smart. Depending on the desired answer, it could cost you more, but showing up with full hands is more welcoming, John.”

“That’s a great point, thank you.”

“Glad to help, bud. We got to go. I’ll see ya on the next swing around. Good luck.” 

Soon I was sitting on a park bench staring at an abandoned building with flecks of pedestrians strolling around doing their life’s mission. I had half a dozen doughnuts and four hot coffees sitting next to me. I was waiting. 

A kid, maybe sixteen, sat down next to me and had the big sized balls to grab one of the coffees and a doughnut. He took a few bites and a few sips. I was pleasantly surprised, to be honest. Not by the sudden appearance of this overly welcoming guest but because I’d only been sitting down for a few minutes. The coffee was still piping hot and the doughnuts were still fresh. You couldn’t club someone’s brains in yet. 

“Cap in bad shape? You fellas are getting younger,” I said looking straightforward. Neither of us had made eye contact.

“If he wants to explain then he will explain. He is expecting you, though. You was smart to bring this. He’s been raving about his coffee lately and didn’t want to see it get cold. Well played, John.”

“It helps that I sent word out of my arrival, I’m sure.”

The kid grunted and walked off out of sight. He didn’t want to admit my idea worked. I knew Cap would hear about me looking for him when I talked to Skip earlier. It’s not that I’m impatient, but I do hate idly waiting by when I’ve got a laundry list of things I need to be doing. 

I stepped inside the building walked into a newly renovated foyer. There were a handful of men talking behind a counter that looked up when I made my appearance. One of them gestured for me to follow. I offered some treats to which they all denied. Nobody ate before the head snake. That must mean the kid had gotten approval beforehand. 

Cap was in a spacious high ceiling room with a roaring fire going. It was a ballroom but he had the space sectioned off with different tables and boards and groups working on different things. There was a massive map hanging on the wall in one section with a group of people drawing lines and scribing notes. I was curious but didn’t stay my eyes too long. Enough to figure out they had something serious going on and weren’t going to let me get a closer peek. 

The man himself was standing by a window. A massive window. It touched the floor, was about twelve feet high and nine feet wide with an arch at the top. I sat in silence and waited. After a few minutes the workers began to get nervous and all work chatter quieted down to whispers. Some were even daring to watch. 

“I was wondering when you’d come to me, John.”

I said nothing. A rarity some would say but I feel I keep it shut more often than they realize. I never shut up in my own head. 

“We spotted you by our warehouse the other day. I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed your ugly face in my presence. You always were a nosey turd. A burden needing to be chauffeured around.” Suddenly he turned around and looked at me. Staring right into my soul. 

At least, he tried to do that. 

We both cracked up at the same time and he walked over to me. Checking out what goods I brought. 

“What have you got for me, little brother?”

“Give Skip a raise. He suggested I bring some quality coffee and a treat if I was smart. Got them from Smiley’s, o’course.”

“I should have known. You like flirting with Sal over there, don’t you?”

“Now who’s the nosey one? Don’t mind my dealings. You were the ones that hid me, then?”

“Yeah. One of our privates found you knocked out. He said he sat by and scoped out the area before approaching but nobody stirred and nothing looked out of the ordinary. Just a guy knocked out. So he drug you out of harms way and hid you.”

“Why not just go the next step and actually get a guy some real help?”

He got a strange look on his face and fiddled with his cup a bit. The walls were coming up. My brother or not, he won’t tell me what he doesn’t want the world to know yet. I’m no snitch but things have a way of spreading once voiced into the universe. 

He gave me a fisheye and leaned in shuffling through the bag of doughnuts. I saw my cue to join. 

“Which one of these have you tried? I haven’t had their doughnuts yet,” then softly added, “We’ve been attacked. That was one of six buildings to be caught and burned down. We were scrambled. Trying to solve the mystery now. What do you know.” 

“I’d suggest going for that one there,” I gestured towards a filled doughnut at the bottom. Then muttered, “Not much but it looks like many things are happening to create diversions from something else. I have no clue why I was knocked out or by who.” I did have an idea for both but not solid enough to speculate. 

“Hmm,” was all he said while he sat back and ate the doughnut with coffee. After about ten minutes of us stuck in our thoughts he looked at me.

“What have you got going on?” He asked. 

“I’ve got some spare time. Enough to handle finances while I figure out who’s out to get me and why.”

“Okay. Go talk to the Network over there and get the retainer. Then head out and come back tonight. I want a recap what you find out.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” I said getting to my feet and acknowledging my dismissal. He shook his head at my exclamation but went back to his window. He was already lost in thought. I was now being paid to poke around which suited my fancy just fine. If I’m entirely honest I hoped it would come to that but merely set my hopes up just to get some insight. 

I took the rest of the coffee and doughnuts to the Network group. I used to laugh at my brothers desire to give nicknames to everything that he sets up but it did help with organizing, I guess. It was time to get said info I was hungry to be gettin’.

Flying Brick. Part 2

[“You sure you want to continue that story, John?” I stopped and looked at the new guest standing slightly behind me and to my left. I hadn’t heard him come in. Bruce didn’t seem to know who he was but I noticed the small change in attitude. 

“All hell,” I answered. ] continued…

“You gonna get a drink or are you gonna get out? I don’t need any issues tonight, we’re about closed,” Bruce tells the man.

“Now tell me, Snake, why would I not want to tell my story and share the bad luck?” I asked.

“I won’t be long, relax bartender,” Snake said. I know right, what kind of name is ‘Snake’? A lousy one in most people’s books but he likes it. He earned it. Good kid done wrong throughout the years changed him into something that he is now. Not completely reliable or trustworthy but he’s bright enough to be well off. Generally, at other’s expense, mind you. 

“Talk to the owner like that and he’s bound to throw you out himself. Say what you’ve got to say and let me get back to nursing my medicine, would ya?”

“Damn, both of you guys need to settle down. I was only going to warn you about running your mouth about what you saw tonight. I was doing it out of polite consideration. Friend to friend, John.”

“Snake, we ain’t never been friends. Hell, we’re barely acquaintances, kid. The few times I’ve seen you at a party down account for at the horse manure filling up Charleston’s streets. Who told you to come bother me and my cranky friend here, at this hour?”

“So difficult, I swear…” Snake mumbled under his breath. He probably didn’t expect his reaction. I’m too messed up to give it anymore energy and I’m tired of Bruce shooting me dirty looks. “Splinter.” That was all he said. He turned around and walked out after a dramatic sarcastic bow to Bruce. Piece of work. 

“What the hell was that? Splinter? Men can’t have no normal names these days? What have you gotten yourself in to?”

“By the looks of it, I shouldn’t tell you. But I’m not sure why yet. I musta seen something I didn’t realize. Hmm..” I took a sip and gave that a thought, then added, “Splinter is actually a woman. A big joke to the classic rat leader of the Ninja Turtles. She’s gang leader down by the docks but unfortunately, doesn’t spend her time training mutant turtles to do martial arts. She runs a powerful drug outfit.”

“How creative. Was it her building that you saw on fire?” That idea came to mind. 

“Maybe.”

“Or were they the ones that started the building fire?”

“Arson is something that group has done before but not outside of their territory. The fire was in Snatcher location. I was headed back after a long walk and caught my nerves on end as I turned the corner of Belmont and Richardson. Three hooligans were sprinting down the street ahead of me.”

“And you were a dumbass and chased them, didn’t you?” Bruce toyed.

“A dumbass indeed.” I sighed with a stretch and a physical affirmation of a beer drink and nodding, “a dumbass, for sure since I can’t explain why I did it. Something just felt wrong and I was caught up in some kind of moment.” I trailed off for a few silent minutes going through thoughts. 

“The brick?” Bruce probed. 

“Right. So I follow them for a few blocks and gain some distance but nothing great. It’s too dark to tell who they were but I figured I would find out where they were headed so I began to trail back. I sneak up to the last corner I saw them turn and hear some scuffling around. There’re bikes out front and some bloke screaming in a guys face about to jack him up. That’s when the fire explodes out of the building I was hiding behind. The blast sends me out into the street where my future pals are stationed. Some of their bikes toppled over but the others immediately spotted my sudden arrival. By the looks of it, they had expected the blast. One of the men pointed in my direction whipping out his switchblade when the leader pointed to the right of me.” 

Pause for dramatic effect.

“And?!”

“And I got suckered into looking after seein’ there reactions. When I turned, I kissed the brick. I was so confused, I decided to lie down and take a nap. When I woke up I’d been dragged to the nearest alley and covered in trash.”

“Hmm. You do that often? You don’t smell any worse than usual.”

“It’s the only way to keep my natural pheromones under control so I can get some work done. The trash smell balances out the carnal desires.”

“Yeah I get that.”

“I then stumbled my way here. Passing an engulfed building.”

“That’s a curious story, John. Nothing sounds concrete about it.”

“You’re telling me, bud.”

“Whatcha gonna do?”

“Going to sleep, Bruce, going to sleep. Then I’m going to go talk to some Pilots.”

“Pilots? What you want with them?”

“Just because the building was in Snatcher territory don’t mean it’s theirs. Big building like that, plus Splinter’s interest got me thinking the Pilots might know something. Hey, go out the back when you leave,” I told him as I made my way up the spiral staircase to my apartment. Had it special installed, just for me. I’ll tell you how I convinced ole Bruce another time.

“Yeah I know. I have enough sense not to waltz out the front door after someone snooping around here. No thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome! Ya ungrateful, fart.”

I unlocked my door and stumbled some more in a final effort to make it to the mattress on the floor in my bedroom. Didn’t even bother taking off my fashionable digs. I flopped and left it at that. My night was over yet I had a feeling my work load just got a whole lot bigger.

Flying Bricks

Life hits you like a brick in the face, sometimes. Not trying to dodge your tender nose or those bright semi white teeth you show off when you laugh. The brick just flies through on a path only it understands. Can you avoid the brick? Perhaps. Maybe skip the brutality as a main course and get a small portion of contact. Avoiding it completely isn’t an option which is a pain because, aside from the, you know, brick, these moments come out of the blue. They pop up like the long lost uncle that has to dump his RV bathroom down your sewer in front of your house. Sometimes there are hints the Universe whispers in your ears but it’s not like it all adds up until afterwards. Which is why anxiety is such an annoyance. Little prep helps stave off dire situations but the way of the land is sitting after the attack with hindsight and discussing how it was in front of you the whole time and you could have ducked. 

At least, that’s what I tell myself. I’ve got a washcloth against my the side of my head after literally being hit in the face with a brick. I’m nursing a beer below me even though I probably shouldn’t after this head injury, yet I gotta drink something. The thunder gods are playing hopscotch inside my skull. I let out a moan and take another sip. 

“Would you keep it down in the corner over there? You’re shyin’ away my customers!” The bartender tells me as he picks up an empty glass and starts wiping it down. Stereotypical bartender, banter and dirty glassware, next thing I’ll tell you he’ll toss the towel over his right shoulder. I looked around and saw one other person sitting at the bar; this guy has a smart mouth. 

“Bruce, how dare you insult your biggest paying customer and most loyal fan,” I mumble not looking up again. 

“Biggest mouth, maybe! I didn’t believe you when you stumbled in here bout that brick business but that egg swellin’ up on the side of ya head sure backs up that story. What’d you do this time?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time, Brucey-Boy.” Which wasn’t lying but it was the summation of continual wrong places at the wrong time that won me the prize brick. 

“I don’t believe it, champ.”

“Y’all never do. Tell you what, you pour me another one on the house and I’ll tell the whole grand story for you,” I told him working up my best Good Guy Grin. Maybe I’ll at least get some free drinks out of this predicament. 

“I’d tell ya to suck an egg, but you have already. I’ll pour it but you’ll pay for it eventually.” Gee what a good guy, Bruce is. Truth is, I’ve been coming here since the opening back when I was fixing to shut the pace down. I live above this rickety dump. Once I heard the construction I tromped down here to shoo off any prospective buyers but Bruce would’t listen. Popped me in the mouth in a few words; told me he didn’t have time to argue since he was building a bar. I grumbled and complained but did nothing about it since I couldn’t. Honestly, I wasn’t bothered but a bar setting up shop underneath me, in fact, that downright got me giddy! But the crowd that it wouldn’t attract was sure to piss me off on more occasions than it gave me the grinning good times. I’m a quiet guy, I like to do things my way in my setting. 

“You’re a guy’s best friend. What would I do without you?”

“Being a crotchety grump all by yourself nursing a warm beer in your place.”

“I was going to say have some peace and quiet.”

“John, we both know you love me and secretly want to take my hand in matrimony, and I don’t blame you. I like you keeping that a secret, too. But I don’t want to see you lie to yourself about how much you love my company and business under your home.”

“I’ve told you a million times, I only started coming in here because I was tricked. Looks like you need to trick some other people, too.” The bar was still pretty empty. 

“It’s almost closing time, you brainless fool, that’s why nobody’s here and you weren’t tricked. Get off it.”

“Having that sweet ole lady of yours smooth talking the grumpy guy upstairs to go out for food only to swing in here for a ‘second’,” I threw up air quotes here, “while I had no choice but be polite and wait at the bar. Then here you come, all proud and boastful offering me a drink on the house to wash away prejudice. Knowing full well I couldn’t say no.”

“It’s not my fault you thought you were getting lucky. I didn’t know the full plan, remember that. She just said it’d be good for business if we didn’t hate each other and she could get you down here. I laughed at the idea at first. As much as I hate to admit it, she was right.”

“Yeah yeah. I suppose it was a good play.”

“She is a looker, though. Sorry she didn’t tell you we were married. Which I’ve told you a million times over the past seven years and yet here I am, still apologizing for a friendship you couldn’t live without.”

“I think it’s you that is in love with me, Bruce. I won’t tell your wife but I don’t want you sneaking into my place after hours.”

“Alright enough. Are you going to tell me why you were hit in the face with a flying brick?”

“Yeah fine but only because I need to look at all the parts anyway.” I took a sip of beer before I started. It was only the my second one and I was starting to feel fuzzy even though I wasn’t even half way through. Not a good sign, I hoped I didn’t have a concussion, but I knew my brain was plenty scrambled up there. I better take it easy. 

I inhaled and let out a sigh to start, “Do you remember that fire two weeks ago? Well I just happened to be walkin’ by when that picked up gusto. Call it the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place and the right time, I’m still not sure which it is, but I was in that spot when…”

“You sure you want to continue that story, John?” I stopped and looked at the new guest standing slightly behind me and to my left. I hadn’t heard him come in. Bruce didn’t seem to know who he was but I noticed the small change in attitude. 

“All hell,” I answered. 

To Be Continued…Next Friday

A Letter To Myself

Good morning Caleb, 

It’s 15 October 2018.

I don’t know if it’s the unexpected weather shift after Hurricane Michael reared its ugly head or whether it’s just the nature of the beast. My brain is buckled on a rollercoaster going through the ups and downs and loops and spin-abouts in proper fashion. I’ve gone through significant mental changes so far this year with an increased introspection as of late. Like I said, I’m not sure what exactly is sparking these thought bombs but here they are, exploding my grey-matter in true Pollock style. So often I catch myself going through old memories and relishing the feelings locked away with certain smells, pictures, words, weather and whatever it is that knocks me out. The memories seem distant like I’m watching them but no longer able to place myself there. I remember being and doing but time has taken it’s dues making it all feel different. How often have I sat and thought I had the answers and knew what cards were in my hands? To be honest, I’ve thought this too many times; thinking I feel or am a certain thing until months or years pass and I find out I was wrong. I wasn’t where I thought I was, I wasn’t being who I thought I was, I wasn’t acting the way I thought I was. Hindsight is a real bitch that hangs out with regret. They are no friends of mine, and yet I don’t prevent myself from drifting off on another mental tangent after smelling campfire and the sudden realization of the exact last time I was camping and how those emotions back-handed my focus for weeks. There is a pattern in my life where I hold on to things probably too long and maybe that’s because I don’t want to forget or give up or let go or walk away. Maybe I want to fix my wrongs and redeem myself. Irony loudly cackles at my dreams because it knows part of that success is doing the things I don’t want to do. And despite it all, I feel good. Honestly. I feel better every day but, (and isn’t there always a but?) I question whether I’m actually better or if I’m just imagining. Will I look back and see that I was mistaken, once again? These are merely rhetorical questions with little plaques hanging on the walls. I’ve been wrong so many times and it is no rhetoric that I will be mistaken many times in the future. For now I will let these emotional memories take me on rides and trips and strolls through Memory Lane. For now, they are my sweet treats. I talk a lot of the past but I’m equally as excited for the future and I hope the wildest dreams are grasped by hands ready to keep them. 

The Couple's Bond

They slowly paddle down river showing no signs of rushing. There are just two of them on their green canoe. A small wooden platform was built into the back where a trolling motor sits, unused. Sunlight rips through the trees casting light shadows over there area giving some reprieve from the intensity of direct heat. They’re smiling and talking animatedly although, quietly. They’re respecting the silence of nature and not imposing their own reality upon the ecosystem. The man, a lanky blond with a matching beard and kind eyes, wearing short tan trunks and a light blue long sleeve fishing shirt, leans forward and points to something while chatting with his partner in crime. She is also blonde and has kind eyes but there is more power behind the looks she gives, her smile is bright and beautiful, she wears a two piece bathing suit and leans forward to grab a box for him. It is a tackle box. 

He rummages through it getting himself set up while she gently keeps the canoe on track and out of limbs way. Before long he begins his hunt for fish. Being in a canoe going down river makes his task more difficult but he displays skills and experience and is careful not to rock the boat. Strategically he places his lure where he wants it to go, teasing the fish below with subtle jerks and taunts for realism. There is a monotonous aspect to his casting and the noise blends in with the surroundings. Cast out, reel in, cast out, reel in, cast out, reel in. 

She begins getting herself comfortable, moving butt pads and lifejackets around. She soon sets up what she wants and props herself cross-legged on the seat with arms stretched to her knees, two fingers touched in a obvious meditative position. She sits still and masters her breathing. 

The couple float on in silence, each lost in their own world yet together in unison. The energy their exuding meshes with the nature all around them in perfect harmony. They are a part of the scenery now and now just intruders. The man continues his pursuit for fish and casts a few times more. He says something to the woman who answers with a slight nod. The man smiles and casts a few more times and once again says something to the woman who, once again, answers with a slight nod. Grinning even more the man begins to cast for another set and talks to the girl again. She whirls around throwing the sunblock at him and gives him a look of knives for continually disturbing her meditation. He rears back chuckling and catches the sunblock then blows her a kiss. She in turn squints her eyes at him daring him and turns around to get back to her thoughts. Although she gave him a look, she is hiding a subtle smile on her face. This is a game they play often and the affection is palpable around the mischief. 

It’s plain to see this couple have been together for a while, each highly comfortable with the other with experienced interactions. As they go on around the bend, they are silent and he is paddling. The woman continues her trance in the front of the canoe, the man stops periodically to cast a few times before they disappear. 

I envy them. Their closeness is a dream of which I search for in every relationship yet rarely do I get it. And if I do, it does not last for long. I am grateful the couple was still so in love with each other despite their familiarity. If either of them were unhappy or bored they would have noticed me watching from the shadows in my own canoe. That would have sparked some curiosity. Some that I don’t wish to experience since my own closeness with my partner resulted in me stabbing him in his jugular a few times shortly before they came into view. We didn’t have that bond like the couple. He didn’t know to think before he spoke. He didn’t get a second chance. 

Time's Conversation

It was Friday morning and the Friday routine was in full swing. Dunkin Donuts coffee sat steaming next to the computer with an untouched doughnut sitting next to it. There was soft chatter coming from the tiny kitchen area where the staff were discussing their weekend plans around the donuts like animals at a watering hole. A few phones rang in the distance but nobody acted like they heard them, that was usual at this time. The better clients would know their calls wouldn’t be answered until after nine-thirty. After doughnut time. 

Jared sat with his head laying on the desk in his cubicle, paralyzed by his life. Singularly, there was nothing wrong with the aspects; how could anyone hate a hot cup of coffee and free doughnuts, after all? And how could anyone hate having job security and enough money to live independently? People fight for aspects like that, they dream of having that level of structure. When Jared broke it down he knew he should be in that Animal Watering Hole spitting out boasts and plans for the weekend and trying to score a night with the office hottie who every straight male and gay woman drooled over. In the beginning he did. He jumped into the jovial act loving the acceptance of his peers like it was more important than the pay and health benefits. And in some ways it was and still is. 

It was a solid six months before Jared’s enemy marched into the office with that exaggerated strut and smug look on his face like he knew something nobody else ever would but all wanted to know and it would be the best game in the world to dangle it in front of their faces. Along the way he made a few stops checking in on the pretty people; it was his route. Only the most handsome and gorgeous people got the first attention with banter and compliments to swoon a married person to switch sides. The whole time Jared watched out of his peripherals and tried to ignore the impending interaction. Although the man had never come over to Jared’s desk, he knew it was his moment; he could feel it in the energy of the office and the silent buzz of electricity. That buzz didn’t whisper seductive conversation, though. 

The man leaned against his cubicle wall, teeth shining, outsourced coffee in his hand, nice black button up with slim grey dress pants cut short of his leather loafers. His hair was white but full and slicked back and there was suave stubble on his face. Jared noticed gold rings on his fingers and black and gold watch on his right wrist; it matched the tie clip he had in place. The impact of the man was overall intense and intimidating. Jared looked up with a dumbfounded look. 

“Hi, Jared,” the man said. 

“How’s it going?” Jared asked with a break in his voice. 

“Well. It’s always going well for me. How are you liking your new job?”

The man talked in a deep, smooth, powerful way that not only matched his walk but hinted he was already toying with you and it was up to you to figure out how. It was hard to think. 

“It’s pretty good. I like it at least. No qualms.”

“It’s been a little over six months already, hasn’t it?”

“Umm, yeah I believe so.”

“Intersting.”

Jared knew he was supposed to know what was interesting but could not figure it out. 

“Isn’t it great chatting with your new office buddies on Friday with doughnuts? Don’t you love hearing about their extravagant life?”

“Yeah, it’s nice…”

“Of course you do. Who doesn’t love going partying every weekend? Plenty of stories and experiences. You work all week in your small box so it’s worth it to let loose every weekend.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“And you must love the competitive part, right? Trying to come up with a more outrageous story to make yourself king of last weekend. That must be fun.”

“Well, I don’t know about that part too much.”

“You’re a quiet one, huh? Maybe you should get out more and try to one up them, Jared.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“After all, you’re spending your life in this square. Doughnut Friday can’t be your best story. Dancing with a random person once a month isn’t going to make this worth it. I can see it in your eyes, though.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got the potential, Jared. Look at this cubicle, you’ve taken the most depressing work set up and made it your own. Pictures of your corgi, your family, old camping buddies, and,” he picked up a magazine I had sitting inside my bag by his feet, “some gaming magazines ready at your disposal.” He placed it back where he got it with fingers pinched on the corner like it held a disease. Jared looked around his space with a new viewpoint. He’d set it up differently from other spots around the office and that had made him feel creative with a flare of personality in his workspace. Now he saw it was the same life regardless how he dressed it up. Things didn’t feel special and he no longer felt creative. 

“Well, I’ll catch up with you another time. I’m sure you’ll do great things with your life here. Goodbye, Jared,” the man said as he walked away and tipped his coffee cup in salute. He said the last words not as someone who had any intention of coming back but of someone who expected the person to pass away soon. It was haunting. 

Jared said nothing in return but nodded at the departure. He didn’t move for a couple of hours. Just stared at his computer screen inside his tiny bubble. 

Jared never forgot that encounter, not even the four months following it. The job no longer felt like a career after that. His office buddies no longer drew him in with their spoils of weekend drinking. Jared slowly stopped spending time in the Watering Hole. But the doughnuts were still good, the doughnuts still gave him life, and all the extra things that came with having this job that allowed him to be him. 

What happens when the doughnuts taste like ash, when the coffee is just hot dirt water, when he no longer knows who he is and the job has created a different Jared?- he thought.

With his head still on the desk, his coffee now cold, his doughnut hard and crusty, and the ticking of the clock nagging him about missed work, Jared got up and walked out. He couldn’t take it any longer.  

Oops I Did It Again

Monday evening gears it’s unexpected head after a long grueling day of tedious work where to-do lists don’t get the full attention I’d expected when I rolled out of bed this morning. Although plenty of things were crossed off signaling for a successful day, it is still troublesome when you realize it is the second missed deadline. These days are full of unexpected twists and turns in directions that take you off course; that’s not a new thing. Keeping up with tasks and responsibilities helps keeps the brain happy. My brain is busy but tired. This happens to us all when life demands you pay the time you owe and as you may realize a tired brain doesn’t produce beautiful words. They may not be the best words but they are the current ones. I have always loved being busy but it doesn’t always love me. So cheers to staying busy and getting things done and here’s to a better success rate for meeting these writing deadlines I give myself. I’m still here and I’m still passionate about it. Like a beautiful koi fish in a river, we all continue to keep swimming with the flow of the river.

Book Review: You by Caroline Kepnes

YOU

Carline Kepnes

I was referred to this book by a friend- thanks Kristin- in light passing while we discussed some stuff we were currently reading. It was when I was still full swing into The Millennium series by Larson and Lagercrantz and I was rambling about how I liked Salandar’s viewpoints on the situations she faced. She was calculated and rarely was a decision made from true emotion, which I playfully added, “it’s almost sociopathic.” Kristin jumped and said, “Yessss! I know what you mean! The book I’m reading is like that but from a more terrible viewpoint. But the character’s thoughts are so brutally laid out it makes me laugh.” I was intrigued, obviously, and soon forgot to get the book for a few weeks until my Audible credit came through and I jumped in finally remembering I wanted that story since she mentioned it. Yes, I did listen to it, not read it. I’m a lover of printed books and don’t have a desire to own a kindle, preferring the touch and smell of the story over a backlit screen, but audiobooks are brilliant and allow me to work while enjoying the story so I voice no qualms to those who listen. 

First, a little about the author: Her bio’s are surprisingly short and consistent so I’ll give it to you as they appear in the myriad of postings. 

“Caroline Kepnes is from Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Her first novel, YOU, was shortlisted for a CWA New Blood Award. Her second novel, HIDDEN BODIES, is a sequel that Booklist describes as "the love child of Holden Caulfield and Patrick Bateman." Caroline earned a BA in American Civilization at Brown University and worked as a pop culture journalist for Entertainment Weekly and a TV writer for "7th Heaven" and "The Secret Life of the American Teenager." She now writes full-time and lives in Los Angeles.” - bookreporter.com

Already I’m ecstatic to have a sequel and a third book by her. Caroline wastes no time plunging the reader into the story- one of my favorite writing styles- and drops you into the book , right into the bookstore Joe Goldberg manages. Immediately, the narrator- which is Joe- starts talking about a girl that enters but he isn’t telling the reader or audience the story, he’s telling the story and his actions to the girl. “You walk into the book store and you keep your hand on the door to make sure it doesn’t slam. You smile. Embarrassed to be a nice girl,” is part of the beginning and a good example of her writing without giving away anymore spoilers. This viewpoint creates a connection between reader and narrator making all the emotions and thoughts more personal and surface level. So much so, that the story unfolds before your eyes like your own memories do. It’s easy to understand Joe’s reasoning for things as he lays it out in a matter-of-fact way. His rationalism and confidence is contagious causing him to be a sort of anti-hero of the book. Someone you root for but maybe you shouldn’t. 

Joe falls in love with a girl from the beginning and spends the rest of the book trying to prove his love in a myriad of unfathomable interactions and decisions. Kepenes gets you right inside the head of a…a…complex person. I want to say he’s a sociopath, but he’s not, and I want to say he’s a serial killer, but he’s not. She strings you along the protagonist’s movements with bits of his past lighting the way and it truly makes you question your own traits and what you value in other people. It makes you question how you live your life and how you treat certain people but also, how you treat yourself. 

From the very beginning, I was hooked to the story. I wanted to find out what Joe and I would get into and how we’d learn more about the girl and how he’d come up with a devilish way to swoon her like he knew he could. I was enthralled with the pace of the book, the descriptions, the revelations, and the characters; all the way up to the ending when I felt that emptiness and demanded more story. Which I got by listening for a second time and a third time. This is a fun read and fairly quick to finish because I promise you will not want to put it down. Whether it’s the printed version or the audiobook read by Santino Fontana, who does such a mesmerizing job with perfect enunciation, dramatization, character voices, and rhythm, that there’s no doubt he is Joe and you are hearing his inner thoughts throughout the book. It’s a great addition to the picture inside your head. 

I highly recommend this book for those that want something a little different and enjoy a darker story from the depths of our minds’ most absurd thoughts. You’ll find yourself smiling and laughing at things you didn’t expect. 

I must mention the Lifetime rendition of the book that Netflix just picked up from them. I haven’t watched it myself but do enjoy the acting abilities of Penn Badgley and think he nails my vision of Joe perfectly. It’s not streaming on Netflix, yet, so you’ll have to watch it on Lifetime or find it somewhere else on the web but that doesn’t stop me from being excited to watch the series to see how they painted the story.

Rating:

Ten cups of coffee! 

OJ Checks In

OJ Checks In

“How you holding up?” OJ asks after a two minute long meowing discussion whether he should be let in through the human door or force his fat butt through the doggy door. I, obviously, lost because he refused to go through that “infernal contraption made for foul creatures.” He really knows how to lay down the logic. He saunters over towards my chair and flops down within petting distance of my right foot and stares at me expectantly. 

“I’m holding up strong,” I reply, “Although, that’s a pretty vague question.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“So, is there something specific you are curious about? Or did you not know where to begin so you hoped I’d start the discussion this morning? Or are you overall just that concerned with my life that you think the whole thing is in shambles and therefore needs addressing as a whole?”

“Whoa, drama queen. Why don’t you settle down. It was just a basic greeting. Don’t overanalyze it. Sheesh. I figured if something particular was going on, that’d be what you’d mention. I don’t want to know about every detail of your life.”

“Sometimes you carry on like you do,” I mumble. 

“Hey I heard that!” He says and starts cleaning his front paws. He’s now fully stretched out like a hot-dog cat or maybe a baguette cat is a better description. He periodically just looks up at me like I’m withholding information he requested and I should be blurting it out. I just smile back at him and he returns to ignoring me and cleaning himself. I’ve got a mug of coffee cooling down next to a french-press for the morning ritual. The sun to my right begins peaking over the houses in between the trees. 

“Yeah you seem better,” he tosses out like poking a fire.

“Better? …than last time we talked? That was almost two months ago. You haven’t spoken a word to me since!” I say back to him indignantly. 

“Oh come off it. I did, too. I just wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I said things, though.”

“Not for two weeks! I thought I’d truly gone crazy and hell, I’m still not a hundred percent sure the findings are conclusive!” I begin to trail off and mutter to myself, “And here I am, arguing with a cat again.” I rub my face with my hands and chuckle. This cat gets to me.

“Ha! That was such fun though wasn’t it? You trying to talk to me every minute someone wasn’t watching. Setting up cameras to record it, trying to trick me into saying something to get your sanity back. Ah. We had a blast, you and me. Then you started to break down like a wuss so I stepped in.”

“I don’t need a run down of your twisted view of what happened. I was there! Besides, I didn’t break down; I just started treating you like a regular cat and you didn’t like it. You’re spoiled.”

“I’m a cat. We are to be worshipped, silly human boy.”

“They should have never let you watch TV.”

“Bazinga!” 

“NO. Absolutely not. No Big Bang Theory quotes allows in the conversation vicinity, henceforth.”

“What are you working on over there? Or were working on since all you’ve been able to do since I walked in here is talk to me and stare at me clean myself like some sick twisted pervert.”

Aghast, I argued, “I wasn’t watching you clean yourself, you delusional feline! And I’m working on this portrait piece.”

“Ah yes. I’ve been trying to help you with that. Pointing out areas that need work and where to ad more shadow and texture. Sometimes, you have to get right there on top of it to get the whole feeling!”

“Yes, I wish you wouldn’t continually try to sit on top of it while I’m working.”

“Are you turning your nose at free help? I offer constructive criticism and you think you’re too good to take it in? Where’s you big money bag full of successful hopes and dreams you always wanted, Mr. Big Shot Painter Guy?”

“HEY NOW! Not fair! I’m working on stuff and moving along the path! It’s diligence and besides, you’re a friggin cat! Not an art teacher.”

“But I’m a viewer. I’m who you’re painting those for, am I not? You once said you never paint for yourself but for everyone else to take your work. Is that still true?”

“Yeah I guess it is,” I say. He was tossing me around this conversation like a novice in a debate. I was repeatedly thrown off guard by a surprise question which kept me interested to see where he was going. 

“So, let me ask you: if you paint for everyone else, that means you don’t paint for you, so are the paintings at the level they should be? Are you creating artwork that you’ve always wanted to create?”

“Now it’s your turn to calm the hell down. Mr. I’m-A-Psychologist-Cat-All-Of-A-Sudden! And yes and no! I recently wrote about that and a good friend of mine replied with something along the lines of, “Don’t force it. When the true painting is created, it will flow out of you. But you can’t set out to create the one that evokes emotion the way you want.” Which I liked. I stopped stressing over it and have taken a step back to let things naturally unfold.”

“I’ve noticed. Which is why I asked.”

“You asked that vague question in the beginning just to find out why I wasn’t creating as much artwork? Why didn’t you just ask that?”

“Because, boy,” he said with smug look because he knows I hate it when he calls me that, “I wasn’t sure if it was caused by something else, something deeper and more serious. I wouldn’t want you getting so caught up on your sadness that you forget to keep me fed.”

He was lying about his reasons but I appreciated the tactic. 

“Everyday I try to be more and more cat-like, OJ. And everyday I’m making progress towards it.”

“What does that mean? Are you going to start cleaning yourself like I do? Is that why you always watch me?” I’m going to throw something at that fur-ball!

“Smart ass. I meant it in your philosophical way. To be confident and content where you are with drive and expectation to better the future. To get it done because you have to.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say we cats do things because we have to get it done. But I see where you’re going with it.”

“You can’t just agree, can you? You always point something out.”

“Would you rather I let you be an imbecile? I will answer for you, no. You missed your chance at ignorant-bliss long ago.”

“Oh wise one! How I devote my time to thee!” I put my hands out and begin bowing from my seat in a dramatic fashion. Trying to bop him on the head when I got close to him. He took that as a sign for pets and moved closer. I got suckered in to ear scratches and head pets. 

“What triggered this conversation this morning? You’ve seen me work on personal paintings over the last week and a half and didn’t say a word.”

“My food bowl is empty.”

Rage's Impatience

Impatience has to be one of the cruelest traits a person can own. It’s there to point fingers to the wrong direction whenever it rears its evil head. And what’s with the random locations it decides to nest? One person can be contempt waiting at a restaurant for their food without a second thought, but get them behind the wheel and they turn into the demon incarnate willing to sling curses that’d get their family in the depths of fiery paradise. It can hide out unperturbed for an indefinite amount of time until that one trigger unlocks it’s door handing over the reigns. Impatience allows anxiety, accusations, laziness, and least of all anger to step into our spotlight. 

If I can be honest, it’s the anger that teams with my impatience most frequently. I stare at a mirage nearly centimeters in front of my face. No tricks lay in front of these eyes of mine! There’s no chance of that! I run and dodge and leap and fall and get up and keep going but that Damned view never seems to gets closer. Or does it? You see, I turn around and see how far I’ve moved but when I look at my destination it’s still flittering before my eyes from what, I swear on all your gods, is the same distance. It causes my brain to scramble and the lack of assurance- birthed from impatience- quickly grows to anger. I can feel it boiling inside me like I’ve been in a pot on the stove and only just realized what was going on. Just like boiling heat it’s all energy but red hot energy coursing through my veins determined to find an exit. One that will assuredly explode in undesirable ways. 

In these moments it’s great to calmly sit down and count to bajillion with steady “Inhale exhale” practices sitting like a pretzel in an isolated room. It’s easy to do, that. Just take all that lava rage cooking your brain and just…sit and breathe until it goes away. But…does it go away? In the words of a legendary battler of this: “I’m always angry”, said Bruce Banner when confronted on how he controlled the green beast inside. Maybe that only makes sense to those that have punched holes through doors, thrown bottles against walls, screamed their throats bloody, destroyed a punching bag, or even ran their legs to rubber. Things are easier to manage when present all the time. Less likely to show its hideous face being trapped in experienced holding cells. 

Not all this reaction sprouts from impatience; I know that. But that sneaky, crooked, conniving, intolerant, disrespectful, corrupt, sleazy, patronizing son of a bastard sure doesn’t help. That’s the silver lining to all of this-the important part to pick out- call it maturity, diligence, tenacity, what-have-you, but controlling the explosions gets easier. Especially when you know where to stifle the flame. 

A Spring Welcome

A Spring Welcome

It was an early spring day back then when it should have been colder than it was but the sun blessed us with warmth and sweet talkings of upcoming weather. The snow was driving everyone in town crazy being holed up for a month and a half. It was no surprise to see everyone out enjoying the day with the biggest smiles we’d worn this year. Some more than enthusiastic kids sported shorts and t-shirts but the rest of us had on standard pants and a light jacket or long-sleeved shirts; when the wind came through, it whipped you with the cold still. It was best to lounge in the sun and soak up the warmth like a rock. Several people were singing along to jovial tunes to keep up with the energy, which made the town a little busy out. It was hard to get annoyed by it though, everyone was so happy. 

Despite the cheer, the crowd was too much and I wanted to spend my time taking it all in someplace where I could hear myself think. So I booked it down the southern roads to avoid the chillier winds of the northern mountain. I didn’t have a secret spot to hide out but there were enough hilly fields to plop a butt and enjoy it all. I’d packed a blanket and some snacks to keep me happy for a while. I didn’t want to drag myself back up there to eat later. Several people had the same idea and we waved, but it was clear we all wanted our own spot so we took different directions and eventually settled far enough apart that we couldn’t hear each other. 

I laid out and soaked up the sun like it was money going in the bank. It was the perfect temperature to relax and I even dozed off for a few. The birds were in full orchestra mode giving us the show of the year so far. It was natures perfect lullaby and alarm depending on the cadence they chose. I spotted a doe and her fawn wondering in the distance doing the same thing we all were. Not a living soul wanted to miss out on this opportunity. I looked around to see what else was out to play when I fell in love. 

The most beautiful girl was running towards me. Her brunette hair waving with the movement and turning to gold in the sunlight. She wore a a white linen blouse with aged blue jeans from years of adventures. It was as if time slowed down while she ran to me; I stared with intensity of another gift of Nature. Her name was Kris and she was quite the talk of the town in many circles since she tended to go off on journeys without telling many people about it. She’d stumble back into town with a souvenir and a tall tale to turn our heads. She scared some people off with her bravery and brazened attitude but that same combination made her attractive to others. I was one of the others. I’d spent many a hour daydreaming about us being together and going on adventures and creating our own stories to tell folks. I couldn’t believe my luck today. How had she known I was here?

I sat up more and started to wave and smile taking full advantage of the situation. She enthusiastically waved back at me! She really was there to see me! I figured I’d stand up to greet her properly when she got to where I was, which wouldn’t be too long since she was sprinting towards me. I got half way up when a bloodcurdling scream tore through me. I snapped up to find what shut every bird up around me. It didn’t take long to find. Every ounce of heat I’d gathered drained out of my body in an instant. I couldn’t feel the warmth or happiness from the sun anymore. 

A grizzly bear had charged out of the woods and reached Kris. I stood in horror as it ripped off her right leg. She screamed again but not in terror but in heart wrenching pain. It was a scream of lunacy; she was pleading for mercy and death. The grizzly did not accept. It slashed her back fervently and she hit the ground without another sound. The bear then bent down and took a quarter chunk out of her torso. Her blood sprayed over the field sparkling in the sunlight and painting the grass with globs of red. My stomach turned and bile rose to my mouth. I was completely frozen where I stood, watching this animal devour this girl. I suddenly realized Kris wasn’t running and waving to come spend time with me in the sun but instead was running away from the grizzly and waving her arms to warn me. I was a lovestruck fool. 

I took a step back. The bear registered my movement and looked up at me. The energy turned electric and I knew I was a goner. I’d end up just like Kris. A devastating painting of death and desperation to remain ignorantly out of the circle of life. The bear let out a roar so loud the birds took off from the trees. It jumped up and down on its front legs not only intimidating me but smashing Kris further and further to shreds. Her blood was all over its face and front paws. Even from this distance I saw the deadly claws gleaming in liquid of the massacre. I’m not embarrassed to admit that my bladder lost control and I dribbled down my leg some. As if my weakness was the cue to charge, the bear took off towards me. His sudden burst of energy shocked me out of myself and took off running. I let everyone ounce of energy I had be split between my legs and my lungs. I screamed so loud for help I didn’t care how it sounded. I so desperately wanted someone to hear me but I didn’t have hopes of getting away. 

It wasn’t the best plan since I wore out faster after dispensing that force, and the bear was immensely faster than I was from the beginning. He was on me before I got my third scream into the air. I didn’t once turn around to check his progress but I knew he was there the moment my face smashed into the ground. I’d taken a step and never made contact with the ground. In the offset balance, I tumbled down and rolled. For a split second I didn’t register what had happened. But that didn’t last long. The pain surged through my body with an impact I didn’t expect. Things don’t ever feel the way you think they will. The bear had swiped my leg out from underneath me like he did Kris. He hadn’t taken the whole thing but my right leg was only attached by some strands of muscle and flesh from the front. The entire back end was disconnected; even the bone. Blood rushed out of me like a fountain as I rolled over face my fate. 

The bear reared upwards letting out another bloody victorious roar and I knew that was it. I’d be seeing Kris very soon. Maybe we’d even get to talk about our gruesome demise and have that story in common now. I’d gotten my wish but not the way I’d expected to. 

“Would someone shut her up?”

“Huh? Who?”

“Grandma is mumbling to herself again! It’s driving me absolutely crazy! I’ve got to drive through this piss-poor weather and it’s hard enough to concentrate without hearing her mumble that damned story for the thousandth time!”

“Oh come on, you know we can’t stop it. Can’t you put headphones in?”

“No I can’t! Can’t she get passed a moment that happened fifty years ago!?”

“She’s scratching at her ghost leg now, so obviously not. How much further do we have to go? It sounds like she’s almost done telling herself.”

“Another few hours. Which isn’t bad but its the fifth time I’ve heard her mumble it on this trip!”

“You’re taking your stress out on her and we both know that’s not fair. She’s lost so many memories now, it’s no surprise…”

“That the one that stuck was such a traumatizing event. Yes I know! Bear ate girl she loved. Bear came after her. Bear took her leg. He screamed and accepted death. Hiker shot bear. Grandma survived. Blah blah blah! It’s just…I’m being an asshole, you’re right. This storm is not fun to drive in and I’ve only made the drive once before.”

“I know I know. I still think it’s a great story despite the horror of it. Grandma truly lived a wild life. I think it was that moment that led her to be so adventurous. She inspires me, too.”

“She definitely did some crazy unexpected things in her life.  Oh jeez, what is this!? Full traffic stop? Son of a bitch!”

Nostalgia's Land

    Nostalgia's Land

     How easy it is to let time fly while forgetting things you promised yourself you’d do. One day, a guarantee was made to go back and visit more often, to call once a week, to do more artwork, to go out and experience more of the world; but eventually, we forget. Time mocks our dreams and plays with our intentions. Of course, we have a tendency to throw around promises we have no chance of keeping because the spirit of the situation takes over to control our words. The heart is in it but the mind knows the likelihood is minimal for success. This is nothing to beat yourself up over since it happens to everyone and is just a result of busy lives and poor memory. 

    Despite it all, nostalgia’s impact has a way of reminding you of your lighthearted mistake. You remember you hadn’t been to visit your family in over five years. You walk around the hunting garage at night while thunder clashes on and lightning flashes through the window. The clipboards full of family photos draw you towards them where you see yourself in a myriad of photos in varying ages. Each picture hits a different part of your heart and you smile and laugh and enjoy and share the memory flushed forward. Is it not tinted with sadness, though? Isn’t nostalgia a double edged sword of desirable beauty? We want to be reminded of the good times when the cares of the world didn’t haunt us like they try to do now. Sometimes that puts things into perspective where priorities can be rearranged for better happiness. Sometimes it reveals times that were better than times now. 

    I think it’s good to remember and experience it over again. There is power in an old photo that was taken with intent to preserve emotion. There’s power in a song you hadn’t heard in years that’ll transport you to that Halloween moment bobbing for apples and dripping face-paint all over your costume. There’s power in nostalgia and I hope it’s beneficial and not damning when it hits you. I hope it reminds you to be grateful of your past and your current situation. I hope it allows you some clarity to visit your family more often. I hope it creates greater patience where it’s needed because your priorities have realigned. Mostly, I hope you get to look back with smiles and cherish how far you’ve come and the fun you’ve had along the way.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, a cousin got married and all the people in all the kings land took a weekend off to attend and celebrate. 

What Keeps You Alive?

What keeps you alive?

What Keeps You Alive?

    Not literally. Although, that is a fascinating question in its own respect. I meant, what keeps you wanting to wake up and tackle life every day? That’s a pretty daunting question, I know. Sometimes that answer changes; hell, I find it’s different almost every day! Allow me to get more specific because I find as I try to formulate my thoughts they come out too broad for proper introspection: 

What thought or feeling or daydream do you catch yourself repeatedly going back to throughout your day that provides that burst of life?

    Can you picture it? Can you see yourself basking in the sunlight, relaxing on the world’s most comfortable reclining lounge chair, habituating that perfect spot next to a crystal clear pool that’s dancing to the breeze, singing birds fill the air space above you, and your whole day is there for the taking? Can you see the progress you’re making on that piece of artwork that blows your breath away every single glance you steal; the one that you can’t wait to finish? Can you feel the controller in your hand of your favorite video game blasting in front you with your closest friends? Can you sense your heart beat increase when you think of the smile on your crush’s face knowing you’re the reason their smile is lighting up the world? Or maybe that alternate life you always wanted to live that’s capable between the pages of a captivating book?

    What is it that keeps you alive? Can you narrow it down to one thing? That’s not easy to do, even for me, I admit it. I’m not even sure it’s worth trying to narrow down since having multiple things that breathe life into your world is a glorious luxury not meant to be questioned. However, I do find it fascinating how often my thoughts sway to reoccurring daydreams that bring me out of a lull, that fill my desire tank with gasoline to ignite the fire of my passions, that make my face hurt from unexpected smiling, that cause my arms to twitch with energy. These dreams have a sense of power; a necessary power. They can keep the aches of sitting in a chair all day at bay, knowing the paycheck you earn is worth the vacation to Universal Studios for a handful of days where you’ll be staying in a resort and being treated like royalty. These thoughts and feelings and dreams taunt us like a donkey with a carrot in front of its face, but that can be a tool to push yourself even harder. I need my imagination to conjure glimpses of future realities because it becomes a goal worth the struggles. Having something to fight for and something to keep me alive is everything; and I remember times when there wasn’t a single thing I could find worthy enough to wake me up.

    Be wary o virtuous traveler! These thoughts, feelings, or daydreams can sap the life out of you just as the sun provides life, so does it melt the wings of Icarus with death. I suggest letting these things fuel your drive to work your ass off and make them a reality, but do not let the dreams of greener grass prevent you from loving every particle of your current situation. It is imperative, and I repeat, IT IS IMPERATIVE to not let moments like this take over your mindset and plague your current life. It is a quick and dangerous slope to loathing your current situation which will seep into your life path making it more and more difficult to get back to happy sunlight. By all means, bask in the future prospects and fight tooth and nail to get there, but lounge with balanced contentment where you are now. 

    So, what keeps you alive?

Can't You Just Take the Compliment?

    “That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

    “Ugh. I know but it is what it is.”

    “Well, I can’t wrap myself around it. Explain this to me differently, there has to be a way for me to understand: You paint everyday, you like what you paint, you’re challenged by what you paint, but there is nothing in it? What do you mean?”

    “Okay fine but it makes me feel like a dick which means I’m probably acting like one, but when you compliment my artwork, or anyone in general, it makes me appreciative but at the same time it doesn’t amount to much because there’s nothing of me in it.”

    “Nope. Keep trying.”

    “Let me finish then!…So, would you agree that most artists are trying to express themselves in some way through their artwork?”

    “Yeah, of course.”

    “Okay good. Then can you understand that sometimes successful artwork doesn’t express anything from the artist? Like, it’s just an easy looking landscape that evokes nothing.”

    “Sure sure. Go on.”

    “I am. There are plenty of paintings that I’ve done that I enjoy doing. Whether it’s the composition, or the colors I get to use, or even the difficulty behind it. Like a challenging portrait of a parent and their child, or someone’s dog that passed away where I need to put the spirit of the animal in the pictures. Those are good and challenging and I enjoy that because it breaks up the monotonous routine.”

    “But?”

    “But, there isn’t a part of me in that painting. There is no soul. There is only skill and experience from my hands. As an artist, the dream is to produce a piece of work that takes something I feel so strongly, something that keeps me up at night, something that distracts me from everything, that one emotion or thought, to take that and put it into a piece of work that reaches out to make you feel the same thing. My dream is to create something that stops the onlooker from walking by; to a point they get sore from standing and must sit on the floor with such attention they lose track of time. I want to provide a piece of work that not only expresses a piece of my soul but reaches out and touches your soul, and in doing so, adds your energy, your attention, your past, your soul to it as well. Where it comes something beyond what I created.”

    “…so why don’t you do that?”

    “I don’t know how, that’s the problem.”

    “Have you tried?”    

    “So many times.”

    “But what does that have to do with compliments on your work?”

    “Because that compliment sends a reminder to my brain that I can do better. That it’s not my best. That their compliment is better suited for a piece of work that holds more value. And it reminds me that I haven’t produced that yet and then, that I don’t know how.”

    “Yeah you’re being a dick. They’re just being nice. Besides, they just like the painting.”

    “I know I know! But think of it this way: you’re a musician and you’ve been working on a composition with every bit of your soul in it but along the process you create a jingle to make ends meet. You don’t associate yourself as a musician with that jingle because everything you are is wrapped up in this big composition piece that is not yet finished; but you now have people coming up telling you they love your jingle. So you’re being complimented on a piece you don’t even recognize and all you want to do is tell the people that your true art is more worthy. But you can’t because you don’t want to be rude. And you aren’t sure how to finish the ending of the composition so you don’t even know if you’ll be able to share the piece with them, anyway.”

    “That sounds…complicated."    

    “Now you’re getting it.”

    “So why do you even bother painting smaller things like this? Is there a strong emotion to this scene?”

    “Honestly, no. I like Japanese woodblock prints and was inspired to paint something resembling the style. I still get excited and inspired to paint things even if I haven’t put together my ‘magnificent composition’, so to speak.”

    “I’ve gotta tell ya, I’m glad I’m not an artist. I kind of see what you’re saying, but I’m still a little confused.”

    “Yeah, I get that…there are many times that I wish I wasn’t an artist either.”

    “Have you ever thought about quitting?”

    “Every damn day. But I can’t escape that any more than I can stop thinking. It’s who I am. Good or bad. Plague or blessing.”

    “Well, I like your work regardless of how much of your soul is shed doing them, buddy. I’m glad you’ll never stop. I won’t stop complimenting them either.”

    “Thank you. That’s helpful. Even if I don’t know how to say it.”

Psychology of Music

    Have you noticed a correlation between moods and music? I’d be surprised if you hadn’t by now. Most us and most of the time pick our music based on a mood and it comes almost subconsciously. 

    A week ago I lied down on a hammock with my arms behind my head rocking back and forth while staring at the clouds dance through the sky as they reflected off a mirror-like pool to my right. There was a breeze circulating and the sun was just out of the way to keep me quite comfortable. For the most part of two months I’ve been battling the cycle of neuroticism; depression of where I’m at, anxiety of how I’m going to make it to the next step, and frustration that I should be letting myself be content and continue working at my goals without beating myself up every time. It sounds like a real party, right? It sure is! I preface this because my music choice on this particular free afternoon, a gift to myself, was that of classical music. I was studying those clouds when a song came on that resonated so much that I had to pick up my phone and see what was playing; it was Symphony No.6 in B Minor, Op.74 “Pathetique” Adagio by Tchaikovsky, Currentzis, & Music Aeterna. A lot of that is mumbo-jumbo to me, to be honest, but I wanted to share the song that provided the impact and became the catalyst to this writing. It was then that I realized how happy and content I was. 

    You see, when you’re in “The Cycle”, you don’t just “enjoy yourself”; you try to enjoy yourself and sometimes succeed and sometimes fail. But in this moment, it was an effortless acceptance of my life and the pace where I was headed and the work I had accomplished thus far. The elephant sized weight wasn’t hanging around on my chest! Ah the bliss! I swear the breeze never felt better! Once the break was over, I continued to play classical music, more symphonies, and I kept that same mood throughout the following hours even when I went back to work. It clicked in my head how powerful this music was on my brain, so I began to go through my “Recently Played” on Spotify to look at what I listened to when I was feeling certain emotions. There was a blatant correlation. Sometimes I was aware what I was choosing and did so with vigor! But there were also a plethora of moments when the music dictated my emotional outcome. This intrigued me so I sent a series of questions over to a friend that I knew would devote time and answer seriously. I won’t divulge her answers but I will provide the questions. 

• 1. What percentage of your day are you listening to something?
  2. What percentage is podcast/audiobook and what percentage is music?
  3. Do you often pick one or the other depending on your mood?
  4. Do you have a genre or specific song/album you go to when you’re in a good mood?
  5. Do you have a specific genre or song/album you go to when you WANT to be in a good mood?
  6. Do you try to convince yourself through sound to be happier or do you pick audio based on your current mood without attempting to change it?

    She gave me some good answers that I half expected but with a personal twist that I didn’t follow in my own life. I found it fascinating so I did some research on the Psychology of Music and stumbled across an article written on Psychology Today titled “Music’s Power Explained”. In the article they briefly discuss the impacts of music on emotion and how we each have our own way of using music falling into different categories. The three main categories they talk about are: 

“With Solace, people listen to music that matches their emotional state, e.g., sad music if they are sad. Individuals who listen to music for solace use that music to feel understood and less alone. For instance, a person with depression might listen to a song about living with the illness and find comfort in it.

With Diversion, people listen to music to distract themselves from their bad mood. This music does not need to match their mental state. For instance, a person who is anxious might sing along to a happy song until the anxiety dissipates.

With Discharge, people listen to music that matches their emotional state to better express that emotion. For instance, a person who is frustrated might sing along to angry music to provide an outlet for that frustration.”

    Interestingly enough, they also say men who prefer the Discharge method show higher levels of anxiety and neuroticism; so venting get rid of negativity only enhances the negativity in this situation. Apparently, this is not the same for women. They studied this through brain imaging technique called, functional magnetic resonance imaging. FMRI’s are used to see which part of your brain is operating during certain activities. That being said,  they focused on the part of the brain that regulates emotions, the medial prefrontal cortex. From the studies and short synopsis of what was learned, certain listening methods cause different levels of activity of the the medial prefrontal cortex. The more activation, the more work out, so it seems. What they’re saying, and what I’m relaying, is that it becomes easier to regulate your emotions when you often listen to music that activates that part of your brain more often. So the Discharge method shows low activity of the mPFC which only prolongs the emotional turmoil; whereas, methods like the Diversion method show increased activity meaning the person will become regulated easier and quicker. 

    All in all, we pick our music either by choice or by our subconscious based on our mood, but it’s to our advantage to choose wisely. Music has a stronger hold on our emotions than we may realize. 

If you would like to read the article I mentioned: Musics Power Explained

Old Carl's Barn

    There was a barn on Old Carl’s land that was notorious for being haunted. You could call it a shed, and many of us did, but according to Old Carl it was a barn and we needed to mind our business. It’s not like we were mean about it or nothin, but it was pretty daggum small. You couldn’t even fit a tractor in there let alone the rest of necessary tools to run a farm. But Old Carl was particular about his barn. People in town used to talk about it; about how when he was younger, Young Carl, I’m assuming, was building the barn with expectations of grandeur. But was constantly picked on for how small it came out to be. How could a farmer make such a mistake? They picked on him all these years even though nobody alive saw him build it. Old Carl never talks about how it came to be; just insists it’s a barn. His absent truth of the matter is what drew all us kids to the sight. We concocted many a stories about it. 

    “I swear it musta been soma kind of aliens tryna be like us humans! They tried ta blend in but couldn’t even builda proper barn! I betcha Old Carl is a alien wrapped up in flesh!”

    “What if it’s just a fake? What if it goes deep deep into the earth! Like them Mole People!”

    “Maybe he has a butt ton of dead bodies down there! I bet he does! You aint never seen no smile on Old Carl’s face! He eva been happy?”

    “I bet he has a shrine in there of his dead wife! Going out there every day to pray to the Devil to bring her back! That’s why he won’t let none of us in there to see!”

    These stories went on and on. There was a nice little girl named Mellissa that could’ve been the only young one with a soft spot for Old Carl. She would say he was just picking on us and it was just a game, or that maybe he had dyslexia and got the numbers backwards making it half the intended size, or maybe his dad built it and it had sentimental value. Whatever any of us said, we never had no truth to the matter. We would sneak out there frequently on summer nights and camp a little ways away from Old Carl’s view and sneak around the barn but we never got too close. There were usually odd sounds coming from the inside that seemed to grow the closer we got. One time a new kid named Billy wanted to show off how cool and brave he was by walking up and peeking in that window but he took off running so fast afterwards that he had to chase him down. We never got no good answer to what he saw cause all he did was stutter and shake for near bout ten hours. He still has that daggum stutter to this day and that been like two years ago; any time we bring it up he clamps his trap shut and won’t speak a word of it. We left him alone, he stopped being fun after that night. 

    Something always bothered me about the barn that nobody else every talked about, if Old Carl was so adamant about that barn, why did he let it rot away? It was in no good shape to store nothing and was holding together by mere magic it seemed. Boards were falling off everywhere and there was a big hole in the side he tried to cover up with a old canoe and a screen door. Then there was the fact that the front door wasn’t even no door. It was a piece of wood leaned against the entrance from the inside. It was right peculiar. 

    We never did get no truth, like I said, but that was because Old Carl died a few days ago. None of the grown-ups wanted to tell us how he died though. They just said cause he was old, which makes as much sense to us kids. The night after the funeral we went out to Old Carl’s barn to camp out as a kinda goodbye. We neva made no fire when we used to go out there because Old Carl would start yellin at us to get off his property but this time we made one since he was gone. We brought hotdogs and s’mores stuff and some sodas and had a good time. We never did talk too much about the barn, though. It was as if we just was next to it and that was good enough. Some time in the early morning before the sun gets up, some time after midnight, we didn’t have no watch or nothin so I’m just guessin, but we was getting tired and began falling asleep we heard a knock from the barn. 

    It made every single one of us jump up and shake off our sleep. We all stared at the barn questioning what we heard. After a few minutes went by and no more sound, we all figured it was a raccoon or something and began to get comfortable again. The fire crackled here and there in kinda lullaby and we all started to drift to sleep. But once again, we heard a loud banging on the door except this time it went on for bout twice as long. I had a shiver go right down my spine. We looked at each other wondering what to do. One kid named Joey was already wrapping up his sleeping bag and got up to leave. We called him a wuss and other such names, of course, but deep down I think we was all jealous. We were all feeling nervous now. As we was sitting there throwing more wood on the fire to keep it big it started back up again. The whole barn started to bang from the inside! The table that was leaning against the boat fell over, the screen door slid down, and the boat even moved a bit. The glass in the window was shuttering like something was tryna get out! There was no light at all inside and we couldn’t even see inside. Someone suggested there must be an animal stuck inside and that we should knock down the door to let it out so it would leave us alone. It musta seen us from the window. The banging never stopped this whole time neither. It had been going on for about ten minutes before we stood up. The moment we got to our feet the noise stopped so we figured it must of been an animal. We marched our scared butts over to the barn and picked up a big stick on the way. We figured we’d knock the door down with the stick and then run away! Except none of us wanted to be the ones to knock down the door. 

    We decided to grab a broken tree branch instead so most of us had to hold it together, that way we did it as a team. We felt braver that way. The noise hadn’t come back yet which was good but we was still shaking with nerves. We counted from five. 

    Four.

    Three.

    Two.

    BAM! The door was burst down and a high pitch scream could be heard all around us. The worst part is, we wasn’t the one that knocked down the door! Something else done it! We dropped the tree branch and bolted like we was about to die! And that’s what it felt like! We took off to grab our sleeping bag and kept running! I looked back only one time. It’s hard to say it was accurate cause I was so scared but I swear I saw Old Carl laughing his butt off inside his barn. 

    We never went back to that land and nobody there that night ever talked about it with nobody but the ones that was there. We knew it weren’t no animal but had no proof so the grown ups would only brush us off. 

    The following year, some young couple moved in the house and started to fix it up. It was about three months since they moved in that we all heard the fire trucks headed that way. Of course we all got up to see what had happened. We saw it before we even got to the land. Old Carl’s barn was on fire. There was the wife sitting in the middle of the field with a empty look on her face but we could see there was blood all over her. Her dress was daggum near covered innit. She wasn’t even moving but she was holding a torch. The fire fighters put out the fire but found something truly awful inside the barn. Us kids looked each other again and shivered like it was yesterday we was camping that night. The woman’s husband was hung from the middle rafter of the barn with a smile carved into his face. There was also a ton of blood all over his clothes too. A girl next to me turned around and threw up. Parents started to shield us kid’s eyes, and rightly so! Suddenly, the wife saw the husband and started screaming! She ran towards the barn and tried to burn it down again. She kept screaming like it was a monster in that barn. It gave us all shivers of fear and we decided we couldn’t take it no longer. We went back home and battled nightmares for months. 

    The town wasn’t ever the same after Old Carl died. He never let us forget him, neither. 

Author's Note: After I finished writing this story, I noticed I'd forgotten to put my signature on the painting. Soon after painting that in, my cup of coffee was knocked over and enveloped the whole painting in liquid. Which is terrible for watercolor. But despite that, the barn is still clear and in tact. Old Carl get his revenge even to this day. 

Book Review: The Millennium Series

“You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little of you has lost a friend.”

— Paul Sweeney

    How true is that? For me, it’s incredibly true but it’s more than just the losing of a friend. I feel as if I’m losing a little park of myself. When I plunge into a book, I devote my whole self into it and I take in what intrigues me the most about it. It becomes part of my everyday reality. I often catch myself wondering how the stress of yesterdays events will be handled only to notice a second later that those events happened in a book. It is solved by reading more and getting the answer. Reading becomes a second life that I get to live doing things and experiencing things that I “can only read about in books” but it also gives me the opportunity to be a different person. Whether it’s first person or third person, I tend to attribute my favorite traits from the protagonist, and even antagonist, to my own being in real life. Showing strength to overcome challenges, knowing the right words and actions, being confident in decisions and not backing down, having better control over emotions and thus better control over life; these things are pinned on an imaginary “soul board” where I remind myself to try harder every morning or casually when I’m driving around town. Books don’t just offer an escape for me, they offer examples of how to be a better version of myself. Or at least, the better version in my eyes. So when I say I’m reading a book, I’m actually saying “I’m living a book” which is why I’ll write my thoughts about what I’ve finished reading. Not always, but sometimes. Which is now where I will explain why I fell in love with Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy, “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo”, “The Girl Who Played With Fire”, and “The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest”. 

    First off, a little about the author: Stieg Larsson was born a writer and drafted his first novel when he was twelve, receiving a typewriter for his thirteenth birthday where he would spend most of his time in the cellar writing to not disturb his family. He was a leftist his whole life and served two years in the Swedish army despite that fact and eventually trained female guerrillas in East Africa how to use grenades. After his military service, “he began researching right wing extremism, specifically the lingering pockets of neo-Nazism, racism and sexism he found in Sweden and the world at large.”- biography.com.  Larsson spent some of his professional career as the editor of a magazine against these extremisms called Expo, which helped his writing of the Millennium trilogy through experience. It’s said he was a man of poor health and died of a heart attack in 2004 before his novels reached the recognition they now have. 

    Having read “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” around 2008, I was immediately struck with the detailed research of the book. Looking back I thought to myself, “I haven’t any idea what this guy is talking about or why I should be able to follow Swedish economics,” yet I kept reading anyway. I remember getting to the crime aspect of the book and being swept away, but after ten years I had forgotten ninety percent of the story. With the newest additions to the Millennium series, written by David Lagercrantz, I was pushed to reread the original three; well, I pushed myself, at least. I will admit that I did not truly grasp the depth and beauty of Larsson’s writing when I read my first time around ten years ago. The second time I read the book I started with determination to not get lost in his research and found it was easy; maybe because I read it once before or I’ve developed into a better reader, I’m not sure. Although the story is fiction, he writes it like a journalist is reporting on factual events; it’s this style of writing that draws you in so keenly and makes you question what you know about your own country. I was also struck by the fluidity of his writing when keeping up with three different stories that make up one complete story. To adhere to people’s short attention span, he recounts the events of a period of time in each chapter and fills you in on each side as it happens. It’s absolutely brilliant. I would finish a section discussing the police’s investigation only to jump into what Salander was now doing but I always craved more information of the other stories. Larsson put such depth into each of his characters that I quickly attached to them all; I felt I knew them individually and had my own opinions of their personalities just from the pages of the book. They grow and develop and stay stubborn and become vulnerable and it captivates you in a way that you spread your friend group to encompass these characters; even if it’s not real, it feels right. 

    The plot in these original three books are…intense to say the least. Larsson takes you down a compelling murder mystery while trying to get a handle on Salander’s personal life, while also describing the falling of Blomkvist’s career and how the solution will come about; and this is only the first book. But it is this book that sets the relationship’s foundation between Blomkvist and Salander. Their relationship goes far beyond the standard “romantic book” story. So far, in fact, that I can’t even label it a romantic story, but a relationship where lives intertwine so fiercely they cannot escape each other despite efforts made. This is proven through the rest of the series. If I thought I remembered hardly anything of the first book then reading the second and third was like going at them from the very beginning. I cannot say with any certainty whether I read the rest of the series in 2008; but I can say that I devoured these books with a fervency for more. The story is so compelling and attention grasping that I spent days reading them without being able to focus on anything else. I wanted to know more at all times and couldn’t wait until i found what happened next; how Blomkvist was going to see something nobody else had, how Salander was going to hack, punch, head-butt, trick, and brutally force her way out of her situation, or how the police were going to muck things up for everybody while trying their best to do what’s right. It felt like a speeding motorcycle ride in winter with snow stabbing your exposed skin while your brain went over all the details in an obsessive manner. I became infatuated with the way Blomkvist and Salander worked and solved the mystery before them and how they overcame the ridiculous challenges that come from this kind of story. 

    These books, Larsson’s writing, is what gave me the push to start writing more seriously; I enjoyed them that much that I wanted to keep what I gained from reading by posting and writing more and more. I remember putting down the third book with such a crazed feeling in me that I walked the length of the pool for twenty minutes just going over the details over and over in my head. Incapable of letting my new friends go off and be in another story. But that’s exactly what they did. 

    Lagercrantz’s two novels that continue the Millennium series, “The Girl In The Spiders Web” and “The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye”  are good and wonderful to have if you are like me and craved more. But, and I say this with a heavy heart, it just isn’t the same. As many people might expect since it’s not Larsson writing them. I definitely suggest reading these books, of course go and read them! They are pleasant reads with thrilling plots featuring all the favorite characters and introducing some more that were merely mentioned in the original three. In my opinion, however, they are predictable, don’t have the same detailed passion Larsson had, and it’s obvious someone is writing a story using another author’s characters. Salander and Blomkvist don’t operate in the same fashion as they did from Larsson’s mouth; there’s just something missing which I feel Lagercrantz recognized and did a good job working into the story. He did a great job given the high standard that Larsson set with these characters. 

        I debated whether or not to use a rating system of my own because it felt a little pretentious especially without credibility, but it will at least help me in the future to pick which books I liked most which I would want to read again. Plus, why not? It’s fun to toss around vanity and add value to your words. That being said, I’ll rate things out of ten, and since I’m quite obsessed with coffee, I’ll do it out of ten…cups of coffee.

The Millennium Series (as a whole): 9.2/10 cups of coffee

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: 10 cups of coffee

The Girl Who Played with Fire: 10 cups of coffee

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest: 10 cups of coffee

The Girl in the Spider’s Web: 8 cups of coffee

The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye: 8 cups of coffee