I won't let this build up inside of me...

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfPiAz8iCcw&feature=related

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The wreckage swings into full speed, throttle pressed firmly to the right.

The fire burns warm on my face, the flickering of shadows, of past knowledge and memories, silhouettes of the old, familiar churning.

I reach into my back pocket, and try to find my marshmallows.

I'm not sure there are any.

Satisfaction, Justice, or the Will of God...

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There's a shift in mood, from anger, frustration, complacency to something...melancholic.

It's like a mugger hiding in the back alleys, stubbing out cheap cigarettes against the brick walls and spitting puddles of phlegm at the vagrants that pass by.

He steps out, black boots quietly but firmly treading on the cobblestones. He sneaks up behind you and jams a point into your kidney.

And you end up thanking him for it

When your mind starts flirting with the ideas of a relationship, you can feel the terror creep in;the wreckage of the past starts to smolder again, lavish flames licking the twisted heaps of memories, hearts, and minds. You want to piss on it, to lay a blanket over it, to flood it with a river. You've felt the flames and the heat, maybe lost an eyebrow or two. You know the enormity of the power, the towering inferno that bears down on you.

It never kills you, just leaves you scarred, blistered skin and boiling blood.

Your mind kicks some rubble into the wreckage, hearing it plink off of the pile of bones and stare a little deeper inside.

A photo.

A moment.

A trip.

A seashell.

You smile and take a breath, and relocate the refuse into the distance.

Far enough that you can smile.

But close enough you can always keep an eye on it.

So the attitude changes, and I think, y'know, fire or not, I can always just keep some marshmallows handy, and right now the fire is just fine.

I lay in bed and smell the smoke deep within my clothes, not of tobacco, but of good, hard wood. It's seeped into my pores and lets me relive those brief hours.

Constellations and corn, the subjects of wild abandon, filling every moment with something, silently or surprisingly loud.

So I pick the thorns from my heel, and tilt my head to the side and gaze on a face that still stuns me when her eyes turn up to mine. There's a sense of calm, of letting go that can't be matched, and smashing the fuck out of an ever churning, ever cruel brain is the most peaceful thing I have experienced in years.

Heads leaning together we sit and we smoke.

Hands mingled together we smile and we joke.

And there's a pleasant refrain, switching gears in our conversations easily, never popping the clutch.

Serious to sophomoric, we end together with a smile.

I look at the drawings on my wall and trace the lines with my eyes, wondering about the thoughts that were put into every stroke, every curve. Perhaps I analyze things incorrectly? Maybe I'm seeing less than what's there? A smile either way for the beauty that streams from her fingers and the space behind her eyes. She backs it up, and that's priceless.

I check my phone again.

Laying back on the couch, legs draped and eyes met. The motion of her lips dancing around her words. The sigh from the pup on the carpet.

Some moments can't be stolen away, not by any measure of hate or revenge.

The way the water slides and curves around, cold waves lapping at the skin, fighting off the spreading heat of the sun. The soft dribbling sound upstream, the strong laughter down. Yet she stands there, smiling. A distant look in her eyes, thoughts of...I'm not sure. Photos, pasts, troubles, happiness, it's tough for me to decipher.

And that's the greatest.

But we stand around, smile, and enjoy the moment. Surrounded by the people we love and care about. Hearing their stories and jokes and strung out curses.

Tipping their canoes and their minds.

Ramming speed, indeed.

But there's a moment. Eye to eye. And the world shuts out.

But I still sneak a peek into the distance, to see if the shit heap is getting closer, if the flames have popped up yet. Is that ember sparking up yet? Can I smell the smoke?

I shake my head and reach down to my back pocket with my free hand, checking.

Yeah, I'll be just fine.

Still got some marshmallows.

The Man, The Artist, The Legend

I would like to speak with you about a man, a friend.

Brandon Hupp is a great guy hailing from Texas, but I try not to begrudge him for that. Maybe out of the pits of hell some goodness and purity can come to light. If so, that goodness is one hell of a drunk bastard.

Brandon is a graphics designer, and has been kind enough to share his work with me. It absolutely amazes me the kinds of things he can do with simple shapes and color schemes. He showed me a paper system a few months back, and it absolutely blew my mind. The minimalism, the impact of the orange, and the sheer classiness of the envelopes are astounding.

If I ever have the need, I hope he would be kind enough to design letterhead for me.

He also did a book during his last semester before graduation that was comprised of photos of ink in water, their patterns deviated by the sound of music thrumming against the jar. The sequencing of the photos was impressive, and I wish he would have finished it.

Especially since I busted my ass to write up poems for the bastard. My love is taken for granted.

Brandon really is a great guy, and cracks me the fuck up. MooCowing will forever be the best griefer of NexusTK, and makes clan chat a smorgasboard of hilarity and sheer what-the-fuckness. Dude's a pro at pushing buttons, so it's a good thing I'm a pro and ignoring his ass at times.

But mostly I do pay attention, and recently life's turned around a bit for'm. He's got a great girl that he's excited about, and that's definitely put a big boost into his mood. Shit's still a little rough for him, but he's still pretty god damn pimpin, and if you've got a spare room, let him camp out for a few days. I can almost guarantee that you'll have memories of the occasion, or at least memories of the hangover.

Attaboi.

He's also done vinyls, logos, all sorts of great shit. I know I keep yammering on about the work he's done, but that's how impressed I have been. I remember the first thing he shared with me. He had a cover to design, and did it for McCarthy's The Road. It was fucking magnificent.

So here's to you, Brandon, you beautiful bastard.

Hi there =D

Snip Snip

A 10 Minute Play

On why you should shutup

and be nice to people

OR

A 10 Minute Play

On why you should grin

and bear it

Tiffany: 24, young, beautiful, successful, wearing a beautiful dress underneath the cloth

Beatrice: 43, mature yet robust, masterful at her art, wears a black top with grey dress pants, along with a grey smock.

[Interior of a salon, Tiffany sits in the chair as Beatrice circles her, carefully poking at Tiffany's hair with her scissors]

Tiffany: So Trevor’s going to propose to me tonight. I can just feel it!

Bea: It’s about time, how long’s it been?

Tiffany: Three years

Bea: Well that’s not that long of a wait.

Tiffany: Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for him to pop the question for two years as is.

Bea: My first husband waited six years. Finally asked me the day he graduated.

Tiffany: Oh yeah? How is he?

[Silence]

Bea: We divorced last year.

Tiffany: Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry. You know how my brain gets when I’m like this. Trevor’s taking me to L’Orange tonight, after he finishes up at the office. He said he might be late, having to stay longer to work on a plea or something. And we haven’t been back there since our first date. And he’s been working a lot lately, so I think he’s trying to pay off something. So I’m sure he’s going to ask me to become Mrs. Trevor McGillan.

Bea: L’Orange, huh? Isn’t that down in the South End?

Tiffany: Yeah, right between Lucky’s and the café.

Bea: I’ve heard their food’s not the greatest though.

Tiffany: It’s not. Kinda tangy, but it’s the atmosphere that matters. Getting dressed up, having your hair perfectly placed, walking in with a hottie on your arm, it’s absolutely perfect, velvet ropes and everything.

Bea: Seems like a waste if you can’t enjoy the meal.

Tiffany: Ah, I don’t need the food anyways, I’ve been on a diet since April.

Bea: Oh please! Why the hell would you need to be on a diet?

Tiffany: I gained three pounds! All of my jeans feel like they’re going to burst at the seams!

Bea: Oh shutup, when you find yourself my age, then you’ll know what weight is.

Tiffany: You look great for how old you are, Bea, you should just get out more.

Bea: Kind of difficult with the kids.

Tiffany: How are they?

Bea: They’re doing well, Justin’s been studying for his college entrance exam and Claire-

Tiffany: Oh? What college?

Bea: McClair’s Art Institute over in Seattle.

Tiffany: Wow! That’s pretty swanky.

Bea: And pricey.

Tiffany: It’s not that bad.

Bea: It’s thirty grand a year.

Tiffany: That’s not bad at all.

Bea: For you maybe.

Tiffany: He’ll do just fine, I’m sure of it.

Bea: I hope your right. So Trevor’s been working late a lot, huh?

Tiffany: Yeah. Some chainsaw murder case or something.

Bea: Really? Guess I haven’t been paying attention to the news.

Tiffany: Are you feeling alright? Every time I’m in here I see you with a paper.

Bea: I’m fine, just be careful when they say they’re working late.

Tiffany: Oh, Bea, Trevor’s not like that.

Bea: Just saying most men are, dear.

Tiffany: Besides I know his secretary, I told her to make him keep his eyes on his work. She laughed and said she’d stay on top of him.

Bea: I’m sure she did.

Tiffany: What?

Bea: Oh nothing.

Tiffany: And she’s not hot enough, so I’ve got nothing to worry about.

Bea: I suppose you’re right. You are quite a catch. A few years younger and I’d try to set you up with my son.

Tiffany: Oh stop it. He is kind of cute though.

Bea: Got it all from his dad.

Tiffany: And you.

Bea: Thank you.

Tiffany: I can’t wait for Trevor and I to have kids.

Bea: Trust me, you want to wait.

Tiffany: I don’t know. We’ve done our travelling, our jobs would more than cover it, houses up

in Northmont are coming up on market…

Bea: Houses? More like palaces.

Tiffany: Oh hush, they’re not that posh. Besides, aren’t you still living in the condo over in Cheshire Falls?

Bea: I am, but Cheshire Falls is a far cry from the golden streets of Northmont.

Tiffany: Hardly. Weren’t they the ones advertising their billion dollar remodeling spree a year or two back?

Bea: [Snippy] Just because the property has the cash doesn’t mean I do.

Tiffany: I wasn’t saying that. It’s a decent place to live. That’s all.

[A moment’s silence]

Tiffany: So how’d Claire’s recital go?

Bea: It went alright. She’s at least stuck with it this far. A few more years and she’ll be

doing it down at Wesleyan.

Tiffany: Really? Why would she want to go there?

Bea: They have an ok program for it, and it’s cheap, so I guess she’s thinking like her mother.

Tiffany: Has she done the tour yet?

Bea: No, she’s waiting until next year. Too wrapped up in her boyfriend to miss a day here.

I hope I was never that bad.

Tiffany: Awww, but young love is so fun. You never had a guy back when you were in school

that you waited every day to see?

Bea: [flatly] No.

Tiffany: Oh come on, Bea. Even I had more than my share. I’m sure you had a long line of

boys fighting over you.

Bea: Didn’t have time for that nonsense.

Tiffany: Well, you’ve got time now.

Bea: I’ve got kids now.

Tiffany: So? You could go all cougar on someone.

Bea: Trust me, I’m not interested in anyone younger.

Tiffany: They don’t have to be young. Just hot.

Bea: Probably not going to happen.

Tiffany: Oh stop being in such a mood. You’ve got lots to work with. I know a few guys from

work your age, Just have to tell me what you’re looking for.

Bea: Someone who’s quiet.

Tiffany: Oh, then that’d be Ramone. Trevor and I met him in Italy our second time over. He’s

quiet, has that mysterious air about him, and the best part, he fills out a pair of jeans.

Bea: Sounds like a real winner. If only I had the time to skip off around the world.

Tiffany: Well take a vacation when the kids are out of school then. And if you go to Italy,

there’s a restaurant in Naples called L’Antica Trianon Sorbillo that has the best

flambé. We go there every time we’re even close. Trevor took me to Marseilles last

summer, and we were sitting out on the beach. All of a sudden he turns to me and says

‘you know what I could really go for? Some flambé.’ Two hours later we were on our

way. Best decision we made that trip.

Bea: Sounds like a bit of a waste though. Did you even get to see France or did you just

make a pit stop?

Tiffany: Oh no, we went back after a few days and did the tourist thing. And we’d both been to

the west before.

Bea: Must be nice.

Tiffany: Trevor’s just way too good to me some days. I can’t wait till tonight. I wonder what

the ring looks like.

Bea: No sense in worrying about that, just as long as you get it.

Tiffany: Well it’s got to match.

Bea: Shouldn’t it match the love more than the shoes?

Tiffany: [laughing] Shoes are part of the love. Trevor’s got this thing-

Bea: Oh. My. God.

Tiffany: Kidding, Bea. But he does have great tastes. Then we’re probably going to Spain. I

saw some charges on the card this morning. This is going to be the best night of my

life.

Bea: Just be careful.

Tiffany: Bea, Trevor loves me.

Bea: I know, but still-

Tiffany: No, ‘but still’ nothing. Look, I’m sorry you couldn’t keep yours, but this one is mine

and I’m not losing him. He’s not an asshole like Charles. Trevor doesn’t fuck his

secretary on his lunch breaks.

Bea: It’s funny how sure you are.

Tiffany: Why are you being such a bitch?

Bea: Why can’t you shutup for more than two minutes?

Tiffany: It’s better than listening to you bitch about everything. It’s like this everytime I’m

here. It’s getting old.

Bea: And listening to you yammer on about your fairy tale of a life never makes me feel

like I’ve fallen asleep? I get real tired of hearing the same old story again and again. I

swear, they must’ve skipped the spoon and just given you a loudspeaker.

Tiffany: I’ve just tried getting you up and out.

Bea: Like I need help from you.

Tiffany: Evidently you’re having a lot of luck on your own. As much as you complain about

everything I’d think maybe you’d finally do something about it.

Bea: Some of us have responsibilities. I can’t just go traipsing off around the world. I’ve got

kids.

Tiffany: There’s the old favorite. You can’t hide behind them forever.

Bea: I’m not hiding.

Tiffany: Then what are you going to do when they’re gone?

[A half moment’s pause]

Bea: I-

Tiffany: You love those kids but you don’t do shit for the rest of the world.

Bea: Excu-

Tiffany: I may not shut up, but at least I’m doing something. That’s your problem Bea, is you

just don’t do anything, and you blame the rest of us for it.

Bea: Nothing at all huh?

Tiffany: Nope.

Bea: Just stand here all day, bitch about my life, and make you girls pretty huh?

Tiffany: Pretty much.

Bea: Well…I guess you’re right then. Time to do something. Time for a change.

[ Bea steps in front of Tiffany and blocks the scissors from the audience. The sound of garden shears snipping plays. Tiffany screams and Bea exits. Tiffany rocks forward, clutching her ear as a lock of blood soaked hair falls from her hand.]