Wednesday, July 23, 2008

On Adventure

Like all good stories, it started with me and a dame. The dame was Traci, and they call me the Fox. We'd worked together before, but never on a job this gritty. Normally I don't like doing dirty work, but a guy's gotta eat, and sometimes you just have to go where the dough is. We got a call from a lady, a lady named Joye. Unfortunately, the job she had for us was no laughing matter. You see she wanted us to move some counterfeits. Those weren't the words she used of course, but she was sending us to The Paper Room, and everyone knew what came out of there. It was a place Traci and I had only heard about, never seen. The hardest part was figuring out how to find it. People in our position usually try to avoid the slums, but we had a job to do.
We started out at Al's. You can usually find out what you need to know around Al's. There were always people going in and out, and most of them knew more than they needed to. We started asking at the bar, but no one there knew anything about The Paper Room.
Somebody must have overheard because soon we were approached by a big guy who had info to sell. His name was Matt, but he went by Erd. Nobody knew how he got the name, but everybody knew he had earned it. He was one of Big Dan's boys, and he told us he had the info we needed. Then, there he was. Big Dan himself. He was the toughest gangster in the city, and he had his fingers in every illegal operation that went on. Normally he charged for information like this, but he decided to treat this one as a favour, something he liked to do to ensure kind treatment in the future. He had Erd take us to down to The Paper Room, and when I say down, I mean down.
It was no wonder we had never been able to find it before. The thing was buried in the deepest recesses of the city. Beneath the sewers we repelled down a deep shaft that lead to a large open cavern: The Paper room. There was no telling how long The Paper Room had been buried or how it had even gotten there, but it was there that we found our shipment. We had it delivered to Joye in an hour, but apparently counterfeits were only the start. Next she had a package for us to deliver.
We didn't like it. We had already had a long day, and it was turning into a long night. Not to mention we had already had one ride too many on the darker side of town. But money was money, and this job paid. It was no ordinary package we had to deliver, this was a big one, and it was hot, radioactive hot. No one was saying anything, but we had a feeling we had our hands on something explosive. Not only that, but it was going straight to Big Dan. Unfortunately, finding Big Dan isn't always as easy as it was at Al's. He never stayed in one place long. We decided to spend as little time as possible with the package, and went right to the source. In the toughest part of town where most working folks are afraid to set foot is the Plant. Any deal with dirt on it went down around the Plant and that was where Big Dan kept his headquarters.
He had a girl that worked for him, covering all the business up front. She was a smart dame, but not even she knew everything Big Dan was up to. Nevertheless, that's where Traci and I started. The girl called up Big Dan, but he didn't answer. So she took us to his office, a place we had heard tell about, but never actually seen. Then, there we were, looking into the office of one of the toughest men in the city. Just like that, the package was gone, and the door was closed. And that was the end of our journey to the underbelly. It was a dark journey, one that still haunts me, but we survived.
Now you might say, that we just went down an elevator to a basement storage room, and that it was just a banner that we delivered to a Maintnence worker, but things are never just what they seem. Someday maybe I'll know what I delivered that day, but for now, I'm just another shmo, trying to earn a living, trying to keep my hands clean.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

On Goals

Things I want to accomplish in life:

-Swim across something at night (like that scene near the end of The Motorcycle Diaries)
-Skydive
-Sculpt something out of marble
-Find a fedora that fits my oversized head
-Write a play (I suppose it would also be nice to see this play performed, but I will start small)
-To have my predominant trait be eccentricity (I would also love to exploit this eccentricity to get away with stuff when I am old)
-Invent a word that works its way into the common vernacular
-Own a Jedi costume (and possibly a storm trooper costume, preferably both)
-Publish a novel
-Experience poverty (why? I have no idea, but it seems like it would make me grow as a person)
-Write like John Donne (the man was awesome. If you have not read "Batter my Heart Three-Personed God" quit reading my blog right now and go do that)
-Walk on my hands
-Have something named after me (I do not really care what it is; a building would be nice, but I would be content with a disease or even a park bench)
-Build an awesome tree house
-Memorize the entire New Testament (technically, I have already memorized half of it, but I have not really retained it very well at all)
-See the entire Shakespeare canon (maybe as a bonus I'll memorize all of that too...maybe)
-Write plots like Alexandre Dumas (if you've read "The Count of Monte Cristo" you know why)
-Spend a night in a castle
-See an ocean (yes, I know it is tragic to live 19 years and never have seen an ocean, but that is why it is on the list)
-Cross the country without the use of an internal combustion engine
-Destroy a product advertised as indestructable
-Create a book that is a multi-genre compilation of writings and images that has the power to change the way people think
-Always be there for my friends
-Always have friends who will be there for me
-Do a true painting of a sunset (no photograph can ever truly capture a sunset; too much of its beauty is connected to emotion)
-Fall in love
-Serve God faithfully
-Know Jesus


Monday, July 7, 2008

On Tears

Well, as of today, it has been a year since the last time I cried. It is weird to think about. A year is a long time.
The question is whether I am heartless and unfeeling, or if I really just hide my feelings and fail to express them. The truth is probably in the intersection of the two. Because I am analytical and laid back, I am rarely upset about anything, and what I do feel I often just "get through" by gritting my teeth and putting on a mask. Sometimes it is for the better. Feelings cloud judgement, and rationality can break through the haze of emotion; but at the same time, emotion is a part of the human experience. In bypassing feeling, am I bypassing a part of my soul?
Maybe I am being a bit melodramatic. Perhaps the cause is more in my lack of suffering than in my lack of feeling. Or maybe I am just too stoic for my own good. I don't know.
What's in a tear?

Sunday, July 6, 2008

On Nuptials

So I was recently invited to be the wedding date of my good friend Lyndsey. The wedding was her sister's who I didn't know, neither did I knew the groom. In fact, I only knew five people who were there at all.
Making things even more awkward was the seating. I couldn't sit with Lyndsey because she was in the wedding. Of course. As I walked into the sanctuary, there was an usher standing there. I made eye contact with him, but he said nothing and then proceeded to take the people behind me to their seats. Apparently I looked competent. Silly usher. I decided to pick my own seat in one of the weird very narrow rows. Unfortunately, I had picked a row in which no one was being seated. I was right across the aisle from all of the bride's guests but the only person in my row was the photographer. Great. Somehow fitting since I didn't know anyone anyay.
The icing on the cake was the fact that this was a Catholic wedding. I am never sure how to respond to Catholocism because my father's entire family was Catholic until him, but we are entirely Protestant. I have a hard time handling liturgy anyway. Similarly, the brides entire family was Protestant. So there were only pockets of people who knew when to answer the priest properly.
Speaking of the priest, he was a goofy man. Somehow, I never thought a priest could be goofy. I always sort of pictured them as dull and serious. I don't know why.
Well that was the wedding. What I did not know until the ceremony was over is that it was four hours until the reception. So I went home relaxed for a while and then went to the reception. It couldn't be anymore awkward than the wedding, right?
Thank goodness it wasn't. I was actually able to stick with the people I knew. All five of them. The food was quite good, and then the dancing started. I have never been a confident dancer. Hannah insists that deep down inside, I am a dancer, but I have seen very little evidence to support this theory. Nevertheless, I was there for Lyndsey, so I was going to dance with her. Something miraculous happened then. I wasn't self-conscious at all. Maybe it was the fact that no one there knew me, or perhaps because many of them would never remember me because they were too drunk. I am not sure what it was, but I just decided to have fun, and it was a good time. I discovered that I am not an awful dancer. I am not particularly good either, but I am not awful. Lyndsey informed that I dance like a male escort. How do you respond to a comment like that?
Oh well, so ends my first adventure as a wedding date

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

On Morals


Shading


I'm looking for lines,
But all I see is gradient
I see the black
I see the white
But I can't tell where they meet.
Beneath a haze the shadows blur
Like my vision.
The line is there
But it's growing fuzzy
Black becomes grey
Grey becomes white
Seamlessly in my eyes.
Which is dark?
Which is light?
Is the line moving
Or am I?
My hands are black
Charcoal stained by blurring the lines
The masterful delicate strokes,
Spreading the black across the page
Filling the sheet
Completely with gray
Darker here
Lighter there
But all grey.
Form and contrast disappear
And the beauty is lost
What is truth?
And where does it lie?
Is it found in the white
Or revealed by the black?
Or maybe
Truth is in the line
The line I've tried so hard to hide.
But it still exists
And it must be found.
So when I walk in the grey
I'll follow the light
To turn from the dark
And maybe, somehow find a line.