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Bleeding

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  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    i don't know why i miss you right now.
    quiet night at home.
    ballgame is on.
    i have plenty to keep me busy.
    but i can't concentrate.
    i can't think.
    for some reason i am just anxious.
    restless. ill at ease.
    my hands are shaking too much to play guitar.
    that's normally what i do
    when i'm feeling this way.
    the right and left hands
    aren't talking to each other.
    because of that disconnect
    even typing has been wonky.
    i get like this sometimes.
    maybe its the rain,
    and the changing of the seasons.
    the fall always gets me down.
    the days getting shorter.
    even when i get off work early
    it is still dark when i leave.
    maybe its just because i'm alone.
    the mind tends to drift
    when you are somewhere by yourself.
    we are losing,
    but like a trainwreck i can't look away.
    maybe that is it??
    i look around the house.
    everything here is a reminder
    in one way or another.
    we used to laugh a lot.
    but now i don't even remember
    what we used to laugh about.
    i always laughed when i thought about
    when things were good.
    i could use the laugh right now.
    i remember your voice.
    i remember your accent,
    and your inflection,
    but i don't remember anything
    specific that you ever said to me.
    i took it for granted
    that i would be hearing it all the time.
    i guess i never bothered to remember
    anything you said.
    i never thought i would need to, ya know?
    i remember the way
    you used to look at me.
    it's been awhile
    since i have seen a look like that.
    or if someone has looked at me like that,
    i haven't noticed.
    i've never been good
    at picking up those cues.
    i'm better now than i was then.
    i've learned not to
    make the same mistakes.
    but it's nights like this
    that make me think;
    am i satisfied with where i am in life?
    at this point no.
    can i be?
    sure. need to make some adjustments,
    but i will get there.
    self improvement is a job.
    it is a quest to be
    the most perfect one
    that one can be.
    one way or another,
    i'll get there one day.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    ali.
    i just got the word.
    i had heard you had od'd 3 weekends ago.
    turns out you were ok.
    an hour ago i got the call from your sis.
    she said you are gone.
    you had recovered.
    but you fucking did it again...
    and now you are gone.
    forever.
    there is so much i want to say
    and so much that i can not
    even begin to process...
    i don't even know how i feel right now.
    i am fucking angry that you left us.
    i am fucking angry that you chose this road.
    but i am not going to say
    that i was ignorant enough
    to think it would never happen...
    was it an accident?
    was it your plan all along?
    i have my suspicions,
    but nobody can begin to know right now.
    i am not gonna throw stones.
    your mom would see it,
    and i am not that kind of friend.
    turns out the only thing i ever wanted
    from you is the same thing i want from everyone else.
    we grew up together.
    we shared experiences.
    we believed in each other.
    i am gonna take that belief,
    re-examine everything,
    go back to the drawing board
    and see what happens..
    god bless you,
    and i hope that you are ok, and that you did not suffer....
    love you,
    more than words can express.

    Rod
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    11/4/2013

    Ali


    ali was a friend of mine.
    i met her when we were in 3rd grade.
    we went to school together
    all the way through high school.
    we were really tight,
    at different times in our lives.
    she was one of those girls
    that everyone thought was beautiful.
    she was the coolest girl in school.
    she could have been with any
    guy that she could have wanted.
    but she was the kind that
    never knew that.
    she was very cool,
    very laid back.
    and she was drop dead beautiful.
    she was the first crush i ever had.
    she was my date to my first dance.
    my mother aside,
    she was the first girl i held hands with
    that to me was more than friends.
    she was my first kiss.
    she was the first girl
    who let me take off her bra.
    she was the first girl
    to put her hand in my pants.
    we experimented together.
    we learned about young adulthood together.
    we had a very close relationship.
    we never dated exclusively
    for any prolonged period of time in school.
    but we always cared for each other
    in a very deep way.
    but for some reason
    we never took it any further
    back then.
    part of it was me.
    i respected her too much
    to take her virginity.
    even after she asked me to.
    back then, that was a big thing.
    sex was a big thing when you are young.
    we spent the summer after graduation
    hanging out every day.
    i was closer to her than i was
    with my guy friends and team mates.
    i went away to college to play baseball.
    she stayed here in town.
    she started a band with her sister
    and some shady guys that we knew.
    they were good.
    ali was the talent.
    she had the anguished, powerful voice of janis joplin.
    but she looked like a supermodel.
    it was quite the stunning combination.

    while i was at school,
    i experimented with things without her.
    alcohol, drugs, etc.
    she experimented here too.
    it was awkward doing those things
    without ali around.
    when you try something new,
    you aren't really good at it.
    it helps to try things
    with people you are comfortable with.
    i learned that i really liked to drink.
    actually quite a lot.
    ali learned that she liked the harder stuff.
    she was into coke.
    bigtime.
    i would come home from school for the summer
    and it would be weird between her and i.
    she was much more wild than she once was,
    and she was much more wild than i was.
    i had had my fun with coke, and x, and other things.
    but she was a full blown fiend.
    every time we hung out it was
    bumps and rails.
    she was a mess with that shit.
    i hated it.
    i knew she loved to party, so i let her.

    she was a free spirit.
    i loved her and i trusted her to use discretion.
    when I was back from school
    i would go and see her band.
    by this time she was doing
    an acoustic side project with her sister.
    ali would always call me up
    on stage to play with her.
    she was a huge pearl jam fan.
    her and i would always, always
    play “footsteps”.
    if that went well we would play “black”.
    she sang it just like ed did on unplugged,
    complete with the “we, we belong
    we belong together!” bit at the end.
    i always got chills when she sang that,
    because i always felt that way about her.
    eventually, “footsteps” gave way to
    temple of the dog’s “times of trouble”.
    i can not help but dwell on the irony
    of that right now.
    we did a song about heroin addiction,
    and she became an addict.
    i mean, what the fuck?
    had she not learned the lessons
    from cobain, staley, and the countless
    of other nameless victims of smack?

    in 2003 her band broke up, and i started mine.
    i returned the favor of letting her sit in.
    we always did those same songs.
    when she bothered to show up that is.
    she always called me “fuckin’ rodney”,
    so to me she was “fuckin’ ali”.
    that was her contact name in my phone.
    whenever we got new cell numbers she would
    type the new one in my phone but change her contact
    name so I could not find it.
    she was a joker like that.
    her sense of humor was like a 14 year old boy
    trapped in the body of a woman.
    she could burp and fart with the best of them.
    i mean, that was a serious talent for her.
    body function jokes were her thing.

    i moved back home for a bit.
    ali would clean up for awhile
    and then she would relapse for awhile.
    she was always with different guys.
    something about them irked me.
    turns out that they were her dealers.
    one of them would get busted,
    or quit that life,
    and she'd move on to the next guy
    who could get her what she needed.
    we would lose touch for a year at a time
    and then she would come around
    when she needed something.
    most times it was a place to crash
    for a week or two at a time.
    we slept in the same bed.
    but it was not sexual.
    the sexual relationship had ended years before.
    i did not know where she had been since me,
    and I did not want to risk catching anything.
    most times it was just falling asleep
    in each other’s arms.
    there was comfort in that.
    both of us were lonely.
    when we slept together
    it felt like home.
    i would always think of us as kids
    and wonder how the fuck we ended up like this.
    she would be clean for awhile,
    but her bloody nose would give her away.
    we would be together for a time
    and then i would have to let her go.
    she would be on to the next thing.
    the next thrill.
    the next new sensation.
    and when she came back.
    i took care of her.
    we got her into rehab but
    she always checked out.

    she would disappear for periods
    and then she would come back.
    i had gotten a career and a house
    and was looking to lead a normal life.
    i had never married.
    partly because i was waiting for her,
    and partly because i could not be married
    and have a fucking addict showing up needing
    a place to stay for weeks at a time.
    one time, in 2008
    i said to her
    "look, this time it is me or drugs."
    she chose drugs....
    and she disappeared.

    i next saw her in 2010.
    she showed up at one of my shows.
    we talked between sets.
    we exchanged numbers again,
    and she changed her contact name again.
    same old ali.
    this time she was back in school
    and she seemed to be doing ok.
    she looked good and healthy.
    we agreed to get together sometime
    and work on some songs.
    she never called.
    i never called her either.
    by that time i had learned to let go of her
    and not to chase her.
    she would be back when she wanted to be.
    her and i talked a few times after that
    but we never met to write.
    the conversations were really superficial.
    i could tell that she was not herself.
    she would be distant,
    and she would disappear again.
    by that time i figured she could take care of herself.

    i next saw her this past june.
    we went to a cardinal game
    and ali was tending bar at this
    place in soulard.
    we went there after the game.
    i didn’t know she was working there.
    she came up behind me,
    covered my eyes with her hands
    and said “guess who, fucker!!”
    i knew the voice right away.
    i turned around and we hugged
    for a good 30 seconds or so.
    she said she liked my new, short haircut.
    that meant a lot coming from her for some reason.
    at that point I was still a bit insecure
    after cutting off the long hair I had had for years.
    she said she had cleaned up,
    and that she had had a son.
    she was living with the guy
    and they were in a band together.
    i had heard of the band,
    but I did not know that was her band.
    she asked what I was drinking.
    i said “crown and 7.”
    this drink she poured
    had to have been at least a quadruple
    with a splash of 7-up.
    she always did that shit.
    i guess she thought she was doing me
    a favor or something.
    but what kind of a favor is pouring
    someone an undrinkable drink?
    we talked for an hour or so.
    we talked about old times.
    we talked about our youth.
    and how we had known each other
    for almost 30 years.
    we talked about the marriage pact we made
    at one point in our 20s.
    we had agreed to get married if we hit 40
    and were still single.
    i was surprised she remembered that.
    even though it was only partially serious.
    she grabbed my phone
    and entered her new number.
    this time she saved her name as
    “Fucking amazing”.
    i scrolled down my contacts and as soon
    as i saw the name i knew it was her.
    she left mine as what it had been since 2010.
    “dick hertz”.
    she always thought that was funny.
    my ride was leaving
    so i had to say goodbye to ali.

    on the ride home
    we exchanged some texts.
    i am reading them now as I write this.

    Me- “it was great seeing you again.
    thanks for that awful drink, fuckface.”

    Fucking amazing- “great seeing you too.
    i thought that is how you like them?? ;)

    Me- “nah, that was awful. i really missed you
    and i am glad you are doing well and i’m
    glad that you are happy. it’s about time…”

    Fucking amazing- “i missed you too. i am happy, but i never thanked you
    for helping me out all those times. i owe you.”

    Me- “no you don’t owe me anything.
    we are friends, and i look out for my friends..”

    Fucking amazing- “i know you do. thanks for being my friend.”

    Me- “no worries. :) and thank you too.
    try not to be a stranger, and maybe call me before 2015.”

    Fucking amazing- “ditto.”




    and that was it.
    ali died.
    they think sometime last week.
    i got the call two nights ago.
    i was drunk, and i was hoping
    that it was a bad dream.
    they found her in an abandoned apartment
    with a needle in her arm.
    whoever she was with had left her there.
    for days.
    i guess the smell got bad and
    the neighbors called the police.
    i still don't know the details.
    i don’t want to know them.
    whether it was accidental,
    suicide, or murder,
    the end result is still the same.
    she is gone, and now there is a motherless
    son left behind.
    i’m still in shock.
    i am not used to
    talking about her in past tense.
    i hate heroin.
    i wonder what happened.
    she was doing so well 4 months ago.
    and what of her son?
    i should have called her.
    i have not cried.
    i think i am still angry.
    i have been curled up in a ball
    for the last 36 hours or so
    just trying to process all of this.
    every time i have a day off someone dies.
    i spent most of yesterday
    looking for pictures of her and i.
    i could not find any.
    i know I lost some good ones
    when my computer
    died in 2009.
    i know i have others.
    old ones.
    from when we were in school.
    i hate when i can’t find something
    that i am looking for.
    i just need to see
    a picture of her and i together.
    the funeral is later this week.
    i don’t want to go.
    how the fuck am i going to face
    her mom and her sister?
    what words can i possibly say to them
    to give them any sort of comfort?
    they know i cared about her
    and that i was a good friend to her.
    i treated her better than any other
    man in her life.

    there is this one picture.
    this one image of her that i took
    several years ago.
    i can’t find it, but it is so clear in my head.
    it is a pic of her on a stage
    sitting and straddling a bar stool.
    she is leaning forward and
    pulling a microphone
    on a mic stand to her mouth
    and she looks to be belting out
    a phrase with everything she had.
    and the way the light is hitting her
    it makes her look like an angel.
    well, now she is that angel.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • rollingsrollings unknownPosts: 7,113
    awww. :(

    I'm sorry
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    rollings wrote:
    awww. :(

    I'm sorry
    thank you.

    it's been a hard couple of days.

    it has helped to write that though.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    i found 4 pics of ali and i from high school. these are the only ones i could find. i can't help but think of how innocent we were back then, and how things turned out.

    this one is of her and i at a pep rally. i was a football player and she was on the dance team. we were seniors here.
    60725aa0-6781-4a97-9f94-bf9c4dcab550.jpg

    her and i the night of our junior prom.
    8e675a36-c528-483e-a27d-043b35946b0b.jpg

    another one of her and i and some friends on prom night.
    9897b47c-0698-41e5-bf98-ec5807fd9f16.jpg


    last one, from the dance that night.
    b71b72b0-7fe3-48bc-8ef8-f5525920da61.jpg

    and that's all i've got... nothing from college, nothing from post college. nothing of her and i playing music together. i should have backed all of that stuff up when i had the chance...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • PearlOfAGirlPearlOfAGirl Posts: 15,993
    I love the whole poem, because I can relate to "so" much of it, especially this part...

    i'm too sensitive for humanity.
    i'm too sensitive for people's games.
    i'm too sensitive for people's deceptions.
    i'm too sensitive for their cruelty.
    i'm too sensitive for their greed.
    i'm too sensitive for human nature.

    You're a really good writer... you relate to what a lot of people feel....

    Thank you for sharing, and keep on writing....

    Wish you were here...

    ~RIP Dad
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    I love the whole poem, because I can relate to "so" much of it, especially this part...

    i'm too sensitive for humanity.
    i'm too sensitive for people's games.
    i'm too sensitive for people's deceptions.
    i'm too sensitive for their cruelty.
    i'm too sensitive for their greed.
    i'm too sensitive for human nature.

    You're a really good writer... you relate to what a lot of people feel....

    Thank you for sharing, and keep on writing....
    thank you for your feedback, your kind words, and your encouragement. :)

    i know i am not the only one who has ever felt like that. i think it makes me feel empowered to put this stuff out there.

    it means a lot to hear from people who can relate to things i have written. it makes me feel like we have shared some common experiences, and that makes me feel more in touch with other people, and less alone. my writing is really raw. and that is how i like it. someone said that people can recognize honesty and connect with a writer who is writing sincerely. those are my favorite kinds of writers to read, and i do not know of any other way to write.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    letter to Ali, 11/6/13

    Dear Ali,

    Well it has been a few days since I got the news.
    I am still in shock.
    There is not really much to say,
    other than you really did it this time.
    Up until now we could undo or minimize,
    or just look past the trouble we got ourselves into.
    Well the trouble you got into at least,
    Because we both know
    that I’ve never done anything wrong…. ;)
    Unfortunately this time it is permanent.
    I am not going to attack you or judge you.
    I never did that while you were alive
    and I am not going to start
    now that you are dead.
    I could do that here,
    but you are not going to read this
    and you will not hear me say these words.
    I think you know me well enough to
    already know what I am thinking.
    You always had that ability to read me.
    So what is the point?
    I think this letter is just for me.
    Just a way for me to make sense of things.

    Your funeral is tomorrow.
    I still don’t know how I am going to
    summon the strength to go.
    I would be lying if I told you
    that your death is just going to be
    a blip on the timeline of events of my life.
    Your death is one of the biggest things
    that has ever happened in my life.
    This is an utterly earthshattering event.
    I am just so devastated that I don’t know what to do.
    You know me, I am never at a loss for words.
    But I am speechless right now.
    Who knew that you would be the one to finally shut me up?
    Who knew that the road
    and our friendship would end like this?
    Who knew that it would be us burying you
    so young instead of the other way around?
    I imagined myself being an old man the first time
    I spent this much time thinking about the life we shared together.
    But now today, at 38, I am doing that.
    We both are too young for this…


    I am looking back at the 30 years that we knew each other.
    I still remember the first time I ever saw you.
    You got on the bus and people
    would not let you sit down because
    you were the new kid.
    You sat down by me.
    You must have noticed the awesome
    bowl haircut I was rocking back then...
    But now we know it was my wicked star wars lunchbox
    that got your attention…
    Who knew that you and I would experience
    so much together?
    Man, we had some good times.
    You were my “first” for a lot of things.
    Just like I was yours.
    We learned about life together.
    We learned how to be kids.
    We learned how to be teenagers,
    and we learned how to be adults.
    Like partners in crime,
    anything one of us wanted to do
    the other went along with it.
    Sneaking out of the house
    and going night skinnydipping
    at the pool?
    Check
    Drinking tequila and smoking
    cigs at Eric’s mom’s house?
    Check.
    Going to see New Kids at Six Flags
    because someone thought they were cute?
    Check.
    Me teaching you how to drive a stickshift
    in my dad’s prized Mustang?
    Check.
    Man, I got grounded for that one.
    But it was so totally worth it.
    You talking me into playing guitar on stage
    for the first time and me having the anxiety attack?
    Check.
    You talking me into having sex the first time?
    Yeah that one was awkward…
    I gotta admit, I was sooo scared…but I did my best…
    Years later we would laugh about that one. A LOT.

    The great thing about you was
    that I could be completely 100% me around you
    and you never judged me for it.
    You never held anything over my head
    or used anything against me.
    You don’t find people like that very often.
    You were my rock when Bruno
    killed himself when we were twelve.
    You encouraged me in a lot of ways.
    Hell, if not for you,
    I would have never formed my band.
    It was playing songs with you
    that gave me that rush and that drive
    to start something of my own
    instead of leaching off of your successes.
    Remember that time when that guy was all over you
    and I tried to start a fight with him?
    You talked me out of it.
    Good thing too, because I had never been
    in a fight in my life at that time.
    But I would have done it for you.

    We also had some conflict and some bad times.
    As we got older you did some things that really pissed me off.
    I could rant about the drugs and shit,
    that ended up taking your life, but I won’t.
    I dabbled a bit, but I didn’t like it.
    I think I did it mostly because you wanted me to.
    I think what pissed me off the most
    was your disappearing act.
    You always came back
    because you knew I would let you, and you knew
    I would help you if I could.
    That time in 2008,
    when I said “This time it’s me or drugs…”
    and you chose FUCKING DRUGS????
    REALLY??
    That was the worst.
    It might have been selfish of me to give you an ultimatum,
    but at the time I saw that as the only option.
    You had already failed rehab.
    That was before I understood the nature of addiction.
    Most addicts never ever truly recover, and you didn’t.
    I just want you to know that if I ever said
    or did anything to hurt you
    or make you mad, it was nothing personal.
    It was just me looking out for you
    Because I cared about you.

    I am so very thankful that I saw you
    that final time a few months ago.
    We were so close to not going to that bar.
    I am glad that we did now.
    You and I smoothed over any of our issues
    and we made peace with each other.
    Had you died and had we not seen each other then,
    I don’t know how I would be feeling right now.
    You were clean and sober then,
    You were in love, and you were making music again.
    You had finished your degree
    And were looking for a career.
    You should know how proud I was of you
    when you told me about your son…
    Things were on the upswing for you
    and I could not have been happier for you.
    I still smile when I think about the “marriage pact” we had.
    I can’t believe you actually remembered that from our mid 20's.
    To think, you would have had to marry me when you turned 40??
    I suppose worse things have happened…
    Like the fact that you will never see 40 now…
    I am the kind of guy who has to get closure.
    We did not know that that would be the last time
    we would ever talk.
    But some of the things we said put me at ease
    and it is so good for me to know
    that you and I were “all good” again.
    There are a lot of people I need to reach out to,
    but for various reasons I can’t bring myself to do so.
    They most likely don’t want to hear from me anyway,
    But I am so glad that you did…

    I guess what I wanted to say to you tonight, Ali,
    is very simple.
    I am really going to miss you.
    Hell, I totally miss you already.
    I am going to miss our inside jokes.
    I am going to miss your voice and your dirty, whorish, mouth.
    I am going to miss the way you bounced when you walked.
    The annoying way you put a capo on upside down.
    The way you would burp into a microphone between songs.
    I am going to miss the texts from made up names
    like Alotta Fagina and Haywood Jablowme…
    Most of all,
    I am going to miss you just being there.
    Just you being you.
    You and I hanging out alone, by ourselves.
    Watching the three stooges and laughing
    like we had never seen them before.
    I’ll miss the quiet times.
    The times where we would just talk,
    Or sometimes say nothing at all.
    You knew me better than anybody else.
    I knew you too.
    The real you. Not the stage you,
    But the person you rarely showed to other people.
    I feel very lucky to have known that person.
    I watched that timid little 3rd grader on the bus
    Become one of the greatest people I have ever known.
    Sure we lost touch for a year at a time, but I still saw you grow.
    I always cared and I will always care about you.
    I had a bunch of pics of us but I lost them all.
    I didn’t back them up and my hard drive crashed.
    That is a lesson learned the hard way, I think.
    I have pictures in my head of you,
    at all ages and phases of our lives.
    I hope my memory never fails me,
    because then I will have lost it all...
    We did a lot of things in our lives together,
    and it all ended much sooner than I wanted it to..
    But after all this time I can not think of a single soul
    I would have rather had those experiences with.
    So Ali, thank you for that.

    Maybe one day we will see each other again.
    Maybe one day we will get to rage
    and raise a little hell in the afterlife.
    Until that day, may you rest in peace, Angel.
    I love you.

    God bless you, my beautiful, amazing friend.

    Fuckin’ Rodney
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    yesterday was your funeral.
    one of the saddest
    and most difficult experiences
    of my entire life.
    i barely got through it,
    but i did.
    i am stronger than i thought i was.
    i am finding that out,
    the longer that i live.

    i have decided
    that i am going to live enough
    for the both of us.
    that starts today.
    no more wallowing,
    no more complaining,
    no more wasting
    of the time that i have.
    time is a luxury
    that you didn't have.
    seems i have it
    in abundance.
    i promise you today
    that i am not going to waste it.
    not another wasted minute.
    not another minute
    taken for granted.
    not any longer.

    chapters end
    and chapters begin.
    today i begin
    the next chapter.
    the chapter where
    you are not my friend,
    but a cherished memory.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    at the thirteen beer mark,
    the world is a wonderful place.
    life is good.
    there is something about that quantity.
    there is something about the brewer's dozen.
    7 or 8 beers is not enough.
    not enough to forget
    all of the shit that bothers you or
    all of the wrongs in this world.
    eighteen beers is too much.
    it is impossible to have a coherent thought
    or discussion
    when you drink that much in a night.
    it fills you up.
    it makes you want to burst.
    when i drink that much,
    i feel the most basic of human emotions.
    i feel anger. i feel fright.
    i feel the need to fight.
    if there is no fight to be had,
    it makes me want to pick one.
    i ignore what, if anything,
    made me pour that much down my throat
    in the first place...
    some argue that that might be
    a good thing.
    drink until you can't think or feel...
    drink until you can't remember...
    drink until your face
    and your heard are numbed...
    deadened.
    oblivious to pain,
    or anything at all.
    drink until you have justification
    to do the things you always wanted to do.
    drink until you cheat.
    until you have a reason to cheat.
    until you have that thing
    to justify fucking someone else...
    i don't agree with that.
    i want to drink,
    but at the same time,
    i want to think and feel.
    some drink to forget.
    some drink to remember.
    some drink to feel nothing.
    to turn off the brain.
    to turn off the heart.
    to flip off the switch that makes us human.
    i can't do that.
    i can't ignore people.
    i can't ignore situations.
    i can't ignore pain.
    i can't drink to forget.
    i drink to remember,
    to remember the mistakes i have made.
    so that i do not make them again.
    if i do not learn from that,
    then what is the point of living?
    we are in a constant state of evolving.
    there are lessons every day.
    it is my job to learn those lessons.
    sometimes it hurts to learn them.
    but at the same time,
    to ignore them,
    is to beat yourself...
    ignoring the lesson,
    makes you ignore the real issue.
    the truth is hard.
    it is bitter.
    it hurts.
    but it is that lesson,
    that truth,
    that once you hear it,
    absorb it,
    it makes you process it,
    learn from it,
    and grow from it.
    twenty beers is great.
    but it is self defeating.
    what do ya want to do?
    float along, adrift in the buzz,
    or do you want to get something
    from this wonderful world??
    after thirteen beers i enjoy this world.
    i love life.
    but any less than that,
    and there are so many issues
    i have with life in general.
    any more than that,
    and the same issues are magnified,
    but they are less clear.
    more muddy,
    less cut and dried.
    moderation may be the key.
    but i live in the extremes.
    there are no brakes,
    no throttle control.
    i am at 0 percent,
    or i am at 100 percent.
    there is no medium.
    i am sober,
    or hammered.
    the wonderful part,
    is the few times
    where i am in the pocket.
    where i am in the moment.
    walking that tightrope
    between sobriety
    and being fucked up.
    if i had a choice to err,
    i would err on the side of
    relative control
    and relative sobriety..
    given the right combination,
    the world is a such a wonderful place...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    well this is not a poem or story or anything. it is a letter that i have written to friends and fans of our band. thought i would share it here, in case anybody wanted to read it that does not know about my band's website...

    11/11/13

    Dear friends,

    Hello!! We hope that you are doing well and adapting well to the time change. I'm not used to these short days yet.... It’s been awhile since I have sat down to update everyone on the band. I have a lot to cover, so pull up a chair, pour yourself a drink, maybe put your feet up, and make yourself comfortable.

    We have been busy preparing ourselves for what is going to probably be the most important show of our career. On Saturday November 30, we will be celebrating our tenth anniversary of being a gigging band. We are playing at Mile 277, and the show starts at 9:00. At the moment, we are going through our past catalog and picking songs from the past ten years to re-learn and play on that night. We are also learning some new songs to debut that night as well. When picking old songs to bring back, there is a lot to consider. Some of the songs have special meaning to the guys in the band. Some of them are songs that we like that are sort of obscure that you don’t hear bands play that often. And some have sentimental value to us. We are re-learning the first song that we ever played together in my basement way back in 2002.

    Wow. Ten years. Who would have thought that when we started getting together in my basement in 2002 that we would be a gigging band for ten years? Certainly not me. Given the number of bands that get together, practice for a few months and flame out before they ever get ten gigs, I did not think we would be doing this for as long as we have. It has taken a lot of hard work, dedication, and a little bit of luck to get to this point.

    Ten years is a long time, and a lot has changed since then. Ten years ago, a gallon of gas cost $1.89. Ten years ago the Concorde was retired. Ten years ago the Green River Killer was brought to justice. Ten years ago Kobe Bryant was arrested on sexual abuse charges, as was Michael Jackson. Ten years ago, we went to war in Iraq. A lot has happened in the subsequent ten years. Also, ten years ago, a little band called Glorious Blue was playing its very first show at Jordan Creek in Springfield, MO. It was the first of what would become a few hundred shows. We have had a lot of great shows, even more great times, and we have met so many great people along the way.

    We have gotten to play the biggest and best rooms in St. Louis. We have played most of the casinos, we have played Jerry Springer’s Birthday Party, we have played numerous outdoor festivals, we have played Busch Stadium twice, and we have even played in the Edward Jones Dome. We have played New Year’s Eve six times. We played a show the night the Cardinals clinched the World Series in 2011. We have had people meet at our shows, hook up, get engaged, and we have played their weddings. I never thought we would have gotten to do any of that stuff. We have played a few corporate gigs here and there as well.

    Perhaps the thing that we are the most proud of, is what we have been able to do as a band for charity. Over the years we have donated our time and our talents to raise money for some important charities. I think that collectively, the five of us have been able to accomplish more than any of us could have done as individuals. We have played several shows to help raise money for the Mark Munsell Memorial Foundation. We have played Earth Hour. We have played the St. Baldrick’s Fundraisers on a few occasions, which raised money for childhood cancer research. But I think what we are probably most proud of, was organizing and playing a benefit for Hurricane Katrina Relief. In August, 2005, we teamed up with Helen Fitzgerald’s and 105.7 The Point and we played at Helen’s that night, which was the Saturday following the storm. The Point promoted that show and interviewed a couple of us live on the air. We donated the money we made, which back then was a substantial amount, and Helen’s donated some money from the door and some from their sales, and we passed around collection buckets and people dropped whatever they could into those buckets. All told, by the end of the night we had raised over $5000, which we took straight to the American Red Cross to benefit those hit by Hurricane Katrina. In the scheme of things, that is not a large amount of money, but for the five of us, it made us feel like we were able to help out in some small way. We were able to give back, and that is what it is all about.

    Being in a band for ten years is a lot like maintaining a marriage with four other people. We are all different. We all like different things. We are all at different points in our lives. We all have different priorities now. We all like different kinds of music, but we all view the band the same. We have learned that it is not about what the individual wants. It is all about what is best for the band. I know personally I have learned that it is all about “giving it up”. It is not about being selfish, because the band is more than one guy. It is five guys with common goals and a common vision. That is the key to making a band last. Also the important things like mutual love and respect for one another goes a long way as well, but at the end of the day it is the common goal and common vision and doing what it takes to accomplish those things. I think what has set our band apart from the rest is that we have never been afraid to take risks. We have never shied away from playing a song because it might not go over well. We used to play a lot of songs that were not popular. We have always trusted the audience to have the ability to know a good song, even if they had never heard it before. And our audience has always been able to do that. We did not always pick the low hanging fruit and play a crappy song just because we knew it would go over. That would have been too easy. And part of being in a band is taking that challenge of getting everyone in the audience to have as much fun as we were up on that stage. Sometimes it didn’t work out like that, but the majority of the time it did. I mean, really. Ten years ago did anybody think we would be playing not one song, but three songs that feature a ukulele? We didn’t… But thanks for the support and for going along with us on that one…We are booking into 2014 already, and we are going to keep playing as long as it is fun for us, and as long as all of you people show up to see a show.

    There are so many people who have helped us out along the way the last ten years. I am going to thank many of them now, and I apologize in advance if I have forgotten anybody. First off, we want to thank Paul Farwig for giving us our big break back in 2003. He is the guy who “discovered” us and got us our first run of shows. We would like to thank Laura Kochan and the staff at LaDeDa Entertainment for booking us for a few years. We would also like to thank Dave Kalz at American Bands, and his staff for being our current booking agent and for all of the patience, firefighting, and all of the help and guidance the last few years. It has been a great ride.

    We want to thank the ownership and management and staff at the following establishments for letting us play their venues and for taking such good care of us: Syberg’s Westport, Mile 277, Helen Fitzgerald’s. Kirkwood Station Brewing Company, Sky Music Lounge, Trainwreck Westport, Beale St. Pub, The Phoenix, the organizers of Centennial Days in Crystal City, the organizers of Arnold Days, the organizers of St. Baldrick’s, the organizers of Earth Hour, and the Mark Munsell Memorial Foundation.

    You can’t have a band without all of the people that make you sound good and look cool. These are the sound engineers and the lighting people. We would like to thank Jake Tucker, Brian Shabozz, Jerry Boschert, Colin and their staff, and any other sound/production people that have worked with us over the years. Thanks for taking care of us and making us sound better than we probably are…

    When you are in a band that has been around for awhile it is inevitable that you will meet and become friendly with some guys in other bands in the scene. We want to give a shout out to our friends Mark, Jerry, John, and Kevin from Joe Dirt, and also to Kevin and Dr. Nick and the rest of the guys in Johnny Rockitt, and also to Ray, Sal, Sean, and Lodell from Extremely Pointless. These bands have been around a little while longer than we have and over the years we have shared bills with all of these guys. Some of them acted as kind of like a big brothers to us, and we are thankful for that. We are honored to be their peers, but we are even more honored to be their friends.

    We want to thank Vance Stewart at Webants Design for maintaining our website for so many years, before Bill took over. Also thanks to Mark Mitchell for all of the early work on our numerous websites and for all of the promotional work he did for us over the early years.

    Thanks also to Dave Hinson, Mark, Matt, and Jimmy at Killer Vintage for selling us all of the gear that we have no business owning and for helping us out by repairing the guitars that we break. Also thanks to Obeid for fixing the amps that we have blown up over the years.

    We want to give an extra special thanks to all of our families, wives, girlfriends, friends, and fans for all of their support over the years. Without them, this thing would have probably fizzled out a long time ago. Without your support early on, and your attendance at all of those early shows, we would have never had some of the big doors open to us. Where we are now is a direct result of your support, and not to mention, your voracious appetite for booze. I think based on liquor sales alone we were given that initial run of 20 shows, so we thank your livers for that.

    Lastly, we want to thank Shawn Snelson, our founding bass player for all of his contributions and his hard work and dedication and for everything he did for us. We also want to thank Bill Wilke for stepping in and taking over for Shawn two years ago. He has been a breath of fresh air and his ideas and attitude and drive have been essential in helping us continue on and keep this train rolling, hopefully for years to come.

    So as you can see, we have a lot to be thankful for this year. We have done a lot, but we owe so many people for our success. Ten years. It has gone by as fast as ten months. It has been a crazy ride. Good times, bad times, uncertain times. We have experienced it all. And as a group we have gotten through it all. Personally, I want to thank the rest of the guys, Andy, Ray, Bill, and Jud, for their friendship and their support and their patience in dealing with my quirks and for standing by me after mistakes that I have made. You all are really my brothers from other mothers, and there is nobody that I would rather be making music with. You guys are awesome.

    Well that is all for now. Please join us at Mile 277 on November 30 for our tenth anniversary show. It is going to be a blast. It is a party that has been ten years in the making. Come out and help us celebrate this milestone. Hope to see all of you there.

    On behalf of Bill, Andy, Ray, and Jud,

    Cheers!!!


    Rod


    here is a pic of me playing at Springer's birthday party in November 2006. It was 35 degrees outside and we froze our asses off. i was over 40 lbs heavier at that time and was a big fatass. I like this pic because you can see the arch in the background... good times...

    1458666_10152384562832627_709331917_n.jpg
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    RIAA music sales certifications/awards


    Album Awarded/ # of units sold/shifted

    Diamond- 10 million

    Platinum- 1 million

    Gold- 500,000

    Silver- 100,000

    Tupperware- 1000

    Aluminum Foil- 500

    Yarn- 100

    Paper Mache- 25



    i have high hopes for this new record i am working on.
    this is my best work to date.
    maybe when this one is done i can brag a bit and say "my last 3 records have gone Yarn. with this one i am going big and hoping for Foil.."

    i can see it now.... "from multi-Yarn selling artist comes the new record..."

    man, i've got a ways to go...

    :|
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    11/14/13


    played guitar for hours last night.
    tried to write something,
    anything.
    but i had nothing to say.
    i had a line here and there,
    but nothing that went together.
    i had the words
    floating aimlessly,
    randomly,
    in my head,
    but i could not bring them out.
    no matter what i tried,
    it didn't work.
    i wrote a good melody,
    but was out of sync
    with the metronome.
    i had a theme,
    sort of...
    i could not find a line,
    i could not find the time,
    couldn't find the rhyme.
    the metronome
    keeps the time.
    it is always right.
    it is constant,
    consistent.
    like a resting heartbeat.
    click,
    click,
    click,
    lub dub,
    lub dub,
    lub dub...
    constant,
    like the ticking of a clock.
    tick
    tick
    tick.
    you play on beat,
    you have a rock song.
    you play the off beat,
    you have reggae.
    you play in between,
    you have a clusterfuck.
    writer's block.
    sometimes you've got nothing.
    its like you wait all night,
    to get hit with that bolt
    of inspiration,
    and nothing happens...
    last night was one of those nights.
    tonight is a new night.
    a new chance,
    to say something.
    a new chance,
    to create something
    from nothing.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • justamjustam Posts: 21,333
    11/14/13


    played guitar for hours last night.
    tried to write something,
    anything.
    but i had nothing to say.
    i had a line here and there,
    but nothing that went together.
    i had the words
    floating aimlessly,
    randomly,
    in my head,
    but i could not bring them out.
    no matter what i tried,
    it didn't work.
    i wrote a good melody,
    but was out of sync
    with the metronome.
    i had a theme,
    sort of...
    i could not find a line,
    i could not find the time,
    couldn't find the rhyme.
    the metronome
    keeps the time.
    it is always right.
    it is constant,
    consistent.
    like a resting heartbeat.
    click,
    click,
    click,
    lub dub,
    lub dub,
    lub dub...
    constant,
    like the ticking of a clock.
    tick
    tick
    tick.
    you play on beat,
    you have a rock song.
    you play the off beat,
    you have reggae.
    you play in between,
    you have a clusterfuck.
    writer's block.
    sometimes you've got nothing.
    its like you wait all night,
    to get hit with that bolt
    of inspiration,
    and nothing happens...
    last night was one of those nights.
    tonight is a new night.
    a new chance,
    to say something.
    a new chance,
    to create something
    from nothing.

    I like this one.
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    justam wrote:
    11/14/13


    played guitar for hours last night.
    tried to write something,
    anything.
    but i had nothing to say.
    i had a line here and there,
    but nothing that went together.
    i had the words
    floating aimlessly,
    randomly,
    in my head,
    but i could not bring them out.
    no matter what i tried,
    it didn't work.
    i wrote a good melody,
    but was out of sync
    with the metronome.
    i had a theme,
    sort of...
    i could not find a line,
    i could not find the time,
    couldn't find the rhyme.
    the metronome
    keeps the time.
    it is always right.
    it is constant,
    consistent.
    like a resting heartbeat.
    click,
    click,
    click,
    lub dub,
    lub dub,
    lub dub...
    constant,
    like the ticking of a clock.
    tick
    tick
    tick.
    you play on beat,
    you have a rock song.
    you play the off beat,
    you have reggae.
    you play in between,
    you have a clusterfuck.
    writer's block.
    sometimes you've got nothing.
    its like you wait all night,
    to get hit with that bolt
    of inspiration,
    and nothing happens...
    last night was one of those nights.
    tonight is a new night.
    a new chance,
    to say something.
    a new chance,
    to create something
    from nothing.

    I like this one.
    thank you!!
    :D
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • justamjustam Posts: 21,333
    You're very welcome! :)
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    justam wrote:
    You're very welcome! :)
    :D
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    he sees a light.
    it is at the end
    of that tunnel he has been living in
    for months.
    he was living
    with blinders on.
    focused on the
    straight ahead,
    but nothing seen
    or getting in
    from the periphery.
    he was alive in the present,
    but unaware of
    what was happening
    in his vicinity.
    for years
    he has thought
    that this light
    was from another train
    on the same track
    headed straight for him.
    the light scared him.
    he has been waiting
    for the collision
    he once thought inevitable
    but has yet to come.
    now he sees
    that it is the light
    that leads him
    to where he needs to be.
    he is excited.
    his penance nearly over.
    he imagines the day
    where he can emerge from
    the blackness of the tunnel.
    when he finally exits,
    he sees himself
    as a sprinter
    leaning forward to
    rip through the ribbon
    at the finish line.
    arms raised like andy dufresne,
    he will finally be free.
    free from a painful past,
    and an uneventful present.
    he looks to the light,
    like that which is emitted
    from a guiding star.
    into the light,
    he heads now.
    anxious, but in a good way,
    he picks up his pace.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    i have no motivation.
    none.
    so many things i need to do tonight.
    it's already after 11.
    i started packing
    but didn't finish.
    i did laundry.
    it is still sitting
    unfolded in the basket.
    i checked in for my flight,
    but have not printed the
    boarding pass.
    i filled the sink to wash dishes.
    the water is now cold,
    dishes are still in the sink.
    the soap is dissolved.
    i started reading a book.
    i got 20 pages in
    and set it down.
    i started to reply
    to some PMs.
    I didn't finish them...
    i made some calls,
    but did not finish the conversations.
    i still have not arranged
    a ride to the airport.

    "what the fuck, man??
    get it together!!
    you are gonna have
    the time of your life!!"

    maybe that is what
    i am afraid of....
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 29,003
    yeah dude get it together. :P :lol:
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    yeah dude get it together. :P :lol:
    oh i rallied, and had an amazing time. one of the best trips of my life. got some decent writing in as well, so that was cool too.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    11/24/2013

    this week i have learned that writing is a lot like trying to wrestle a snake while trying to sail on a lake with no wind.

    sometimes you get where you want to go. most times you end up tied up, held down, and swallowed down whole.

    how do i get there?
    how do i get from here
    to where i want to go?
    where is this stream of thought
    taking me?
    what is the plan?
    what is the desired result?
    what is the final destination?
    i never, ever, know.
    but if i get there,
    i know that i am there.
    go figure.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    observations of an airline passenger....

    11/24/2013


    i always hate,
    waiting at the gate.
    seats full all around you.
    people with their books,
    small bags,
    electronic tablets,
    cell phones, etc.
    everyone will be going
    to the same place for a short time.
    then we disperse
    and go on to our
    final destinations,
    whatever they may be
    this time around.
    this time,
    i am flying back to missouri.
    or misery, as i like to refer to it.

    i like to look at people
    and try to figure out their story.
    where are they going?
    what led them to this place,
    this airport, this flight,
    at this particular time?
    are they traveling for work?
    for fun?
    or for some other form
    of personal business?

    i hate when adjoining gates
    share the same small
    number of chairs.
    there are never enough seats,
    until one of the two planes
    begins to board.
    people are sitting on the floor,
    backs up against the wall.
    i can tell they are pissed.
    they were late to the gate.
    i've been there, done that.
    i've gotten the sciatica to prove it.
    people are making small talk
    with one another.
    i try not to eavesdrop.
    sometimes people
    annoy me with their talking.
    asking me questions
    about me,
    my life,
    my nonexistent family...
    as if they give a fuck or something.
    why do we always do that?
    most times i just listen to them,
    and wait for them to stop talking.
    i enjoy silence sometimes.
    the older i get, i realize
    that silence is in short supply.
    a commodity that is hard to come by,
    and hard to maintain.
    it evaporates quickly.
    now i know how my parents felt
    when we were kids.
    they never got the silence they wanted.

    i see a young mom
    holding a baby.
    she was a late arrival.
    she is standing against a wall,
    no place to sit.
    i offer her my chair.
    she declined, saying
    "no thank you, i will just stand."
    she was frustrated by the situation.
    i don't blame her.
    i stood up and insisted.
    she finally said yes.
    what the fuck, man??
    you offer to help someone
    and they turn it down.
    was she trying to be polite?
    was she being disingenuous?
    did she really want to stand there
    and hold that large baby?
    did she think i expected
    something from her in return?
    can a guy not just be
    chivalrous these days?

    I'm standing now.
    holding my carry on bag
    and notebook.
    we board soon,
    i can make it.
    the other plane begins to board.
    more seats available now.
    see, it works out.
    i am flying alone.
    it's just me.
    i remember a time when
    friends and family could
    meet you at your gate
    when you arrived.
    it's been at least
    a decade since those days.
    it was always nice to have
    someone there to meet you
    when you got there, back to them.
    i imagine it is a lot like
    seeing your wife or girlfriend
    when you get home
    from a long day at the office.

    tonight my plane is full.
    the boarding process
    is always a clusterfuck.
    i see people struggling
    to stow their bags
    into overhead bins
    that are nowhere close to their seats.
    i got the aisle seat again.
    damn it.
    at least i am on the right side of the aisle
    so people do not bump my
    right elbow as i am trying to write.

    the guy next to me,
    in a southern drawl
    introduces himself to me
    as "billy, from birmingham".
    we exchange pleasantries.
    he is flying to DC.
    he was visiting phoenix
    and his flight to DC
    connects in st louis.
    he said he is going there
    on a mission
    "to protest that coon in our white house..."
    he said that with such pride and conviction.
    i was aghast.
    all i kept thinking was
    "way to uphold that stereotype
    of the south, there billy boy..."
    i remember wondering
    under my breath, partly aloud,
    "they still MAKE people like you???"

    there were a thousand things
    i wanted to say to this guy.
    instead,
    i wished him luck at his protest thing.
    rather than trying to have a rational debate
    with this irrational person,
    i excused myself.
    i went to the restroom,
    returned to my seat
    and sat back down.
    he wanted to continue the conversation.
    i simply
    plugged my ear buds into my phone
    and pretended to fall asleep.
    the racist and i
    sat there in perfect silence,
    as we were both
    carried off into the moonlight.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 29,003
    i remember a time when
    friends and family could
    meet you at your gate
    when you arrived.


    here we can still do that. :)
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    i remember a time when
    friends and family could
    meet you at your gate
    when you arrived.


    here we can still do that. :)
    there you still get to do a lot of things...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    its been months since the final argument.
    the final time they spoke.
    the time where everything fell apart.
    in the blink of an eye.
    she is doing ok.
    as good as can be expected,
    she figures.
    she has learned a hard lesson.
    she's gained perspective.
    she sees things more clearly.
    in hindsight,
    she recognizes her mistakes.
    she knows she loved him,
    but what he had for her was not the same.
    but still,
    to this day,
    she waits.
    she waits for a sign.
    some sort of information
    as to how he is doing.
    he is a strong guy,
    she knows he is probably ok, too.
    he always seems to land on his feet
    instead of falling on his face.
    she always loved that about him.
    he had a charmed life,
    and she loved how he always seemed to
    run between the hailstones.
    but at the same time,
    it ate at her.
    how can one person
    take so many needless risks,
    and fuck up
    so many times,
    and never face any
    sort of consequence?
    he is probably ok,
    but she knows he has problems.
    she knows him better than he thinks.
    the times he was out with other women,
    she knows about that.
    the times he wasn't where he said he was,
    she knows about that too.
    the times he came home late from work,
    she knows the reason was a lie.
    she is smarter than he ever
    gave her credit for.
    if he calls her,
    she knows she will answer.
    if he writes her,
    she knows she will reply.
    if he knocks on the door,
    she knows she will let him in.
    these are things that are
    against her better judgement,
    but she cares.
    she cares about him.
    she cares about him the way
    a mother cares for a wayward son.
    the person may be gone,
    but the feeling remains.
    the affection remains.
    the concern remains.
    it all remains.
    permanently etched into her broken soul,
    like a footprint trodden into wet concrete.
    even though he has hurt her,
    she can never turn her back on him.
    because she cares.
    she cares....
    she is reminded of the dream.
    the one where they climbed a mountain.
    the time where she reached the summit
    ahead of him.
    she was tied and secured to him
    while he climbed the final yards.
    his foot slipped.
    he falls.
    she is holding the rope
    with her hands.
    he is hanging there.
    her grip is slipping.
    she holds the rope
    to keep him secure.
    it is against her better judgement.
    this is her chance to get even
    for all of the hurt,
    all of the lies,
    and all of the bullshit
    that goes along with being
    in a bad relationship.
    his life is in her hands.
    but she can't let go.
    she squeezes tighter with her hands.
    the friction increases
    and the rope is burning her hands.
    she holds the rope.
    her grip is weakening,
    but she holds the rope.
    she is able to belay the fall.
    yet knowing he is out of danger,
    she still holds the rope.
    she will always hold the rope.
    he is secure now.
    he never ever thanked her
    for holding that rope.
    she wakes up,
    she is still alone in her bed.
    in her dream,
    in her mind,
    in her heart,
    with all she has,
    she will always
    hold the rope.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    first major holiday
    without you here.
    i remember spending
    thanksgiving at your mom's house
    when we were kids.
    seems funny now
    knowing that is never
    going to happen again.
    i listened to one of your songs
    earlier today.
    sounded like you were
    in the same room as me.
    i miss you.
    but i am oddly
    at peace with your passing.
    i didn't think i would
    be able to accept it
    in such a short time.
    i am so very thankful
    that we got to make amends
    before you had to go.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    sometimes
    you have to let go
    of everything
    and everyone
    that you hold dear.
    for no other reason
    than just to prove
    to yourself
    that you can do it.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,818
    tired of wasting time
    doing the wrong things
    with the wrong people.
    from now on,
    if anybody wants
    my time or
    my attention or
    my affection
    they had better be
    off-the-charts
    exceptional.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
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