| another profound philosophical conclusion |
[Dec. 12th, 2006|12:07 am] |
Another profound philosophical conclusion hovered outside the new consciousness of the crime, but it was overridden and dissolved by its own condemnation.
Blackness, complete...
evaporating.
Forgiveness is a human
desire. |
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| i said dyin |
[Dec. 11th, 2006|11:56 pm] |
you asked me 'are ou gonna hold me when i'm dyin?'
and i held you tighter
i said i would hold you when your dyin'
and i held you tight
are you gonna hold me when i'm dyin?
i said dyin' |
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| who dat bitches |
[Dec. 11th, 2006|10:26 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | it's a grind | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  horny | ] |
| [ | music |
| | frank sin | ] |
fuck that shit bitch
eat a motherfuckin dick
chew on a prick
and lick a million motherfuckin cocks per second |
|
|
| sade and loneliesque |
[Jul. 19th, 2006|09:07 am] |
sade and lonelyesque
guess i'll play guitar if it's too hard
to read parts of last nite's leewards
if it takes a new or a few cards
can't blame the dealer for their inward
sarcasm
marks as a
martyr in
flames thrash it
turn around now if you never plan to look back
as it takes more than one, so i lack
hesitate and it passes you by
cavalcade-paced superstardust
wait
have this
pain
to bear in
sane carriage
some cry for help reaches my ears in hell
come sigh from well-meaning disssention
more lies slowly digested
this life is unrelented
sane another hour
blame a muzzled power
waste the newly sickened
fade and truly listen
(for the winds in the tunnels of the minds of your gods) |
|
|
| spin |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|01:41 am] |
was it the long ride that killed you?
or was it the end?
how'd you leave so soon?
why did you bend?
suffered your own time
lost you again |
|
|
| still go down like that? |
[Mar. 27th, 2006|08:50 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  crazy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | 311 | ] |
move with persistence, cover much distance
yes ,dogs, the alpha of rhythme has arrived, with grassroots for ya' mama! |
|
|
| madd |
[Feb. 21st, 2006|02:41 am] |
my bitches
rock mad maryjane
and smoke
balenciaga
........
........
.......need i say more? |
|
|
| alright folks |
[Sep. 21st, 2005|07:58 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  accomplished | ] |
| [ | music |
| | hey! just found my headphones | ] |
here it is..............
J. Tyler Sandell
9/12/05 (i gave it my sis's birthday so maybe it can be a late present, heehee)
Down the Stairs
(a character study)
When they finally made it home from the hospital, the neighbor was outside with five or six of the local street punks. Jamie groaned as Randy eased the Toyota into the gravel. He nodded politely at them, but they stared hostilely down at the car, as if it were offensive. Randy didn’t recognize any of them specifically, but he had seen them often enough on his way to work and class and home.
“I don’t want to deal with these people right now,” Jamie said, her lips taut.
“I know,” replied Randy. His window was down, so he could smell charcoal burning and see the smoke wrapping around the corner of their cinder block building. He loathed the thought of getting drawn into their midst, but he was never less than polite. He opened his door and pulled himself out, but Jamie sat for a minute, making sure she had a clear path to the door. The urchins shuffled over and regrouped in the shade of the cypress at the corner.
The stairwell door was half-open, and Randy muttered, “Hi.” He leaned into the back seat to grab the bags, trying discreetly to catch snips of their disjointed conversation. He couldn’t make sense of any of it. What are they on now? he thought, but he nodded again and smiled and followed Jamie into the stairs. The neighbor rounded the corner just then and tailed them into the stairwell.
-1-
Randy stopped and pretended to fumble with the bags he was holding so Jamie could make it inside without enduring the harassment. They could seldom come or go without having to maneuver past the neighbors, who loitered out front at all hours. “Hey, man, can I get a smoke? Could you spare me a few? Got a beer? No? Well what about a couple dollars...just ‘til tomorrow?” They’d run down the whole list, every single time. Randy always made an effort to be polite, though. He didn’t really know why. His first guess was that it was just in his nature. Either that or it was a kind of game— to stand up straighter and exhibit a higher standard of conduct. If that were the case, though, did he do it to show them how or was it just easier around them? He stopped there, realizing that he didn’t want to care. He’d been getting better at that lately, stopping himself before he over-analyzed the satisfaction out of whatever he was doing.
The neighbor swung into the low, dingy stairwell, ducking his head with his eyes rolled up to focus on Randy. His features seemed exaggerated to Randy, like his face was drawn and stretched over a skull and ears that were too big and eye sockets that were too deep. All of it sagged and drooped, and Randy thought this might be because it had been stretched out for so long. He wanted Randy to come hang out and eat barbecue. His eyelids looked very heavy, and the invitation was slurred.
“Thanks, man, but I just ate,” Randy lied. The thought of eating meat prepared by this character sickened him, but he smiled and said maybe he’d come down for a beer later. He finally got inside and deposited the groceries on the table. Jamie liked putting them away, and he gladly obliged her in this. He went through the kitchen
-2-
into the living room to start unpacking, and he had just got all the luggage unzipped when he heard them. Jamie stopped rustling the grocery bags, and they moved together toward the door to listen. The voices crescendoed, but neither of them cold discern why. He automatically checked for the knife in his boot and reached for the door.
“Sweetie...”
“What?”
“...Be careful.”
“I’m just going to see, that’s all. If there is a fight, it won’t be in here. It’ll have to be in the street, where it belongs.” He stepped casually into the hall and in through the neighbor’s open door. He could smell the joint they’d just smoked, but a quick look around at their faces saw that they didn’t look too relaxed. The eyes were nervous and the lips slightly parted, ready to say something. Like what? he thought.
“What’ch’ya’ll smokin?” he asked easily, grinning dumbly and trying not to sound too pointed. The atmosphere felt tense, and he didn’t want to tighten any screws by sounding offensive.
“Nuttin’, man, nuttin. We just chillin. Everybody’s just chillin,” the neighbor offered.
Then Randy felt an unexpected weight, like a yolk, of authority settling down on his shoulders. He wondered at it, not usually being the type to assume that role in a room full of people. Then it dawned on him that he was the only one in the room in total control of himself, and it therefore fell on him to lift the tension form the room.
-3-
It was an uneasy feeling. He let some small talk slide by and then asked about the music. Why had it stopped? And that was it, the source of the tension.
“You don’t just grab somebody’s arm like that,” someone spat from the couch, glaring at the neighbor.
Randy sidled out into the hall, eager to be out from under the weight of the room. It’ll be alright, then, he thought. It’s not like they’ll kill each other over the radio. When he got inside, the apartment hadn’t cooled down yet.
“What’s up?” Jamie asked. She’d been listening at the door.
“Not much. I don’t know. I think they’re all pretty twisted.” He was pulling his shirt off as the commotion broke loose next door— yells, thumps, bodies hitting walls, things falling. He pulled it back on and spun back into the hall.
The neighbor was screaming and still lunging for the one on the couch. But in the small space, three of the others were already between them. The one from the couch was the only one at all calm. He was apologizing, he didn’t mean to bring trouble. The neighbor kept yelling at the punk to leave while at the same time blocking his exit. Randy coaxed him into the hall, out of the way. The rage was a thick shell to penetrate, and he wasn’t sure there was anything else inside if he did manage it.
Randy got the neighbor down the stairs and outside, but the punk came half-tripping and half-falling down behind them. Randy jumped between them, taking the first couple of hits between his shoulders and neck, but the neighbor pressed close against his back talking trash. The others pulled the punk off and dragged one another
-4-
a little up the street.
Randy led his neighbor back up the stairs. “So what the hell, man?” he asked, trying to hold his attention. The answer never came.
Randy stepped in to grab a couple of cigarettes from inside his place. As he stepped back out over his threshold, the punk from the couch was already catapulting back up the stairs, shouting and throwing punches. The neighbor backed up into his own place for more room. He was already bleeding when Randy made it in behind them. Randy stopped for just a breath’s time, to think; but the impotence of inaction immediately spurred his instincts. He dropped his thoughts and his cigarettes and launched himself through the door. He planted his legs and squared his shoulders. At the first chance he had, he grabbed the punk by the neck and jerked him backward into the hall. It felt so easy. The temptation to solve the problem with an effortless toss felt even easier. Instead he dragged the punk all the way down the stairs two and three stairs at a time, impervious to the blows and the screams around them. He made it through the door, the gravel, his hold clamped tight around the sinewy neck, and threw the puck onto the asphalt. Now he heard himself screaming, something like, “in the street where you f****** belong!” Had he been screaming the whole time, all the way down? A beat up mini-van screeched to a halt in front of him, the punk jumped into its side door, and the van’s tires screamed too as it sped away.
Randy stood in the gravel for a minute, panting. He looked down at his hands. They’d been steady the whole time, and they started to shake now. He felt it move up through his arms to his chest and into his head, behind his eyes.
-5-
Where had he found the harshness? He went back to the stairs and found his cigarettes somehow intact. He lit one, telling himself, I did what I had to do. When he’d finished it, he lit the next one with its butt. He couldn’t shake the feeling of wrong, like he had abused someone. Was that what he’d had to do? Didn’t people always have choices? But Jamie was crying when he got inside, and it took the better part of two hours to calm her down.
He watched her sleeping on into the morning. Later he went outside and finished the last can of Bud while he watched the sun turn the black river in front of their building back into a street.
-6- |
|
|
| cha-ching |
[Sep. 21st, 2005|07:33 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | accomplished | ] |
| [ | music |
| | only in my head,......................i think | ] |
i'd like to make an amendment to that last thing: what you care about is not of any value until you cast the seeds of it into the multitude around you
there, that has more balance
well, uh, yea so i finished my first story...even though i haven't been to class in a week and a half. i gave it one of those corny transcendentalist titles that schools tend to shove in your face like a N.Y. titty dancer giving a lap dance.
here, i'll see if i can get it posted [damn cell phone] |
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tired