The Clarity of Darkness

 Of my many passions over the years, two have withstood the test of time, emotion, and growth.

Travel, and music.

Before I can remember, I was a regular through airport terminals and gas stations. Pictures of proud parents with a small boy, eager to stare into the endless distances of land or air. When my parents were alive, particularly my father, I would be reminded of stories lost to any memories my mind had created; about how well I traveled, how I'd listen to Dad's Blues tapes while we drove across the country, silently enjoying the views. How a man on a plane we took, regaled to my parents how astonished he was about my behavior...and not having to sit near a "crying baby". 

Once I picked up on how to read the paper roadmaps that kids today will likely never use, I was obsessed. I do remember that. I guess I was just born to...go. I particularly enjoyed traveling at night, letting my imagination run wild with the possibilities of what may be going on off in the darkness. Were there still cowboys sitting around a fire out there somewhere? Maybe a pack of wolves, waiting for us to pull over, that we may need to fight off. 

One day, I couldn't tell you when, something changed. Instead of excitement of "going", an attitude or longing slowly pierced its claws into my wanderlust. I didn't want to "go" anymore, I wanted, and sometimes believed, I NEEDED, to LEAVE. I think it may have actually been me not wanting to ever go back home... we would sit together on the last day of a trip and I wished that I could stop the sunset. I wished to be able to reach out and grab it, hold it, keep that last moment alive so I didn't have to "go back".

This became problematic as the time approached to leave important people behind. Moments shared with those truly loved, I needed to leave the place, but not the moments. Maybe, just maybe, if I tried hard enough I could grab the last flaring blues and oranges of a sunset and keep that moment going for five more minutes before the darkness came, signaling that the scene was over...time to move on. I begged for that. 

"I don't want this moment to end, but I CAN'T stay here..."

Does that make sense? Sure it does...the moments we long for, to go back, just one more time, with those people; us as kids not knowing, but feeling, that this may be our last moments together. I can still smell the bonfires, hear the music playing...could we do the chorus just one more time?

Speaking of music...

I've always been enamored with emotionally charged music, and I thank the constant flow of Dad's blues cassettes and records for that. As I grew on the roads I began to appreciate the idea of turning powerful, negative emotions and memories into something flagrantly beautiful and relatable. Granted I knew nothing of heartbreak and loss, but in some way the process was something tangible that could be grasped in a weird way. 

It was a Tuesday in 2001. We watched The Towers fall, we were scared and confused. Unbeknownst to us a revolution was coming. The Hardcore kids of the 90's had given birth to a new generation that felt misunderstood and disregarded. A war-time generation that had to find a voice, a group who's parents were too glued to the news to offer help navigating the emotions of growing up. We were Brand New, and determined on Taking Back Sunday. When we could drive, our Dashboards were our Confessionals. Singing and screaming from being The Used, a group of All-American Rejects going to MySpace Secret Shows across town in Hawthorne Heights, or Linkin Park. When school started in the fall, Warped Tour was the Story of the Year. In our own minds, We the Kings would Say Anything to Escape the Fate of some emotional void. We dreamed of sitting through a sunset in Bayside, but instead we were at a Funeral for a Friend. 

You get the idea. We found our voice. 

And here's the thing...music hits different at night, in the darkness. 

"Sometimes all I wanna do is head west on 20, in a car I can't afford, with a plan I don't have..." ~Baby Driver.

Heading west has become my favorite kind of drive. It gives the opportunity to go back to the idea of "if I could just hold this moment a bit longer, if I could only reach out and grab it..." as one races against the inevitable envelopment of that hallowed darkness of night. I've learned to embrace this yearning, as I did Wednesday night. There is a sick kind of anticipation tied to knowing all your voices are about to resonate even more as you sing, scream, whisper and cry along to the lyrics. Can't do that on a plane... And here's the thing about those voices, on shuffle, they come when the universe sends them.

This particular night I had been reflecting, fighting to get out of my own head, remembering when I was such a passionate, motivated, ambitious person. As I asked myself to be honest with the only person in the truck, about what happened to "him", the Emo cosmos decided that "Poetic Tragedy" by The Used, was the only song appropriate as soon as the darkness took the last silver of blue and orange away from my horizon.

"The cup is not half empty as pessimists say, as far as he sees nothings left in the cup...a whole cup full of nothing for him to indulge, SINCE THE VOICE OF AMBITION HAS LONG BEEN SINCE SHUT UP. A singer, a writer, He's not dreaming now of going nowhere, gave heed to nothing, and all that HE WAS is just a tragedy."

Y'know...a real kick to the balls.

And it was perfect. sometimes you need to send a sledgehammer into a door to get it to crack. And crack I did. The rest of the drive was a one-man concert orchestrated by whatever the universe deemed I needed, by myself, in the darkness. Before I knew it, I was coming out of the mountains, and from up there, heading into the home stretch...the city lights burn, like a thousand miles of fire. 

I don't remember sleeping that night, just thinking about that last moment of light on the horizon that even now, I willed, if even for a moment to be able to grab. Some sort of sad history of beautiful nostalgia.

Heading back, I would have to drive into the sun, and as soon as the music started, it felt different. More of a Soundtrack to a Headrush than Karaoke Tuesday at the local dive. A cloudless sky positioned the moon seemingly directly in my path, and that's when it happened. The Clarity of Darkness.

As a child I was obsessed with astronauts, space, and the Moon. As the moon sat in my gaze, a memory snapped its fingers, taking me back to our living room circa 97-98. Dad and I were watching a documentary marathon about the space race. This Particular hour was about the tragedy of Apollo 1 (you can read about it on your own time). It wasn't the fate of the men on board that caught me, although the thought of how they died terrified me...but something else. The closing narration went something to the effect of this...

"And every so often, the Moon appears to align with the Apollo 1 pad, perfectly, as if searching for those men that were destined for her."

In that moment, something changed. The ambition, the motivation, and passion seemed to stir.

In that moment, I longed to be able to reach out, and grab her, maybe if I just reached out hard enough...I could have that for a moment. 

In that moment the decision was made: sunglasses on, accelerating forward into the light of day. The opportunity is there, and yes the darkness will come; and heading east it will come more quickly. But, maybe if I reach hard enough, I can get a taste of what it was like to be "him" again. And take that guy into the darkness with me, with clarity.

Buckle up, put your fucking shades on. It's time for greatness, if we dare to reach passionately enough.

Oh, baby, here comes the sound. 

Dream

Lacy arose from a bed of a nice hotel room tired, but happy. An emotional roller coaster of the night before when Tyler, by some sort of cosmic happenstance appeared before her after years apart. As she reached for a robe to cover her porcelain skin, she turned to him. It seemed as if Tyler hadn't slept in years, so much that is seemed laborious for him to sleep. It was heavy, like the weight on her heart for him, for thier story.

Scars and bruises were landmarks over his back, products of his life, something she feared to know too much about. She already worried about him enough, adding more fire wouldn't help anything but increase the fever pitch of anxiety she already had.

"Those scars" she thinks to herself as she walks towards the ice machine down the hallway. She wanted to know the stories, deep down, she just couldn't bring herself to ask, knowing that for her, his life was a book waiting to be read. Maybe it would break her heart, maybe she would become enraptured in those tales he tells so beautifully like Daisy lost in Gatsby's lore. She doesn't even here the ice machine, she hears nothing, even thinking about the stories starts a trance-like feeling. Lacy feels herself blush..."that man...' she whispers to no one in particular as she starts to walk back to the room.

His breathing is harder, erratic even as she opens the door. "Is he dreaming?" She asks herself, setting the ice on a counter. Fear sets in as her heart drops realizing he's lost in his own mind and soul, nightmare. She can only imagine what lies in those distant dark places that he's hidden so long. Tears form in her eyes as his body twists and turns as veins arise under his skin and a grunt escapes clenched jaws.

"Tyler?...Baby wake up..." She quietly cries as she steps closer. "Tyler I'm here sweetheart...Wake up it's just a bad dream..." Every step seems harder as it feels like he's unraveling in front of her, tears flow as she reaches out to those scars and bruises. "Baby come here, come back to me..." she cries..."come back..." He seems like he's on fire, her touch is light over his landmarks, she begins to trace them with her fingers as he battles some inner demon. She leans into him "Tyler, I'm here, you don't have to do this alone...I promise...Just one day tell me the stories, of these scars and how you got them..." His wretching has become shuddering, her hand caressing scar tissue as his body starts to calm. Lacy lays with him again and pulls him close, whispering to him as his anger dissipates into a quiet cry.

"Tyler baby it's okay wake up.." no response. She turns him onto his back, exposing more of his stories. She straddles him and leans in over him, holding his face. "I promise I'm right here with you, I always have been. I need you to come back to me, not stay in those dark places." Lacy feels goose bumps awaken as their lips touch and his breathing slows, his body relaxes. She lingers on him lost in their story for a moment. Dismounting his calmed body, she pulls him into her, Tyler's warm body against hers, her arm wrapped under his head, which rests on her breasts, an arm draped over her. She lets her nails flirt with those scars on his back as she starts to fall asleep again, breathing together. "I'll always need you," she whispers to him, "even when I shouldn't"

One Last Time

"I'm surprised to hear from you, really." a voice from a long forgotten past, a sweetness clouded in hesitation, reverberated in his mind a they sat across from each other in nearly a decade of separation. Goose bumps raised on the back of his neck as he calmed himself, at least trying to. An attack on nerves he hadn't felt since his self-imposed exile. Her dress was simple enough, black heals, which he noticed as he approached their now shared table, long legs covered by a black pencil skirt which clung tightly evolving into a white blouse that fit her torso perfectly.

Inhale. Exhale.

The accent of the white against her perfectly tanned skin, just enough shown cleavage to entice, yet maintain a professional demeanor. Her neckline led the way to a face he hadn't seen in person since the before times, ice blue eyes framed by soft curls of blonde hair, an expression that begs one to reach out and touch her.

Inhale. Exhale.

Get it together, wake up.

He clears his throat and puts on a smile, "Yeah, I know, it's been... a really long time." he says, attempting to hide those nerves that had been so long, untouched. "I found myself in town on business, and, wanted to see how you had been, you're the only person I know here anymore and figured we might be able to catch up."

He might as well have looked like a waiter in the restaurant, black patent leather shoes at the end of black slacks. The shirt was white, unbuttoned towards his throat, the assembly cloaked in a grey vest, the sleeves rolled halfway through his forearms, a pilot's watch latched on his left wrist. Stubble, roughly five-o-clock, shadowed his jaw, eyes of a deep brown only expressed slight weariness, his black hair in a modern cut which fit his features well enough, likewise, a quite professional look.

"I never thought you'd come back to Texas, especially after so long," she quips," I figured you were gone just like those cowboys that ride off into the sunset in all those western stories." "Well you know I have that strange tendency to revisit old places, I don't vanish too easily anymore." he retorts with a smile. Their waiter stops at the table and bows for an order, "Dalmore 28, yes neat, double, thank you." escapes his lips in confidence. She indicates to the waiter that it's time for another. "You were always kind of a cowboy though, I think you rather enjoy that lonely sort of life." She raises her glass for a drink, he fixates on her lips.

Images assault his mind like lightning.
 

Against a wall.
 

Passionate.
 

Her, him.
 

The taste.

He struggles to push the thoughts away.

Wake up.

"I've always been more of a knight, especially to you, venturing off to war..." his voice trails, "eventually I have to come back from the crusades, right?" She giggles, setting her glass down, "Yes always off to save some damsel in distress, a brave knight, always, off to save the world." The waiter stoops low, "Seven and Seven" he whispers in her ear as he places a glass down. "Dalmore, for the gentleman". She rests her chin in her hand, head lightly cocked to one side, their eyes locked.

A comfortable silence.

"At least nowadays you seem to help people more often that hurt them..." she finishes. "Well sometimes you have to hurt people in order to save them." he darkly responds. "Well," she sighs, "you always found a way to save me." "Exactly..."

Hurt.
 

Her nails digging into his back.
 

Fire.
 

Blood.
 

Her gasps in his ear.
 

"I want you to hurt me" a whisper of passion.

He fights the images.

Wake up.

"Well, we were a bit sadistic with each other weren't we? Back then." he sips the single malt, savoring the burn. "Or masochistic..." she replies with a smile on her face. He feels her foot graze his leg as she shifts in her seat. Ten years, a first touch.

Sadism: experiencing sexual pleasure from inflicting pain or humiliation.
 

Masochism: experiencing sexual pleasure from one's pain or humiliation.
See also: ball gag, bit gag, discipline, submission.
 

Pain.
 

She grunts as he pushes her against the wall.
 

Pleasure.
 

He sees the blood collected from his back on her hands.

You can't...Stop.

Wake up.

The waiter drops off a fresh round of beverages.

"You know, I've always been curious about 'Hollywood Land' as you call it," She hold her drink close to her lips, those lips, "does it still always rain there?" "All the time, at least somewhere, it can be a big place." "It's a shame about the weather...I bet it could really be a beautiful place if you let it be. A slow sip, eyes locked, is that a flirty smile? "You know...I've often found myself looking at a map, wondering where it is, that place, my fingers sometimes in the creases of distant, dark places." "That's exactly where it is," he replies, "off in the whispers." They share a smile, and drink.

"Speaking of you and your crusades, what brings you to Houston? Business right?" A smile creeps over his face as he finishes the former drink. "Business, always, it's far too muggy and humid here for me to find any pleasure in it, the city is large enough to hide in I guess, so there is a redeeming quality." "And that business is?" she playfully finishes. "Well, I fly powerful people around and try not to ask too many questions." "So after all this time you're a taxi driver?" "You could say that." "For powerful people and you don't ask questions? What are you really some kind of spy?" she chuckles as her question ends. "Well shit, you got me!" his arms rise in the air in a joking manner "yeah I'm a..." She cuts him off hurriedly, demanding, "What the fuck did you do to yourself?!" A deep scar graces his forearm, hidden earlier in the night by his positioning. He swallows hard. "Occupational hazard?" he playfully states. "Tyler..." "Lacy..." they share a moment of silence outside of his racing heart. "Contracts?" "Yes." Lacy sighs, shaking her head, the newest drink in front of her is aggressively gulped down, her eyes never leaving his.

"This is why I worry about you, shit like this...it's not enough that you already destroyed yourself back in those days, now you've found a way to get paid to do this? How long do you think you're going to be able to live like that? And here I thought you were looking fantastic considering the life you used to live, but no! you're still fighting other peoples wars for them." "It could be worse," he begins, "I could be doing the grunt work, after climbing the ladder you get a choice in assignments, luckily I've gotten to the point where I don't have to get my hands dirty much, like a high-end babysitter...that flies planes and helicopters..." "Wait." they say in unison. "Go." Tyler insists. "You chose to come here?" Lacy cautiously asks, "why?". "You worry about me? still?" he responds. "You first," she whispers. The Dalmore quickly escapes it's glass into his mouth as the waiter returns, bearing gifts. "I wanted to see if you'd meet with me, at least one last time..." their eyes lock again during the pause, "I wanted to see if after all these years you were okay, that maybe you didn't need me anymore, so I could rest easy again." Lacy slowly reaches out towards Tyler's arm, her touch caressing the scar tissue. Memories of her soft skin again his rocket through Tyler's mind, a touch she'd lay on him after he has been beaten and bruised, a touch that allowed him peace. "Tyler, of course I worry about you, I always have, and always will." she hesitates as she reaches her other hand to his, "And, I think I'll always need you," she pauses again, "even when I'm not supposed to."

Heart stops.

This, was dangerous, the two of them, here, now, like this...Both sense the return of the waiter, Tyler requests the check.Eyes, locked. Lacy speaks, "I want to take you somewhere special to me...I think You'll like it. "Okay." is the instantaneous answer.

The cab ride is quiet, hesitant even. The door is inconspicuous enough, no signage, she knocks, a slot opens and closes. The door opens. The two are shown to what could only be described as "her" table, a chair added, facing to watch the small stage. "You run away to Hollywood Land, I hide here, life can't touch me in these walls." A waitress brings martinis. "You're still a classy gent, but warm scotch is making you a little hot, cool off." Lacy playfully quips, they sip. "How'd you find this place? he asks, A jazz trio taking the stage. "I thought of you actually, how when we were young you always wanted a speakeasy, so I started to think like you, one day I noticed the slit while driving by and, here we are..." "Good job", another sip, silence. "And you," she pries, "why or how pray tell did you get to where you are today?" "Helping the right people, finding the wrong ones, occasionally hunting the worst ones...his voice trails..."I could have been really good at this" gesturing to the dim room surrounding them, "I could hide in my little speak, retired from the rest..." Lacy cuts him off, "Why don't you?" eyes meet again. "Casablanca." She raises an eyebrow. "In all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world..." Lacy finishes, "She walks into mine..." 

The next several minutes, silence, silent sips, gentle jazz, these stories two reunited not a couple, but as a Queen and her loyal, prodigal Knight. In a way he had become her contractor, The dirty work, his payment? Only the two of them would know.

His nerves calm, both at ease, talk resumes as slowly they re all that remains, listening to the music. Tyler reaches over, touching her hand. "It's been a lovely evening, Lacy, thank you...I should probably head out.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Yeah, it's getting late I suppose," she seems let down. Her escape from the chaos of reality is, heart-breakingly over. They walk outside, Tyler lighting a smoke, a slight drizzle announces an impending downpour. "Always raining in Hollywood Land." he mutters as he leans against the speakeasy wall.

In the haze, she finally saw it, a stare, a gaze, the 1,000 yard stare of an endangered, bloodied, tired man. "Tyler, you didn't come here for business, did you?" "It's always business hon." is his chosen response. Lacy hesitates, "And you didn't come here for me, did you?"

Silence.

Deafening.

Holding on to some fragment of the past she quips, "As your queen, please, tell me." Her heart feels frozen, she doesn't breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Just felt you might need something, figured I'd check in on you." Both know he's lying.

In the distance, thunder. 

"Tyler", she walks slowly towards the wounded knight, both hearts racing. "You've saved me so many times, always you come riding in to rescue me, always so bottled up...You're tired, hurting, let me save you...for once." 

Inhale. Exhale.

Darkly, " Lacy, darling, that's not how this works." She grabs the cigarette from him, taking a long drag, never letting her eyes off of him, and flicks the remnants into the street. Pushing her hips into him and wrapping her arms around his neck, she leans into one ear, "Then, perhaps you can save me...one last time." she retreats, eyes lock, lips close.

Heart stops.

Lips Lock.

A rapturous voice screams as everything turns white, painfully blinding.

He awakes in a hotel room, a look into the mirror reveals a torn and bloodied suit, not what he had been wearing, Bow Tie. A black eye? The room is windy the sound of waves, pounding rocks draws him out of the bathroom. The room, is wrecked, patio door is open, and we walks towards it. Lacy, is outside, shes sobbing. She turns to him, meeting his eyes, makeup following trails of tears. Is that a bridesmaid dress? Her, even like this, that dress, is beautiful. 

Between sobs: 

"Every. fu...fucking time... we..we come here...we can't have it...life will never fucking....fucking let us..." Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her into him, holding herclose, strongly, staring out to a storm at sea.

As she calms, she refuses to look him in the eyes. "Tyler, knowing how everything, how this ends, and it only ends like this.." a fearful pause, "would you do it all over again?" "In a heartbeat", sighs, sweetly it seems. Anything for you. Lacy runs a finger over his chest, over his heart, "Can you, feel this?" "I feel nothing" is an exhausted response. She adds pressure, cutting into his chest, "Does it sting?" Tyler writhes in pain, but refuses to let go as she pulls a black heart out of his chest, and kisses it lightly, a slight beat returns. 

~J.S. Havok

Green Flashes

Another hot day on  the southside... Caleb, recently clocked out, heads towards the beach, a backpack he carries is occupied by beer and booze.

It is going to be a fun day.

Kam Beach was packed as he coolly strolled up, now joined by Eddie, one of the other servers he worked with at The Beach House. "Caleb, its fucking crazy hot today, we need to hit the water for sure." Smirking, Caleb retorts ,"Depends on how bad you wanna show off that beer belly, bruh."

A couple hours pass, beer reloaded, a fresh pack of smokes, however, no shot glasses, so the Captain remained untouched. Neighbors to the right had developed, two girls, Caleb and Eddie discussed among themselves if they were local, or just passing through.  A couple of eye-catches later, Eddie pushes Caleb two beers and calls to the girls, "Hey ladies, wanna beer? come on over!" He can feel Caleb's disdain for him, but, it's all for the greater good. As they approached, Eddie continued, "Hi, well, I'm Eddie and this shy young-blood is Caleb...and you are...?" "We're just here for the beer, one of the girls jokes, don't make it weird by asking names hon." The group shares a laugh as the beers are passed. and opened. "I guess we'll just call you, pointing to the blonde, #1 and you," turning towards the brunette he stops, cut by piercing green eyes, gathering himself, he continues, "#2".  Fantastic body, brilliant smile, she seemed wild, not in the bad wild/crazy way, but as is she belonged in nature, like a huntress stalking prey through the woods and forests. It was sexy, everything about her, just, fit.

Inhale. Exhale. Smile.

A few hours pass, both girls now eating ice cream out of emptied lemon halves, Caleb and Eddie casually chat up a couple from Los Angeles, Travis and Claire, Caleb thinks, something like that. He turns to the girls as they are finishing the empty peels and like a freak wave, an idea hits him. "Hey, #2, give me those peels..." "Why?" she responds playfully. "Smiling as he reached into his bag, finally revels a bottle of Captain Morgan, "Now we have shot glasses!" She returns the smile, #1 joins the tea, as Eddie realizes what's happening around him. "Oh shit." he sighs ,"Well I guess it's time to party!"

Caleb and #2 share the first round through their makeshift party-ware, powering down the warm party fuel. Eddie and #1 follow suit, by this time, the park had calmed down, families, mostly tourists, lining up to to catch the infamous green flash, which famously accompanied Maui's sunset. Caleb and #2 share a glance as she raises the bottle in a toast, pulls, and hands the bottle over. They both giggle as he follows suit, lemon peels long abandoned when the sun returned to it's slumber.  "You're coming to a party with me tomorrow night by the way." she says this in a ay that is more of an instruction than an invitation, "I wanna show you something." Caleb agrees as #1 and Eddie seem to be hitting it off and go for a walk. They sat in that comfortable silence for a while, then walked towards the water, ill lit ships bobbing with the waves. They sleep on the beach, gently embraced in the light, rhythmic crushing of a mighty, but gentle ocean.

The next day, Caleb gets out of work late, goes home to shower, then leaves to pick up his new acquaintance at Kam Beach, now he refers to her as the huntress. Her shining eyes shown in the setting sun as she climbs into his jeep. "How was work today? Nothing serious I hope, at least nothing you can't handle...' She playfully jabs at him. "Nah, it was pretty much cake, just hot, Eddie wasn't even on the struggle bus today, that was surprising." "Well that's good", she laughs, "do you know what today is?" her gaze catches his, intensely.

Was he supposed to know something?
What was today?
Is this about the party?

She leans in close to his face, eyes locked, playfully?

Inhale. Exhale.

"Um, a party is today..." he guesses, still confused, but his heart beating out of his chest.

"It's a full moon tonight silly," she winks, "we are going to Little Beach, duh"

Again, more of a statement than a request.

"They spoke at length during the car ride out of Kihei, both talking about interests, loves, failures, fear, hopes and dreams. All the way to Makena. Both probably thinking, "Why am I telling them all of this?!" Leaving the Jeep, they start a hike over an outcropping pointing to, or reaching out to some unseen place or goal.  Coming over the outcropping, Little Beach is truly a site, hundreds of bodies in varying levels of dress, most closer to nude than the opposite. Bonfires were being built throughout the beach area, for after the sun's retreat over the horizon. The pounding of drums fills the air, as well as a wisp of marijuana smoke.

She guides him down to a small cove where they set up camp. Volley balls and Frisbees zip between groups, everyone friendly, everyone loving life. Caleb made quick friends with a nudist couple from West Virginia who were visiting friends on the Big Island, he promises, to visit sometime. Finally, he takes the plunge, hitting the water as a green flash waved to the spectators on the beach, it would take a minute for him to return, she had joined him in the water as they traded glances of flirtation and challenge. Heading back to shore she sheds her top and bottoms, wringing them out in the process, this stops Caleb dead in his tracks. She turns around to face him and mockingly asks is he's ever seen a woman before, the fading light cast such beautiful shadows onto her, "how old are you anyway, Caleb?" "20, why?" he smiles "Oh geeze, you're a baby! she proclaims as she turns around, heading to the spot."

She towels off, waiting for Caleb, a wet slap of board shorts is heard nearby as the fires are lit. Caleb silhouetted by the flames behind him ,"Well, you sure do know how to make an entrance don't you?" her voice trails. As he sits, "I dunno what it is about you, but," he pauses ," I just feel comfortable even if we ended up out here on the run from something..." He hands her a beer, they open the bottles, toast, and drink.

 "You know," she starts while staring off into the bonfires, fire dancers, and hula hoopers. "I guess you're alright too"

"Oh yeah?" he playfully responds

"Ya." her voice sounds hopeful and kind.

She turns to him piercing him with those eyes again, lit by a full moon and fire.

"Willow", she says, allowing herself to smile slightly.

"What?" Caleb mindlessly says.

"My name is Willow."

"Are you weeping on the inside?"

Another smile.

Inhale. Exhale.

Willow rests her head on Caleb's shoulder, "You're some 20 year old..." Both giggle, blissfully unaware of how extremely important and needed they would end up being for each other.

For now, drums, smoke, fire, peace.

Hope.

Signed,
~The Trickster, Maui.

Business

'I don't work for you anymore." Were the first words to escape his mouth as a middle aged man in slacks and white button-up shirt sat down across from him in that smokey speakeasy. The who hadn't seen each other is some time, in some distant place. "Tyler," the voice responds, let's not talk about business, we have enough history together since Tuscon to wipe away formalities..." The two sat there, in a silent agreement as a waitress drops off two glasses of a single malt. "I do have to ask you, for one last rodeo though, as a favor, Ty..." "What do you want, Travis?" Tyler takes a sip from the glistening vessel in front of him. "How do you feel about Houston?"

The alley

Run, just keep running...

This is his only thought as his muscles burn the oxygen left in his constantly depleting blood supply. The rain helped and hurt, cooling him, while making his sprint all the more dangerous. A burning sting embedded in his abdomen spewed hot essence of life, a wound channel punctuated by a hollow point. Vision blurs as he weakens, the Beretta heavier by the moment breathing smoke, bleeding acid. Breaking to a street, Edgemont, he frantically looks left and right, choosing the latter in now a brisk pace, no longer able to run. The light of a ravaging fire faintly glows from the direction he came, sirens screaming in the night. An alley, the first one he sees, is where he escapes to, bracing against the wall of a quiet bar.

How did this get so fucked up?

How did it get to this?

The adrenaline is gone, slowly starting down the way, he searches for his phone to no avail, replacing his pistol into the holster in the jacket the out of breath figure is startled by a noise. A young lady stands in a doorway, her eyes give away confusion and shock at the wounded beast. He lifts a bloodied hand, taking a step, as if reaching for a saving angel. She steps away, fearful. This is where it goes black, this is where he falls.

Face first.

Exit here.

~The Trickster, Maui

THIS

Is this what it feels like? Constantly feeling as if you want to throw up? Constantly exhausted even after 8 hours in bed. Is this what it feels like knowing you never get to hear a new story in their voice? Zoning out in the kitchen where they taught you everything you know about culinary prowess. Is this what it feels like to realize your father will never see you attain your goals in life. Watching your mother try to sleep on the couch because going back to that bed is out of the question?

Is this what being truly broken feels like?

H.E. Wallace

2015: Prologue

Punk rock blasts over the amps set up in the back yard, Kelly and Mike are making a new round of shots for everyone at the party. "Get o'er here you assholes, drink arerrready!" Kelly exclaims, or slurs. There must be about 20 people here, all high, drunk, or both. The Crombie sisters were both wearing bikinis, Kyle couldn't tell if they were on X or if they just stop giving a shit as they started making out, good thing they weren't really sisters. Bryan and Jimmy were here too, old band mates from Bomb Shelter Fallout, a lividly raw experiment from college, which strangely enough, gave birth to Rock Me Raw, a group of sellouts tearing up the Los Angeles hardcore scene. The looking glass Jimmy handed over had engraving on the edge "Bombs Away", perfect rails laid out for the three. "It's good to have you back home man, crazy fuck we thought you were dead." Kyle slides the first rail hard, clean. Drip Drop. "FUCKERRS LESSSSGGO!" Kelly demands, spilling a shot on the table. Mike laughs, hard enough to seem like he'll die at any second. Jimmy, Bryan and Kyle make their way to the table, the Crombies right behind. "Here's to the prodigal son returning to the angels!" proclaims Mike as he sniffs hard, an effort to stop his running nose.

HERE HERE!
PROST!
SALUD!
CHEERS ASSHOLES!

New Year's Eve with the angels, Jesus Christ.
Kelly probably wouldn't make it to midnight, Jimmy and Bryan are probably gonna try to bag the sisters, outside the close friends, Kyle doesn't really know anyone else. Some guy named Travis with this dimepiece Claire, evidently he's rich, or she's rich, or both. They seem cool enough while they rip cigs on the patio, the Claire chick eyeing Mike as he brings out a bong. Kelly follows closely behind, probably recovering due to the Colombian sugar one of the Crombies brought. Kyle hands Travis and Claire beers and goes back inside. He overhears a conversation, "Man 2015 was the shit, this new year better bring it hard, man!". "2015," Kyle repeats to himself, "fuck man, 2015...".

A few hours pass, Kelly and Mike are still going strong, the Ramones blast over the speakers, Kyle, is wasted. Bryan is missing his shirt, and probably his jeans, while in the hot tub with one of the sisters, Jimmy is busy making more shots. The other sister is nowhere to be found, maybe making out with herself in a mirror. Mike locks onto Kyles neck, dragging him towards the pool table. "Man, we fucking made it, bro, we survived!" Kyle has no idea what Mike means, but takes a pull from the bottle anyway. "Dude we kinda thought you weren't coming back, really bummed us out man, almost lost you to those rednecks."

Texas, that's right.

Fucking. Texas.

"Dude this year was goddamn weird" Kyle struggles to slur, "man, I could try to tell but you, you peoples would, not, believer me at all." "Holy shit Kelly, Kyle is fucking wasted babe!" WOO is the only response, Kyle thinks he sees Kelly with the missing sister, but he can't make out the scene. "Breathe, hard" commands Mike, Kyle obeys. A vial under his nose comes to life through a tingle between the eyes. "That's some good shit, it'll wake you up." Kyle takes another pull as he leans against the pool table, attempting to stop the patio from freaking out. A few minutes pass. Jimmy hands Kyle a smoke, they light up.

Inhale. Exhale.

Travis and Claire start handing Solo cups full of champagne or cheap whiskey, Russian Roulette style. Jimmy and Kyle still perched on the table, watching Bryan suck Kassi's face off, or Amy, they can't tell which sister it is. "Dude," Bryan starts, "the last few years have been a drag with you gone man, this last year was the worst, you wouldn't believe how stupid it was." "Man, don't even start with me bruh, I could write a book about that shit, but I'd have to sell it as fiction shit man, unbelievable." The other sister pulls Kyle's hair back as she empties the contents of a bottle down his throat, the burn is distinct, grain, it's pure grain alcohol.

This is the point where the shit, that had been thrown somewhere off in the void, slammed into the cosmic fan.

Everything slows, everything has trails.

That stupid song comes on, the one for New Year's.
You know the one.

A torrent of emotion grasped him by the throat, memories flooding his mind. It was all so surreal, every bit of it. Every drunken night, every hungover Sunday Funday, the motorcycle, the wreck, the fights shown like a newsreel in his mind. Damn Texas. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!" Amy or Kassi lift the Solo cup to his face as Jimmy winks at him and takes his shot. Mike and Kelly are singing that song, Jimmy is lighting another smoke. Travis drapes an arm over Kyle's shoulder, like if they were friends already, "Man fuck 2015 AMIRITE?! I was so tired of that piece of shit year, here's to bigger and better my man." "What would you know about a shit year, man?" Kyle angrily exclaims, "man, you have no idea."

Meltdown.

"Holy shit, fuck off 2015!" Kyle screams at the top of his lungs, "seriously holy shit the whole, shit, like, fuck me man 2015 was fucking stupid!" "Dude, calm the fuck down...jus" "Nah man, fuck you, you don't know me you little prep school piece of shit!" Kyle and Travis stare at each other, neither flinching, everyone frozen, watching, waiting. Kyle takes a hard drag of his smoke, blowing the cloud in Travis' red-hot face. "You go through the last year I had in that redneck ass place, with all the bullshit and see how long you last, you little bitch." Travis blinks, shaking his head, "Man these peeps all hyped you up man, but you're broken, dude, get it together."

Kyle walks back into the house, the ground shifts, everything starts spinning again, he stumbles, hitting the ground hard, ignoring the shoe he looses, continuing through the house to the front. A lone beer bottle had survived the trek, and quickly was shattered via throw, which connected with Kelly's mailbox. Fireworks are lighting the sky on fire, City of Angels, skies aflame. Mike and Bryan follow behind the stumbling Kyle. "Dude what the fuck was that man, get back to the party dude." Bryan begs. "Dude, where is your shoe? Are you walking on broken glass?" Mike adds. An artillery shell sets the hazy air ablaze, lighting the entire street. Kyle, now in the road, looks down into a bloody puddle, tracked from the curb. In that flat flash, both Mike and Bryan can see the coke tainted blood draining from Kyle's nose, more shells explode overhead as he slowly wipes it away with a bare arm, his yes meeting theirs. "Dude," Bryan begins, "what happened to you last year?" by this time, more people have come outside to see the spectacle.

Like a fallen king, opposing his former court.

"You wanna know what happened?" he defiantly asks.
"I promise you won't believe it...but you gonna see..."
"Sit the fuck down I'm about to tell you a story." he commands.

He almost seems majestic in this one, beautiful, moment. As he closes his eyes, seeing the memories, feeling the emotions. It's like a silent movie, lightning quick transitions, disorganized, frantic, like dreaming in Hollywood Land.

"Twenty-fucking-fifteen..."

Into the Air

"It's going to be a bumpy ride out..." Announces the disembodied voice of some god or another. This is my first flight on this particular model aircraft, also many years have passed since the vector taken has been westward out of the desert. The stranger next to me prays, allegedly a Catholic, and proceeds to close the sunshade. Effectively blindfolding us from the sight of our plummet down to a jealous earth that wants its prisoners back.

Slip-stall isn't the right word, but its the first that comes to mind.

I've heard a story of a plane that fell from the heavens at roughly 10,000 feet per minute but only in the final seconds did anyone realize that they were already dead.

Sucker-punched by death is such a shitty and melodramatic way to go, in my mind.

My parental units are stationed across the aisle and ask if I need to turn on the halo above me to see the words that bleed out of my pen, then return to sleep. The Catholic stranger asks if I could grab her blanket from the overhead bin as the voice of the god from earlier commands us to sit the fuck down. I disobey him, like so many other times I've disobeyed some god or another, fetching the security she needs.

Time bombs, we are all time bombs. The couple to my left, my aging parents, albeit neutral currently, could poison the innocents encased in this missile. Time bombs next to each other, me and this stranger.

Tick-tock
Tick-tock

Luckily, I should have been a doctor, or so my long-since ghost of a great grand uncle would say, in agreement with my handwriting. She cannot read of my wiring of a falling plane, or of stupid people who could not feel their failure to survive as souls evacuated bodies at 10,000 feet a minute. Funny to think, as a pilot, does every trip count as a business trip now?

She takes our blindfold off, I playfully wonder how long it would take till we'd get a last shower through the puffy cotton on our descent to that terrestrial prison to which we all return. Violently, in a jealous grab for those trying to air with angels we slam, zero survivers. She scares at turbulence, I get excited.

Arousal is maybe the right word, its the first to come to mind.

Once we calm, she sleeps again for the remainder of our flight. I stare out towards infinity.

Daydreaming through final approach, mirroring the god behind the controls in practice. I turn to the allegedly Catholic stranger to my right, cloaked in her blanket, saying, "Mom, time to wake up..."

Whispers of October

Whispers of October.

"(Insert arbitrary month here) is my fucking month man, lemme tell ya..."

Personally I'm a fan of February or July. But my life, and the events that have filled it have a strange, well, perplexing connection to October.

Let me explain.

October is  normally seen as a transition month, as far as it seems to me at least. We are leaving the long sunny days of summer behind as we transfer towards the shortened, cooler days of fall and winter. But October...it's always October.

Football at the high school level, one of my true endeavors and passions  in life is starting to wind down for the season for most athletes. It was in October I had my seizure that resulted in a totaled car and a year of daily stabilizing medication. The tenth month brought our last homecoming together, me and my sister. The last time I'd ever play football in front of my friends, even from different schools, under the lights of El Paso, October.  The most important romantic relationship I feel that I ever had started in October. Two great personal wars were started in the month on different years. 

It also brings the information wars and powers the rumor mills. Possibly telling the wolves to get ready for a cold winter of hibernation or slow news. The rumor mills are the worst, spewing their black clouds as a fog of war over the landscape. Fucking October, I'm used to it, sometimes I act in ways to power them even more effectively like a hobby. A strange hobby. 

October is strange for me, and this one has proven to continue the trend. At least we've been consistent? May this transition be ever fruitful as The Trickster moves forward, onto a new dawn, which is hopefully void of pumpkin spiced anything, but overflowing with Oktoberfest style beer.

Just a thought...

Signed,

~The Trickster, Maui

House of Wolves

Driving into the desert, sun setting behind the mountains that overlooked my existence for 18 years, I ponder. Global Reach stretches itself out behind the airport, 737s coming and going, incoming Cessna, probably 172, lifts gracefully into the air. I ponder. Something isn't right, so many things that just don't fit.

Intersection.

I think about wolves, how we see them sometimes as viscous, how we describe someone untrustworthy or unloyal as a wolf, we warn each other of the wolves lurking in the darkness.

I turn off the radio, silence in this desert oasis, then I play a song, fitting for the mood. "Keep the Wolves Away" by Uncle Lucius. I suggest you listen to it, great jam.

I ponder.

I drive.

The clouds coming over the top of the mountains are a beautiful shade of flirting with being a storm, the low light of the sun mostly blocked out by the mountainous teeth that the earth spits upward into the sky.

Once Hollywood fell, I looked around. Loneliness is an emotion or state of mind, alone is a situational condition. I was alone. Not completely, but, the closest ones were nowhere to be found, at least willingly. Now this is where the battle of the mind starts, what do I make of this new condition? Waking up in my room had me feeling more exiled than the affectionate nickname "The Slavehouse" would suggest. Where is everyone?

Turn the lights on, loop 375 exchange, 65 miles an hour. You can see the lights of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico awakening. Used to be the most dangerous city in the Americas, maybe even the world, memories of watching the city exist from atop the mountains on summer nights is pretty amazing, the $10 "Drink and Drown" specials we used to abuse are a close second. Memories of food, drink, great friends and experiences interlaced with sounds of occasional gunshots somewhere in the darkness. We had to trust each other, that whatever happened, we would stay together, we'd fight if we needed to, run if we had to, but it would never be alone.

Loyalty solidified through crossing a bridge.

My phone has never been so silent. But the majority of those who reached out, surprised me, people I never talk to, or hang out with, someone I had had such a monstrous falling-out with that I almost transfered out of Tech... True, I had a few that are close call, or come by to chill, and I thank them for that. But for the ones that I thought I was even closer to...

Is loyalty a wasted virtue? It seems that I've had wolves around me, waiting for something.

Maybe self-interest, perhaps.

I will ride into battle for my family any second of my existence, I will fight for, pick up, save those who have trusted me to be by their side. I'd hope to be able to count on some around me to be at that point too, however, as my campfire becomes brighter in this desert, I can feel the eyes of wolves all around.

Nothing is ever black and white, but, the mind is a powerful thing, and with the pieces not fitting, I'm becoming more determined to find out who is dressed as a sheep among my "family" I've lost everything before, I'd rather not do it again, but, that's something that life will decided.

And as far as that goes, at least life has been wanting to screw me...

Almost thought that this was gonna be my year, but it's painfully obvious that ship  has sailed.

'cos now it's my turn to keep the wolves away..."

Is that a new coat?

H.E. Wallace

Better Every Day #6

The Darkness Zone.

(Destiny really has taken over)

One can't keep running forever at terminal velocity, eventually, by virtue of wind resistance, kinetic and static friction, and the breakdown of our bodies and vehicles or just the existence of reality...we slow down. As we run away from the darkness, and demons...as we slow down we learn that the condition isn't something we escape from. As we break down, the steps get louder the former excitement enveloped by a deafening silence as the darkness surrounds us as the true reality. The demons and darkness are not truly to be ran from, but to be held at bay, to be fought.

Respawning restricted.

Stage one was seeing the darkness

Stage two was choosing to take a sword up against the demons

Stage three was the horde that you had to escape in order to claim victory

Stage four is watching yourself crash just when you thought you could reach out and touch your horizon

Darkness Zone: Respawning Restricted

Once the exhilaration of seemingly escaping from the event horizon of a former, poisonous, toxic self, has worn off, we must confront the truth. The darkness and demons aren't meant to be ran from and escaped, but to be kept at bay, to challenge us to continuously grow. The light that we have reached out, and hopefully touched, should be something we obviously cling to, but we must also allow it to shine onto everything around us. The light and hope of change is only useful if it's allowed to show, brightly and passionately.

Th light can be something as small as that worn and battered Zippo lighter, striking to create a flame for that last cigarette on a starless and moonless night.That small light, in it's orb of warmth, isn't static of course. It can flicker, wax and wane, it can be in danger of being snuffed out in the snap of a finger. The light it creates can be moved, shaped, pushed and pulled out of it's perfect orb. In these moments the darkness can come closer, the demons reach towards us grasping at our hearts, and throats.

It is in these moments, where we are allowed to shape our destiny. I'm currently reading the book 'Choke' by one of my favorite authors, Chuck Palahnuik. In chapter 15, there is a line, "The way humiliation is humiliation only when you choose to suffer." And at the close of chapter 13, "Just let your hand drop, and let fate decide for you." In this moment, everything can explode into a supernova of possibilities if we refuse to drop our hands, if we refuse to suffer. If we actively reach for, and seek a better, stronger, more fulfilled self, we can become legend umong the stars, untouchable by the surrounding darkness.

We must know, not fear, that we will be haunted and surrounded by our demons, by the darkness we have tried to run from. If we can allow ourselves to remain strong and continuously grow, the ghosts and demons will never catch us.

Our lives can be like a 1,000 piece puzzle that has no picture to guide us...but as long as we persevere, one day the picture will be complete.

Become Better Every Day

H.E. Wallace

Better Every Day #5

PFFFFFT.....falling behind again.

The Dark Below.

Yes, another Destiny reference, but bear with me here...

A common thread in changing one's life, at least in the instances that I've attempted, or otherwise been around in others, is the sheer joy and exhilaration of overcoming, or leaving behind the poison of the past. Leaving the "darkness" below or behind them.

In every instance, as far as I can remember, this happens when a drastic or otherwise major change occurs in a short instance of time. Wake up one day, gym membership, run through the park, smiles a real smile for the first time in months. Change your number, get a new domicile, adopt a pet, leave someone behind. Kick a habit.

I've always associated things that I need to get away from as dark, poisonous, infectious; things, weaknesses, crutches, faults, that can grow like a cancer if left unchecked. In myself: Self doubt, anxiety, fear of loneliness, allowance of mediocrity, regret...all allowed to swim inside and envelope my mind on a suffocatingly permanent basis, for a very long time.

Waking up that morning, telling myself, "I am worth it, I will not be beaten." and for the first time embracing and believing it, I, in all of my potential greatness was shot out of a canon of incomprehensible power into a cosmos where the darkness could be sucked out of me; left to be below me if I so chose to embrace this vector and trajectory. Keeping on said trajectory, with such speed, has been accomplished by my constant attempt to find things to improve upon, albeit I don't write everyday like I would like to, it has been a step in the right direction for my "recovery".

The easiest has been the physical, I can look myself in the mirror as I struggle against the physical reality of this world, weight in my hands, over my neck, sweat on my face, challenging myself and not allowing myself to accept mediocrity and quitting. I wake up sore every day now, and for the first time in years, that pain is something I welcome, something I've missed, a constant reminder that I'm finally going in the right direction.

Next, the mental. I've always been my own worst enemy, the one person who knew how to press each and every button and control in my mental cockpit. In weakness, this ability was envenomed to the point of being completely self destructive as I personally lead an intoxicated, unknowing conquest to destroy everything around me. I never saw it coming, but I allowed it to happen. I watched my kingdom burn, the bridges leading to it engulfed in my own faults and the pain I caused those around me in my rampage. If anyone wanted to find me, they could followed those burned bridges, because they lead the way to me. In this renewed conquest, however, I've not returned to my former kingdom, but reconciled with myself that I must start from scratch, with myself. I can now be comfortable alone, and confront my thoughts, wrestle or debate them, and find a peace. I have resolved myself to conquering my mind, because as I have mentioned in a former post (which unfortunately was accidentally deleted) , the mind is powerful beyond measure, but can be both destructive and constructive. In this new era, I have made progress to guide my mind to the latter, and I believe the strides are becoming longer with every few steps, my toddle is becoming a walk, one day I'll jog, then sprint...and ultimately run marathons as I progress. One day.

Lastly, the emotional. Honestly, this is the last area currently on my mind. My focus on the physical and mental are two areas where I have placed my understanding as the main objectives early on in this new story of mine. I don't believe it is much possible at all to track an emotional evolution when so much of your former darkness is tied to self image and mental instability. As far as the physical goes, I can stare myself in my eyes, challenge myself, be accountable to myself and not allow myself to fail. In the realm of the mental, I can reach back into memory and witness the change in my handling of situations and events. Although not tangible I am able to provide myself with evidence that little, by little, I am evolving and taking back my mind, my thoughts and myself. But how does one measure emotion? Sure, I can feel passionate about things: friends and family, Texas Tech Football, USC Football, my job, my dogs, my new life. I can feel sadness, anger, frustration, but mostly, I honestly have spent so long setting my default emotion to "Apathetic or pathetically self-loathing" for so long that my affective state is...flat? And for the current time frame, I'm okay with that. The emotional will come.

I remember the first time I ran the 200m dash in track. Like a bullet out of a gun, unrelenting power through the curve, a trajectory set for an improbable victory. A bullet zeroed in on a target on the horizon. But we all know, that bullet slows down, resistance constantly dragging energy away, breaking away to get sucked back in, the darkness was the field of opposition behind me. Like that bullet, I, and we, slow... darkness is a condition, it may not have a speed, but it can catch up. Those thundering steps growing louder behind, as legs grow weary, blood turns to acid, lungs seemingly collapse.

What happens when instead of being under and behind us, the darkness surrounds us?

What happens in the Darkness Zone?

This is a question for a later BED...

Until then, if on a trajectory of change and improvement, ride that mother fucker like there is no tomorrow. Speed towards the new horizon of future possibility without fear or anxiety, but of excitement and with a spirit of conquest, may the demons never catch us.

Become Better Every Day.

H.E. Wallace

Better Every Day #4:

Being Alone.

When was the last time you really felt alone? No significant other, no friends, maybe just a lack of contact with anyone around you. crushing isn't it?

That's not being alone, that's being lonely. And in my new adventure, I've decided to tackle my old perceptions of "alone" and "lonley".

Being alone is a state of situation, right now I'm alone in my room, at 3 am at the gym I'll probably be alone in whatever room I'm working out in. When I get home, again, I will be alone.
I used to LOATHE being alone because I had this misconception about the condition.

I think.

Or maybe I hated being alone because I hadn't started the war to conquer my mind, which I had allowed to become diseased with self doubt, regret, and fear. I hadn't had that spark of defiance to awaken the warrior withing myself yet. I was still weak, I was still afraid of my potential, mediocre and in the background was easy, it was comfortable.

I have come to embrace my time alone as an opportunity to ask myself questions, dive into the "why" of my former self, and to write. And get my house together...and play video games...and play with Sadie.

Don't get me wrong, however, I have some of the greatest friends and support system, and I love them dearly... I don't mean my embrace of being alone to become self-isolation.

Self-isolation, in the act of self-preservation leads, ultimately, to self destruction.

Being "lonely" is an emotional state. A feeling. One can be surrounded by others, including loved ones, and still be lonely. I find that loneliness is often tied to romantic endeavors first and foremost. Maybe a failed relationship, death of a loved one, rejection by one you want to be involved with. I believe this is where I became lonely, attaching too much importance to being constantly involved with someone.

Having moments of loneliness is part of the human condition, it's normal to experience. The toughest part of it in my mind is to understand that it will pass, if you allow it to, or work to get past it. Loneliness is an emotion, a potentially dangerous one if we cannot control our minds.

Embrace it, for it means you've cared, but understand its fleeting nature.

Embrace being alone, to have time to one's self, but don't allow yourself to disappear

Become Better Every Day

H.E. Wallace

Event Horizon

"It's like standing over the event horizon of all your fears, millimeters away from forever imprisoned, and in that moment any instant of doubt forms a dot in your stomach and the normal force of any courage you've ever had is overcome by that event. And that dot collapses through you, tethered only to your heart, and rips everything out of you in an instant. Ripped apart in the event a shell remains as it all falls apart.

Does it sting? 

Do you feel nothing at all? Do I?

 As my courage leaves me in strings, flying towards by new home in my own crushing lack of confidence. I try to scream, but my fear has paralyzed me even to a point of accepting my fate. The tears that form in eyes of a man long since dead, escape in a spectacular explosion as soul evacuated body.

I feel nothing at all.

Does it sting?

Mr Durden asked us who would we fight.

I'd fight myself, I'd fight my emotions that drove me to the edge of the darkness I'm being sucked into. Because, I allowed myself to feel something for you and it's literally tearing me apart in the emotional vacuum of all of my regrets.  Why destroy myself again, because I'm the only one that can redeem any sort of saving light or victory from then that dot of self doubt ripped my heart and guts out into oblivion. I hope you suffer, and I mean it. 

In that moment, I found a voice, while gazing into a star. A thundering voice, my scream shatters the atmosphere of some unknown, planet in the distance. In that moment this event was over the horizon, I reached for that bright lit star, fighting myself that had loosened his grip. 

The big bang, in that moment I created my new universe, I became untouchable.

I touched the light in a way that pushed all my darkness over some distant horizon. 

That light, wasn't you.

Does it sting?"

Eddy glanced over to Abigail and Chelsea as they sat in the neighborhood coffee shop. "So..." he finally says, searching for a response. "Eddy," Chelsea whispers, "thats fuckin' raw, man, like, I don't ,like Really get that sience-y stuff but, raw." Chelsea grabs her coffee cup and brings it to her lips, her curly, brunette hair in a bun, revealing hazel eyes. 

She slowly sips her coffee in a renewed silence.

"How long do you have until you think you'll be ready to perform this one?" Abigail asks excitedly. "like, I know it needs to be longer but I know you can do it, you always bring such cool things out of that fucked little head of yours!" She fidgets in her seat behind trendy, "hipster-esque" glasses. Vibrant Brown eyes excitedly wanting answers from her favorite cousin as her straight, brunnete hair draped her upper body below her shoulders.

Eddy lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he simply smirks for a second. 

"I dunno Cuzzo, just depends when I get the inspiration, you know how it goes with my writing sparks..." His voice trails off into some far off land as smoke rises wistfully into the air.

A renewed silence.

"I't will be good one day," he sighs, "but it's not good enough to perform yet, except for you two of course, because y'all will tell me if it's shit."

"You're mind is a dangerous place, Ed," Chelsea re-enters the conversation, " I'ts a dangerously epic fucking place."

"Dangerous." he whispers to no one in particular.

~The Trickster Maui

Better Every Day #3

Patience is a virtue, a skill, a powerful tool.

This has been a huge crutch in my earlier years,I was always impatient. On the football field, I couldn't wait for my lanes to develop...there goes my career as a running back. In Pole Vaulting, I always tried to power through a jump instead of allowing technique to develop... it was a problem until nearly the end of my career.

A lack of patience is what lead me to giving ultimatums in my personal life, I've destroyed MANY bridges along the way.

"May the bridges I burn light the way..."

Getting back into shooting sorts has been a physically empowering adventure in learning to be patient, I refuse to allow myself to continue to be mediocre, because, once again from the first BED, I believe I am destined for greatness; only if, however, I push myself through The Crucible and keep my mind focused on the prize.

Mental patience I believe, is developed by being mindful of our own limitations, and being mindful of our short fuses. I used to be very short fused, I found ways to make it work, my short fuses gave me shortcuts allowing my adventure in mediocrity to continue. Now, I have become determined to open my mind, and be aware of this reality, especially when it comes to others.

Patience in emotion: Now that's just something that we'll have to figure out for ourselves.

I'm working on that one the most, it's difficult, but I believe that it is worth it.

Be patient through The Crucible, you grow more through time spent in the flames; the pain is only temporary as long as we allow it to be so, if we allow the pain to manifest in our minds, we will break.

I will not be defeated, and I will not break.

H.E. Wallace

Better Every Day #2

Already falling behind, I apologize.

"Survival is a temporary condition."

It is also a choice.

Again, I will not be defeated.

As soon as I lay my head down to relax, a new assault developed, once again, pushing me towards a critical position. I will remain steadfast however, I am determined to continue on this new adventure, this new quest to find peace, and find whatever it is that will push me to continuously be a better person.

Todays topic: The Crucible,

Chemistry was never my strongest suit in high school, but I loved burning shit, and I loved the idea f the crucible. As explained to us, in that lab, the crucible is basically designed to just fucking survive, it is meant to outlast it's contents, through the flames applied to it.

It survives.

In the video game, Destiny, the multiplayer modes are called "The Crucible". According to the lore of this video game universe, The Crucible was started as a testing ground, to train and develop warriors through combat, through the fire.

Maybe these last few months have been some kind of strange, sadistic experiment. The flames of this strange fortune or curse, will not destroy me, I will not allow it.

Everyone should take something away from the crucible, everything may fall apart, but do not crack, do not fail, survive. Continue to fight, become something better than your current self.

Become Better Every Day.

H.E. Wallace

glimpse of a coming story

"You are the author...right?" she asks once he stops puffing his ill lit cigarette.

"Author of what?" he sharply answers as the bartender brings him another beverage.

They stare into nothing, both perhaps plotting, constructing or otherwise thinking.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"I'm sorry for coming to you, for this, but do you know who wrote the 'War Journal'?"

silence

Inhale.

Exhale.

"I knew him," he says, " knew him well..."

His voice trails off into the chaos of color that is the watering hole.

"Can you tell me anything about him?" she asks, encouraged ,"anything?"

"He was a troubled man, very troubled," the man trembles as he explains and looks towards the newly dewed drink in front of him."Lots of demons, demons drive men like him..."

His voice again trails into the music as he turns to the young lady prodding him, she finally sees scars on his face, hidden by facial hair and lighting. His gaze freezes her thoughts, as in slow motion, scars over his mouth and near his eyes, ones clearly damaged by some past fight. A twitch in his lips catches her attention.

"You knew him personally didn't you?" she asks in a pleading matter.

"Don't try to search for his story, it will only lead to trouble," he murmurs as he finally takes a drink, "that devil is better left dead and gone."

They sit in silence between each other, the music now faintly a memory.

"He'll be back soon.." the man protests as he leaves the bar top.

"He'll be back in a deafening way, he never conquered his ghosts, he has to come back, to settle things."

He stops while re-lighting that long burnt-out cigarette

 "When?" she asks, perplexed, "can I talk to him?"

The man laughs as ashes fall at his feet.

"He's already back," he laughs, "just look harder."

Tansition Period

August 2014

Last time I allegedly posted anything on this slow, crawling blog.

I can honestly say this has probably been the longest creative block I've experienced, that I can remember, at least. It is obviously usual for me to go months without at least some small scene popping up into my head and my creative process running amok, spattered with spelling and grammatical errors while I try to keep up with the mental stream that carries me through a narrative with the end not yet being known.

August 2014: Redemption.

Redemption started from a dream sequence I'd like to see in a movie, again, a scene which I allow to make itself reveal itself at its own speed, without my guidance. It had some kind of connection to previous writings, loosely at least. I feel that scene was kind of a closure to this loose mental flow.
And just like that, it was over. The imagery was gone, I couldn't conjure up those smokey bars, those pasts intertwined without characters ever meeting, all of the doors, and windows seemed to shut.

I have had moments of "I'm totally gonna write a ___________ about _________, however obviously, nothing has materialized since an envelope was placed onto the ground.

Bear with me, I'm sure I'll come up with something...eventually.

Read a book one day::

"The Ables" by Jeremy Scott
It's rather damn good.


Signed,

The Trickster, Maui

Redemption

"How the fuck did you find me..." she demanded in a hushed tone, "Why are you fucking here?".

"The doesn't really matter much at this point, does it?" He responds, quietly.

Her fists are clenched at her side, the jeans she wears hugs every inch of her legs, the white of her shirt offset by the angry red of her face. "Why the fuck are you here Samuel?" she demands again.

"For everything that ever happened, for all the times I have, and could have said sorry, I'm here to trade you all that pain I caused..." his voice trails off as he looks into her honey brown eyes. "I'm here for redemption."

His perfectly polished shoes were accented by cuffed black slacks that sported grey-blue pinstripes, powerful creases led to a bright silver belt buckle which closed a black leather belt around his waist. A blue designer shirt was tucked into those slacks, closed around his neck by a black, skinny tie.  All of this encompassed by a flat, black suit jacket.

"Not this again, that is all the past dammit, I'm not going to sit around for your drama anymore, I've been gone for a long time," she hisses, "just forget everything and let it go, you've done enough already."

He takes a few steps closer to her, as she, one back, "Then set me free...please...this is all I can give you, all I could ever give you."

Reaching into the left breast of the jacket, he pulls out a pistol, FN Five-Seven, their eyes meet again, "Please set me free..." he whispers as he hands her the pistol. He kneels in front of her, and reaching into the right breast pocket, pulls out a sealed envelope and sets it onto the ground.