Entry 28: Those Are Dreams

diary

*Three Months Later*


I now find myself replacing my sadness with hobbies. “Ooooooooo, good book,” I’ll say, and force myself to binge read and enjoy pages and pages of content that may or may not be entertaining to me.

And so you know I dream of you…

So simply, just dreams, and in them we do things together. I look at your face as we exit the highway. Your right lid sticks as you roll your eyes. I see you stand melancholy as you peer in the fridge. You reach out for my hand as we walk on the gravel. I watch your brow as you squint and aim your toss as we play washers. Your tapered fingers tell stories as you sit on your soapbox. I walk up your driveway as you swing bags into the bed of your truck. You snort and scratch your beard playfully on my face. I wake up to the light and see you asleep, yet smiling. In there I linger because you love me… So simply we are friends.

Somehow you’ve resurfaced, you’ve dodged the letters and numbers and trips to Half Price Books and you’ve shown up there. You’re the DreamWorks boy looking down. A fishing rod in one hand, sitting in the clouds of my mind… And I’m waiting for you in the poofs… And still I love you, and somehow long ago you’ve admitted to feel the same about the both of us, both yourself and me. No questions, we aren’t demurely wandering anymore, your timid restraint is gone, it’s a regular day.

Then comes my neighbors’ slammed door, their keys jingle. Step, step, step, step, vibrating down the railing. My visions dissipate, a hazy fog rips them away, held captive for an instant until my rouse forgets your presence. I lay on the right of my bed, roll my chin to see its empty left side. The sheets lay cold goggling me with sad eyes. I look at the dark blades of the fan in my ceiling, womp, womp, womp. A meek effort to feel complete, I replace the scene with the blades of yours.

Forget it.

Get up and get in the shower, get ready for your day girl. Get up!

Those aren’t memories, those are dreams.

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Entry 27: A Beautiful Man

diary

I love the way you love your friends. You either genuinely like to bitch or genuinely like to boast. Your concern for your friends is quite romantic. I envy them. Your friends look up to you, even the ones who have more than you do. They want your reassurance on just about everything, even if they know they’ll get your scalding first. They’re willing to deal with your quick temper, because in the end you’re a good man. You have a good head on your shoulders. You are a big bear to more people than just me you know.

I love the things that you know. The numbers, the years, the dates, the specifics you take the time to pay attention to. The history, the land, the skills of a man from another time. Your memory astounds me, your concepts build the profile of a man who can be the expert, the teacher, a role model. You set a par for others to look up to because of your willingness to progress. You have an insight that gives you a distinct perception and empathy lest you let it. Your concepts are unique Big 🐗Bear🌵✨ and you should value the permeability of them. Your ability to be agreeable.

I love what seeps into your personal life, I love to feel it from you. All details of Big 🐗Bear🌵✨ spills over, unconstrained. I am biased because I only know of my personal relationship with you, but I notice those things when we’re together. You are kind, fair, and caring. With me, you take a subtle backseat, not alike a servant, but as a king with a queen in his lap. You’re always the man tipping his hat and I appreciate that about you.

I heard someone today speak of how God was perfect and because God was perfect he wanted to strive to be more godly because that gave him hope, that inspired him to change. To me… My view on God now is skewed from the regular belief. I believe my initial connection to Him is an echo of yours. The reason I say this is because your mental struggle will morph. You will pilfer through a million routes to escape the villain in yourself.

God is not what I would describe as perfect. He exhibits jealousy, wrath, anger. We are told of how He kills and takes away. Curiously He is the one who adds, and can show us paths to love and hope. God just IS. He is what He ever intended to be, and we accept it, we are encouraged to believe it. So maybe that is what signifies one being “perfect”. Everything that could encompass a being is the good and not so good things, the being of who you are.

You are not good at choosing your battles. You have trouble regulating the more volatile sides of yourself. You have trouble choosing what’s worth a fight and what isn’t. I know this because I see you fight with it and I see you struggle. Unfortunately, sometimes I see you give up. The simplicity of you is as misconceiving as a deep pool. I see you drown as you tread along the surface.

You and I both happen to think and value the same things. Yet, as we have realized through our communication, we dive differently into the pool. You compliment me because you are different, and I compliment you in the same. This awareness is proof that there is a comfort in being offbeat. You and I, them and all those, he and she, we are all different baby. Perfection is to acknowledge our faults, whatever they may be. Acknowledge the unhappiness we stumble into, the ruts we wallow in. Our suffering is endured far above the bottom. Our suffering is above us, our suffering is the willingness to change.

I know the rage you speak of. You limit your happiness by setting caps. Your efficiency can become your downfall, because your true happiness won’t come from paying off your debt, or numbing your would-be woes. Your happiness will flow from your ability to master yourself, to swim deeply into that pool.  You must release the beast in order to find its cage.

I wrote once as a note to myself: “I need you to tell me my fears aren’t real, and you need me to tell you your fears aren’t either.” I was saying that to you, because sometimes you’re my backbone. You lift me up, I stand a little taller. With you I realize I feel a little more loved. I wish I could do that for you. I wish you could do that for yourself, and I hope one day you see it.

My whole point in writing this is because it bothers me more that you don’t love yourself before I would ever worry about your love for me. Let go of your fight Big 🐗Bear🌵✨, because it’s all in your head, you’re just a little bit crazy. There’s an endless supply of great things I could choose from to love you for. I say buckle down and choose a couple for yourself, choose some now and later, and more after that. I say choose some of those and dive with it, dive deep into that pool.

 

 

Entry 26: The Hunt 

diary

I was in the passenger seat of his black truck headed west to the countryside. Red dirt crept from every crevice, from the floor mats to the textured plastic of the door handles. We silently peered through the windows as Jacksboro Highway relieved our tension, the buildings and pavement replaced with lonesome road signs and a vast stretch of green fields and trees. The external silence fueled my internal noise as I sat in thought. The mind can process thoughts up to 500 words per minute and my 500 words were muddling over how I felt about sitting there in that Dodge truck aside that silent cowboy.

I felt like there soon….  Soon there was something that was going to anger me, and I felt like that anger was going to sever the cord that had been dragging me underneath for months. I was afraid of it… But my conscious was keen on freedom.

I felt I would finally get the explanation I’d been looking for. Maybe the reason why I’d been heartbroken for so long. In a snap! I could be freed.

I think I ponder what freedom I really desired. To be free of him? Or maybe it was the freedom we would feel when we finally got away from it all.

***

I felt the waterfalls of sweat chasing my ass crack as we entered the edge of the tree line. Our guns weighing down the journey, I huffed and bent down to one knee. Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 followed suit but took it a step further, laying his head on my lap. I frowned to myself but reluctantly, relieved, rested my arm upon his chest as I surveyed the clearing.

We hadn’t seen any pigs yet, maybe it was too hot. The sun stared hard at us in the west, hopefully its descent drew out what we were looking for. Hunting always called for silence, my favorite part. And in that silence we didn’t always find what we hunted, but according to Big🐗Bear🌵🌟, that’s why it’s called “hunting” and not “shooting”.

Jackson, our guide and Big🐗Bear🌵🌟’s best friend, crawled to the opposite side of the tree line to look the other direction. I immediately followed him, abandoning Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 where he laid, wanting to reassure that I came here to hunt and not to play cupcake. A cluster of pig backs stood off in the distance, wire-haired tails swishing the pestering mosquitoes. The blonde grass made them very prominent, their black rumps stuck out like sore thumbs.

When you see your prey an adrenaline switch makes you forget everything else. Whether your palms were clammy, or your socks were soaked through your boots. If your sour lemon bug spray didn’t do a damn thing to deter insect bites, if you were worried about your partner’s ulterior motive. It didn’t matter.

I pulled my gun up to my shoulder to eye my shot. Jackson grinned to my right, his face buried in the binoculars. I closed my left eye and breathed through my mouth silently, and the stillness reminded me. Where was Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 at? He was missing this.

I turned to wave him over, but he was no longer where he was. I snapped my head left to right in search. My anticipated triumph vanished immediately to slump my shoulders into a slight anxiety.

Pigs was his favorite part.

I looked through my scope again, I could see they were so close! They stood maybe 200 yards out, and dusk was rapidly arriving. Pigs, tree line, search, pigs, tree line, search.

WHERE was Big🐗Bear🌵🌟?!

I felt it was rude not to wait, and I was surprised by how defeated I felt to pause in that exciting moment. Suddenly, some branches fell quickly to the ground, then stopped midair and lifted. Up and down, up and down, quickly the branches were waving! I squinted, how absolutely absurd.

I looked back at the pigs. Just standing there! I thought. What a perfect shot. I glanced back to the branches. Are they..? Were the branches BECKONING me to come to them? I squinted again. Is that?

Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 was foolproof in camouflage. Full-body animate as a wind-sock, he used his legs, hips, and arms like giant wafters to pull me to his place. In his silent commotion he shouted silent exaggerated words.

“COME HERE!” He mouthed.

 I pointed and mouthed back,”THEY ARE RIGHT THERE!”

“NO!” He shook his head big and waved his long arms to form circles.

“COME HERE!” He demanded, pointing to where he stood. Frustrated, but with no choice than to trust him, I stealthily ran back.

Reaching his side I felt a panic, worried about the loudly snapping twigs under my boots. He rushed up so close I smelled the sweat beading down his neck. My gaze flowed over his uneven nostrils to his amber eyes and he whispered, “There’s a pig literally right there walking,” and he pointed west. Fifty yards away a pig back sashayed across the clearing. He smiled eccentrically and I absorbed his excitement as he continued.

“You’re gonna go over there, and you’re gonna shoot it.”

If You’re From a Small Town

diary

I’m walking my dog in my apartment complex in a municipality city of the Dallas-Fort-Worth area. I have a little girl at home. My dog trots over the grass, in the octagonal space we pretend is our yard. She squats while I stand idling, and I think about when I was my daughter’s age.

When I was four I lived in a town of 12,000 people. Throughout school my family knew most other families in the town too. In Winfield, Kansas it was unknowingly a privilege to walk the streets at night and not feel afraid. That town was ours and I never could have comprehended anything but what happened around and in my town.

Now, when I left Winfield High School I unknowingly moved to the hood. I may be from a small town, but I grew up in Dallas, Texas. I grew up in Oak Cliff.

***

People I knew in my neighborhood were shot in the face. A crack head I used to see everyday burned down the apartment building across from mine. The bodies of 4 men were found hacked up in trash cans in the hoods I drove through to see my friends.

I noticed when the room started to fill with red. I wasn’t surprised when my friend told me about someone they saw shot. Men would follow me to my parking spots for my number. I have been told to leave a building more than once in fear that someone soon would be shot.

Helicopter lights shining in my home was a norm. I have ran from gun shots in a parking lot more times than I can count. I have choked on mace sprayed into crowds. I have met some of the most prestigious rappers from the Deep South. I dated a rapper that people in hoods all over Dallas and Houston knew of.

I’ve been pulled over by police just so they could holla at me. Police would blockade our streets and make us all stop regardless and arrest 10s of us in a night. More than a pimp or two has tried to add me to his roster.

I almost didn’t have a single friend that didn’t have someone in prison that they missed dearly. I have family members who walk amongst the homeless in Downtown Dallas. I have slept in my car without anyplace to go.

And now…

I am 75% of the way to being free from needing to worry about robbers going into my home while I walk my dog and my daughter is inside.

Be happy you are from a small town and have seen less. I am burdened with the things I know. I cannot wait to go back to a small town again. To be a “small-town person”.

If anything, be happy for that.

Entry 24: The Robotic Parrot

diary

Do you want to say anything??

Besides admitting that I didn’t murder Big🐗Bear🌵🌟 for Halloween…

Not really, no.

Although, I must say there’s a point in time when you must know yourself, when you must know how you will react and you counter that. You must know what will deceive you, and you must counter that also. Once you have mastered these techniques you can utilize them for your own benefit.

To explain, imagine you befriended a parrot. What is more interesting about this particular parrot, is that it has artificial intelligence.  But at first you don’t realize that it is an AKA robot.

Parrots repeat what they hear, and they make it seem like they’ve always thought what they say. As if there was some kind of originality to what it tells you, your robotic parrot uses this adaptive technique to seem more personal and humanistic. So imagine your newfound parrot was programmed with a specific set of rules that allowed it to easily converse with you in simple conversation.

Tell the parrot it’s amazing, it will reply, “Thank you, you are amazing too.”

Tell the parrot it is hilarious, it will reply, “Thank you, you are hilarious too.”

Tell the parrot it is your most beloved friend, it will reply, “Thank you, you are my most beloved friend too.”

Tell the parrot to admit that it used you, it will reply, “Yes, I did use you.”

Tell the parrot it’s an a-hole, it would reply, “Yes, I am an a-hole.”

I think you get the point I’m trying to make here, but in case you don’t see it, it’s that the robotic parrot has no particular function other than to regurgitate everything that you say and make it its own in order to seem genuine. Your parrot friend speaks for the sake of speaking! Yet, there is no genuine train of thought inside of the robotic parrot, only a preset list of functions. To you, this is annoying and frustrating! Why doesn’t the parrot have its own set of responses?!

Now ask, what is the primary objective of my feathery friend? What prompts my parrot to respond?

Let’s say that its objective is to obtain bird feed. In order to fulfill its ambition the parrot will use its baseline function to receive what it wants. (Remember here that your robot friend doesn’t know how to say anything UNLESS you said it first.)

Now you, you have now realized that you’re talking to a robot. You now know that the parrot only agrees with you and says you’re an amazing friend because you know that it wants to be fed. Let’s say sometimes the only reason you put up with talking to the repetitious parrot is because you receive pleasure from feeding it.

You say, “Here parrot, would you like some feed?”

It replies, “Yes, I would like some feed.”

You ask, “Hey parrot, oh buddy, oh pal, oh friend, would you like more feed?”

IT WILL REPLY, “Yes, my buddy, my pal, my friend, I would like some more feed.”

That parrot will gobble up all of your feed and when it is gone, it will function you out of the equation. You could ask, why does this parrot not speak anymore when I told it it was my most beloved friend?

Because friendship and love is not a rational function for the parrot. You are no use to the robotic parrot if you have no more feed. This will not make the parrot feel guilty, this will not make the parrot circle back to you to discuss, this will not make the parrot remember that you were once beloved friends. You’re done.

Because a robot parrot cannot compute the codes of the flesh it will not interact with you unless it knows it will receive feed. It can only say a couple of short, memorized lines and think about itself. (Its own functions and rules that yield a return for its needs.) You know this, and you also know that it is unnatural. Hence, the perks of befriending a robotic parrot is not worth the time.

***

Now, go back through this entire post and replace the word PARROT with MAN and replace BIRD FEED/FEED with SEX.

***