.beep.

hi. you have reached the voicemail of...

i punch the wall and wait for the tone.

beep.

...i just called to say, calling you will never be enough. im drunk at 3am and i still feel you. god, do i feel you. you are the cracks in my tired bones. the whiskey my marrow cant stand. my darling, dont you know, it was easy to love you more than i could ever love myself. now im sitting in this bedroom-turned-confessional, cold turkey since devouring the last drop of you. I just woke up, drenched in sweat from a dream that i was being buried alive, and you were shoveling the words, "i love you but im not ready for forever yet" onto my trembling body, and soiling the hopes that youll ever come back to me. i guess what im trying to say is...

beep. press 3 if youd like to delete this message and record a new one.

...

3.

...i just hope youre happy.

Storybook

Let's run away,

I'll keep you safe.

If you're feeling brave, dear,

I'll let you stay here.

Just be my princess,

I'll be your white knight.

Our kiss will start this

Once upon a time,

If you'll run away.

(She never heard the final version of our song.)

(Because, ironically, she ran away.)

(I wonder how many other white knights she's fucked since.)

(God damn foxes.)

There's a limit.

"I'll just make sure when I wash our clothes that I don't mix the dedicates."

"You... do realize I can wash my own clothes, right?"

"Hold on. You know how to run a washing machine?"

"And a dryer."

"What."

"And fold them and put them away. And I wash, dry and put away dishes, too. And vacuum. And clean. And keep the bathroom in order. And cook if there's a book. I could even sew up that tear in your skirt right there - since it's along the seam."

"Holy crap, Neil... can you hem??"

"Hokay, I'm not gay."

Stonehenge.

sometimes i wonder what my other fox is doing.

and i quickly realize i probably really, really dont.

so ill just continue to write songs instead.

at the park.

where she broke the record.

The Flood.

"I don't think I ever wanted to be 'The man who loves children.' But from the moment they’re born, that baby comes out and you act proud, and excited, hand out cigars. But you don’t feel anything. Especially if you had a difficult childhood. You want to love them but you... don’t. And the fact that you’re faking that feeling makes you wonder if your own father had the same problem.

"Then one day they get older, and you see them do something. And you feel that feeling that you were pretending to have. 

"And it feels like your heart is going to explode."

- Don Draper

Within The Ceaseless Grip of Trying

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.

Sailors have an expression about the weather: They say the weather is a great bluffer. I suppose the same is true of our human society - things can look dark, and then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man's curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.

Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.

#305

"choke me," she'd say,

her blonde hair matted brown

from the sweat

of summer and sin.

mouths mashed against each others,

my grip closing around her 

perfect,

silk,

white,

pulsing throat,

her eyes suddenly fluttered in rhythm 

with her belly, quivering beneath mine.

the embers smoldered within,

the fire roared,

and we drenched her white sheets in our love.

and in between the tempo of our breaths,

beating in unison against the carnal silence,

she exhaled only a single word.

"more."

The Best.

The phone chimed that morning. Woke me up.

But I already knew what it was.

I didn't need to be told.

* * * * * 

The evening prior I drove to my parent's house to celebrate my cousin's birthday. After the obligatory meet and greet, I asked where Lily, my little sister's dog of 8 years, was. She's in the bathroom on the floor, they said. Scrunching my face, I headed to the back of the house and down the dark hallway.

Turning the light on, there she was. Unmoving, all except for her glassy black eye, which squinted and looked at me from the side. Just vague interest in my presence, nothing more. No barking or yelping. I walked in and crouched over her, reaching down to pet her where she's always liked it; around the ears, and under the chin. Her skin felt hard and there were lumps hidden under the fur. She took a deep breath and groaned out. The only movement was a weak attempt at a flinch when I'd pet her nose, as if it hurt to the touch.

"The hell," I said, as I walked back into the living room.

They didn't know what was wrong specifically, but she'd been in pain for about a year now. Limping. Lack of energy. Slowing down. Not as playful. Couple of surgeries to remove a tumor. The last few weeks she hadn't even been eating, relying on I.V. treatments for nourishment. The tests were apparently coming back tomorrow.

But I knew. We all did. No one needed to be told.

* * * * * 

Lily was a crazy playful dog. She never once bit or snapped or growled or... anything a dog normally does. Ever. Her entire life. The only time she opened her mouth was to hold a tennis ball, eat food, or bark as she blindly chased water. She didn't walk; she pranced. And she didn't run; she bounced, with her long fur coat bouncing along with her. She never over-zealously licked your face, never overstayed her welcome, never woke you up with noises, and never destroyed furniture. She somehow knew when it was okay to hop up on the bed and lay next to you to comfort you... and when to just stay on the floor to protect you.

She never needed to be told.

* * * * *

So we drove the quiet drive to the animal hospital. Lindsey held her the whole way there. Inside, we waited and were finally called. My father, mother and sister and I circled around Lily, lying on the table barely breathing, and cried. We pet her in silence, all lost in our own thoughts.

When the door opened and the time came, my sister realized she couldn't watch what had t happen and left with my father. The doctor asked if we were ready. No one said a word. Because, really, how do you say "yes" to that.

I was in charge of holding Lily as the doctor pushed the needle in. Unlike Jag, my cat, Lily wasn't spastic. There was no jerking around. No scuffle. No fight. No frantic movements of confusion or resistance. Five full seconds in, she softly raised her head, feeling the new sensation flowing inside of her.

And then, just as peacefully... she slowly laid her head down. As if she was simply... deciding to sleep.

I held her closer, feeling her one last breath fill her boney little body; a deep and relaxing one.

And I felt her let go.

No one in the room moved for quite a while - neither my mother sitting on a stool by the wall, or me hugging Lily. I think we were secretly waiting for her to bark and pop up, hearing the jingle of her collar, and her tail to whap against the metal table, the first animal ever in history to miraculously come back from aggressive Mesothelioma, sparking a newfound faith in a God worldwide.

But it didn't happen. Just the sound of the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and sniffling around the room. A soft press of the stethoscope against fur, and the veterinarian nodded to confirm what we didn't need to be told: We no longer had our Lily.

There was no more wheezing. No more groaning. No more of those helpless looks with her eyes turned up because she was too weak to move her own head. None of that. I looked down and, for the first time in a long time, I saw something different.

She looked just as I had always known her: 

Perfect. 

And at peace.

That night, we left her the way she lived.

Perfect.

And at peace.

Say hi to Jag for me, girl. 

- HKR

She said.

The little things.

Sometimes things happen for reasons you're never allowed to understand.

You can guess all you want, but forces beyond your influence will never enlighten you.

The curse of the unknown and unfinished can be a heavy, heavy monster.

Sometimes it's best to let it go free.

Sometimes it's best to kill it and consume it.

Sometimes it's best to tame it and keep it around for companionship.

But you should never, ever feed it.

And one day it will die, withered from time and nostalgia, wheezing on the ground of memory.

And you'll drop the chain.

Because sometimes...

...things happen for reasons you're never allowed to understand. 

Flawed and Ruined

Old love letters are like maps to treasures that no longer exist

Ex marks the spot.

                                                                 Back in the cage.

So Much For The Afterglow

I sat down on the same spot where she fucked him; the same bed where we created love on so many nights.

I haven't seen her in two years and catching up with her now just isn't the same. Why am I here? She was supposed to be out of my life once and for all, all those years ago. After what she did, after everything. I am here once again and I don't know why.

I sit up on the bed and she comes closer to me and tells me, "I am sorry, I regret it all, I don't deserve anything. I am a fucking slut and I wish I could take it all back." I've been waiting for this moment almost every day and now that I finally heard those words I nearly collapse and cried inside. She comes even closer and kisses me long and deeply.

Our clothes are off and I fucked the hate I've stored up all these years. She swallows my poison and lights a cigarette. I buried my face in my hands and realized: That was the only time we had sex and didn't make love. She used my hurt as lubrication and fucked my heart. I heard her ex laughing in the background. He still haughts everything I touch. God, tell me the reason for it all.

She looks over at me and says "Don't cry now, it's all okay now. You forgive me, right?"

I stood up and got my clothes and left, and never cried again a day in my life.

The Other Side Of The Equation

I realize now that the hardest part in finding someone isn't trying find a person that has the things you're looking for.

It's finding a person that appreciates the things in you that you enjoy being appreciated.

One of the things I miss the most about my ex (and a few other select relationships) is when she would share with me a moment or aspect of who I was that she adored - one that I had never even thought about before. One time it was how expressive my eyes can be. Another time it was my broad shoulders. Or how safe she felt sleeping next to me. Sometimes it was my smooth skin. Or how she liked the way I walked, or finished her sentences, or how fast I solved puzzles. And especially the multitude of intimate connections we shared that she promised never to take for granted. She noticed all of the little things that pass over the rest of the world's heads... parents, siblings, co-workers, even best of friends. To a large degree, they're far more invested in their own lives to ever notice and become aware of the nuances that make up who you are as a whole. (After all, how often are you thinking about all of your friends' cute little quirks?)

Even most girlfriend and boyfriend couples only scratch the surface of each other. He'll say she's so pretty, and she'll say he's so strong; He'll say, "Oh, you're so smart," and she'll say, "You're so funny." But that isn't who you are. That isn't the crux of you. We are all comprised of little idiosyncrasies, involuntary subliminal "ticks" that separate us from each other.

You could take 10 men, stand them side by side, and have them all be, say, 5'9" - that's average, right? Now let's say they all make, astoundingly, the exact same amount of money. They all drive the same make and model of car, have the same favorite musical taste, eat the same food, weigh the same amount, are all left-handed, and even share the same political and religious ideologies. Let's even give them the same skin, hair and eye color, too.

Now on paper, they're the same person and therefore, theoretically speaking, should be interchangeable as a potential partner for a woman, right?

But of course we know that isn't even remotely true. There are a combination of tiny differences in each one that individualizes them all from each other.

• How does one guy act when he has the flu and can't get out of bed? 

• Is he grumpy and demeaning? 

• Do one of the others act like a injured puppy in the rain? 

• What about when you sit them all down in front of a computer with awful internet connection? 

• Which one flips the keyboard into the air first? 

• Which one likes kids? 

• Hates kids? 

• Wants to have one or two? 

• Wants to have five? 

• Says he hates kids but actually adores them? 

• How does each one drive in traffic after being cut off four times in a row on the freeway? 

• Which one will remember your birthday with a gift, and which one will remember it with a surprise vacation? 

• And which one will forget altogether? 

• Which one is terrible at oral sex but amazing at everything else? 

• Or vice versa?

And most importantly: Which one will experience you for who you truly, truly are, discover all of the things that you love and hate about yourself, and still love you? Which one will love you for the right things? And call you out on the bad? And let you slide on others because he knows he's not perfect either? Are you okay with someone that will never be capable of comprehending 100% of your hidden, untapped nature? Will you settle for something "easier" if it means you'll never have that intense fire and magic of a deep connection again? I suppose that decision is relative to each person, and each person decides what they're willing to trade-off for. But I personally concede no ground.

See, you could find someone that ticks off every box on your checklist - "attractive, smart, secure job, within your age window, close by, likes pets, likes your kind of music, food and drinks, someone my parents will like, etc." - that's the easy part. Because you're intrinsically always on the lookout for that minutia of qualifications anyway, so you don't really have a choice in terms of the set of qualities you'll end up with. And you could go out with that person for a while. But after some time passes, you'll know whether they possess the ability to understand the depth of who you are... or not. And it will become obvious fairly early on that you're going to have to make a choice: Surrender your ceiling and settle for "well it's not bad", or admit that you and the other person deserve more - deserve better - and then be brave enough let them go. It's irresponsible not to. You're denying them happiness just as much as you are your own.

I'm a stubborn son of a bitch. I was with an "easy" for about 5 years. But I eventually came to the realization that she would never fully grasp who I am or appreciate the extent of me. That's simply not who she was. This isn't a bad thing; On the contrary, she was and still is a profoundly wonderful person. One of my favorite people I've ever met. She was just a very simple person and needed only a simple boyfriend that wanted a simple life. That would make her happy. Unfortunately, I'm neither of those things. And I knew that somewhere, out there, was a simple guy that she could fully appreciate and would fully appreciate her in return and need nothing more from a relationship. Some people are perfectly content eating vanilla ice cream. She was a vanilla girl. (I was.. I dunno... Rocky Road? Is that a cliche enough metaphor?) So at the expense of my secure contentment and for the sake of her happiness, I let her go.

And then I pursued my twin and she pursued me. 

And then we won. 

And then we lost. 

The rest is history. 

And this isn't about ego, either. It has nothing to do with, "I want someone who always thinks I'm a god." Because it has to work both ways. They could unearth everything amazing in you and you could like it, but if you're incapable of tapping into the amalgamated spirit of who they are, it's not going to work either. It's the reciprocated acknowledgement of one another's true essence.

There are plenty of women out there that fulfill my surface requirements for a partner: Pretty, college-level intelligence, ambition, broad sense of humor, empathy, well-intentioned, informed intuition, analytical defaults, submissive vulnerabilities, alpha tendencies, a willingness to push me and to be pushed herself, politically and socially aware, big and kind-hearted, not religiously-charged, craves life, loves animals, and possesses inherently strong nurturing instincts. There are quite literally tens of thousands of those women out there. And within my age range. And single.

But how many of them could possibly "get" me? For all their attributes that align with what I desire in someone else, the most critical aspect is the most difficult to find: Profound and accurate appreciation. In all of my years, I've only found it twice. I could have been content with silver a few times... but I can't. I never can be. I need gold.

You can find and be with someone that has all the stuff you want on paper. But kicker is that intangible variable in the equation that so many people forget and causes them to settle: It's not about what you find in a person - that's the easy part. It's about what that person finds in you. That's what makes it work. In the end, you'll miss what they loved about you. Because it's when you get someone that sees things in you that no one else has seen before - not even yourself - that's when you truly have a unique connection that you can live for.

That key that moves all the tumblers in your lock.

-HKR