random dialogues

is a letter a dialogue?

2005-07-09T03:21:00.000-07:00

dear julie,

i have been fine, thanks for asking. well ... i have been as fine as could be expected, i guess. the doctor doesn't seem to think i have much of a chance, i think. she doesn't really look me in the eyes. i think she has grown to like me.

i told you it was a bad idea to go to the doctor in the first place. i am not too sure what you were thinking. this isn't my style. i would rather be out in the world, not confined to a one-bedroom apartment in a strange city.

i don't think this is as bad as everyone else does. i have wanted to die for a while. i guess you probably know that. i guess i probably said it to you a couple of times when i shouldn't have. i guess this is what i get. but really, i think it really is what i wanted.

seriously, i get to feel sorry for myself ... and all the people that claim to have loved me are finally acting like they do. and yes, that includes you. it certainly isn't lost on me that i don't hear from you for years. than my sister runs into you, and voila, i get a letter in the mail.

it's funny to me, the way people do that. it's like, it was always ok with you that we didn't talk, as long as you knew that you could always find me if you had to. but now, i think you realize that we won't talk too much anymore ... and that's a sure thing, not just me trying to be dramatic.

i don't have the energy for the drama. not anymore. i am a miserable man. i am miserable, but i plan on making a change. i am no longer going to go through the treatments. it's over. i have decided to go to europe and walk to china. i don't think i will make it. but i do think it's worth the try.

either way, let us not lose touch again. if nothing else, i would like to see you before i go. i miss you very much. at night, i often speak to you ... hoping to find solace or something. i don't want that to sound like i am pathetic, but i guess i probably am anyway. so whatever.

why don't you come and meet me in vegas? i think that will be my first stop.

anway. my mother is doing fine, thanks for asking. the dogs are alive, but they are getting old. are you interested in adopting some wonderful boys and girls? and no, i sold the motorcycle. i needed the money. it's still my preferred method of trasportation. well ... now it's going to be walking, i guess.

your friend,
amero

unforgivable whiteness ...

2005-07-08T16:07:00.000-07:00

"hey todd, i see your hair is getting long, are you growing an afro?"

"i am trying to figure out a way to answer your question without bitching you out, which is what i really want to do right now."

"why's that?"

"cause black people aren't something you learn about by watching the wb."

"sorry, but i have never even watched a program on the wb -- including buffy."

"wb, upn, nbc, cbs, whatever it is that you watch. black people are just the creatures that you see on your television programs."

"is that what you think? you think that all i know about black people i have seen on television?"

"yes."

"oh well, fuck you."

picking scabs ...

2005-05-30T02:12:00.000-07:00

"why did you say you missed me?"

"you can miss people without wanting them back in your life. you know, things aren't always the way that you think. did it occur to you that maybe i don't want to sleep with you again?"

"really? you so want to fuck me. don't pretend. you think i don't feel your eyes drop straight down to my ass the second i turn around? or do you just think that you pull them back up before i notice? either way, you are quite naive."

"it's not like that. so what, you are fucking hot. that doesn't mean a lot more than just that. you broke my heart. i don't want your pain. i just miss you."

"i broke your heart? do you even know how much you touch people? do you even have a clue of the roller coaster you took me on? i have seen you look at me like i am a goddess, and i have seen you look at me like i am the dog that just killed your cat.

"look, i miss you too. it's not like that. and i think i still want you in my life. but it seems like you still have a lot of anger toward me. and it's that anger that i have never been able to ... take ... or understand ... or something. i want you to look at me like i am that goddess. but i can't take the rest."

"but that's who i am. i am volatile. and so are you. that's what makes us what we are. and what we are is special."

"i don't want to be special anymore."

you could, you know, like ... lay off the drugs

2005-04-17T03:18:00.000-07:00

i don't know if i fancy myself some sort of philosopher or not, but i do like to brood. and part of brooding are the steps taken along the way. so when the sun goes down, it can be a good thing to get out and see the world. ok, not a philosopher.

walking is nice, though. and as is usually the case, i waasn't bothered by the cold, or the people around me. i just walked forward, deep in prayer ... or meditation ... or something, and i moved across the street toward the park.

it seems that the best part of walking around a ghetto in the middle of the night are the conversations you stumble into. taking this same walk, just a week ago, i was stopped by a police officer.

he was a young chap, clearly not well versed in the ways of poor people, and probably a little uncomfortable being this deep in the hood anyway. he was a tall guy, with a neat buzz cut, and glasses that screamed geek.

now me, i don't like that i can't just walk through the fucking park no matter what time it is, so i knew i had to make some sort of comment, even if it was just to the rook.

"you can't be in the park," he said as he stopped his car 20 feet away from me, leaning and speaking out the passenger window.

"no," i said, "i am just walking through the park"

"you can't walk through the park"

"no, man, i am just walking through the park."

we wen't back and forth, and i just kept repeating the same sentence over and over, until he gave up and drove away.

i don't know what that did for my walk. in the times following that encounter, i kept on having this feeling that i shouldn't be doing this, and that the last thing in the world i wanted to do was to have to speak to a cop. but whatever.

tonight, though, i just walked along. i figured the best thing to do was to walk on the sidewalk across the street, making up for the paranoia. and really, i barely noticed the dude ride by on the bike, and probably wouldn't have even thought twice if it did not look like pieter from a distance.

anyway, as i am on the other side of the park, making my way back toward the house now, the guy on the bike rides up to me. it was a guy i knew, though he did not know if he knew me.

he was a shorter guy, with an overgrown mustache and few teeth left. and i just got thrown into this episode of the twilight zone. it was like i was the cop, or something. this guy just kept saying the same thing over and over and over. i can't even write it, as i have know idea how to spell this gibberish.

and he kept on wanting to shake my hand, twice riding his bike half a block down the street, only to turn back to shake my hand yet again. he was clearly tweeking, and what little of what he was saying that i could make out seemed to indicate that he was pissed off at someone that had a mother.

i guess there is no point.

brief discourse in dissent ...

2005-03-23T02:54:00.000-08:00

"what the fuck does it matter anyway?"

"it doesn't. people don't really care. i mean, it's not like how you think it is. there are no other people. you are the only one that exists, and there is no escaping it. you have been fooled because the human mind is a lonely one, and it just wanted company."

"whatever, dude. i could say the exact same shit about you."

"you could, and you would be right. in fact, i am the only one that exists, and i have created you just to figure this out right now. do you get it?"

"no, man. i don't fucking get it. i ask you if i should ditch this bitch for cheating on me, and you feed me some backwoods ass philosophy. you are what is wrong with the world, yo."

"what's wrong with the world, my friend, is the constant denial of the complexities of life and existence, and the ways that we try and deal with them. you put your problems with your girlfriend off on her. it's not her. she didn't cheat on you, you created the situation."

"i didn't fucking create shit. i came home the bitch had this stupid muthafucka's dick in her mouth. and it was like she was waiting for me. fuck, i could have killed them both right there."

"but you didn't. there are really only two explainations. one, that you want this shit to go on. two, that it doesn't really matter to you anyway. in both cases, it is about you. but you go on with the denial. you go on with this notion that there is something in this world that you do not have total control over."

"naw, muthafucka. this ain't right. you are the one in denial. you don't even accept the basic laws of interdependence. one person doesn't exist without others. we need each other, and we create each other's realities. you are the one who is wrong. you pump your clones full of this notion that they are individuals."

setting a mind to sleep ...

2004-12-10T04:06:00.000-08:00

"don't roll over," she said softly as i scooted up next to her warm body.

"am i going to crush you?"

"i just need to crawl up behind your back tonight. sometimes i feel like this is all i really need from you. put your body in front of me for protection, and don't crush me."

"then what is everything else for?"

"you. don't ask stupid questions, just close your eyes and set your mind to sleep."

the imaginary dialogue of an overdue reunion ...

2004-12-10T03:54:00.000-08:00

"don't i get a hug?"

"no, why would you think that?"

"i am your father, and i think that counts for something."

"well, it's nice that you have decided to try thinking, it's just a shame that you still don't think of much other than yourself. but here's something you can think about: being a father is a lot more than a job only in name, and childern mean something too."

"don't you have what it takes to forgive me?"

"i don't even know what it is that you would want me to forgive you for. you want to know why i don't like you, and the first thing that comes to my mind is how you treated me. but it was always so much more than just me. in fact, i would say that you treated me better than almost anyone else in this whole stupid fucking mess.

"there is a lot that i have gotten out of being your son. i know that i don't want to be like you. i don't want to look like you, i don't want to think like you, and i don't ever want to feel that i must feel like you. i suppose that's a little bit of a burden, but it's a burden that i got from you.

"but i just think that a man owes a little bit more to the world. and i feel that it's silly to think that i can tell you exactly what you owe. i look back on everything, and i don't even know what makes you think that you have the right to enter back into my life."

"is there a hope for me?"

"and it's shit like this that drives me that much more insane. how the fuck do i know. you act like the verdict rests in my hands. but i stand here before you the man least concerned of anything having to do with you. this is not my life, and not my fight. and i don't even know where to go from here."

seems like old times

2004-12-09T03:03:00.000-08:00

i pulled the old truck up to near the front of safeway and jumped out, leaving the windows open, but the dog to scare off any intruders. he was a good dog that way -- a large hound dog with a brilliant bark that didn't really have the desire to leave the cab at all.

it must have been a weekend or something. thinking back, i am sure of that because it was one of those grocery stores with the bank in the front, and i had to wade through the massive lines that marked a common payday. but also, it had seemed like ken had grown up.

the man didn't drink more than one night a week -- an agreement he had struck with his girlfriend, who had become increasingly annoyed by his now-weekly treks through a time when there was no tomorrow, and nothing to worry about. now everything had to be planned and thought out.

but nonetheless, i managed to get a couple nights in where we could sit down and take shots of vodka and talk shit into the night. and this night was looking good. i had landed a date with some 20-something vixen that assured me she could drink with the best of them.

i grabbed a couple of bottles of vodka -- absolut and some russian top-shelf that i couldn't even pronounce the name if i had wanted. when drinking vodka straight, you want to go with a bottle that will give you the ambiance of old russia, and the absolut was if you wanted to mix. so i guess i thought things out from time to time too.

when i made my way out of the store, there was a hobo looking just about my age standing outside the passenger's side of the truck talking to my dog. the dog didn't bark, he was getting old and preferred to save his energy for what he considered to be threatening ... i think. you never can know with dogs.

"it seems just like old times, elmer," was just about all i overheard as i approached the scene.

my dog didn't have a name. i guess i just figured that he never felt the need to tell me what to call him, so i never really felt the need to name him. for fourteen years, "hey" or "stop" or "come on" and a few other common sense words had done the job just fine. maybe this guy could sense that he didn't have a name.

it's always the same thing if you have a dog without a name. the first question someone asks when they bend down to pet your dog is "what's his name?" i don't know if that's because they took the time to look for a penis before engaging the dog, or if they just always assume that dogs are men and cats are women ... i am yet to make up my mind.

usually they will ask how old they are next, but not when you tell them the dog doesn't have a name. that usually shakes up their world -- especially when it's a dog as old as this one. they always ask why, and i would usually just say, "i don't know his name." so needless to say, many a person has named my old dog. but i don't recall anyone ever foregoing this cookie cutter conversation. ... but i still went ahead and jumped in.

"why elmer?"

"that's what he says his name is, man. but he says it's not your fault, he's never been able to tell you."

"do you know my dog?"

"i don't know, man. i seem to feel like i do. i think i was a dog in another life. he called me from over there," he said pointing out to the cross-street that he must have been standing at when i first pulled up.

"i know you too," he added. "and i know what you are doing. you are lying to everyone. there is no light outside for them to see. you don't know what you are talking about. nothing has really changed for you. you are a sad, sad man, who doesn't even know what to call his dog. you may think you are different. but you are still one of society's whores. that's all any of us can ever be."

he had worked himself up into a full roar by the end of his tirade. but when he was done, he just turned and walked away from the truck.

i didn't know what to say. i lit a cigarette and got in the cab. the dog looked back at me, as if to say that the dude was crazy, but that he didn't care. and just then, i saw him standing at the truck behind mine, where there was a st. bernard crosstied in the bed.

"seems like old times, elmer," i heard him say as i drove off.

the hitchhiker

2004-12-08T13:29:00.000-08:00

rain poured down in giant beads and flew in against the car from a sideway angle. cat stevens' "i wish, i wish" rolled out of the speakers from the doors, the only speakers that worked that day. i saw her up ahead under a bridge with her thumb out.

i had a couple hundred more miles to fly, so i figured i could use the company. i slowed down and stopped just five or ten feet in front of her, still under the bridge. she, a beautiful girl light on her feet with long wavy ash-blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, ran up to the car door with a giant smile on her face. i rolled down the window.

"how far are you going?" she asked.

"up to arcata. can you pitch in?"

she didn't answer, just ran back for her bag, opened the front door and jumped in, throwing the bag on the back seat next to the dog, who didn't really seem to care at all about the new person in the car.

the radio had switched to "dallas" by the silver jews. she knew the lyrics.

"i love this song. i moved to dallas for a while, thinking that it was just this romantic," she said.

"it's not?"

"it's not."

"so how far you going?"

i picked her up hoping that i could not only get her out of the rain, but also get some help paying for gas. i had some money, probably enough. but i was more concerned about having money further on down the line. i felt like i was coasting in on the proverbial fumes more than the ones in the car. it was going to be a while before i landed myself on a payday again. but i just couldn't figure out how to ask, unsure if she heard me before she ran back and got the bag.

"i don't really have a destination as much as a force i am trying to outrun, but i think you know exactly how that feels," she said, gambling on her perceptiveness, as far as i could tell. "what's in arcata? you don't seem like a hippie."

"there's nothing there, really. a place to sleep for a couple of nights, before i head the rest of the way up to portland, where i am meeting a friend this weekend."

"a girlfriend?"

"no, an old college friend."

"so is that why i am here?"

"what do you mean?"

just then, as funny as it seems, the silver jews turned to royal city's "enemy." the lyrics over and over: "you are not my enemy, i will make my bed up for thee." i am sure it was just a coincidence.

"cash, grass or ass, right? isn't that how it works? so i got two of the three. not cash, right, 'cause then i might not even be out here."

"but i thought you were running. what are you running from?"

"an old college friend. but i am just asking what the deal is. you asked me if i could chip in, i didn't know what you meant. i don't have any money, but i got some weed ... and i guess if you are willing to take me up to portland with you, we could talk about the other."

"moving a little fast, aren't you? why don't you just roll a joint, and i will find a spot to kick it somewhere in a break from the rain? i didn't pick you up because i wanted to hump you. hell, i couldn't even see what you looked like. i could only see that you were trapped, and needed out from under that bridge."

"a romantic, huh? well what if i can't roll a very good joint?"

"i don't know, do you have a raincoat in that bag?"

first entry

2004-11-11T03:58:00.000-08:00

i don't think i am going to get this started tonight. but basically, this is just a place for me to write down some of the conversations in my head.