Scene 1

The lights all blended into one scene of a downtown mirage where the camels came to drink and the minds came to starve.  Pink, purple, illuminating lights blended together shining on heroes of fables not yet written. The  night became enough to now be considered a life form. The white Mazada of some design slick enough to garner not a name but just the eyes of suspecting passer bys pulled under the arch and into the aura of the partial conceived night. The young night offered the man with a stubble and the black blazer a chance to escape and sell the fruits of his labor from the past week.

It started with a hand shack to the valet and a jingle of the keys. A smile that said I'll get you on the way out or I'll completely forget crossed his face as the complimentary valet did all he could to force the smile. The man didn't mean to come off as another pest in the ant hive of this scene. He just wanted a drink to swirl and a scene to let him escape to a solitude of the troughs of America's jungle. A jungle the man kept going back into no matter the sounds of beasts or the rain that had befallen him the last visit. It was tough to not go back to a place where one feels so at home.

The door opened in front of him from a lady in white who made enough eye contact to keep him guessing. The pink and purple stayed outside and gave way to a yellowish hue descending from chandeliers accompanied by the tingle of ballroom piano from the left corner of the bar. It was still early so the piano was being played softly; not over bearing to try to trump the conversation. Exactly where it should be and never venturing any further. The bar blended well with the yellow; resulting in a almost crystal look of the assortment of bottles kept on call for the customers. The man stroked his stubble and took a seat in the center; camels to the right and left of him. One was having a conversation with a woman young enough to be his daughter and the other was sitting envious of the other; and glued to the t.v. to seem disinterested. The man in the middle encompassed a little of both of them: free loving, content, and blind to perception.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender, black coat, black tie asked the man; showing acknowledgement of a loyal customer.

"Whiskey on the rocks. Makes sure its Jameson," the man said; pointing his figure at the bartender and smiling.

"Of course."

The t.v. shouldn't have been distracting but, with a mellow bar scene, it did the trick. It was that or get out the phone he had just put away; which would not have been good practice at all. Instead he watched the art of pouring a drink unfold in front of him. The quick ice in the too small glass and the subtle splashes of whiskey breathing out from the sheltered bottle. Flowing over the ice, keeping its own identity but at the same time gaining the beauty of water; the uniqueness. It was coming into its own; becoming the one substance that brings out truth and can easily wreck it at the same time. It slid in front of the man, with the receipt closely following. He swirled the drink back and forth, studying it, taking it all in. It was in the subtle seconds that the air got a little hotter and the lights a little brighter and true beauty turned its seductive head in an attempt to lure all the camels from pressing matters. A bright force such as a tall, beautiful temptress will have that affect; a stunned speculation.

Why was she here alone, the man thought? Women like this didn't venture out alone, no. They were like the President; always traveling with extra security; protectors to strive off camels who had had too much water that evening; who thought their humps looked a little larger than usual. No, they had to be hiding, maybe. Out in the bathroom, telling her to go ahead and get spots at the bar. This had to be the case. In some horrible way the man wanted it to be; wanted to be so he could have a valid excuse for not introducing himself to the blonde, 5'9 angle who had floated into this bar; already elevated among the commoners.

The man had all the time in the world, all the time to sip a little faster and wait a littler eagerly for five minutes to see the women order a martini and continue to sit alone. Sitting around and not looking for anyone, not playing with a phone or her hair; relaxing at a bar like a seasoned alcoholic who does this every Friday night. The man looked at his glass; wondering how time had eclipsed to make it near empty. He wouldn't let time waste and instead he knocked it back; enough liquid courage to walk over and began the awkward dance.

It wasn't a crowded bar so the subtle lean in and knock of the shoulder wouldn't work. He guessed it would be too tacky for a woman like this anyway. He went right next to the open sit to her left; tapping his fingers to the beat of the piano; trying to detract his eyes from sliding over to her; gravitating to her beauty. His mind wandered to all the possible scenarios of failure; the smart ass look accompanied by a smart ass comment to demote his self worth and lead him back between the camels, the chit chat that said get out but was friendly enough to make you think it might have worked, or, the best, the blunt I'm not interested. It was these moments that made him never want to do it in the first place, to just order another and think about maybe the best ways it could end; knowing these would be better than any reality. The night didn't demand that, though; the night wouldn't allow it. One tap and he looked to his right where she was; swirling her straw.

"Hi, my name's John. Is that a martini?" he said; extending his hand; floating for the eternity that it seemed for her to acknowledge him.

Year

Sprinting with prose
To goals thought with the utmost precision
To the light at the end
Feeling untouchable

Caught in the merchandise of love
Past heroes inspire
Thinking you should have your own day
A bottle alone is okay

A break from it all
Swept away to a paradise that is a bit threatening
Glory found at the bottom of a glass
The first signs of life of nature

Colors returning to the eyes
Summer dresses distracting the senses
Mind restless with thoughts of grandeur
Dark beer is going out of style

Promises are met
Expectations are exceeded if only for a second
Plans for the future
The future as in three months

Light beer's in style
Mid year re-evaluations
Have you done enough for them?
Have you done enough for yourself?

Independence floods through your vines
The dog days turn to weeks
Reexamining what some might call regrets
Wanting the time to never end

Settling in for the chill
Contenting to pretend
Finding more reasons to escape
Setting your dreams

Colors escaping
Dresses packed up
Finding nothing wrong with enjoying sweets
Fall descending in perfect acceleration

Hiding to be playful
Disguising to get away
Finding the lost bottle
Pricing the ticket to see the known

Reuniting to familiarity
Eating to forgetfulness
Finding another excuse to not go outside
Fall Classic? More like mid season

The air nipping at the attempt at whiskers
Snuggling up to all temptation
Finding cause for it all
Optimism

Museum of Oddity

It was always something he did around this time of year; when the museum of oddity was in town. John had never even asked or inquired about how or why the tour had been started. Some speculated that it was Andy Warhol's and Jim Morrison's brain child conceived over liquor, drugs, and all other types of psychedelic wanderings. If that were the case, John thought of it more as a joke; a joke that everyone fell for just because of the attachment of high profile celebrity names to it. Whatever entity or force that had conceived this museum of oddity didn't really matter; John had been falling for the joke for ten years now.

Ever spring, when life was coming back in all forms, beautiful and ugly, the traveling show came through town beckoning for you to decide your standards. The bearded lady was on the low end of oddity when it came to a show like this composed of all the exhibits that hadn't made the truck stop cut. Ropes made from hair of amazon tribes' men who believed it as a wright of passage to be able to be bald. Upon birth it was said among these tribes that no one would be allowed to touch or even comment on the hair of an infant. It would grow to incredible lengths; 14 or 15 years; until the said male was believed to be ready to face the test of killing another living soul and could shed his womanly hair. This particular exhibit took up roughly three fourths of a 30 foot wall. Keeping with the amazon theme a monkey skeleton composed of two heads followed; the super glue used this time could barely be made out. Only if you had a seasoned eye for the museum could you no recognize the farce.

The Amazon theme went on for a quarter of the museum which had no been regulated to a two story art studio in downtown Phoenix. At one point the convention center had welcomed the museum of oddity but, with dwindling interest, the curator had to settle for more lowly accommodations.  John hadn't minded the change. On the contrary he had welcomed it because it made the curator become more selective on what he would show on a given evening of the exhibit. Four nights was almost enough to cram in the four semi's that traveled with the museum. John always enjoyed the first night more, though, because it made for the most adequate people watching; he began to see others like him that were the die hards; had marked the day on the calender when the museum would roll into town.

Tonight it consisted of the prototypical "hipsters" as the younger generation called them. A shorter male, late 20's to early 30's, with a purple blazer, tan skinny jeans, and pink glasses; constantly rubbing the stubble forming on his chin and moving his eyes to the outside light pole; making sure his bike was still there.  His date who was more beautiful then she let on and gave the air of "what is she doing with that guy?" She was the same height as him, dark black hair; almost like black liquorice. Her lips were bright red and her makeup paled her face just enough to emphasize the hair and lips.  Her black dress with white polka dots was just an added bonus and John had to concentrate on the exhibits so as not to be distracted by ever man's dream.

He turned his attention back to the Amazon hairy rock. Said to exist in large quantities next to rivers, these rocks had developed afros of what looked to be actual human hair. John thought it was perhaps just black moss but he did not know enough on the subject of vegetation to be sure.  The rocks themselves looked to way around ten pounds and were no different from boulders found next to rushing lakes; except they could play in the NBA in the late '70's. Stealing a glance back and forth ever so couple of seconds to the cartoon lady allowed John to not see to his left; where another patron of the museum was approaching and looking for conversation.

"I see you've found the rocks; odd little creatures aren't they?" said a slightly pitched vocie; causing John to shift his head to the left; raising his hand to rub away the hair that stuck from the jerk.

The man was around John's height, maybe a little shorter. The smell of wine and cheap somewhat refreshing cologne, an ocean breeze came to mind, hit John's nostrils first. The man wore pink slacks and a pink blazer, over a yellow V-neck that was just the right cut not to be considered outrageous. Black rimmed glasses extruding from his head giving off a somewhat Harry Potter vibe. His hair was ruffled but the man was clean shaven enough to care. He looked to be caught at the age where one wanted to admit they were in their late 20's and not 35. Judging from the looks of the man John thought he didn't want to admit a lot of things. It was exactly these kind of people that kept John coming back; nothing short of interesting with the odd.

"Odd you call them creatures. Is that bad? To use a word like odd at this place?" John asked.

"Oh, no...not at all. But, you have to be conservative with it, you know. You don't want to be the walking cliche of the whole exhibit; the man who won't stop pointing out the obvious. That's why you use words like "creatures" when describing rocks; its adds to the aura."

"Like your outfit? Sorry man, but come on? Did you dress in the dark?" John asked; frightfully good at being an asshole to unsuspecting strangers.

"At least someone gets it. I thought the chap over there in purple would say something. Instead I think he is overly serious about it all. Sad world. My name is Churchill by the way. I'm sorry, introductions at a place like this are always never done correctly," the man said; the British accent coming out unbeknownst to John. Funny he didn't hear it earlier.

"You're right, it wouldn't add to the aura. But, my name is John. Pleased to meet you Churchill. I'm glad I'm not the only one who wasn't bugged by that guy. And that girl; she could do much better."

"I'm not too sure about that. Would you really want a girl who came to a thing like this? Or maybe that would be ideal because in some twisted way that's the only reason you and I came here; to try to find a girl like that," Churchill said swerving his eyes to the girl.

John thought about it; while investigating the elephant with three tusks. Fourteen years of strolling and patrolling oddity on one night of the year; to only find himself looking more at the ladies then the exhibits. Too come to a thing like this, though, took serious commitment to having one's mind dumped down for multiple hours.  Some years John would only stay for ten minutes before he couldn't take the cheesiness of it all; he would leave and vow never to return, to never laugh at the joke again. But, he always found himself back and laughing at every obvious flaw in every exhibit.

"I don't know Churchill; I always come for the mockery of it all; the blatantly obvious tirade.  In some horrible middle class, well off way; paying for shit like this without thinking twice about it makes you feel fortunate."

"That's one way to look at it. You sound like a seasoned vet of things like this; as far as you know I might have just lost a bet to wear this two piece some would dare call a suit. I could have thought the only place that was proper to display it would be this museum. You think that would fly at the bars? You think it would get a kick out of some?"

"I don't know you well enough Churchill but....I think you dressed the part to pick up girls like that," John said; pointing his head to the right, back to the girl.

"By god John...you may know me better then my own mum. I'm going over to talk to her once she separates from Professor Hipster; toward the Antarctic exhibit. I hear the albino walrus is where all the flashing is coming from. Won't you join me? We can stop on the way and get the grape juice samples their calling wine," Churchill said; pointing behind John.

"I can't approach at once; I have to let you fail first. Though, it is always easier starting then picking up the mess. I'll go but, you have to let me lead," John said.

"That's the spirit, old chap. Straighten those Harry Potter glasses and lead on," Churchill said;drifting from John's mind and setting John back to reality in front of the elephant with three tusks. John adjusted his glasses, puffed out his pink blazer arms and walked toward the Arctic.

The exhibits always rubbed off on the patrons at the museum of oddity.

A Tribute to Partying

You can never have too much fun; right? As long as it doesn’t interfere with any responsibilities; any appointments you have; should anyone be getting mad at you for loving life and enjoying yourself? I don’t think so. Hell, I think that if there is a chance to party every living human soul should jump on it. Every day might be our last; we might be living our last minute at any time. You have to go out swinging; you have to go out at the peak of enjoyment. Do you want to go out chilling on a couch? Or sitting on the toilet reading the times? No, no,….everyone needs a crazy time; a time where everything is a little less serious; where you have no consequences. It all boils down to my definition of a “celebrity”. A celebrity is someone who has worked hard enough to establish a standing reputation within his or her profession; a reputation that he or she believes cannot be undone as long as they are not caught. Now, with this in mind, the celebrity can start doing whatever it is he or she wants to do and, usually, will get a slap on the wrist if his or her actions go over the line. Will these actions harm a reputation? Only if the person lets them; only if the person feels uncomfortable with what he or she is doing. Because this person was responsible enough to already establish a reputation; from then on it is all about doing whatever you want with that reputation. I intend to stop and smell the roses; and to keep kicking ass. I pose to all of you reading this; go out and establish something.  At the very least it will give you an excuse to party. 

Tired

The sun gleamed
Past the pleasantries of evening
Toward the hope of a new tomorrow
Through the blinds of a dark room

All stood in awe
Caught in the haze of spectacular mediocrity
Tied up in the ropes of cage-less labels
What had become of the standard?

They climbed down to the dreams
The dreams lost in the splendid valley
The valley that ached and stank of  lost causes
What had become of what they had wanted?

The rocks stung their feet
The sun gleamed hotter and higher in the sky
Drawing them nearer to false idols of coldness
Their hearts falling and cascading toward perceived notions

What had become of the people to their left?
What had become of the people to their right?
They were too scared to look behind off the beaten path
Forward to the past had become the mnemonic

No, no, don't stop now
Follow the valley down away from reality
Stopping only to drink from scalding water
Made from the burned desks and water coolers of a 21st century prison

No, no, walk past the man who didn't care
Sit down and join just for a minute to realize a lifetime
Escape to something known to justify not knowing
Take in the pain and discard it to the dusty file cabinet in what you perceive is a brain

Thoughts

A pest, some might call it, a lingering effect that will never leave your side. An infectious feeling that should leave you sickening…hell no one has ever used infectious to describe something that is good for you. But, what if the pest that has taken hold of you is the thing you need? What if it is the healthiest thing that could have happened to you? Sometimes people need to get beat up, black and blue a little, before they realize something. But, physical discomfort is an easy one to point out and can bring about change rather quickly. If you stump your toe on a certain spot on the floor you’re going to take more caution walking there; it’s how kids learn not to touch the burner. Emotional discomfort, though, is sometimes tougher to bring about change. You see it every day.

Why is she still with that man? Why do you keep working if you don’t like it? The human mind is a complicated thing. Some might say that humans are not trusting beings but…in my experience….most of us are trusting…we want to see the good in people. We have gotten past the age of instant judgment, I believe, and it has led to a more accepting society. But, with this it also becomes a more forgiving and, a maybe, too idealistic society. Maybe I shouldn’t trust everyone, maybe I shouldn’t believe everyone is naturally good or maybe we should stop giving people chances and say fuck them. If you say this then, I believe, you take away the complicated piece of the brain: human nature. You become hypocritical of the quality that separates us from the beasts; you begin to separate yourself from people that you are one situation or one step away from being.

If you go around not trusting and not accepting then you’re libel to miss the pest or the infection that might turn it around; you’re libel to miss the thought or person that you need to show you something. You get stuck in acceptance, in the circle of satisfying your mind off things that have been pre-programmed into you; you begin to become content. Search for happiness, yes, and by God strive to find it. But, never feel that your happiness entitles you to anything or makes you better than anyone else. Your mind never stops looking, searching, and…well…that’s the beauty of human nature. 

Music of the Moment

I've been pulling some long work weeks and there's nothing like good tunes to get you through it. These songs have been coming through on the Rdio playlist:

1. "I Love My Label"-Wilco
2. "Ghost"- Kid Cudi (under rated lyricist; sometimes I feel like his songs were written to cater to me) 
3. "Dog Days Are Over"-Florence and the Machine (Great; that's all)
4. "Lonely Boy"-Black Keys (If you didn't listen to Brothers, it still won't make up for it but, listen to this album)
5. Any song from "21"-Adele (all you bros out there don't hate, just listen to it all the way through and you'll understand)
6.  "Ni**as In Paris"-Jay-Z and Kanye (the "Blades of Glory" sound bit gets me every time)
7. "Take It or Leave It"-The Strokes (awesome amount of attitude in this song)
8. "Rocks Off"-The Rolling Stones (first song on my second favorite album of all time, "Exile On Main Street", it converted me from a Beatles man to a Stones man)
9. "Close to Me"-The Cure (If you got to start off a morning right, you got to do it with this song)
10. "A Strange Arrangement"-Meyer Hawthrone (Hello Motown)
11. "Soul to Squeeze"- Red Hot Chili Peppers (its a sin not to listen to one of their songs at least once a day)
12. The Smile Sessions-Beach Boys (audio tracks of them trying to get Heros and Villians right and creating an album. Gets you into the mind of Brain Wilson and is a journey through a process that rarely gets as much hype as the singles on the radio; creating an album)
13. "Tighten Up"-The Black Keys (There on here twice but, they're my band of the moment)