Sweet William pt. 1

Sweet William

by Ryan K.
Young man I think you're dying...


There is a peculiar point in every day when the world seems to be at a subtle pause. Every sense still lingering but now appearing completely ceased; perceiving to be unable to move into the future. Thoughts becoming so slow that one would almost assume his or her mind is literally frozen. The storm has finished running it's chaotic course and all of its helpless victims, defeated and bruised, wait in silence before accepting their new reality.

The stench of cheap beer and the callings of Earl fill the morning air. Empty vodka bottles, cigarette butts and scatters of half eaten fast food from the nightlife, now lay lifeless on the ghostly streets. Buildings still sleep in the clustered clouds, while the rising sun gleams from window to window. On the curve of two street corners sits a young man. His clothes are slightly torn and his feet bare the nakedness in which they were born. His body, planted on the hard cement as if he had always been there and the city was built around him, is long and scarred with tattoos. His eyes, black and blank, stare down upon the broken rocks beside his feet. He picks them up one at a time and lightly tosses them into the road. The repetitive action served no significance for his mind wonders to a place beyond the lonely street corner in the middle of the towering city.

Slowly waking, the city yawns and cars carrying the tired and weary begin their daily routine. Approaching a street light, a vehicle mutters to a complete stop. The hissing of the engine awakens him from his daze. He turns his head high and looks toward the sun. The youthful spirit of the new day glows around the buildings and streams of light illuminates the man's hard, yet sad, face. He rises to his feet and stares down the road, now infested and alive. His steps start off unsure and weak like a toddler who no longer chooses to crawl. As he continues, his legs find meaning and guide his feet as he picks up his pace and walks toward an alley. Through the filthy alley, where beds made of boxes and old blankets lay, he enters another street. Long and as hypnotizing as the one before, the road echoes through the city. If his eyes were unfamiliar with these paved streets, he would considered his journey to be endless. But his eyes are not unfamiliar and his destination is engraved into his mind. There was no other place he could go or would want to go as far as he was concerned.

The rough bare two feet ignored the sticks, rocks and spontaneous wetness of his path as he journeys from street to street and along side railroad tracks to empty parking lots. Finally, the young man stops in front of a tall building. Using his hand to shade his eyes from the beaming sun, he looks up to the top floor.

The elevator is cold and metallic. A small obnoxious beep reoccurs with each new floor the elevator reaches. The young man stares at the numbers above the door as they change. Eighteenth floor. The elevator gives a quick forceful shake before coming to its final stop. A bell rings and the automatic doors open. He walks into the hallway and briefly stops to collect his thoughts. Slowly, he begins moving to a room at the end of the long and plain hallway. He stretches his arms to touch both sides of the walls as he approaches the door. He reaches to turn the knob, but to his surprise the door is lock. With a displeasing sigh, he digs into his pants pocket and pulls out a set of keys. He opens the door without making a sound and quietly steps inside.

The immediate aura of the apartment is dull and dense, smothered by an awkward silence that makes him stiffen and become nervous. A nervousness that scared him because he has always been familiar with this place. On the floor by the entrance of the apartment lie a pair of women jogging shoes. The strings of the shoes are still laced tightly and dirty socks protrude from the mouth. The living room, straight ahead of him, is cluttered with pillows, a blanket, and scatters of used tissue. A tissue box sits on a table next to the couch. Precise patterns of water drip from the sink in the kitchen to his left. Following the sound, he enters the kitchen and looks into the echoing sink. A plate, knife, fork and empty glass rest in a small pool of soapy water. Continuing his way through the apartment, he walks into a hallway leading to a bedroom. The door is slightly opened. As he gets closer to the room, the door swings open and a woman rushes past him and into a bathroom. A bit startled and confused, he watches her as she splashes steaming water on her face. After drying her face, she heads to the living room. Her movements are swift and uneasy and her eyes never meeting his as she transitions from room to room.

The young man can not remove his eyes from her as she picks up the tissues, blanket and pillows in the living room. She manages to carry all of the items back to the bedroom. He is slow to follow. His face no longer expresses the same nervousness that made him uncomfortable before, but now a deep sadness that can only be fueled by shame and guilt. Before he could reach the bedroom, she storms back into the hallway in the same fashion as before, and walks into the bathroom. Only a towel covers her body. He peeks his head into the bedroom before following the sound of the shower that has just started in the bathroom. He sits and waits outside in the narrow hallway. The back of his head presses firmly against the cold white wall.


to be continued...

Monologue I

Monologue I

Josh
18-28 Male (Any ethnicity)

Some people just aren't meant to fall in love. Seriously. I know you think I am just being cynical but that is how I truly feel. And I honestly don't think it is a bad thing. Think about it. Most people think that there is someone for everyone and that they will definitely find love one day. That's probably why you have so many motherfuckers committing suicide or going on shooting sprees in shopping malls. For a lot of these people "love" is an impractical expectation.

(takes a few pulls from a blunt and passes it to his friend)

They shouldn't put so much emphasis on it, know what I mean? Just leave it alone. You can still have a fun and fulfilling life without that "one true love." There is so much shit out there you can be doing. Go get drunk and go fishing on a beautiful beach somewhere or climb a fucking mountain. So many people don't take advantage of the world around them. There is a lot out there that hasn't been found...or created. Fucking explore this shit. Don't break your back and waste time trying to find that right person. Because no matter how "right" they are for you, you still will start to hate them after a while and you are going to wish you did more with your life. Once you make it on this Earth you are guaranteed a life. You're living the shit. It may not be as long you like, but it is a life. Nothing has ever said that love is guaranteed. So stopping acting like it is suppose to happen to you. Just love your life. That's the best way to live. You feel me?

Music Interruption for Your Pleasure

Here is another amazing song for all of my readers. :) It is called Second Lover by the group Noah and the Whale. It is from the album Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down.

This band has gradually become on of my favorites. The lyrics are extremely well thought out and clever. Each song compliments the other perfectly. My favorite song out of all of the music I have heard from them has to be My Door Is Always Open, which is on the album, The First Days of Spring. I didn't go with that song because it is pretty self explanatory and you have to hear the whole album in order to really get the full effect from the lyrics. This band does a great job with taking you on a journey from the first song to the last. Anyway, this song is a great example of witty and creative lyrics. As the song progresses you are given more and more images that allow you to see the whole picture come to the end. There are several key words in this song that do this. The first time you listen to the song you may not pick up on it. I hope you all enjoy and I hope you all seek out this group's music. You will not be disappointed.


Second Lover

When will our heartbeats fall into line
And the click clack
Of our boot heels
Beat out the same time

Oh and when will your hand find itself in mine

For I don t know your real name,
Your real age, or your shoe size,
But I'll leave this bedroom chair
And this keyboard behind

And I'll love you in reality and dreams

And though it kills me to know
That when we are through
You go to your real lover
Who'll put real kisses on you

Oh well an x is about the best that I can do

So this lonely, lonely heart
Has no use left for living,
After finding a love
In a heart so unpermitting

And I will die and never ever hold your hand

But I'll kiss my lips and I'll blow it to you,
It ll be the last thing that I ever do,
And wherever you go and whatever you do
There s a man underground that will always love you

DEAD MAN WALKING

Today is the loneliest day of my life. Today I laughed and cried at the same time. In my room I sit and stare at the walls and ceiling. I imagine this tiny space becoming smaller and smaller. The room reaching a point where I would have to stand on my two feet and press my arms tightly to my sides in order stay within these four walls. My mind wonders and I picture all of the people I know having fun and exciting lives. My love is finding another and my best friends are slowing forgetting about me. The world is leaving me behind as I stay trapped in my head. The miles between me and my family seem endless. We barely connect on the phone. I am forced to believe that I am slowing disappearing before my own eyes. Maybe I have already died but I refuse to accept it. Maybe if I accepted that as fact I could move on and leave this room, and eventually this world. I have succeeded at a few things at life but I have failed at most. My failures will be overlooks by my sister's massive success. Hopefully that will make my mother proud and not regret her only mistake, having me. My father will have the load of guilt lifted from his shoulders and can continue his life uninterrupted. Every woman who questioned their relationship with me will no longer need to worry. They will know that they made the right choice not getting involved with me. Losing a loved one is never easy. So following this day, the loneliest of days, I will no longer be alive. For the remainder of my life I will only be a dead man walking. There is nothing to fear as a dead man. Everyone will continue to live and embrace this life, while I will embrace my death. I no longer have to search for love or for friends. I no longer have to search for a job or a home. I no longer have to search. It's not like I take up much space anyway. When I am old and gray I wont bother to share any stories with the younger generations. A dead man such as myself has nothing to offer the living. Plus I died far too young to have a developed story. A real dead man is what I am. And you know what they say, "Real recognize real." So I will be able to see all of the other dead people as well. No matter how much they try to deny it or how much they hope for that one person, place, or thing to bring them life again, I will always be able to tell. So if you are unsure if you are really living but are too scared to know the truth, I suggest you stay away from me. Stay far far away from the dead man walking.

So what is it?

Young lazy man, please tell me your plan for when you meet him. You stand so strong, but in his presence you are nothing but a little boy hiding behind the legs of your mother. Your thumb propped in your mouth with tears building in your tiny innocent eyes. When he exits, you are big and courageous. The world has never seen a man so proud and so demanding. Malcolm X leading the oppressed "second class citizens" to the doorstep of the oppressor. You are a wrecking ball of inspiration and motivation to all. But yet you crumble and evaporate into tiny matter which gives off the appearance of nothingness when his eyes meet yours. Please explain. We are waiting. Oh, I get it. Your ideas of what a man should be and what type of man you want to be has only been showcased in your head. Alone in a giant auditorium, sitting center, is yours truly. The show slightly changes as you get older. Every scene, meticulously with love, is directed by a woman. You are left with the question, "Is it possible to ever be a man when the only man you know is through the eyes of a woman?" Women want a strong and loving man that listens and takes charge when needed. A man that will never hurt them or betray them. A man that will look at life from her point of view and be understanding of her place in this world as a woman. A man that will treat her as a equal, but will always go last. But as you get older you come to find that woman do not always know what they want from a man and that it differs from woman to woman. You also realize that a woman doesn't know how a man should be around other men. So the man you think you want to be is now in question. What you know for sure is that a real man never questions if he is a man or not. He knows. So as you hear his voice through the speaker of the phone or see him from afar, you feel as if you are hearing the man that you should be and that you will never be. In your mind he does not question and he is confident, which makes you doubt everything you have learned and transforms you back into that snot nose, stuttering little boy you once were. You have no problem being a man in anybody else's presence; a man's man even. But the thought of being face to face to the one who should have directed you, the Star, in that famous motion picture makes you hate yourself and hate the world you have grown to know. The feeling of being vulnerable is only for women and children, and that slab of meat between your two legs confirms that you are not a woman. So all that is left is a confused child seeking guidance that will never come. Truth is, you have done a fine job guiding yourself, or better yet directing yourself. Just how you doubt the wisdom you have gained from women, you now doubt the wisdom you have obtained on your own. He is everything your imagination has made him out to be. He is a man because you have always pictured him as a man. That is all that you know so therefore that is all that is real. So tell me. What do you plan to do when you finally meet him? We all know you wont cry, even though deep inside you probably want to. We also know you wont doubt him the way you doubt the women that have been part of your life since the beginning. He will crush 25 years of molding in 25 minutes. But that is only if you let him. He only possesses power over you if you give him that power. I guess it all comes down to if are you willing to accept the man that you are, and be that man. Or are you willing to throw it all away for someone who threw you away.


Today I overheard my roommate, who lives in the room next to mine, speaking on the phone. She is exactly my age. I do not know anything about her and I never planned on getting to know her. As much as I tried to mind my own business I could not help myself from listening to her conversation. She apparently was speaking to her father who she has never met. She explained to him how she has been searching for him for a long time and finally tracked him down through some relatives. As much as I wanted to continue to eavesdrop on her conversation, I knew that this was too personal and I shouldn't be listening. So I turned up my music on my laptop and changed my focus completely. About fifteen minutes later I could hear her crying. She wasn't saying anything so I assume she waited till she got off of the phone to let her emotions go. She turned off her light and continued to cry. It seems so odd to me that the person living next to me is going through an identical situation. But as identical it all may seem, I can not identify with her emotions. I wanted to go to her room and talk to her and try to understand why she was crying. Maybe it was joy. Maybe all of the frustration and stress built up from trying to track down her father was finally released. Maybe she sees it as taking a major step in her life towards fulfillment. But then again it could be disappointment. Maybe he did not sound as excited as she thought he would sound. Maybe he told her not to contact him anymore. Maybe he denied that he was her real father. Maybe her life was extremely difficult growing up because he was never around and she has mix feelings of anger and sadness. I would never know. All I know is that I can't imagine myself crying or being emotional for any of those reasons or any reason I may have not mentioned. So I wrote this piece (above) to try to drive some emotion out of myself. All I got out of it was an intriguing blog. I guess I will never know what it really is till I meet my father.

The Review

So the cold wintery night has finally approached. Confirming the o' so loved but yet so feared saying, "All good things must come to an end." If lucky enough, a new day will come providing a fresh beginning. The scars and memories remain as we move forward into the soon to be past. No longer will I hold on to what was...along with what never was. I can not control time nor should I ever try. But I do promise that I will never again neglect my clock...and I will keep my hands to myself. Something beyond all of us awaits in the tomorrow. Not to be predicted, only to be embraced. Letting go of all the ills of yesterday, I rest my head with ease. I am focused and prepared to move into the new day in a brighter light. One that will shine my path distinctively, allowing me to see how I acquired my scars and memories. When the day comes where my light shines the brightest and time is full with wisdom, may my light project behind my footsteps so that my child may follow if she or he wishes.

Sometimes what is hard is the easiest thing to do. And sometimes fiction can be the realest way to live.