Memory... "Cerberus x2"

I used to have an irrational fear of dogs. When I was young, a wee lad, I had a very vivid dream in which I was walking hand-in-hand with my mother in our old neighborhood. In the dream, we walked passed a familiar facility. Even now, I don't know what the place was exactly but it reminds me of a junkyard. And like any good junkyard it was guarded by dogs. They were vicious creatures. Thankfully they were fenced in. Whenever anyone walked passed this place they went into an uproar. Because the gate was made corrugated sheets of steel it was hard to tell just how many dogs there were. All you could make out were their clawing paws and snapping snouts. That's what I remember most about my dream. I remember having to walk across the street to avoid the clamor of these canines, but even then I was afraid. But in my dream my mother and I didn't. I don't remember anything about my mom other than I knew it was her. I can't remember how she looked, she never spoke... there was nothing but her hand and I couldn't let go or maybe she wouldn't let me. She kept moving forward and I along with her. We were walking along the fence of this "junkyard" and the dogs came. But this time it was different. There seemed to be hundreds of dogs. All of them looking to get their teeth into me. I just remember the number and the noise. It was louder than usual and there was so much dust. I felt like I was being thrown to the wolves. Ever since then I feared them...

It wasn't until some years later that I lost the fear. Or at least I lost the irrational aspect of my fear. Now I fear dogs in the same way that I fear cars or people or stairs or physics, etc. :P It's more about paranoia than anything else. My older brother helped me with this. We were vacationing in Arizona, which is notorious for the amount of stray dogs running about, and for whatever reason we had to walk from one Aunt's home to the other. The Aunt we were staying with at the time lived in a community with very many guard dogs. I mean, they were obviously pets but... well I won't get into it. This was some years back so the fear of being sued by someone who had been attacked by an unleashed dog meant dogs were running wild and unchecked all the time. On our walk we had become surrounded. At the time, it was my worst nightmare. A ring of dogs, fangs bared and all of them barking and encroaching ever closer. I just remember clutching my brother, using him as a shield... him protecting me. And I remember his strength. He was afraid, but not terrified. And he said something to me that day that I've never let go of... that I've always treasured. It was a realization that what would be, would be. There's no sense in fearing something you don't know. There's no sense in fearing or fretting something you can't change as well. It's almost a meditation on surrender. It's actually a lot of things... mostly it's about conquering fear, or at least getting there. I still feel fear but it's not unchecked, it doesn't run wild in my heart in the same way that it used to. I can reign in it when I know I need to get through something or someone. The memory of that shift... I'll never forget.


DS333, in check.

Memory... "Days Of Being Wild"

I remember a time before time, or rather, I remember a time before the concept of time. I was very young but not so young that I could not grasp the progression of days. The Sun rose and the Sun set, I awoke and I slept. I had a simple understanding of this synchronization but very little of much else. I can't remember being able to wrap my head around minutes and hours, much less weeks and months.

I had a question, of what, I can't remember. Maybe it was about my birthday, maybe Christmas. I wondered when this day would come. It was on the horizon and I was consumed with the excitement of anticipation. I couldn't wait and I had to know when I could stop. I asked my older brother and he swung the hammer. My world shattered when I first began to internalize what a calendar was.

I remember very clearly the boxes. Perfect lines, ordered and closed. It was so foreign to me to encapsulate the days of my youth in these boxes. This is what days are? Blank white boxes, all numbered and lined? In a lot of ways it was offensive, repulsive even. It just never made sense. I was taking it in but I couldn't fully grasp it yet... but still I could feel it slipping away. There was this tension, this tear, this pull between the past and the future. In a sense I could feel myself slipping away, in the same sense that illuminations and traumas are like deaths and rebirths.

I was forever changed by the concept of time. Before there was nothing and everything, then it all started closing in. It was as though my mind and my experience were running wild and free and then the calendar came. I don't think it's a simple coincidence that they look like nets and cages because that's what it felt like, like I was being reined in and caged. But I still have the memory of what it felt like before, the bliss of that ignorance. To have lost the memory would have been the greatest crime because it's the one thing blocking the onset of the prime Stockholm syndrome. I still have it and it's still within me. So here's to holding on, and to breathing new life into the spirit of the days of being wild.


DS333, devout.

Memory... "The Lives Of Others"

The oldest memories I have are around 21 years old. It's around kindergarten and first grade that I can remember things taking shape. I have a few memories from an earlier time, but I'd say they're more feelings than anything else, much too vague to be considered anything as concrete as a memories.

So it was, I'd guess, around five years old that I remember driving around with the family on a busy main street here in L.A. and letting my mind wander. I remember having a window seat 'cause the memory I have is of a car and some strangers.

For the whole of my childhood we lived in the same city, the same apartment. The place was situated near the city line. There was a riverbank that separated the cities and a couple of bridges that connected the two. I don't remember leaving our city all that much. It was something special to get to explore the rest L.A. It was exciting to leave our place. The city over and the one beyond were places of intrigue because they were so unfamiliar.

I thinks it's funny when someone asks me, or when I hear someone ask someone else what their interests are. It's been said here before that we're all the same. Different, but essentially the same. I think the differences are a matter of degree. What I'm getting at is that we all have the same interests, but there's just a variance of degree to which we commit ourselves to those interests. We all love music. We love going out. We love food, etc. But those things don't mean quite the same thing to every person. There are levels of intensity and passion that distinguish us in that way. I'm a voyeur or at least I have voyeuristic tendencies... you probably have them too. I'm not a voyeur in the strictest sense, it's not a sexual thing, that's why I backed off that one. Nor does my interest in others revolve around seeing them in pain... that's too specific. My fascination with the lives of others is more broad. I'm interested in everything I can learn about people. It's a deeply rooted fascination, a strong one at that.

The first time I can remember that facet of my character manifest itself was in that van, looking out that window at a car full of strangers. We were going home and I didn't want to but I knew there was no way I could stop it. We were driving down that main street and my Dad changed lanes. Being on that lane meant that we wouldn't go any further. But the car next to us was in the other lane. It was driving straight ahead. They were going over the bridge. I remember so clearly wondering who those people were and where they were going. Would they drive straight on into the next city? Would they take the freeway? When they got to where they were headed who would meet them there? What would they do? What would they say? I remember so clearly my imagination going into overdrive. It was going wild in a way it never had before and it was focused on these people I didn't even know, these strangers. I imagine that's where it all began, that curiosity. And now I see it's mixed up with a lot of things. There's a wonder of the unknown. I still hold with me that specific concept of people and places I've never seen and might never know. That idea of bridges and endless horizons. There's a bit of escapism thrown in there for sure. That urge to run away, not from but toward something. There's also this sense of empathy, a shared connection developed between the observer and the observed... it's vicarious. Anyway, like I said, it's mixed up with a lot of things.


DS333, ever watchful.



p.s. For those concerned with such things, the title of today's post is an homage to a film I've yet to see but I'm sure to enjoy. ;)

Memory... "The Desert"

Oftentimes I'll finish a post with the idea that I'll follow it up with a sister post, because, invariably, one thought naturally leads into another. But I also, oftentimes, lose that thread. I've talked before about striking while the iron is hot. It's all about timing and mood. So when a couple of days pass, so does the thought. But I wanted to hold onto this one, I didn't want to lose it. I want to follow this thread.

This thing I do, this business of separating and distancing myself from others, isn't without its hazards. I think it was odd that I might have given the impression before that I don't experience loneliness. I didn't even hint at it. I wouldn't have gotten into it during that post because I wouldn't have wanted to extend it any further than it had gotten but that shouldn't have stopped me from at least hinting at it so that I could follow it up in the future. The fact that I didn't says something to me, it says a lot things, mostly that I'm fearful. This resistance to share fueled my willingness to do just the opposite.

I'm not that different from everyone else. No one is. We all experience the same things, the only difference is the degree to which those things are felt. I suppose I'm different from most in that I've a high threshold against loneliness in the face of an extreme amount of solitude. I'm so comfortable with it that I've had insane fantasies about solitary confinement. They're not exactly fantasies and they're only insane because I would dare compare my form of solitude with that of the criminally insane. I know they're not the same thing. But I've wondered, if everyone were locked up, how would I stack up? When would I break? How would I break? How would I change? To me, it just doesn't sound all that... punishing. But I'm sure it is. And still, I'd like a taste of it.

It comes. It's like clockwork, but not exactly because it doesn't happen at the same time... but it lingers for the same amount of time. It's exacting in that way. It happens once a year, for a day. The loneliness is so great and dark that I wonder if I could handle more than that one day a year. Maybe it's the unfamiliarity that breeds this intensity. I haven't built up a resistance to it. I'm ill-equipped to deal with it. Still, as powerful as those days are... they pale in comparison to this one day.

I was traveling to Arizona with the family to visit the family, extended. We always drive. And that trip is rife with long stretches of desert. Small cities, towns, rest stops and gas stations scattered in between. And it was at one of those gas stations in the desert country that it happened. I broke down. I don't know where it came from. I don't know why it came, but it was then that I felt the greatest, most intense loneliness I've ever felt. It was the worst of so many dark thoughts. It was like an abandonment. It was like a betrayal. It was like a confusion. It was disconnection. It wasn't being heard or felt. It wasn't being understood. It was invisibility, that was the worst of it. I remember feeling invisible. I thought this is what ghosts are like.

It happened so fast. I'd shattered before I even had the time to realize I was breaking. It was all that I could do to hold on because I felt myself slipping further and further away. Breaking and shattering is the best way to describe what happened. I was holding onto an image of myself, whole... holding to that thought, to that idea, was reining all the pieces in. Everything was falling away... I was losing it, losing everything... and the more I concentrated on what was happening the further things flew away. I felt so lost and confused. Keeping hold of my self in my mind's eye is what saved me. That helped put the pieces back together, helped me gain control. And while I was rebuilding I just remember bawling. It was uncontrollable. It was a flood made even more great by the fact that I don't cry, at least not since my brother died. That too I remember. The burning heat of my tears was the same as it was then. My eyes were on fire. And I remember that the sobbing wasn't so much like crying as it was like heaving and seizing. It felt like I was choking. And I couldn't stop. I thought, is this what dying is like? Everything felt so violent. That it came without warning felt like an intrusion. It slipped right in and I was defenseless.

I've been back to that place a couple of times, the physical place... but nothing came of it. I wanted so much to capture that moment again. It's troubled me ever since not knowing the why of it. I've thought if it happened once it could happen again. And while it might very well place among the worst moments of my life, I'd rather chase it than run away from it so that I can learn from it... I want to understand it and myself. I want so much to go back to that place so I can explore it from the inside. I think I've gone as far as I can from the outside. I need to feel it again because I don't know that I did at all... meaning I was too wrapped up on holding on to concentrate fully on what I was feeling. What I felt and what I remember was an eclipse and I feel the need to stare into the Sun. I need to go back so that I can deconstruct it. I need to guard against it in the future.

Being Navajo, having lived in the desert I know what it's really like and I know how it's misconceived. Ever since I was little my friends would ask about what it's like. They had this vision of a harsh, lifeless, empty land. But it's not all that harsh. It's not all that grim. It's quite beautiful. Quite lively. Full of life. Plentiful. They'd be amazed to learn that it rained, that there was water. They couldn't believe it snowed. It's as natural as any place on Earth, as divine as any other. The term God's country comes to mind. It's not like what a lot of people think it is. But I know, now, what those people speak of. I know that unnatural desert. I remember the desert being dark. Lifeless. Empty. Above all, I remember the desert being a lonely place.


DS333, on the hunt.

Memory... "The Romantic"

This is a vague memory. Though I don't feel that concrete details matter much in this instance, it's enough to have the impression of what was meant. It was during my first year of college, that much I'm sure of. I can't remember what class. I wanna say it was a philosophy course but I could be wrong. But as I've said, the details don't matter much.

I was busying myself with whatever it was I busied myself with before class began and I overheard this conversation among a group of friends I wasn't friendly with. I don't mean to say they were people I disliked, just people I didn't know all too well or cared to know. I don't know how the conversation steered toward where I caught up with it but they were going on about smiles. Now that I think about it, a magazine could've been involved and maybe they were judging smiles? In any case I was struck by something this guy said. This guy was a jock type, verging on the stereotypical variety without the arrogance and cruelty. If I had to cage him with one word it would be simple. He struck me as a simple sort. The type of person you wouldn't expect to knock you over with something profound. But he managed to do just that.

Whether it was from a magazine or someone plucked from their personal sphere, this guy was asked what he thought of this one girl's smile. And I didn't manage to commit his exact words to memory, but his response went something like: I don't think there's such a thing as a bad smile. As far as I can remember, that was it. He let it float out there and it struck me like a bolt of lightning. It was epiphanic, so it was remarkable to me how no one managed to pick up on it and drill him for a deeper meaning. Though explanations and expositions belong to another world than epiphanies. So maybe I was just struck by how no one seemed to have been affected in the same way I was. The conversation flowed along; business as usual.

It was his earnestness that got the better of me. It was that pure honesty that acted as the catalyst. Because I'm sure people say remarkable things all the time that don't carry the same energy and power if they had been said with conviction and faith. It's the difference between truth and lies. I hardly think it means much of anything if someone tells you they love you when you know it's a lie. All words have the potential to destroy and nurture but need truth to ignite them. So I may have heard the words before but they didn't channel the same current.

I was bowled over by this idea that someone could look beyond the physical body to the metaphysical body. That smiles are a reflection of an internal magic. That it would warm someone's heart to know that a fellow man or woman was happy. That that happiness could permeate all else and be seen by another, be appreciated and honored. That anyone could even be in a place to have that vision. Those words so perfectly pierced into the essence of compassion and love. I was forever changed in that moment. It humbled me, inspired me and touched me. I've never really been at the place where I could truly honor those words; that ideal. There are people who live now who's happiness is the bane of my existence. I'm mixed. I'm human, so I carry a dark within me that I can't let go of. I see certain people smile and want nothing more than to break their teeth in. I was humbled to know a better man, a bigger man. He inspired a change of perspective and reminded me to keep in tune with the hidden. To keep with the meaning of things... inflections, reflections, impressions, implications, etc. His mere being touched me. To know that someone like him was out there among us gave me hope. Too often I linger about in the dark and think the worst of people. I gravitate toward the evil of humanity and forget their goodness. I forget that people can be kind. I forget that people can be nice. People can be considerate and selfless. I forget a lot of what they can offer. I hope not to in the future. I hope to never forget this memory.


DS333, humbled.

Memory... "The Visionary"

Mind over matter. I've always been a proponent of this idea. I think people can do extraordinary things if they're focused and willful enough. Surely, we can't do everything. But we can do a lot and endure more. While much of this is dependent on perseverance, I think the most miraculous feats owe themselves to imagination. It takes a visionary to pull off the extraordinary. A mind for visualization.

When I was a young 'un I remember watching a TV program that drilled this sort of thinking to the core of my being. It was one of these... creepy, paranormal, conspiracy-theory laced shows... I'm thinking it might have been Unsolved Mysteries, but I could be wrong. They had this story of this young kid stricken with brain cancer. He was obviously in a bad way and there wasn't much that could be done for him at the time. But just as things were at their worst, things turned around. He had remembered a dream. In the dream he had given form to his cancer; a giant black mass. And in the dream the cancer was under attack. He'd given form, of all things, to the Ghost Busters. And it was they who launched the assault against the cancer. Bolts of lightning stripping away the beast. Over time it became smaller and smaller, until it vanished completely. This, miraculously, coincided with a full remission of the cancer. He and his family credited this vision to the remission.

Now of course, it's a bit of a stretch. It's kinda ridiculous in its way. But I took the tale to heart, and I've never forgotten it. It could very well be the case that the kid died not long after the show aired. But I like to think that if he is dead, it wasn't the cancer that took him away. I like to believe that it worked. Whether or not it did, I've fully taken to the idea of visualization and its power to change the physical. I've had a mind for that sort of thinking before hearing the story, but now it's more a part of me than ever.

I use this charm most in moments of discomfort. With headaches, for instance. I know it's not my brain that's in pain, it's just the area around it like muscular tissue. So I imagine, or visualize that tissue in aggravation and try to soothe it. I visualize colors. Red pain and blue comfort. I try my best to will these things to change. If that doesn't work, I do my best to guard myself against the pain. I think of what it means to be in pain, the science of it. I visualize my biology, the biochemistry. Pain as nothing more than messages, signals, electrical, sent to my brain. Pain as sensation and automatic response. Pain no more different than pleasure. Another message, another signal. It works. I've felt it. It's about shifting perspective and clothing things in different words, concepts and colors. All of it, everything is mind... and so, mutable. It's all about making that real in the mind and becoming a mental blacksmith; working ideas into other ideas.

Though, this charm can also backfire. Sometimes you find yourself in situations that you can't break out of... that are too large to wrangle in your mind. The charm needs to be eased into. You need a peace of mind. If the pain is small enough, it's easy to get there. But if the pain is too large, it's almost impossible to find a way to work around it and get your mind in a place where you can combat it. You would need to be in that mindset beforehand. But these things strike without warning. It's happened with migraines. Thankfully I'm not a regular sufferer, but I've gone through it before and I've just never found a way to... to do anything but endure it. I can do nothing but suffer it. Knowing that, I visualize the futility of my struggle... I see my body in pain. I see the red. I see the dark. It only ever adds to the pain. Now does it not only exist in the body, but in the mind as well. But I do what I can to deaden myself, my mind. To escape... and sometimes that works.

It's all trickery. I use it for so many things. I thought I would go through them all but I haven't even scratched the surface and this has run on long enough. Besides that, the focus was meant to be the memory... not the charm of the memory. I've loved the imagery of that memory. Of what it means to imagine and not know quite what goes on in the dark, behind one another's eyes. I wonder what people conjure and destroy each day. And I love the childlike simplicity and sophistication rendered in that one vision. The idea of lightning, that symbol, is so loaded and perfect. And that amorphous dark. This struggle between the two. These battles of the mind. These worlds within worlds; silent and secret.


DS333, shifting.

Memory... "Standoff"

Okay. I have an exclusive of sorts today. I have a story I've never told anyone before. Very rare to be sure. I mean, I suppose there are a lot of little stories I haven't told anyone. I'm sure of it. But none of them are as notable as the one I'm about to tell. And I guess my reluctance in sharing is due to this feeling of... not quite embarrassment, not quite shame, certainly not regret... I don't know what it is exactly. What is it to walk into a risky and dangerous situation, knowing full well the consequences and disregard common sense? Something on the order of insanity or the courageous I think. Maybe a bit of both.

So this happened a few years back. Uhhh... maybe three of four. So I was about 22 or 23. I know it had to be a few years back 'cause I was living in another part of Los Angeles. A nice little middle-class suburb. I liked that city. I had the same little routine there as I do here. I had this nice little route I liked to take on my daily walk. Basically a main street. Which is probably not a good idea, but I love to walk. I'm sure I've done a lot more damage walking about L.A. breathing in pollutants and exhaust than I would have if I just stayed home. :P

So one day, on one of my walks I came across an impasse in the form of a man, or a boy rather. A neo-Nazi type. A ball of smoke and fire, pain and anger. It was clear who he was and what he was about. It was clear who I was and what I was about. I was of color and I was gay. He hated that.

I'd never found myself in a situation like that before. This is L.A. after all. It's a melting pot. Here, he's supposed to be the minority... his way of thinking. But there's room for everything and everyone so I guess it was only a matter of time before we crossed paths. And intolerance isn't so foreign. If you're gay I can't imagine having never been ridiculed for being who you are, or rather that tiny aspect of who you are. I've been called a fag countless times. Which has never amounted to anything because they never speak to who I am as a person. It just doesn't get to me. You'd have to be someone I hold in high regard or care about for something like that to affect me. Even then you'd have to hit all the right notes. We're talking perfect planetary alignment to crack this shell. But that's not to say that it can't get annoying. It can. It has. Thankfully, as a whole, that sorta thing has only taken up less than .01% of my life. And more often than not, when it happens I just laugh it off 'cause it's funny... funny because it speaks more of them than it does of me.

But this was different. This wasn't a flippant display of ignorance slurred from a speeding car. This was more focused, more intense. I find most people don't have the courage, the balls, to say those sort of those things to your face. Usually people are more cowardly. That wasn't the case here. So I at least had some amount of respect for the guy for standing his ground, no matter how shaky and fractured that was. But that was one of the funny things. It's all he did. Stand. He had nothing to say.

This happened at an intersection. One main street and one side street. I was walking along the main street and I was some yards away (15?) from the intersection when I first caught sight of him. I knew what the deal was. I could sense it. It was instinctual. What I imagine a mouse feels when he looks upon a snake. As I said, he didn't say anything... but his body was doing enough of the talking. He was malevolence personified. Before I even approached he began his posturing. He moved from the sidewalk where I presume he was waiting for a bus and walked a couple of feet from the curb onto the street with clenched fists.

So it's a funny thing how much can take place in such a short amount of time. My mind was being flooded. More so than usual. This was a strange time for me. I hadn't yet come out to my family but this was the time I was really coming to terms you might say. Internally I was asserting my... my... my self. And it was just a lot of things. Things were forming. And if you've read any of my previous posts you probably know I've a thing for signs and symbols. This felt like a test. The timing was too perfect, too hot, too fortunate, too opportune, too everything. It was just right.

So now we come to the crux of my reluctance in telling this story before today. It was a choice. I mean really, could the reality of the situation be anymore... I mean I was at a fucking crossroads! Literally! *LOL* I was at a crossroads in every sense of the word. I could have done the... smart(?) thing and taken the other road. To safety. But what that meant for me at that moment and at that time in my life was sooo... grrr! Fuck! No! No fucking way!!! I'm not doing it. Never. Never. This fucker is not going to shame me or terrorize me for being who I am. This is my home. This is my city. This is my street. Fuck you for coming here and trying to invade. Trying to inject your damage and toxicity into my life. Fuck you! You can kill me. I'm not gonna walk away. I'm just not.

In a lot of ways it was stupid. Foolish. I'm so close to my family and I tell them everything. Telling them this would've... would... still be a hard thing to rationalize. They wouldn't want to see me hurt. They want the best for me. I don't know that they'd be exactly disappointed with my choice, but y'know... love sorta supersedes everything. They wouldn't care for the rationalization. They would want me to be safe above all else; understandable. And look, I'm a smart guy. I don't know that you could live in this city and come across unscathed without a ton of prudence in your back pocket. I know when to avoid a dangerous situation. I have before. I will again. But this was just different. It just was. And I don't know that that could be fully understood by anyone not living it. Being on the otherside of everything. Hearing the comments and the laughs. Feeling like you're at odds with the world at large. People telling you there's something wrong with you. You can take it in small doses and it doesn't do a thing. But it adds up. It'd been adding up for years, all my life. And it just gets to a point. A breaking point. This was mine. I was just tired. Tired of it all. Keeping it in. Having to take the other street. No. Not today. Not ever.

So you just throw caution to the wind I guess. It happens. Like I said, I was still in the closet but I knew I was coming to a point of no return. Something I had set up in my own mind. I was meeting people and I was hearing voices from people I'd respected and this was sort of setting the stage for what was to come. Two roads. The life you don't want: weakness, cowardice, deceit and secrecy. The life you do: strength, courage, honesty and openness. I mean is there even a fucking choice there? *L*

And on another level... I mean yeah, I probably could've taken the other road and still have made the changes I did as a result of that day but there was a lot of ego going on that day. I don't know that I could've lived with this guy getting one over on me. For me he was... I created... he became my antithesis. He was the Invader, he was Manifest Destiny, he was the Rapist, he was the Machine... he was all this darkness. More than anything he was Ignorance. How do you let someone like that win? All I kept thinking was, This is my home. I'm sure he didn't have a notion of my ethnicity. But there was something perfect about his being Caucasian and me being Native American. Perfect because of the reading I was involved in at the time and... well like I said, in my mind he was the invader. In my mind I was wondering if I was doomed to this dark legacy of invasion and rape? Not just me but all of us. That Racism was staring me in the face, here in my home, at this time... was too perfect. I couldn't turn away.

I mean really, fuck him for having the balls to flaunt his backward shit in the kingdom of L.A. Where's this fucker get off? I'd never seen his kind before. Not really. I wonder how many people he managed to scare away that day. Did he beat anyone? Did he kill anyone? How the fuck is he walking around? I imagine a problem like that growing out of apathy. People just let him be. People take the other street. Skirt the issue. Walk around the problem. Again, all I could think was, This is my home. This is L.A. And if I did walk away... he wouldn't know. He wouldn't know the size of his victory, but I would. His philosophy would've won out over mine. There's no fucking way someone like that is gonna get one over on someone like me. It's just not possible. It's a universal law. It will never happen. Never.

So yeah, it was a lot of things. More than any of it... beyond the gay thing, the race thing, the political thing... I would just rather die than live in fear of being who I am. Everything that means. Being a man. Being American. Being Navajo. Being gay. Etc. If I can't be who I am... who I want to be... I don't see any reason for being. It's that thing that I feel weird relaying. I knew the danger. I thought, I could die today. I knew I could die and I was okay with that. Not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted to live. I've never been in a real fight. I'm sure he would've had the advantage. He's probably broken men and women like me before, my brothers and sisters. But I was ready to fight. I was tired of doing anything else. Every fiber of my being was pushing me to this moment. I was ready. Ready for anything. I think we all know what it means to feel like something is perfectly right. I certainly know when I do something that's even the tiniest bit askew from my current. This just felt right. And if I died or ended up in the hospital... that's what I needed. That's where my... ... ...was directing me. It's hard to avoid the call.

Luckily for me I'm more balanced than that. I wasn't directing myself toward destruction. It was the growing point. It was... heaven. Don't get me wrong though, I was still scared as shit. *L* When I walked across the street in his direction I tried to walk to his left as though he were just any other stranger. But he wasn't having any of that. He moved to block my passage. All the while I'd kept my gaze directed toward the horizon, the pavement, the cars, anything. But when I knew I wouldn't pass so easily I thought that was it. So I stared him straight in the eye. Then the key turned and the door opened. He just let me pass. He was still posturing as if he were going to do something but he seemed more and more diminished with each passing moment. My breathing slowed and my gaze turned from... what I imagine was a dead stare to a lilting laugh. I had to have had a sparkle in my eye at that moment. And I just kept walking. Though I was never more hyper aware in my life. Someone like that, I don't imagine being the most honorable sort. I could've easily seen being bludgeoned from behind. But I made sure I wasn't taken by surprise. And I just kept walking and I never looked back.

Phew! Sorry for such a long post. :P A sure sign this was never told before I suppose. I had a lot to get out. And I feel all the better for it. So yeah. I love that memory. I hold it close to the heart. And that space, that piece of asphalt I regard as holy land. A testament to strength and courage in the face of ignorance and hatred. I imagine this happens all the time. Not always with the same ending. But in a way, still, always a victory. It's just a role. Something we all must take up at one point or another. And for those who don't make it... we live our lives in reverence to them. Hate. Luck. Anger. Providence. Fear. Courage. It was a lot of things.


DS333, taxed.

Memory... "Schoolyard Graveyard"

I don't know why this memory has been surfacing lately, but that's the exact reason I thought I'd talk about it. Maybe it'll recede back to the lower depths once it's basked in the spotlight for a while.

I've just been thinking about this pet hamster we had in our... gee, I wanna say first grade class but maybe we were too young then? If that's the case, it had to be our second grade class. Now that I think about it more, I do think it was our second grade class. It's sad that I don't even remember his name, or whether or not he was in fact a he. Point is, he or she died. And we buried him/her. It was outside our classroom and just outside the school office entrance. The teacher's aid did the digging and I don't remember who laid the hamster to rest. And now that I think about it, I wonder how the service went. Surely there couldn't have been any overt religious overtones, being a public school and all.

More than anything I've just been thinking about that patch of ground. We weren't there when the school was founded and we obviously weren't the first students to have a classroom pet. Many must have died and many must have been buried. I didn't think of it then. But all I've been thinking... all I've been visualizing is that ground and the bones. The countless amount of bones. Buried memories. I wonder if for anyone the memory is more poignant. If that death or any of those deaths was a trauma. Has anyone been living with the ghost of that memory? Do they remember the names? Do they wake in a cold sweat with teary eyes?

It wasn't just our hamster. There must have been more. Thinking about those others has made me think about the experience of my other classmates. I can't remember it being much of anything, or talking about it in the days after. But I have to assume... like with all communal experiences it was felt in uniquely personal ways. I'm tied to the imagery of that day. I wonder if someone is tied to the emotions. I wonder if anyone's paid any of it any mind whatsoever...


DS333, pondering.

Memory... "Bloody Christmas"

I have to imagine I'd wet myself as a child, but I don't have a specific memory of it so I can't be sure. The only time I ever remember feeling cold and wet in bed was some years back during the holidays. I was probably... I somewhere between seven and 10 years of age. I don't remember feeling particularly sick during the days leading up to Christmas of that year, so it came as quite a surprise when I was hit with the weirdest illness on Christmas Day. I was a wee lad, so after everything went down I never really got around to getting the full details about what had befallen me. I'm sure if I were to ask about it now, no one would have a definitive answer. It would be a jumbled mess of supposed truth. Given the choice between misinformation and ignorance, I'd go for the latter in a heart beat. :P

All I remember was being at our relatives' home that evening, just as we were about to open presents. Then the vomiting began; vomiting like crazy. I'd think everything was fine and then I'd feel nauseous again. I wouldn't stop. I couldn't stop. It didn't take long to realize something was wrong. So I was taken to the hospital.

I remember my brothers being there. My Mom and Dad of course. I remember them bringing the toys I received that night. But more than anything I remember the IV. I've always hated needles, and come to think of it... maybe it stems from this experience? The timelines are blurry, so I don't know if I had the same deathly fear of needles before this night or not. I remember hating the IV going in. Then I remember sleep. Then consciousness in the middle of the night. Then I remember feeling wet. Then I remember seeing the sheets pulled back. Then the sight of my body drenched in my own blood. I remember the stark contrast of the vibrant red against the cold white of the sheets. There wasn't a shock and I don't remember crying. All I remember is being lost in the trance of that sight. I remember I was cold. So very cold.


DS333, entranced.

Memory... "Tiger Eyes"

I thought it was sort of funny that a friend of mine recently brought up a trip to Magic Mountain. It was funny in that odd, coincidental sense. For a while now, I've been thinking of sharing this particular memory and it takes place at Magic Mountain. That recent off-hand mention, to me, is a sign that the story is begging to be told.

It's not a great story. Just a simple memory of another stranger. In the same vein of the last. It takes place some years back. Maybe in 2001 or 2002. A relative from Arizona was staying with the family for an extended visit and my older brother decided to take us out to Magic Mountain sometime during that Summer. I'd never been and always harbored a fear for roller coasters, but I wound up having one of the best times of my life. Apparently I'm an adrenaline and speed junkie in that atmosphere. I really took a liking to that entire world. I cast off my usual paranoia and learned to have a good time. I don't think I spent anytime whatsoever conjuring up images of my life ending in the grips of twisted metal. I guess I was having a good day. :P

Anyway, back to the point of this post. Since it was Summer, it was very crowded. Tons of people were at the park. I think you'd be hard pressed to recognize a familiar face throughout the day. It was stranger after stranger. Though, if I had the opportunity to see these strangers in a line up, I might be able to recognize one of them.

If I were given a map of the park I might be able to pinpoint where this took place. That's the kind of impression he left that day. I remember clearly the idea of food, but I'm not sure if that's because we were looking for a place to eat or if we had just finished eating. Whatever the case, for a few moments the hustle and bustle of the crowds broke. Broke for enough time to reveal him to me. I don't know who he is, who he was with, where he was going, etc. He was just this guy, this stranger. For the most part, I might say no more remarkable than the rest of us. As beautiful and as humble as any other. Except for his eyes.

He had the most... well... I don't even feel comfortable quantifying this sort of beauty. Maybe not the most beautiful eyes ever formed, but enough to leave an impression unlike any other. I thought tiger. That's all I could think. They were the most peculiar shape, size... very unique. I'd never seen anything like them. They were tiger eyes. That's the only way that I can describe them and the only way I've chosen to refer to them since.

It's funny how that happens. How we leave impressions without ever knowing it. He's played a unique role in my universe. Well not him, but his eyes at least. Like I said, I didn't know him. It was the shock and awe of the experience that I was left with. So don't get me wrong, I'm not pining away for him or those eyes. The memory is only there because... well, they were just so unique. It's hard to forget something you've never seen before. Especially when that something is so beautiful.

I don't typically draw portraits of people, but I have been meaning to interpret these eyes through my art. The shock, the awe, the beauty, the serendipity, the obliviousness, etc. I need to pin it down somehow. It's been years and I still haven't found a way around it or through it. It's just there. The thought and the memory. Floating like a cloud, waiting to take shape and rain down on me. It'll come though. Eventually...

DS333, waiting.

Memory... "Speed Walker"

When I spoke about this feature for the first time, there were a few memories that sorta rose to the surface. And as I mentioned before, they're not all perfectly clear. The most important ones are usual just swaths of emotion. As is the case with this one...

I remember being in elementary school. But I don't remember what grade exactly. If I had to guess I would say I was in 2nd or 3rd grade... well maybe even 1st. I'm not sure. But I remember leaving school and walking home with my Mom. Given that she was taking me home meant that that day we were let out of school early. Those were the very best days 'cause that meant that my Mom would take me home. Those days were few and far between, those short days, more often than not my Dad would pick me up in his truck and we'd drive home. Which was fine, but I loved walking home with my mom. She'd always take me to the donut shop across the street for some ice cream or maybe the liquour store for some candy. I loved it. And I loved that the days seemed so long since school was cut so short. There was just something about it all that struck me to the core... that stirkes me still when I recall the memories. I think back on them very fondly.

One of these days, however, I don't hold in high regard. It's funny how you forget the most important thing about some memories... sadly I'm missing something here. I remember my Mom and I getting into something on one of these days. Rather I think I got into something... I was mad for some reason, about what? I have no idea. I can't remember. But I remember the feeling of what it was about, and I know I was in the wrong. I was being bratty and difficult. I had turned a perfectly good time into a bad one; one of my favorite days into the worst. Right out of the gate. Just as soon as I got out of school. I know that 'cause I can see where it happened in my mind. It was at the nearest stoplight at the school. I started giving my Mom the silent treatment (I've never been the tantrum type). All of this so far I don't feel too bad about. I mean I do, but it's the kinda thing that just sorta happens.

What I feel so horrible about is what happened next. Along with giving my Mom the silent treatment I was also ignoring her. I wouldn't even look at her face. I had pretended to be alone. I was locked away in this bubble of anger and frustration. I crossed the streets all alone. Distancing myself further and further from her, all the while not giving her a single glance. This kept going for so long that I didn't even realize that I left her blocks behind, not noticing we weren't even on the same side of the street. I felt so bad about that. About leaving her behind. About walking so fast so that she couldn't keep up. What's worse is having felt what I did but being too proud to turn back. I was hurt about earlier and now ashamed and guilt-ridden. More than anything I just wanted to get home. And that's what I did. We both walked home. Together, but alone. It was horrible. Even more horrible when years later my Mom recounted the tale as an example of a time when I hurt her. I never meant to, but I did. And I knew then. I haven't forgotten, and at the time she hadn't either. We never fought growing up, so this is one of those things you can't really forget...

The memory serves in some way as a warning. I'm sometimes distant though I don't mean to be cold. If I allow myself to become locked into whatever it is I am at the moment I could end up hurting people I don't mean to. It's a strange balance you have to strike as an introvert. It doesn't necessarily mean you're antisocial in the strictest or clinical sense. You just want your space. But you have to know how much is too much. I never want anyone to feel like I'm pushing them away. Not the people I love anyway. So... I call this to mind lest I forget that lesson. I don't ever want to feel like that again... and if having to remember this keeps that in check, well then I hope I never forget.

DS333, open.