http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/ en Copyright 2007 Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:50:14 -0500 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://www.rssboard.org/rss-specification The legendary Baker’s Hollow turned out to be innocent enough. It’s one-lane gravel road twisted around, down. Dense woods on either side, the moon causing distorted shadows. This place used to completely give him the creeps, especially when he thought of the ghost story that went along with it. Sometime in the pioneer days, a family in a covered wagon were supposed to have been traveling this same route when one of the wheels broke. The husband left his wife and children in the wagon and set out for the town a few miles behind them to get the wheel fixed. Hours came and went, the sun set, and the man did not return. As night fell, the wind picked up, and tree limbs scraped across the top of the covered wagon. The family fell asleep waiting, but when morning came and her husband still had not come back, the lady stepped out to call for her husband. To her horror, her husband was hanging from a tree above the wagon, his feet swaying back and forth, scraping its top. Variations of this story abounded, one for every time period that was far enough in the past to be unverifiable. He knew it was bullshit, even then. Or he told himself it was a bullshit story while he thought he saw strange beasts running alongside his car or eyes in the woods, or thought he felt his car bogging down as it tried to make its way out of the valley up the steep incline. Shit! I gotta get the fuck out of here! One Saturday afternoon with nothing to do, he decided to go to Baker’s Hollow while the sun was still shining. Confront his fears. As he made it to the bottom of the valley, he pulled the car off the road as much as he could and shut it off. Standing beside the car, he waited for a minute to see if anything would happen. It didn’t. So he took a few steps. And a few more. Still nothing. Hmm. “Here I am!” he shouted to the would-be goblins. “Come get me!” No goblins came to get him. Well, then. Maybe because it’s daytime. So he came back that night. 11:55. He pulled up in the same spot he had parked in earlier. “Here I am again, you fuckers. It’s midnight. I'm alone.” Silence. This time he walked off the road and into the woods. This was no small feat for him. Until this very moment, he wasn’t sure how he felt about all this otherworldly, ghost-story stuff. He hadn’t made up his mind as to the validity of all of it. In normal situations, he doubted, even scoffed at things people told him. But when he himself was placed in a situation that might be scary, or creepy, he often did feel scared. In these moments, he didn’t doubt at all that there could be things out there that were unexplainable. But there he stood, at the epicenter of the most horrifying place in the area, unprotected, demon bait, and he remained untouched. This was his first awkward step along a path of logic, the real motherfucking straight and narrow. Five years later, Gandy parks his car in the exact same spot. Back where he started. What the fuck? Here I go again, with a smile. So he gets out of the car and looks around for a minute. Not much had changed, not much at all. Had he? Just a little bit. Gandy walked around to the front of the car, sat down on the hood, laid back and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m back, invisible flesh-eating fuckers.” Folklore and ghost stories, fairy tales and morality plays. Did he ever believe that shit? You bet. Jesus, it was right here that all that changed. Fuckin’ savages. Neanderthals. Disgusting, lie-perpetuating bastards...all for some power. Imaginary friends and foes that serve their purpose well. It may seem that Gandy was on a bit of an escapist trip himself. Instead, he was running as fast as head could toward something. Running as fast as he could, for a smoker. He opened the door on his car. “Thanks fuckers. I get it now.” Almost. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000784 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000784 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 05:13:18 -0500 Gandy Ardoren looked at the bottle of Budweiser in his hand. The beer swished around as Gandy rocked the bottle back and forth. The bottle tipped back and a small amount of beer rolled out onto his tongue. Gandy rolled the little fizzy ball around once or twice before swallowing. Yum. Although not the most comfortable couch, it did hold safety. Gandy=s ass had been clinging to that safety for three hours now. He employed his best mental gymnastics to conform his body to the curves of the couch, to camouflage himself with the floral print of the fabric. The lighting was perfectly dim, allowing him to see the general pattern of action surrounding him while affording him the anonymity he craved. This room was far enough away from the focal point, it was a side street. Traffic was light, and no one stayed for very long. There were moments of solitude, and there were moments of bustle. The exchange rate was high. At either time, however, there was no acknowledgment of recognition of Gandy, who sat there on the uncomfortable floral print couch next to a small lamp, nursing a tepid Budweiser. Three hours, not once slipping out of awareness. In fact, he might have slipped into awareness. Yes, it was his choice to come here. It had been some months since the first inkling of realization. Just a hint. Satin hands on his shoulder, cerebral feathers tickling synapses. He tried, really. He staked a claim in a lawn chair out in the backyard, beside the keg, and turned on the juice. But the juice didn’t flow easily. Once effortless, now slightly strained. And as the effort increased, Gandy began to detach from the situation. The din volume decreased, all he could hear were the pop and cracks of the fire. The sights of the party did not blur together, they came into focus. Gathered in groups. Mouths opened and closed. Bottles and plastic cups and paper plates. They all seemed to be so friendly. Denim jackets and oversized flannel shirts. Touching. Six at a picnic table, but two especially with their legs intertwined and her hand on his dick. On the patio more still. Some sitting on the railing, others by the door. Walking from, walking to. The fire was losing its strength, but single flames would rise from the ashes at certain moments and light the area for a moment before descending again. With Bud in hand, he made his way up onto the porch, inside the sliding glass doors, and into the kitchen. Even though the bonfire and the alcohol were outside, there were still plenty of people mingling here. Down the hall, though, was the den. The den. The side street. Only a few were here, and no one was sitting on the ugly couch with the floral pattern fabric. He took his beer and sat down on the right side, next to an end table. The television was on, tuned to a sports channel, but the volume was low. On one side of the room was a large brick fireplace. Across from the couch was an empty reclining chair, and next to that a floor lamp. That lamp was off. It was here that Gandy took up temporary residence. What was this? Time passed and evening, the night wore on. He didn’t move. Not really thinking, not really. Just sitting, letting it go where it might. “Who are you?” “Don’t you remember me?” "I think I might.” "I think you do. You’ve been looking for me.” "I don’t know about that.” “Sure you do.” http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000785 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000785 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 05:20:53 -0500 You can’t make sense of this world. Everything seems to be out of kilter, out of whack. What the hell is going on? The pieces just aren’t fitting together properly. Frustrated. Pissed off. To be. Or not be. Not much breathing room. None at all, whether it’s approved of or not. It can’t be and not be, so it’s got to be or not be. Brilliant! Strict! Uncompromising! Unblurred! Gandy felt like shit all day. From the alcohol from the night before, his sleep pattern had been shifted, altered just enough to throw everything off. His body wasn’t sure. He’d nodded off on the couch, dreaming away the remainder of the gathering. Visions and voices, most definitely not real. Except for the tone and the rainbow stripes on the television, all was quiet on the western front when his eyes opened early Saturday morning. Yawn. Stretch. Time to go home. He stood, reached for the pack and lit a cigarette. Walking over, careful to avoid the residue, he clicked off the floor lamp and the TV. This was a new Maytag house. Someone had been considerate enough to leave the back sliding glass door to the deck open, freedom for the cool morning breeze to begin the natural self-cleaning process. Aeration. Now on the dew-slicked grass, the pink sky gave Gandy pause. It afforded a priceless view of the backyard, the lawn, the worn out area, the spent expanse. Litter. Everywhere litter. Waste, and the knowledge that it’s presence wasn’t new. They were here last night, too. He’d seen this before, elsewhere and else when, and wholly ignored it. Now there was a distaste, bitter in the back of his throat. Toxic. A mask and gloves would not have shielded him, only an exit. Still smoldering, the fire clung to life. He poked it with a stick and it hissed and popped its disapproval. With two nearly full bottles in his hands, he bent down, dispensed the liquid, extinguishing. “Drink up.” Removing the key from the lock, he opened the door. Standing between it and the bucket seat, he took a last look. “I’ll be damned.” The engine roared to life, and he backed down the driveway. As the journey home began, Gandy lit another as the windshield wipers cleared the wet debris. Gandy enjoyed his erection. Nice. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000786 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000786 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 05:23:42 -0500 The hard part had been finding the key. He thought he might have misplaced it at first, but finally, there it was. It slid into the mechanism and with a twist, the lock disengaged. He was home. Or was he. Maybe not yet. Maybe he hadn’t really found the right key yet. He’d been able to hold on during the drive. Suspended. It only took some focus. Eyes straight ahead, pick a target and focus. One can only hold that for so long, and then it must run its course. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped off his shoes, tugged his socks off by the toes. The sickness began to flow back into his extremities, tingle. He sat still. It didn’t help. He was smelling that place and seeing the night before. A diamond in a cesspool still smells like shit. Standing up, he pulled off his shirt, unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. The sickness was moving deeper, moving into his belly. He knew that he had stood on the platform ten feet above, looking out into the vast shithole. The diamond was in there somewhere. He bounced once, bounced twice. It might not have been elegant, it might not have been a swandive, but he jumped and now he was in and he was covered. The blanket covered his body now, the pillow cushioned his head. What was this? Acclimated. If you go swimming in a cesspool long enough does the smell ever go away? Do you forget there are beautiful places? If you look for something for so long, but never find it, do you forget that you’re looking for something? If you aren’t yourself for long enough, do you forget who you are? Gandy fought the sickness while thinking, and after awhile he fell asleep. He slept and slept. He needed the sleep. When he awoke, it was getting dark again. Evening. He still didn’t feel right, but he was remembering. He got up and poured himself a drink. Better get moving. Instead of opting out tonight, he needed to find out. In the bathroom he stopped at the mirror and looked at himself. He looked at his face. “Hey man. How are you?” “I’ve been better.” Steaming hot water poured over his head, Niagara Falls before his eyes. Palms flat against the shower wall, elbows bent. The elongated pre-rinse had become a habit over the years, meditative moments of massage. This time, though, he was trying to wash away the smell. His senses were heightened, and now they were detecting that slight tingle below his chest. One always hopes the feeling will pass. He picked up the bar of Irish Spring and soaped himself up, paying special attention to the penis. Nice. Shampoo bubbles drifted along until the drain swallowed them up. Tingle, tingle. There wasn’t any stopping it. He ripped open the curtain and nearly fell on his face as he tried to make it to the toilet. His muscles tightened and his throat opened, and out came the poisons. Good thing he hadn’t turned off the water in the shower. He sat naked on the edge of his bed, wondering why his engine had locked up. Where the hell did that come from? Break time. Standing up, he admired the shape his wet butt had made on the sheets. Nice. The silk boxers, once his stock in trade, tickled his ass and thighs as they slid up and into place. Tickles and tingles. His silk trademark. And then the phone rang. "Yeah?" “We’re still on for tonight, right? You didn’t seem like yourself last night.” “I'm feeling pretty sick, but I’ll make it.” The mind behind the voice on the phone was thinking something other than what was being said. It was thinking this: “You are gonna get yours, you prick.” “Good. Where are we all gonna meet?” “How about the Matchbox? We haven’t been there for months.” This time, the mind behind the voice on the phone was thinking exactly the same thing that was being said. The voice said this: “See ya there.” Slow motion combs and Crest and Scope, Speed Stick and Q-tips. Had he said the Matchbox? Of course he had. It was perfect for what he had in mind tonight. 9:15. Time to get gone. Gone. The distance. From here to the door, ten feet. Hall of mirrors and dizziness, a mile, miles, and if he ran six days he might not reach it. Those strange shapes and colors a person sees when he really tries to look at the inside of his eyelids. There is Pepto-Bismol in the medicine cabinet, drink it now, drink it all. “Hey man, I'm gonna be a little late.” Gracious pillow. Tingle. I will not do it again, just back off. He wiped the sweat from his nose. Lay here for a few minutes until this passes. That stuff will kick in any time now. Just get up and get going, it’ll work itself out. Up. Here are the keys, there is the door. Not so hard, is it? Almost. Hand on the knob, right turn, now pull. Okay, steps. Hold onto the rail, one at a time, take it slow. The smell and feel of leather woke Gandy up a little. The power of pride. His hand found the shifter, he rocked it back and forth in neutral for a moment before moving it over and back into reverse. Slight pressure, the tires spit out gravel, and the car moved out onto the street. Tingle. "Give it up, I'm going." After some stops, Gandy made it to the Matchbox. He parked his car in the back of the parking lot so no one could see, if anyone was looking. He lit a cigarette and thought, “Let’s go see.” He walked up the rows of cars. Closer and closer until he had to wait to cross the lane to make it up onto the sidewalk. He scanned the parking lot, he looked inside the window of the Matchbox. They were not here. He knew they wouldn’t be. And he was glad. He began to play memory movies in his mind, and he had his answer. This is what you get. This is what you get when you mess with us. Gandy walked back to his car, got in it, and drove to the only place on earth that made sense at this moment. Down to the very bottom of Baker’s Hollow. He was not on the payroll anymore. It had begun. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000787 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000787 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 05:33:00 -0500 What an emotion is caused by knowing the worst is over. As the fever breaks, the sweating begins. Little dots on the nose and forehead. He still was not quite up to par, could not do any distance running or juggle six oranges and a hacksaw, but perhaps it is the contrast. It’s like black and white, the same as everything else. It had been maybe an hour, and Gandy's sweat-soaked T-shirt clung tightly to him, begging for some small breeze to blow through the open window. No breeze tonight, simple stillness. This weekend was not that much different than he had hoped it would have been. All but for the sickness and the delusions, but even they had been enjoyable to an extent. He had stayed home Friday and taken up residence on the couch although the worn, short-backed sofa offered little comfort. Gandy's neck worked hard to hold up his head. Thin in the middle, thick on the sides, the cushion now showed the extent of his sitting. He reached over and clicked the lamp switch once for a dim light. Time had passed slowly, a good time for time to act that way. He twisted the life out of a cigarette in the nearly full ashtray and quickly lit up another. Deep draw. He had imagined elaborate scenarios, picking out bits of truth to build upon so, ultimately, it might be believed. Plausible. Flick. Deep draw, slow exhale. Interesting what the mind can create with only a seed. He’d never really thought about it before. That guy had gotten all worked up the other day –“Why are you such a jackass?” With a stab and a twist the cigarette found death among his brothers. Gandy leaned forward, rested his face on the fingertips of his right hand, closed his eyes, and giggled. Why am I such a jackass? Fuck off. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000788 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000788 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:09:14 -0500 That fuckin’ couch. Healthy as a horse. Fortified with vitamins and minerals, a shot in the arm. On track, on point, a gazillion megahertz pumped and juiced. Jet-propelled turbo-charged dual-overhead cam locomotive solid rocket booster three-foot tree trunk penis. Spread-legged bare-bellied squirming super-sized testicles hanging over the edge of the cushion like a sack of Christmas toys itching to be opened to spill its goods with arms outstretched to palm the greasy basketball and a hand on either side and a hand on either side pump-action, pump-action. Jaw drop eyes rolling back heart pounding and oh god he came all over himself and the floral print fabric. And in a moment, after a moment he ran his hand over his stomach to scoop some up and brought it to his mouth and licked, he licked it off and went back for more. He felt it on his tongue and savored the taste, savored the taste and swallowed. It’s so good to be alive. He was fucking alive, he was fucking life. It really is so very simple. It’s the simple things, its everything. Life: simple things followed by other simple things. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups, but mostly in long chains. The path a person takes in life might be seen as a rope made of simple things. When there is a tangle in the rope, it might look difficult to navigate, but it really isn’t: it’s just simple things turned upside down and around, take another look. Or, a person’s life might be seen as an extra large piece of graph paper with each square a single simple thing. Each time you learn something, you fill in a square. Learning trigonometry may take up a thousand connected squares, but it’s only a thousand simple things. If you don’t think so, you are mistaken. You’ll see. Gandy did. He had been approaching a great big knot in his rope. The closer he came to it the bigger it looked and less he understood it. Big knots have a funny quality about them. The rope can travel around and around and up and through and down and over a hundred times and then finally come out straight and tangle-free right next to where it all started to go crazy. You might follow the rope along for a long time and get turned inside-out and not know what the hell is going on or where the hell you’re headed, and when you get through it and see you’re right back where you started it might not seem like you’ve made any progress at all. But you have. And after awhile you’ll realize it was all just a series of simple things on the way to the end of your rope. Back at Baker’s Hollow after all these years. All of that and yet there he was again. And it started to make sense. It really was so simple. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000789 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000789 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:11:55 -0500 Standing there thinking about the last few years of his life, he knew beyond a doubt that he no longer needed anyone. For the most part he really didn’t even like anyone. It was a reasoned approach, it was. He had never much liked them before the experiment, and now that the test was complete and the results were in the truth could not be avoided. Their near complete lack of thought, their sweeping inconsistencies. Even the ones you think you can like or respect, you can't. Just get to know them better. To deal with people is to lie and lie and lie and lie and misrepresent the truth and compromise oneself and then lie again. There are those moments, after laboring for great lengths of time, when poignancy or connectedness or a moment of truth occurs. Don't get caught up in those moments, because in the very next moment it will all be ruined in falseness. A code. A system. Rules built from solid premises. Try to climb those stairs, take a step at a time keeping your head up and gazing toward the future while each movement gets easier and more fluid. The solitary walk. If you start at the bottom surrounded by others, you must push them all away or you’ll end up at the bottom surrounded by others wondering why you could never make it very far without falling back down again. It really is so very simple. With each additional person, though, it becomes exponentially harder. You’ll still see where you need to go, you can see the heights you could reach, but each movement will be accompanied by a punch in the face or a knee to the groin. “Hey, where do you think you’re going? If we’re all down here, it can’t be so bad, can it? Come on back down here. Join us on the floor, we’re all really just bottom feeders anyway. Listen to the cliches, get caught up in the nonsense and the drool and piss and baby talk. It’s where you belong.” Do whatever it takes to rid yourself of tapeworms. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000790 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000790 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:13:50 -0500 And now the passing of summer’s day in the sun was complete. The thin, crisp air that softly blew over the Southern Indiana terrain was not only pleasant, it was full of life. Here it was mid-October, and the evidence could be seen in all directions. Blue jean jackets and plaid flannel shirts. Hayrides and wiener roasts over bonfires. Pumpkins on porches and Indian corn hanging on doorknockers. Ghost stories passed by older kids along to younger ones. Yes, this Friday evening the joys of fall were everywhere. The day’s overcast sky had relinquished its grip to a magnificent sunset whose orange and red glow matched perfectly the colors of the leaves on the thousands of deciduous trees that covered the landscape. It is said that there are certain people who seem to have an antenna that picks up signals from the things around them, signals like radio waves, which are only heard by these people. If one of these specialized individuals were to see this sunset, he would think that this astounding view was much more than colors in grand harmony. He or she might have speculated about the power of nature to act as an omen or influence scenarios. If Gandy had met one of these human supertuners, he’d have punched him in the gut and said, “Nope, it’s just a sunset, motherfucker.” Days of transition. The Gandy Corporation had been and was now still in the process of downsizing and restructuring, deleting non-essential files and de-fragmenting drive G. The backing away, distancing could be done with those on the crust, the crisp candy-coated shell. Say “no” enough times, make enough excuses. Little by little they’ll fall away. For those in closest proximity, however, alternative and customized actions would need to take place. The girls were the easiest, and there were two. The first was the newest, the most uncomplicated. He and she shared the same workplace, and how he had admired her looks at a distance for quite some time. She was rail thin, smallbreasted, dark brown hair with sad eyes. Office talk told of a long-time boyfriend, but not a good one. The same tiresome story of a girl who can’t leave a destructive relationship. It drove him crazy when she wore white, so on one white day he spoke to her for the first time. These things could always be awkward, but they rarely were. The art of being funny and sweet, seeming real when you were truly very false. Vulnerability. Showing what a man could be, highlighting the contrast between himself and the dick she refused to get over. With heavy doses of sweetness, silliness, teases, and a few meaningless promises kept the opportunity innocently arose, but forcefully did he seize upon her, and she upon him. Baby’s breath bound them, she thought it was the juices, the bites, the strokes that only she could provide that brought him back. Her man never knew, never knew her well enough to notice. Their farce continued on. She talked of love, loved the drama. After she’d offer up her self-esteem to him, when the bruises were fresh, when she needed to feel alive again, it was Gandy she’d call. In case of emergency, break the glass. He was crazy about her, he’d always be there to put the pieces back together again, he could never say no. He was so kind, so gentle and loving. Never called her on the baby doll act. “I’m leaving him soon, things just have to be right, Gandy. Wait for me.” Shits and giggles, the mockery always shone through. “You know I will, baby.” Shits and giggles, the mockery invisible. She filled in the blanks, the blanks that could’ve been filled with any number of willing others. She filled in the blanks and that was all, and at this crucial point in his life it was time to put an end to the illusion. Sometimes the truth hurts. It was on the couch, the television was on. His body stretched the length, pillows propped him up. The back of her head was on his chest, his arms around her waist. She watched the show, he watched her body, felt her chest rise and fall. His left hand came up, fingers gently pulling her long brown hair away. His tongue found her ear and she let a breath go slowly. Move to the slender neck, first the tongue and then soft kisses. She tensed and bent slightly. Hands clench and he pulled her tight as he bit down. One under the shirt, firm on her breasts, the other under the elastic of the sweats, palm down and down, fingertip feathers on moist cotton. Back up again, back up and under, one finger, now two. Her head turnd to meet his, nearly choking her, rough for just a moment-he slid out from underneath her and pulled her to the floor. On his knees between her legs, he tugged her shirt off first, then his. She pulled her knees up toward her chest so he could slide off her sweats, and he did. Fingers of both hands trailed down from her belly button, taking hold of the panties he tore them, ripped them away. She sat up and undid his pants, slid them down, and took hold of him. Licked her lips and wrapped them around him, sucking and slobbering. He reached down and smacked her across the face and pushed her down and he was on top of her, she was ready for him, and he went in all the way, all the way in, all the way back out, all the way back in. She started to quiver and moan, and he pulled out. He flipped her over onto her belly and moved in closer. He grabbed himself, moved it lightly over her, just inside, then outside. He moved closer still, and moved himself up further up, slowly, further up and between, a hand on each cheek he pulled them apart and pushed his way down, a little at a time, push, side to side and push, and push, she screamed, push, screaming louder, and now he was completely inside her, he kept pushing, pull back a little and push harder. She started to cry, she cried and screamed, but it didn’t take long. He came inside her, pulled out and left a pool. He stood up, put his pants back on and pulled on his shirt. She laid on the floor crying. He sat down on the couch and picked up the phone, speed dial number one. Ring. Ring. “Hey, how’s it going? It’s Gandy...hey listen, I'm over here at your girl’s house...yep. Oh, you may want to come right over, I just fucked her up the ass and she’s pretty upset. I don’t think she thought I’d do it, but after that blowjob she gave me, I just couldn’t help myself. Well, you do what you’ve gotta do. I’ll catch ya later, buddy.” He walked to the door. “Goddamn you! How could you do this? Fuck you!” Gandy looked at her, naked, ripped panties, cum puddles in her ass, tears in her eyes. “You just did, and you were incredible, baby! Thanks. Oh, and remember, you never had one ounce of power over me. Good luck with your man, you stupid bitch.” He closed the door and got in his car. As the engine came to life, the erection came back again. “Fucking A” said Gandy. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000791 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000791 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:23:38 -0500 He geared down to second, let it wind down, and coasted up to the intersection. The first was too easy. No conflict. This one had roots that twined. This one had seemed more real. He could chuckle about that concept now. More real. On down the road. He knew her, it still had taken time to figure out what should be done. The goal was to capture closure tonight, to force a crossroads. This would be difficult. In some ways, he wasn’t ready for this, but it had to happen. The door opened and her arms were around him. He grabbed her up and spun her around. “Why didn’t you call? I didn’t know you were coming over tonight!” "I wasn’t so sure, either. I just needed to see you. You have anything going on, is it okay?” “Yeah, come on in. Anything wrong?” “Nah, not really.” They moved inside. Gandy sat on the couch, she went into the kitchen. “Something to drink?” “Got any tea?” “Nope. Got some Mountain Dew, though...@ “That’s cool.” “Saw some of the gang last night. Me and Jenny went to GT’s and met some of the guys.” “Did ya? Have fun? "I got seriously fucked up! I told'em not to let me start on those gin and tonics, I told Jenny, "Whatever you do, do not let me get a gin and tonic." So, of course, you know what the first thing she said to the guys was! As soon as T heard that he was all over me. You know, “Come on, come on, you know you want one...” “He was right, you know. Thanks for the drink.” “No problem. What do you mean he was right?” “You wanted to get fucked up. Telling Jenny to stop you was just a game you were playing for attention.” “You know me too well, Gandy.” "I do. How could I not? How many years has it been now?” "I moved here sophomore year...has it been that long?” “Yep. I can still remember the very first time I saw you. Do you remember it? I was at my locker - it was a bottom locker so I was down on my knees-I had my books and started to stand up and next thing I knew I was seeing stars!” “You know I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know you were going to stand up so suddenly!” "I fell over and cracked my head on the floor and my books went everywhere! Damn, that hurt..." “I'm sorry! You still haven’t forgiven me for that!” “Yes I have. In fact, I forgave you right after it happened. You bent down and put one hand on my chest and the other on my head and asked me if I was okay. I opened my eyes and you were all blurry, but man, when I got my focus back I just stared up at you. I looked into those eyes of yours and my life was never the same.” “Yeah, that’s the day it all started to go downhill!” “Are you crazy? It’s the day my life really began.” He took a drink and sat it back down on the coaster. Water beads ran down the sides. “Is something going on with you, Gandy? Last night, the guys told me I'm not the only one who hadn’t seen you in a while. They seemed worried about you, said you hadn’t been yourself lately.” “Yes I have, I’ve been completely myself, for the first time in a very long time. Funny thing is, the more I'm me, the less I need them. More and more, though, I realize I do need you.” “You know I'm here for you anytime you need me, anytime you want me. We’ve got such a history! I couldn’t ever turn my back on you, whatever you’re going through it doesn't have to be alone. You’re the best friend I ever had.” "I hope you know what you’re saying. I hope you know exactly what that means.” “Well, I think I do!” “I'm afraid you really don’t...I=m afraid..." Another sip. He leaned forward and sighed. “We do have a history, don’t we? I have a million memories of us, and they all make me so happy. All that we’ve been through. I can’t imagine having to live life without you, Danielle. I’ve told you this before, but this time I want you to hear me. You may not be ready to hear me, but you’ve got to hear it. I love you. You’re not just my friend, you’re my everything. You make it all ok. I love you. For years, I’ve sat up at night and dreamed of your face, heard your laugh in my head, heard you calling my name. I can’t hold it in any more, it’s too big. You’re with me every second of every day, and I can’t keep it from you any more. You have to know, for better or worse.” Silence. It went on and on. And on. It got bigger and thicker and sucked all the air out of the room. And then finally she spoke, softly and slowly. “This has been a long time coming. Ever since that first day when I cracked your head on my locker door, when I touched you, when you looked up at me...we both felt it. All the days and nights we’ve spent together, the trips we’ve taken, the endless hours on the phone, the things I could only tell you. I’ve always felt safe with you. We love the same things, react the same way, and I believe we’re headed down the same path. I’ve known you were the one...and I knew we’d end up in this place one day.” She stopped. Minutes passed before she started again. “Only, I'm not ready for this day to come just yet. I have so much more learning to do, so much more finding out about myself to do. If I gave myself to you, there would be no turning back. I’d give all of me and not be able to really finish the growing up I have to do. I have to experience the world on my own before I, before we...I'm sorry, Gandy.” And then he said, “Don’t be sorry, I understand. But I wouldn’t have told you unless I was ready. Since you’re not, it does make things a little awkward. I'm not sure how we go on, or where we go from here, but the important part, the amazing part, is that you love me, Dani.” “And that you love me, even after this...I don’t know whether to be happy or to be sad. I don’t think we can go on like nothing has happened, we can’t pretend we don’t have these feelings. If I'm around you, I won’t be able to stop myself, and I don’t think you would either. How can we go out or spend time on the phone and act like we’re just friends? How can I go on living my life and act like I=m not in love with someone?” “You can’t. And I'm not going to ask you to. I'm going to stand up now, and I'm going to walk out that door. When you’re ready, you know where to find me, ok.” "OK. I know you’re right, but isn’t there any other way?” “It’s the only way. It’s the only way I can show you how much I love you right now. By walking away.” He bent down and ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t forget me...” “Never.” He walked out the door and to his car. She pulled the curtain back just a little and watched him go. She was crying tears of infinite pain. He opened the car door and got in. As he drove away, he thought, “Done.” http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000792 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000792 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:30:57 -0500 Two men were in the room with him, both seated at the kitchen table. They were talking. He looked at them, not one at a time, but at them both, together. These two men, as a unit, were the people with which he had spent the most time for the last several years. He did not hate them, he had not been hurt. Strange seeing their faces in this context. He had derived enjoyment from their company and had experienced much with them, so there was that comradery - even for them. They had been friends since childhood, Gandy was an outsider. He had come from nowhere to be their master, the master of their social world. Of course they would resent him for that as they knelt before him. Of course they would secretly plot against him, whisper, snicker, manipulate as best they could while kissing his ring. The others recognized him as king, they would, too. They would not risk their standing, they knew the hierarchy and were not capable of creating their own. It was his fault, and Gandy knew it. Too tangled and entwined, he had played the part too well and forgotten it was only a role. But it had gone on only long enough, long enough for it to be done. The point had been to understand, to know for sure what he had only suspected. He pulled out a chair and sat down. After a moment their talk subsided and Gandy spoke. “Guys, I have a confession to make. We’ve known each other for several years now. In that time, we’ve had some good times, huh? It’s only too bad that not one of them was genuine for any of us.” “I'm going to tell you the truth. Before you knew me, my life was simple. It consisted of doing only what I wanted to do. I spent time with the only person in the world I liked. Growing up, I read, and learned, and observed. I asked myself questions and found the answers. When you met me, I thought that I had figured it all out except for one thing, and that one thing was other people. I didn’t understand them at all, no matter how much I watched and listened. In fact, the more I watched and listened, the less sense they made to me. Then it occurred to me that if I really wanted to know, and I did, the way to do so would be to become a part of that which I didn’t understand. And to do that, I had to leave myself behind for awhile.” "I put my chips on the table, pulled up a chair with everyone else, and played the game. I had to know what the game was, how it was played. Mostly, though, I had to find out why everyone kept playing it, endlessly. Why some of you relish in the game, while some of you don’t even realize there’s a game being played.” "I found my answers, and I=m satisfied. But I must say, I nearly played the game too long. I have to thank you for slipping, for letting your true self be known, it was the spark that brought me back, back to where I started-but not in the same place.” The men looked at each other, and then at Gandy, and then back at each other. One said to Gandy, “You been smokin’ weed, man?” The other man giggled and said, “Yeah, what was that all about, you freak?” Gandy got up and left without a word. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000793 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/dreams/#000793 Dreams Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:33:51 -0500 They arrived in the mornings during the first cigarette. Pieces of thoughts that broke off before. It wasn’t so much that he’d put wheels into motion, it was that he’d pulled the emergency brake. He’d been going so fast down that straightaway, straight for miles and miles. He closed his eyes and lifted his hands from the wheel, it was running wide open. Flying. When he opened his eyes, he saw the curve ahead. His foot went down, no response. He stomped. Nothing. Pumped, nothing. The car was completely out of his control and the turn was coming up fast. If something didn’t happen quickly...he grabbed the emergency brake and pulled it up fast and jerked the wheel left. The car skidded in a circle and came to rest. He turned the key back and sat there in silence, his heart in his throat. What the hell? Gandy was sitting in his car after pulling the emergency brake, knowing that he’d almost waited too long to notice what was going on around him, what was going on inside him. He knew he’d almost. At the same time, it was almost. He was ok, but the “what if” was still very present. It was all very confusing. Now what should he do? Where do I go from here? So they arrived in the mornings, but during the day he could push them away. Occupied. Make decisions and write things and plan and talk and execute. But when the workday was over, they came back again. It was in that time between work and going to bed when you’re not busy running errands or cleaning or washing or eating, in that small amount of time each day that you can spend doing whatever it is that you really want to be doing that he wondered what he should be doing. For Gandy, this was crisis time. For so long, Gandy had spent those hours with other people. There was a bit of a hole in his life now where the others had been. He tried to remember how he filled his time before those people, but that was no use, so long ago. And besides, things were different now. He was different now. Whoever he was now, he had to discover a new path. And the struggle went something like this. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000794 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000794 Discovery Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:37:28 -0500 He walked in the door and tossed his keys down on the table. Standing there by the doorway, he paused to notice the silence. He loved it and he hated it. He looked forward to it and dreaded it. All in all, it was his silence, and it was alright. It had been some time since it all went down and the shock was fading away. He had begun to settle into a bit of a groove now. He knew how the evening would go. First, he stopped by the refrigerator to get something to drink. He wasn’t eating much lately, but his thirst had increased to make it up to his growling belly. It was a tall, wide, blue cup. He filled it all the way up, took some off the top, and filled it back up again. No ice, it gets in the way. He and the drink made it to the living room. The drink sat on the table, Gandy chose the couch. His thumb tapped on the television. The news. It was the same thing everyday. Somewhere, somebody famous died. Everywhere, thousands of non-famous people did the same. Governments grew. The weather happened. Teams played; some won, some lost. Anchors seemed concerned about the issue of the day. Was enough being done? Are you aware of the dangers? On the music channel, none of the really good artists’ music was played. The history station showed footage of World War II. An incredible cleaning agent that would remove motor oil and wine stains from both carpeting and lace was offered. A tough, handsome cop battled bad guys in a way that didn’t please his superior officers. There were instructions on how to create beautiful wreaths from pinecones and a hot glue gun. A faster, smaller computer hit the market. A man and his two daughters struggled to find peace after a bitter divorce had split the family. It was noise. Words buzzed in his ear. It made him sleepy. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. At eight he opened his eyes again. It was dark and cool, and the buzzing continued. He found the remote control between the cushions, dug it out, and clicked off the drone. His clothes were still quite on, so he hit the door. So many stars. A million, billion, trillion? Even if there were ten billion trillion stars and life-bearing planets for each of them, the effect remained the same. Standing where he stood looking out at infinity he had no doubt that no greater being than himself existed anywhere. Walk out to the road and then pick up the pace. Jogging, running, tapping into his thoughts, letting his brain open up on itself. A two-word cadence. As the left foot struck, “Fuck.” And the right foot, “Off.” Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off. And so on. It happened that way until he was wherever he was now out of breath and sweaty. He bent over and grabbed his knees. He tried to catch his breath but it was too fast for him now. Turning around, he noticed a tree beckoning him to lean against it. He accepted the offer. Calm once again, the cigarette brought comfort. What was it? Why did he know, know there was no one or no thing greater or better than himself? He hadn’t always known it. In fact, until recently he hadn’t even considered the possibility. It had never occurred to him. What was different? Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold. Peas porridge in a pot nine days old. If he was so great why couldn’t he make a connection to another human being that wasn’t contrived? Why didn’t anyone else see him for what he was? He flicked away the cigarette, got up, and walked back home. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000795 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000795 Discovery Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:40:07 -0500 Yep, still alone. Bloopers and practical jokes. Dick Clark and Ed McMahon played clips of Gandy's life and the audience cheered. Gandy hopped up and down in his living room making crazy-sounding noises like “Blurp” and “Fuhgeeble-deeble.” Boing boing boing boing. His arms swung around and his head flopped back and forth until he lost his balance and fell to the floor. “Howdy doody, carpet? What’s going on?” After capping off his performance by making snow angel motions, he noticed the textured ceiling. Circular vein bursts. Flat, white fireworks. Topographical. Like a map. Or a road atlas. Use it to find out where you are, or how to get to where you’re going. But you have to know where you’re going to figure out how to get there. Simply take I-65 South to I-64 West, get off on Roy Wilkens and go straight to Broadway. A left on Broadway for a couple of miles and then right on Baxter. Veer left at the "Y" to access Bardstown Road and then he was there. It was too wet to plow yet dry as a bone, so he might as well pick out a compact disk or two to pass the time away. This public atmosphere was nice. The store was not empty, but not quite wall-to-wall people either. Cross-sectional with a bias toward the uniquely attired. Radiohead played on loudspeakers, no one spoke. Everyone busy at there own tasks, on their own quest for momentary upliftment. Don’t look at me and I won’t look at you. "Excuse me”’s passed by way of peer to peer mental file swapping. By the independent cola vendor sat a chair shaped like a hand. It was made of something hard, like concrete or market diversification. He sat in the hand to look with his eyes. Singles. Everyone was here alone in the late evening. Some had not taken the time to dress or groom, wearing whatever they happened to have on when something spurred them to come here. Punker girl wore pajamas and slippers. Nothing was thought or said. All conscious of self alone but not self-conscious. Goddamn bliss. And ideas were forming. As the closing moment drew near he made his way to the F’s to find the double Tusk set, slipped a debit card to the entity behind the counter and made his way out. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000796 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000796 Discovery Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:43:29 -0500 In, keys, table, drink, sip, refill, couch. Remote. Helicopter crash, major upset, Buffy! Hey, it’s the African Queen, Mr. Allnut. And what do we have here? Whoa! Fucking BAM! Each successive click took a little less time. It went: poooooooo-ching, poooo-ching, poo-ching, pching, ching ching ching ching. Bloggedy blue blah blah. One more click and it was off. Pzap. Beyond the window rain fell, keeping the promise of the day. This should not bother him, he should just button up and head on out for his walk/jog to the familiar tree and familiar sky and familiar thoughts. What was once eager was now less so. There was always a drier tomorrow. The sound of the rain and the color of the clouds, the movement of the branches on the trees. He lifted the window to feel the breeze and what drops may find their way through the screen onto his hands. Spring was arriving, the water its paparazzi. Spring was arriving, the rain just ahead to wake everything up and tell the secret. “Hey, wake up! Get ready! Spring is coming and change is near. Are you ready?” He carefully selected a book to carry on his bosom betwixt his crossed arms from here to the bedroom, laying it down near the center of the bed. Turning the cover back and tossing a pillow on top of a pillow on top of a pillow, this was almost instinct for him now. Back to the living room to gather his big blue cup of iced tea. Walk slowly, don’t spill. He placed it on the nightstand, turned, and sat down. Left shoe, right lace, one long pull. Tug and a tug and it slipped off. Now the right shoe and the left lace, one long pull and a bigger tug and he was shoeless, but he was not involved in a baseball scandal. What a relief. He unbuttoned his Levi’s, brought the zipper down, and pushed his pants off wanting for grace. He stood there in his bedroom wearing a t-shirt, underwear, and socks. The rain still came. He did not hear what the rain was trying to tell him. In fact, he wasn’t even listening. But he was watching. Or looking. He stood there by his bed, barely clothed, staring at the wall in front of him. The wall in front of him. And there were the closet doors, slightly ajar. The door into the bedroom was to his right, and he turned his head to look at it, too. It was open all the way. The door was open. Open. It was perpendicular to the wall that was itself perpendicular to the wall at which he was originally staring. To his left was another wall, a wall that was parallel to the wall that was perpendicular to the wall at which he was originally staring - the wall with the slightly ajar closet doors. Through the small opening he could see part of a shirt that was hanging on a hanger inside. He had worn that shirt the last time he saw Dani. Children do seem to be inquisitive, and he had not been different. Only, his inquisitiveness was a bit more intense than other children’s were, and it ran deeper. It was never about barnyards and marshmallows and rainbows for Gandy. He had to know, he must find out. What were dinosaurs? Who were the Incas, the Aztecs, the Greeks and Romans? What were the major wars and what caused them? What was Mozart’s life like? Where did Christianity and Islam and Hinduism and such come from and why did people believe those things? Books of poetry and books of stories and more stories to tell him where the world had been and how it worked. He was able to soak in so much knowledge that people used to say that he really didn’t study things, he only refreshed his memory about things which he had always known. His room used to be so cluttered. Books scattered about, notebooks with scribblings and stories he made up. Long-playing records here and there. But even then, in the evenings, he would find himself staring at the wall in front of him. He stared because the wall perplexed him. There was more to that wall. His brain tried to break the puzzle, but it never could. Later, after the foundation had been laid, it was time to paint in the details, spend some time focusing and absorbing minutiae. He was a teenager now, a young adult, and there was an incredible new tool for this very purpose. What would have taken him weeks to find out using traditional methods now was instantaneous via the internet. Turbo-charged remembering. When his eyes became tired and his brain full of nutrition, when it was time to stop and go to bed, he would notice a wall and the same old perplexion came on again. Now, he would notice the wall first, and then the bed, the window, the shelves, the floor. Objects. The shirt he had worn when he last saw Dani. A troll inside his mind pushed a little troll hand down inside some gray matter, and after a moment, pulled out the thought of Dani and crushed it between his troll fingers. It squeaked and died. A necessary action, thank you troll. “Just doin’ my duty, sir.” Considering the wall. Considering the objects in his room. Not so much a thought process, but a thought process that always aborted itself before it could form and Gandy would retry. Suddenly he shouted to the objects and to himself, “Sweet mother of god, what is the hold up!” http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000797 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000797 Discovery Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:47:22 -0500 Bound. He ran his fingernail up the back of the binding. Bent. The book had been opened and bent back too many times, the binding was getting weak. From the outside, his nail slipped between the weakness, he made the hole longer just a little. “It’s falling apart,” he thought. It won’t be long now. He loved the book. The words made sense to him. He understood the intent. When nothing else did, this did. It doesn’t matter what you think; someone somewhere sometime has thought the same thing. You are a lucky person if that person wrote the thought down, made it official, so to speak. To write it is to commit to it, more so than saying it. No turning around. Even if you rip out the page and burn it, if you rip it to shreds. It’s too late. You’ve admitted it to yourself, no escape. Oh, and luckier still if that thought, those words set in stone, if they should somehow make their way into your life. If you find it, don’t let it go. He knew that and he didn’t. But now even this was getting old, even this was falling apart. It was falling apart right in his hands, right after, right before his eyes. He could be gentle, extra-careful. Hold it lightly. Open it just enough to see the type, no bending, putting no stress. Lick his tips to catch hold of the corners, no rough thumbing. Or he could fight it. He could refuse to let it die. With masking tape he could buttress the binding, he could make it stronger, give it strength. Not the same. He’d know what it really was, he would know it was only patched, he would know it was just a matter of time until even that would fail. Besides, that’s just the cover, nothing can be done with the insides. You can’t tape up each page; you can’t hold the insides together. Even if he lovingly taped each page back in as it came unbound, the next page would do the same. He would spend all his time repairing instead of enjoying his book, taking comfort. Should he find another book to read? He might find one he liked ok, but no book could ever take the place of this one. He would try to find the same meaning; he would try to make the same order, the same sense, of the words he found inside. Books don’t change. People do. No turning back, the commitment of the written thought. He would have to change. Would it only be delusion? Could he find happiness in different thoughts, happiness without compromise? Would he like the new book better? What if it made even more sense? What would that say about the first book? Maybe he just shouldn’t do any more reading. Maybe he should make his own sense of things. Maybe he should commit to his own thoughts. http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000798 http://www.egocentricity.net/etc/discovery/#000798 Discovery Tue, 27 Jan 2004 06:50:14 -0500