A friend of mine wants to know about me NOW. That’s his emphasis. I don’t use caps for emphasis. That’s me NOW. News flash—Greg NOW doesn’t use CAPS for EMPHASIS.
He does, however, sit at work, bored. He does actually take a moment to breathe every once in a while. The benefit of only having one job now and all manner of spare time is that he looks forward to work now. He does things, things that are part of his job description, when he goes to work. He doesn’t feel any better or worse than when he slacked off most of the time.
He has been thinking about his slipping morality, the fact that lately he’s done things he wouldn’t normally do. He stole from the theater, got busted, returned the item, and realized just how badly he’d fucked up and that, well, he did something highly uncharacteristic. He violated something sacred to him and didn’t blink until he was confronted with the reality of those words. He has been bothered by this for a month.
He’s looking forward to the end of the summer, so he can get to work on getting out of here. He can work on Murder in the Cathedral in earnest. Then again, the book list for this summer is ridiculously long and he’s pleased to get a crack at that. He’s reading old books and new books, plays and theory on theater that will serve him well. Reading time is nice, especially when it’s reading for himself and not others.
He is looking into local places to get poetry published and is coming up short. There’s a journal from in town—Poetry West—that he’s going to go after. Submission deadline is June 1 for the October issue. He’s gonna grab six of his favorite poems and send them in. Any suggestions?
He got drunk and wrote a sappy letter last night. He wants to write more letters. He loves letters. Getting them in the mail is one of the most nostalgic and delighting experiences in his life. His address is on his profile. Send him a letter, please. He will write back. He promises.
He saw a composition paper he wrote a while back where he shamelessly referenced Vonnegut, Sarte, and Derrida. He got an A on the paper. It was about “standard English,” and it was well put-together and deserving of the A. He wonders where all that panache for writing went.
He misses a woman he loves, he misses the women he’s screwed over because of that love, he misses the friends that remind him of that love, and he misses the friends who’ve shown him other loves. He misses loving, and there’s not a lot of that going on in his life. He has been very nostalgic lately.
He found an old love letter that called for the devastating comeback of love letters. It also requests that I “come over and fuck [her] until she falls asleep from exhaustion.” I asked her, when I got the letter, if the offer was still open. It was, and I did. I miss those days constantly.
All of these reminders of her keep popping up. I found pictures of she and I from last 4th of July. We went to Memorial Park, walked around, watched the fireworks and laughed at all the trashy women and dirty children. We tolerated the dew soaking through our blanket on the ground, listened to the music we could barely hear, and held one another as the fireworks exploded in the sky. I’d kiss her forehead and think to myself that this was everything I ever wanted.
Some of the people reading this know exactly who and what I’m talking about, but most don’t and probably never will. That’s okay. Brendon wants to know who I am NOW, but he doesn’t want to hear about any of the very serious things that brought me here. “A flash of interest,” he says, and he’s right—they’re not interesting, really, to anyone but me. I’m supposed to care, somehow.
Who I am now is a lonely, cynical, drunken asshole who is finding less and less to care about in the world as the things he does care about become more and more impassioned and fervent. The quantity decreases but the quality increases. He’s lazy and unmotivated for meaningless but necessary things (work, school) and ambitious and driven about meaningful but pointless things (acting, playing cards, etc.)
You know all of this. What more do I need to tell you about me? What else is there to say? When do I stop being insightful and start being redundant when it comes to understanding myself through writing? These aren’t rhetorical questions—I expect an answer.
I won't get them.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Wasting time.
So it's May 23 and I'm at work. The advisers at the Student Success Center at UCCS are all gone. It's graduation day. I've been going to school here for 5 years now and I've still yet to do the graduation thing. I'm beginning to think I never will.
I'm playing poker online and losing. Bad beats. I'm folding when it's folding time and playing pretty well--I just can't catch cards for the life of me. Just got dealt pocket 4s--not great, but a starting pair isn't so weak as a lot of the crap I've been getting. Naturally, of course, the flop is crap. I have zero draws. Good times.
It's 10:54 in the morning. I have to be here on this dreadful slow day until 2pm. It is an utterly pointless day. I have some work to do but it will take all of 10 minutes. This is the only work I have to do today. At least I am getting paid, right?
I have had an eventful beginning of summer. Seen a lot of good movies (There Will be Blood and The King of Kong being most notable) and have been to a pretty bitchin' concert (Rilo Kiley at the Black Sheep here in town). Usually my summers begin with me getting drunk a lot and playing Civ IV until 4am (both of which I've definitely been doing) but it's nice to mix it up a little. Tonight I get to see a play for the first time in ages (rather than be in them or direct them) and then...get drunk and play Civ IV until 4am. God bless America.
It seems to be a phenomenon that I work almost exclusively with pretty women. It is somewhat maddening, really--I get to look at lovely ladies all day, but none of them are even remotely dateable for one reason or another. Too much older, too much younger, too dumb, too boring, etc. Not that I'm in any position to date anyone in the first place.
Katrina lingers over my thoughts constantly. Every failed pseudo-relationship I've had in the past six months has mostly been because the person I was dating simply wasn't her--she was and is the standard, and I'm not nearly over her yet. It's unfair to the people I've dated, but it's the way of things. I can't love people like I love her, and anything that's less or different simply doesn't work for me.
Shit cards, shit cards. Always dealt shit cards.
I want to go home and take a nap, but I'm sure I'll just wind up mixing rum with coke and playing video games before the show. The show, by the way, is Neil and Feck. It's another Theatre 'd Art production written by Brian Mann. I'll be honest when I say I don't have terribly high expectations for it, as Brian tends to write silliness for the sake of it without a tremendous amount of substance. Maybe I'll be wrong here, but I'm expecting gratuitous blood and a lot of terrible puns, as per the usual.
That's all for now, I suppose.
I'm playing poker online and losing. Bad beats. I'm folding when it's folding time and playing pretty well--I just can't catch cards for the life of me. Just got dealt pocket 4s--not great, but a starting pair isn't so weak as a lot of the crap I've been getting. Naturally, of course, the flop is crap. I have zero draws. Good times.
It's 10:54 in the morning. I have to be here on this dreadful slow day until 2pm. It is an utterly pointless day. I have some work to do but it will take all of 10 minutes. This is the only work I have to do today. At least I am getting paid, right?
I have had an eventful beginning of summer. Seen a lot of good movies (There Will be Blood and The King of Kong being most notable) and have been to a pretty bitchin' concert (Rilo Kiley at the Black Sheep here in town). Usually my summers begin with me getting drunk a lot and playing Civ IV until 4am (both of which I've definitely been doing) but it's nice to mix it up a little. Tonight I get to see a play for the first time in ages (rather than be in them or direct them) and then...get drunk and play Civ IV until 4am. God bless America.
It seems to be a phenomenon that I work almost exclusively with pretty women. It is somewhat maddening, really--I get to look at lovely ladies all day, but none of them are even remotely dateable for one reason or another. Too much older, too much younger, too dumb, too boring, etc. Not that I'm in any position to date anyone in the first place.
Katrina lingers over my thoughts constantly. Every failed pseudo-relationship I've had in the past six months has mostly been because the person I was dating simply wasn't her--she was and is the standard, and I'm not nearly over her yet. It's unfair to the people I've dated, but it's the way of things. I can't love people like I love her, and anything that's less or different simply doesn't work for me.
Shit cards, shit cards. Always dealt shit cards.
I want to go home and take a nap, but I'm sure I'll just wind up mixing rum with coke and playing video games before the show. The show, by the way, is Neil and Feck. It's another Theatre 'd Art production written by Brian Mann. I'll be honest when I say I don't have terribly high expectations for it, as Brian tends to write silliness for the sake of it without a tremendous amount of substance. Maybe I'll be wrong here, but I'm expecting gratuitous blood and a lot of terrible puns, as per the usual.
That's all for now, I suppose.
Friday, April 25, 2008
On the days and their passing.
Rumbles in my belly and the day is cold with the winds. I should pop some food into this stomach of mine, but I know I can survive to eat once later instead of twice altogether. These are the urgent decisions I make in my life.
Last night, Playboy of the Western World opened with a great crowd and a lot of energy. It's come together into a good, if not altogether compelling, little production. I still think it's miscast, but I'm not directing it and all I can do is what I've got to do as best as I can. I think I'm doing alright at that.
When did weekends become so damned dreary? Work and plays and more plays and not much sleep or relaxation. Sunday should be pleasant, though--playing catch in the park with a pretty girl, the requisite Sunday matinee, and then poker and beers with some friends. The only downside is that I will naturally be looking Monday in the face, with it's early morning work and nonstop movement. At least I'm finished with rehearsal for a while.
I just sent my friend Sean a message saying that I will not be auditioning for his show. He told me that I am more or less cast in it if I want the part he wants for me, but I simply have to say no. I've been going to hard for too long. I need more than the summer break. I need to focus on my own show, as well.
For anyone reading this, I'm directing Murder in the Cathedral. It'll open around November of this year. If I do it right its gonna blow you outta the water. If I do it wrong i'm gonna have a lot of egg on my face. Isn't that usually how life works out? Keep your eyes open for it.
The end. For now.
Last night, Playboy of the Western World opened with a great crowd and a lot of energy. It's come together into a good, if not altogether compelling, little production. I still think it's miscast, but I'm not directing it and all I can do is what I've got to do as best as I can. I think I'm doing alright at that.
When did weekends become so damned dreary? Work and plays and more plays and not much sleep or relaxation. Sunday should be pleasant, though--playing catch in the park with a pretty girl, the requisite Sunday matinee, and then poker and beers with some friends. The only downside is that I will naturally be looking Monday in the face, with it's early morning work and nonstop movement. At least I'm finished with rehearsal for a while.
I just sent my friend Sean a message saying that I will not be auditioning for his show. He told me that I am more or less cast in it if I want the part he wants for me, but I simply have to say no. I've been going to hard for too long. I need more than the summer break. I need to focus on my own show, as well.
For anyone reading this, I'm directing Murder in the Cathedral. It'll open around November of this year. If I do it right its gonna blow you outta the water. If I do it wrong i'm gonna have a lot of egg on my face. Isn't that usually how life works out? Keep your eyes open for it.
The end. For now.
Recent poetry.
I've Been Here Before.
The balcony
overlooking black unseen waves
the ripples of water splashing against rocks
bridge in the distance
lit and shining over the sound
I think of you
the late-night conversations
nestled under sheets
telephone on my face
short laughter dimmed in private
wistful declarations of affection
"can't wait to get back,
can't wait to get back."
deja vu
I see her face and your face
her body in the dark
your body in the dark
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
you
on the subway
"I'm going
to fuck your brains out
when you get back."
she
in the cold winds of newport
"i'll wear a
a skirt to the airport
when I come to get you."
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
you
short, round, soft
warm and nuzzling your face
against the rough cheek stubble
she
short, round, soft
warm and nuzzling her face
against the rough cheek stubble
"this wasn't supposed to happen,
this wasn't supposed to happen."
I
caught off guard
too many things at once
memories never disappear
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
barges on the water
in the morning
whipping gales,
waves pulsing toward the shore
silent except the birds wind sea
smoke and hair tossed around
gazing out at the house on the rock
forlorn and alone
the timing all off
waiting to escape from escape
wishes
you've never been here
you've never been here
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
March 26, 2008
-----
flames in the night.
red and orange light
blue on the flanks
advancing upward and outward.
heat pours out like hoofs pounding ground,
feel it from a mile away.
the sky has darkened into coffee
with little flavor crystals
(when did they stop doing that anyway?)
the fire illuminates our little world
our equally sized minds
we contemplate the miracles
in comfortable resigned silence.
i'm taking photographs
that are meaningless.
my mind has so many reasons for them.
sees so many things
in the driven outburst in the metal pit
clattering fuel dropped in
fizzing moisture and popping bark
crackles light distant lightning.
the little shavings, pine needles and underbrush
flare up, kicking up a ruckus.
the larger logs, the foundation
grab hold of the raging screams of the needles
and ignite, slowly, laboriously, contemplative.
we had a perfect fire.
it lit, it flourished, it thrived.
it began to die, so we added new stuff to it
to keep it alive.
it cried out to the heavens
destructive and warming and necessary.
it almost died, but a soft gust of fresh air
brought it back from the brink, a small flame reignited.
we added more to it.
then, when we were ready
to accept the inevitabilities of it,
we let is slowly smoulder out,
watching with understanding nods
as the last trickles of flame melted away
into long-glowing embers and ash.
April 19, 2008
----
The Doe.
we pulled out of the taco bell
into a reservoir of cars
having missed the fire engine
blocking three lanes ahead.
"what the fuck?" I asked to nobody,
perturbed that quality time would be spent
sitting in another pointless traffic jam.
"I don't know," she answered
while craning her neck
trying to move around two large trucks
caught in the overflow.
The fire truck moved back a lane
allowing the turbines to turn
and a trickle of cars bore through.
we meandered through the current
other cars graciously damming the flow behind us.
i turned over my shoulder,
anticipating two cars sitting idle after
a noisy altercation earlier.
twisting in my seat
i saw the doe, mounted on the curb
its neck twisted backward behind it.
it tried pulling its head up
succeeded briefly, vainly,
before the head dropped back down
a glut of blood dropping from behind clenched teeth
trailing the curve of the curb
leaking out into the pavement.
"oh god" she said, eyes forward on the road.
"oh, wow," I said, eyes backward on the road.
the head of the doe rose again
fell again
more blood
streaming out
more streams
flowing to the asphalt sea.
and then nothing.
we branched off at the delta
to ponder the course of our lives
poorly hide our glances at one another
lay down on the bed and be content
and left the doe on the asphalt
mounted on the curb.
April 24, 2008.
The balcony
overlooking black unseen waves
the ripples of water splashing against rocks
bridge in the distance
lit and shining over the sound
I think of you
the late-night conversations
nestled under sheets
telephone on my face
short laughter dimmed in private
wistful declarations of affection
"can't wait to get back,
can't wait to get back."
deja vu
I see her face and your face
her body in the dark
your body in the dark
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
you
on the subway
"I'm going
to fuck your brains out
when you get back."
she
in the cold winds of newport
"i'll wear a
a skirt to the airport
when I come to get you."
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
you
short, round, soft
warm and nuzzling your face
against the rough cheek stubble
she
short, round, soft
warm and nuzzling her face
against the rough cheek stubble
"this wasn't supposed to happen,
this wasn't supposed to happen."
I
caught off guard
too many things at once
memories never disappear
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
barges on the water
in the morning
whipping gales,
waves pulsing toward the shore
silent except the birds wind sea
smoke and hair tossed around
gazing out at the house on the rock
forlorn and alone
the timing all off
waiting to escape from escape
wishes
you've never been here
you've never been here
"i've been here before,
i've been here before."
March 26, 2008
-----
flames in the night.
red and orange light
blue on the flanks
advancing upward and outward.
heat pours out like hoofs pounding ground,
feel it from a mile away.
the sky has darkened into coffee
with little flavor crystals
(when did they stop doing that anyway?)
the fire illuminates our little world
our equally sized minds
we contemplate the miracles
in comfortable resigned silence.
i'm taking photographs
that are meaningless.
my mind has so many reasons for them.
sees so many things
in the driven outburst in the metal pit
clattering fuel dropped in
fizzing moisture and popping bark
crackles light distant lightning.
the little shavings, pine needles and underbrush
flare up, kicking up a ruckus.
the larger logs, the foundation
grab hold of the raging screams of the needles
and ignite, slowly, laboriously, contemplative.
we had a perfect fire.
it lit, it flourished, it thrived.
it began to die, so we added new stuff to it
to keep it alive.
it cried out to the heavens
destructive and warming and necessary.
it almost died, but a soft gust of fresh air
brought it back from the brink, a small flame reignited.
we added more to it.
then, when we were ready
to accept the inevitabilities of it,
we let is slowly smoulder out,
watching with understanding nods
as the last trickles of flame melted away
into long-glowing embers and ash.
April 19, 2008
----
The Doe.
we pulled out of the taco bell
into a reservoir of cars
having missed the fire engine
blocking three lanes ahead.
"what the fuck?" I asked to nobody,
perturbed that quality time would be spent
sitting in another pointless traffic jam.
"I don't know," she answered
while craning her neck
trying to move around two large trucks
caught in the overflow.
The fire truck moved back a lane
allowing the turbines to turn
and a trickle of cars bore through.
we meandered through the current
other cars graciously damming the flow behind us.
i turned over my shoulder,
anticipating two cars sitting idle after
a noisy altercation earlier.
twisting in my seat
i saw the doe, mounted on the curb
its neck twisted backward behind it.
it tried pulling its head up
succeeded briefly, vainly,
before the head dropped back down
a glut of blood dropping from behind clenched teeth
trailing the curve of the curb
leaking out into the pavement.
"oh god" she said, eyes forward on the road.
"oh, wow," I said, eyes backward on the road.
the head of the doe rose again
fell again
more blood
streaming out
more streams
flowing to the asphalt sea.
and then nothing.
we branched off at the delta
to ponder the course of our lives
poorly hide our glances at one another
lay down on the bed and be content
and left the doe on the asphalt
mounted on the curb.
April 24, 2008.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Jobs.
My roommate has a lot of problems. I'm not entirely sure why I keep him around. Maybe it's because he's as messy as I am. It's nice not to get grief over being a slob for once.
He's just...not right, somehow. He's scatterbrained in ways that disturb me. It started out with him not knowing how to make coffee or clear the lint trap in the dryer. It's since moved on to him not knowing how to listen--I tell him something, and thirty seconds later he has no idea what I just said. He's like a goldfish.
He just managed to get fired from Wal-Mart and I have serious doubts that he can get a new job before I have to kick him out. I don't really want to--it's hard to find a roommate and I can't afford to live on my own--but if I have to, I have to.
He's applying for a job helping students prep for the ACT/SAT and I'm getting the feeling he's putting all his eggs in that one basket. My roommate is unkempt, has poor people skills, and looks like, well, someone who works at Wal-Mart. I think he's going to have to put out a lot of applications before someone hires him. He seems to think he'll just go out there and find a job as a 26-year-old college student with nothing but retail experience, or at least a job he wants.
At the same time, this gets me thinking: I could find a better job, if I wanted to. I've just fallen into this rut of going to the same work and doing the same thing that it seems impractical to go out looking. Why mix up what works?
But if I could make more money...
----------------
Now playing: Rilo Kiley - The Frug
via FoxyTunes
He's just...not right, somehow. He's scatterbrained in ways that disturb me. It started out with him not knowing how to make coffee or clear the lint trap in the dryer. It's since moved on to him not knowing how to listen--I tell him something, and thirty seconds later he has no idea what I just said. He's like a goldfish.
He just managed to get fired from Wal-Mart and I have serious doubts that he can get a new job before I have to kick him out. I don't really want to--it's hard to find a roommate and I can't afford to live on my own--but if I have to, I have to.
He's applying for a job helping students prep for the ACT/SAT and I'm getting the feeling he's putting all his eggs in that one basket. My roommate is unkempt, has poor people skills, and looks like, well, someone who works at Wal-Mart. I think he's going to have to put out a lot of applications before someone hires him. He seems to think he'll just go out there and find a job as a 26-year-old college student with nothing but retail experience, or at least a job he wants.
At the same time, this gets me thinking: I could find a better job, if I wanted to. I've just fallen into this rut of going to the same work and doing the same thing that it seems impractical to go out looking. Why mix up what works?
But if I could make more money...
----------------
Now playing: Rilo Kiley - The Frug
via FoxyTunes
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Blogs don't need titles.
I have never written in this thing before. I think I will start. It's nice having a place to rant that (for the time being) is rather far away from the people who would typically read what I write. There is so much in the way of politics when it comes to having any sort of journal that people (friend and foe alike) can read.
So, then, I think I will treat this more as my "vent about things" space than my "hey, here's what's happening with me" space. Hopefully nobody I know catches on.
Anyway, as this is my first post I think I will bitch about the things that I will be consistently bitching about. I think that that is pretty much everything.
I hate school and am ready to drop out. It simply doesn't seem worth it anymore.
I consistently meet attractive, intelligent, funny women who happen to be married or taken already. I don't meet single people who possess the above attributes.
I am poor. I get paid enough to get by and that's about as far as it goes.
I don't enjoy the jobs that pay me poorly, but who really does?
I am single, broke, lonely, overstressed, and have no visible escape from any of it. Hoorah.
That's it for now. I'm not in a pity-party mood, at least not enough to go past what I've already put down.
So, then, I think I will treat this more as my "vent about things" space than my "hey, here's what's happening with me" space. Hopefully nobody I know catches on.
Anyway, as this is my first post I think I will bitch about the things that I will be consistently bitching about. I think that that is pretty much everything.
I hate school and am ready to drop out. It simply doesn't seem worth it anymore.
I consistently meet attractive, intelligent, funny women who happen to be married or taken already. I don't meet single people who possess the above attributes.
I am poor. I get paid enough to get by and that's about as far as it goes.
I don't enjoy the jobs that pay me poorly, but who really does?
I am single, broke, lonely, overstressed, and have no visible escape from any of it. Hoorah.
That's it for now. I'm not in a pity-party mood, at least not enough to go past what I've already put down.
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